Off Course: A clean action adventure book

by Glen Robins

  “Mr. Cook? Are you there?”

  Collin grunted, “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Good. Now that I have your attention, allow me to explain.”

  ****

  Industrial Complex, 30 miles southeast of San Diego, California

  June 15, 2:09 p.m. Pacific Time

  Sarah Cook found herself suddenly wide awake in a strange place, feeling spacey and detached from her body. Everything seemed to have a slight tilt or bend to it. Or maybe she was spinning. Or the room was. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and held back a wave of nausea. When it passed, she again tried to take in her surroundings.

  Sarah found that all of her senses were alert as she began to orient herself. A spot on her arm burned. A man with tattoos was walking away from her with a needle in his gloved hand. He threw the needle against the far wall. It hit with a tiny pinging sound. The wall must be metal. She looked up. The ceiling was very high. The room was dark, except for immediately around her. A bright light pointed down at her from a stand. No, there were two of them; one on either side of a camera held up by a tripod.

  She closed her eyes for another wave of dizziness to wend its way past.

  Now an Asian man with a very colorful tattoo climbing his neck stood behind the camera. Sarah could feel her heart racing and her whole body shaking. Beads of sweat rolled from her temples. What was in that syringe? she wondered. Whatever it was, it was making her feel strange―hyper-aware and jittery, but heavy at the same time. She noticed everything but didn’t want to move.

  She was seated in a padded chair. Her arms were taped to the arm rests with multiple swaths of gray duct tape. Her mouth couldn’t move freely, and she tasted the adhesive on her lips. She couldn’t open her mouth and her jaw ached.

  Another man approached her from the side. He held a fat, brightly colored phone in his hand. Someone on the phone addressed her. He had a pleasant voice, laced with a mild accent, and was very articulate. As the phone was brought close to her, she could see on the screen the man who was speaking to her. He was a handsome Asian man with perfect skin and a beautiful silk tie. She wondered where he was and where he got that tie. I wish Henry had one like that, she thought.

  “Mrs. Cook, thank you for joining us,” he said, then paused. He spoke in a commanding voice in a foreign language. The man holding the phone ripped the duct tape from her face with one jerky motion. Once the stinging abated, Sarah noticed she could move her jaw again. The man with the silk tie continued in his pleasant voice. “Is there anything you would like to say to your son, Collin?”

  “Yes,” she said, just above a whisper, her voice strained.

  “Unfortunately, your son is in a very remote location. The Internet connection is not strong enough to allow us to do a live video conference, but we will allow you to talk with Collin and share a brief message. What would you like to say to your son?”

  Sarah worked her sore jaw and tongue and tried to speak. Her mouth was so dry it made her cough and choke. Again, the man with the silk tie spoke forcefully in that other language and the man behind that camera came to her other side with a bottle of water, which he held for her while she drank. Much of it spilled down the front of her shirt, as he poured it into her mouth.

  Sarah thought for a moment, cocking her head upward. “You’d better not harm my son.” She smiled an airy smile at the camera, then at the man with the nice tie whose face smiled a tight smile at her from the phone held in front of her and slightly to her right.

  “Don’t worry Mrs. Cook, as long as you and he both cooperate, no one will be hurt.”

  Sarah opened her mouth and started to speak.

  ****

  Western Caribbean Sea, 39 miles north of Providencia Island

  June 15, 4:11 p.m. Caribbean Time

  Collin was leaning forward, peering at the computer screen when it went dark.

  Stinky stood at attention with the muzzle of his gun pointed at Collin. He stared at the blank computer screen and shifted his weight from one foot to the other until the satellite phone rang again. Nothing but white noise. He handed the phone to Long Hair and waited for it to ring again.

  A few moments later, Penh was back on the line, calm and cool. “Mr. Cook. I want to assure you that your mother is doing well. She is being treated with kindness and respect—for now. You can understand the technical challenges of video communication and data transmission when you are hundreds of miles at sea, I presume. I believe we have remedied the situation now.” He broke into his native tongue and commanded something. Stinky snapped back to full attention, gun at the ready, as Long Hair moved in and punched keys and adjusted the laptop’s screen. Sarah Cook reappeared, unnaturally energetic.

  Collin watched a recorded short message from his mother. The video clip lasted only thirteen seconds. Her words stuck with him. She knew what she was saying, even if she appeared to be out of sorts. Her message was simple: “Collin, your father and I trust you will do the right thing, the thing you know in your heart is best for everyone involved.” She cleared her throat and added, “Do what Ronnie would do and remember I love you, son.”

  Do the right thing, the thing you know in your heart.

  Collin remained silent, unable to speak as he processed what he had seen and heard. His mother was sending a message. Ronnie had to be Ronald Regan, their favorite US president ever. He would never negotiate with terrorists. Did she fully understand what she was saying? There was no way she could know about Tog and what these animals had done to him. Maybe she didn’t realize what was at stake. Could she possibly know the consequences of not cooperating with Penh and how that could affect her and probably the rest of the family, as well? Why would she say that?

  “You heard your mother. She said to do the right thing. Surely you know what the right thing is. Give us the computer so no one else gets hurt,” Penh insisted.

  “I want to speak to her again when she is not drugged up. I want to know that she is well and will not be harmed. If she is, there will be hell to pay.”

  “Are you really in a position, Mr. Cook, to make such demands? Or threaten anyone?”

  Collin’s chin sank to his chest and he heaved a sigh. “But what about her health? And her treatments?”

  The line fizzled and a distorted, robotic voice answered. “Her health is in your hands, Mr. Cook. You cooperate with us and hand over the computer so we can transfer the funds and we will return your mother to the medical center. It’s up to you how quickly that happens.”

  “I’ll do whatever I have to do to make sure she’s not harmed,” said Collin, straining through his thickening emotions.

  Penh interjected something Collin could not understand, and another video clip began to play. A pair of spiked wrist bands appeared behind his mother’s head. The hands were on his mother’s neck but not exerting any force. Collin looked away and yelled, “Don’t touch her.”

  “You don’t want your mother to be harmed, Mr. Cook? Then give us that computer.”

  “I told you, I don’t have it with me.”

  The hands on Sarah’s neck began to tighten their hold until Penh yelled again.

  With that, the call ended, and Collin was left to decipher the meaning of her last words to him. What was the right thing to do? How would Reagan handle these guys?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Industrial Complex, 30 miles southeast of San Diego, California

  June 15, 2:12 p.m. Pacific Time

  In her dream, she heard loud noises, followed by banging and rattling that came from somewhere in the distance, then up close, then in the distance again. Things were moving outside the cave where she was hiding. Then, someone was in the cave, stalking closer and closer, until she felt hands on her. They started at her feet, manipulating something at her ankles. They made a slow crawl up her legs. She tried to pull away. Next, she felt the hands at her waist. But it was happening in a dream. Until . . .

  Emily’s eyes shot open. She struggled to move and tried to scream. Th
ere were straps on her wrists and ankles and around her waist. Her mouth was taped. She couldn’t scream, kick, punch, or get away. She was completely helpless; at the mercy of someone she didn’t know and didn’t understand. It was a foreign feeling and she abhorred everything about it instantly. Meanwhile, the hands moved up her body as she thrashed from side to side. She was staring into dark, demonic, narrow eyes. A stud poked through one of the eyebrows of the Asian man’s face. A devilish snicker met her ears as he flicked his tongue out, as if it would turn her terror into desire.

  Another voice from her left penetrated the tight space around her. It was sharp and forceful and, to her, unintelligible. The cackling and tongue flicking stopped immediately. The hands slid behind her and started tampering with the strap around her wrists. Next thing she knew, she was being yanked from the sitting position she had been in and dragged headfirst across a metal surface. Someone held her upper body under her arms while the man with the spike in his eyebrow held her feet. They plopped her in an office chair in the middle of a vast, empty warehouse.

  The floor was bare concrete and covered in a layer of brownish dust. The ceiling was twenty feet or more above her head and insulated with aluminum-backed fiberglass that hung loosely in places. The walls appeared to be bare metal. The sounds of the men’s feet shuffling as they worked echoed through the space.

  The only other items she could see, other than the white van parked just inside a wide roll-up door to her right, was a camera on a tripod six feet in front of her with lights on either side. The young guy with the spike in his eyebrow approached from the side and fussed with her hair as the other man, who had a colorful tattoo crawling up his neck, stood behind the camera giving instructions. The young guy grabbed her cheeks and squeezed. He had spikes on his wrist bands and spikes on his belt along with the spike in his eyebrow. His eyes telegraphed his intentions, causing a cold shiver to run down her spine and across her entire nerve network until her whole body trembled. Emily considered herself as tough as any other woman on the planet, but the thought of being held captive, all alone by these two miscreants in this isolated warehouse filled her with dread and despair until she burst out sobbing. She hung her head and clinched her eyes shut.

  The young man with the spikes stepped closer, speaking a language she didn’t understand, and forcibly moved her head back into position as he pointed at the camera. He stepped behind her and held her head still, pressing it back into his mid-section. The tattooed one gave a thumbs-up and said, “Say hello, Mr. Cook.”

  She couldn’t stop the sobbing. In fact, the thought of Collin only made it worse.

  As if on cue, the spiked one held her chin with one hand and a cell phone in the other as his face moved close to her cheek. Emily tried to pull away, but the hand on her chin gripped her more firmly, holding her steady as he began whispering in her ear. Her sobbing became more intense. Then, as if to pacify her, he began to gently stroke her cheek, her ear, the nape of her neck with his tongue in an exaggerated act for the camera and for the phone he held in his other hand.

  Angry protests erupted from the phone. It was Collin. “Get away from her. Don’t touch her, you mangy dog. I swear, I will kill you for this.”

  Emily cried even harder at the sound of his desperate cries, knowing there was nothing he could do and no one who could help her.

  The tattooed one barked and it all stopped. He stepped away from the camera and said, “OK. Good.” But the phone was still on, still recording.

  The spiked one was slow to move. He lingered in the moment, inhaling her scent with his nose touching her neck just below her ear. When the older, tattooed man commanded a second time, he pushed back and stood, still leering at her. She shut her eyes and turned away, trying desperately to control her emotions. Emily had never wanted to be dead before, but she was beginning to wish she could end it right now rather than have to endure whatever form of horrible, disgusting, degrading treatment these two had in mind.

  ****

  Western Caribbean Sea, 38 miles north of Providencia Island

  June 15, 4:13 p.m. Caribbean Time

  Penh’s voice had lost its smooth veneer. It interrupted Collin’s boiling thoughts with its gruff demand. “Mr. Cook, I am losing my patience. Give me the information I need to retrieve my money. Now.”

  “My mother told me to do the right thing. I don’t think negotiating with a terrorist is the right thing to do. Giving you the money you need to bankroll your operation would be the exact opposite of the right thing.”

  Penh barked another command and the image of Emily weeping reappeared on the laptop’s screen in front of him. He gasped as he saw his dear friend bound and gagged and weeping uncontrollably. He had never seen her show any sign of weakness, so this display jolted him to the very core. He tried to look away, but he couldn’t. Morbid curiosity kept his eyes glued to the screen even while tears clouded his vision.

  The video showed two men moving about in the background. The one with the spikes disappeared into the darkness. He reappeared a moment later with a long-bladed knife. He began speaking to the phone, but Collin could not understand his words. The sharp edge of the knife pressed against Emily’s cheek and began a slow journey downward, leaving a trail of blood.

  Emily’s eyes went wide and her breathing became sharp and panicked. The knife skipped her neck and went to her chest, continuing a bloody arc until it stopped at the top of her blouse. In very deliberate fashion, it nicked the first button, sending it flying. The spiked face came into view. More words, spoken in a hushed, romantic sort of tone, and some tongue flicking.

  Collin yelled, “Enough. Get away from her.”

  But it was in vain. The knife continued to the next button and flicked it into empty space.

  Collin screamed again. “Stop. Don’t hurt her, you animal.”

  Another voice emerged from the distance and the man with the tattoos on his neck stood behind Emily, holding her shoulders. The knife sliced off another button. The spiked wristbands appeared and pulled the blouse open before he stood and crossed in front of the camera’s view, growing larger as he approached then vanished. Now the camera view was moving, panning left and right to show Emily and Sarah sitting side by side. When it settled, the camera took in a wider view. Both women sat with their arms wrapped in gray duct tape around the chair arms, straps around their waists and ankles, and a strip of tape across each of their mouths. Emily’s blouse was open, and blood streamed down her cheek to her chest, slowly soaking both her beige blouse and her bra dark red.

  The man with the tattoos stood behind them. He pulled back the action on his handgun, chambering a bullet, and held it to Sarah’s head.

  Penh continued the narrative. “You see, Mr. Cook, you have once again put people you care about in harm’s way because of your stubborn lack of cooperation.” His voice echoed with a metallic tone, but it retained a steely sternness. “What would you like to see first: my men enjoy the company of your beautiful friend? Or a bullet destroy your mother’s head?”

  Collin hung his head and clenched his jaw. He braced himself as the Admiral sluiced down another swell. He leaned into the edge of the table to help keep his balance. Stinky glared at him from his post on the other side of the cabin but said nothing. He held the satellite phone encased in thick yellow and black plastic. Everything was quiet, waiting for Collin to respond.

  Collin’s jaw muscles quivered as he fought to control the storm raging inside. What was the right thing to do? What had his mother meant for him to do when she said to follow his heart? That heart was useless at the moment. It was splitting wide open with anguish watching her and Emily being groped and threatened and hurt. At the same time, it was ready to explode with rage and desire for revenge. The same heart was sinking in despair knowing he had brought this misery and torment to the two women in his life who, in recent months, meant the most to him.

  “Mr. Cook, I’m waiting,” said Penh.

  Collin hung his head in defeat. �
��Fine. You can have the codes. Just tell your men to get their filthy hands off my mom and Emily. Leave them alone.”

  Penh barked out more orders and the man with the gun lowered it. “Very well, Mr. Cook. You shall have your wish when I have mine.”

  “How can I be sure your two monsters there won’t hurt them?”

  “You hand over the codes, my men will leave them alone,” said Penh in his icy, commanding tone.

  “Why should I trust you?”

  “Because, Mr. Cook, unlike you, I am a man of my word.”

  Collin snorted and shook his head, fighting back a million nasty words he wanted to unleash, knowing they would do no good. “Fine, but I want proof that they are all right.”

  “You will have your proof after I have the codes.”

  Collin sucked in a breath and bit his lip. “The codes are on my laptop. My laptop is hidden in a compartment behind me. Cut me loose and I’ll get the codes if your dogs leave the women alone.”

  Penh laughed out loud. “Cut you loose? Why would we do that, Mr. Cook?”

  “So I can get to my computer and get you the codes. But your men have to free my mom and Emily first.”

  “Not until we verify the authenticity of the codes, Mr. Cook.” Penh then barked out commands. Stinky said “OK” after each one.