Chapter 3
Jon
looked around, appearing to check and see if anyone else was in the hall. Apparently content, he suddenly turned,
grabbed me by the shoulder, and whispered into my ear, “Listen, I know you’re
concerned right now, but I need you to trust me. Come with me.”
He
was right about one thing: Dash was concerned.
His parent’s room was a mess, and he wanted to know why. But at the moment, Jon appeared to be the
only one who knew what was going on, and if he said come, Dash didn’t see any
reason not to. They took the elevator
down to the first floor, and exited the building. Dash’s curiosity was growing, as was his
worry. They walked to his car, and it
was at this point that Dash stopped.
“Jon, I need to know: what is going on right now?”
He
smiled, but it was a sad sort of smile, and Dash suddenly felt very uncomfortable.
“I’m
sorry Dash. They gave me no
choice.” He raised his hand slowly,
while keeping it close to his body. In it, he held a gun.
“I
know it’s probably unnecessary, but I wanted to make certain you wouldn’t try
anything. Now get in the car, and I’ll
explain along the way.”
Dash
went into autopilot. He couldn’t put
together why Jon, his uncle, was holding a gun, why he wanted Dash to get into
the car, and how all of this related to what had happened to his parents. Numbly, he got into the back seat, but was
stopped by his uncle. “No, not
there. Get in the passenger seat, where
I can see you. Dash obeyed. Jon got into the car, and drove out of the
hotel parking lot. Finally, Dash got
himself together. “What is going
on.” He asked, hoping he sounded braver
then he felt.
Jon
sighed. He seemed uncertain on how to
start. Finally, he spoke: “You know how
I have been in an Army unit stationed in Israel for the past several
years. Well, during my time there, a
small, or so I thought at the time, terrorist group approached me. They wanted me to do something for them. It’s funny, actually. I can’t remember exactly what they wanted me
to do. Probably blow up something. I denied, of course, and attempted to capture
them. Strangely, I couldn’t get anyone
to help me, though now it’s not so strange, as I know how strong they are. They left me alone for a while after that,
and then, suddenly, towards the end of my tour of duty, two of my partners went
missing. I wasn’t that concerned; from
time to time, certain people got pulled aside to do some odd job, and my
partners were both good men who were skilled soldiers. When the terrorists approached me again,
however, they informed me that they held both of my friends, and that they
would kill them unless I did exactly what they wanted me to. I went to my commander, intending to inform
him that we had a hostage situation on our hands. And yes, in case you’re wondering, the
terrorists had informed me that if I did that, they would kill one of the
men. I just didn’t see how they would
know; I was regularly called to my commander’s office, and I just waited till
the next time I was called. When I told
him about the situation, however, he just smiled, and told me ‘son, you’d
better do what they say. They’re
powerful, and you’d do well not to mess with them.’ I later learned that he, like many others,
worked for them. Anyway, long story short,
I was given no choice. I had to work for
them, or my partners died. They wanted
your family, and no, before you ask, I don’t know why. I let some men into their room, and then
left. I told them I’d wait for you. They were telling me where to drop you off
when you showed up.”
Dash
sat, stunned at the confession his uncle was making. “So you’re saying my parents are currently in
the hands of some terrorist organization, and it’s your fault?”
“I
DIDN”T HAVE A CHOICE!” Jon yelled.
Dash
decided it was wise not to say anything else.
He began to think about his situation.
He was in car with a man whom Dash decided he didn’t know. He was currently being kidnapped, supposedly by,
for all intents and purposes, a member of a terrorist organization intent
on…something. By this time, they had just left the city,
and Dash thought about making an escape.
He looked down at the door, judging how long it would take him to
unbuckle, rip open the door, and jump out.
He also had to consider if he could survive jumping out of a car that
was going at least 70 mph.
Just
as he had reached the conclusion that jumping was probably his only option of
escape, and, if he timed it right, he just might survive (they did it in
movies, right), he heard his uncle speak again: “I really don’t want you to try
that.”
Turning
to look at his uncle, he saw that the man’s eyes were on the road, but his left
hand held the same gun he had pointed at Dash earlier. His uncle continued to talk. “In case you didn’t know, before I was forced to work for these freaks, I
actually helped take down several of their kind. A few of them actually tried to escape. I learned several things from them. For example, I learned during this time how
to tell if someone was planning to escape.
I was good at it, and I was guarding people who made a living out of
keeping people like me guessing.
Compared to them, reading you was a piece of cake. Second, I learned that, no matter what size
it is, if a bullet doesn’t kill you, it hurts.
A lot. And while the group wants
you alive, they specifically told me that a bullet hole or two would be
ok. Dash, I really don’t want to shoot
you, but I’m serious when I say that you do not want to try.”
One
doesn’t simply attempt a reckless escape after a statement like that. Dash sat back in his seat, deciding that, for
now, he had no choice but to go with this madman.
---------------------------------------------------
There
are days where things just don’t go well.
I was having one of them.
Whatever drug they gave me wore off after about a half hour--at least,
according to my watch, which I hoped was correct--but I felt like an elephant
was attempting to crush my head. It was not
my day. The men, at least, I think they
were all men, had taken my backpack, which contained most of my gear, and then
dumped me into one of the large dumpsters in the ally. They had also taken my cell phone, which
meant I couldn’t call my supervisor. I
was supposed to check in with him every hour, and I didn’t have his number memorized
yet. I sighed again. Then I remembered that I had a job that I had
to do, and I dashed out of the ally, which resulted in me falling to my knees,
overcome by a wave of pain in my head.
When I finally got myself together, I was able to look up and see that a
crowd had gathered near the hotel that I was supposed to be watching. Next to the crowd were several police cars,
all with lights flashing, though thankfully with no sirens. I was eager to know what was going on, but my
headache forced me to walk across the street.
When I reached the other side, I tapped the shoulder of one of the men
in the crowd.
“What’s
going on?” I asked.
His
answer sent a surge of adrenaline in my body.
“Can’t say for certain, but it seems there was a body found in one of
the rooms, `bout twenty minutes ago.”
Shocked,
I pushed my way through the crowd, but was stopped by a young, but muscular,
officer. “Sorry lad. `Fraid you can’t go into the building. It’s a crime scene right now, and we don’t
want people trampling all over the place ruining everything. Besides,” he said with a grin, “you look like
a crime scene yourself. You stink.”
I
rolled my eyes, and reached down to my pocket, intending to pull out my
I.D. Then I found out another thing
those idiots had taken from me.
I
shoved my way back out of the crowd, many of whom gave me a strange
glance. I couldn’t blame them. I probably looked horrible. The building next to the hotel was a gas
station, and I chose to take advantage of its restroom facilities and get
myself cleaned up a little. When I emerged, feeling a little cleaner, I
borrowed a cell phone from the man working the cashier, and called the one
person I know could help me: my father.
He answered on the second ring.
“Hello. Who is this?”
“Dad,
I need some help.”
“Matt! You’re alive.”
I
had to smile at that one. “I hope I
am. I don’t think I’m dead.”
My
dad quickly got himself under control, so much so that I could just barely hear
a small note of concern in his voice.
“Give me a breakdown, and make it quick.
You’ve been off the grid for the last forty minutes.”
I
wasn’t surprised at that statement. My
cell phone had a special chip on it, allowing certain people to keep an eye on
my position. Based on what I’d seen and
felt so far, these guys probably took care of every tracking device that
existed on my stuff. I gave my father a
quick rundown of what had happened to me.
He then filled me in on what I had missed in the last forty minutes.
“Apparently,
whoever took out you also grabbed the targets.
We don’t know a lot yet, but when we get the surveillance cameras, we
should know more. Right now, we suspect
foul play simply because of what happened to you, as well as the state of the
room where the family was staying. Right
now, I want you to stay put. I’ll make
sure you get your gear replaced, but I don’t know what command will want you to
do. I’ll get back to you in a few.” He hesitated for a moment, then finished,
“I’m glad you’re ok, son.”
I
smiled. “I’m glad I’m ok to. Love you dad.”
“I
love you too.” Then he hung up.
I
returned the phone-the guy wasn’t overly happy with the fact that I had
borrowed it for so long-, and sat down on a bench outside the gas station,
resigning myself to the fact that this day was going to get a lot longer. I’d only been sitting for about thirty seconds
when I felt a strong grip on my shoulder.
Instinctively, I wrenched myself from the grasp, and curled my hands
into fists, ready to defend myself. So I
was slightly surprised when the owner of the hand turned out to be a small,
haggard beggar. He was dressed in several layers of shirts that had seen better
days. He wore a pair of jeans that had
so many holes in them I was surprised they were still holding up. He also stank something fierce. I opened my mouth to tell the fellow that
grabbing a guy tightly by the shoulder was not the best way to get his
attention, but he beat me to the first words, his voice a high pitched, nasally
sound: “You’re one of those fancy FBI guys, aren’t you.”
Now
that stopped me. Most people wouldn’t
know who I worked for even if I was fully supplied, and right now, I had
nothing on me to identify me as one of the junior agents. I instantly grew suspicious. “How did you know that?”
The
fellow grinned. “That easy. I’m a very good watcher and listener. You talked on the phone. I heard every word.”
“Ok, so yea, I do work for the FBI. Why do you ask.”
“Oh,
I don’t know. Maybe just because I know
who stole those people you’re looking for.”
Now
he had my attention. At this point in my
day, I was only slightly surprised at the source. I’d heard from my dad about how he picked up
the biggest leads from the strangest starting places, and I was starting to
feel about ready to get a lead. “Who was
it?” I asked. I wasn’t fully prepared to believe him, but
at this point, I was grasping at straws, trying to find a way to be helpful to
the investigation. If listening to a
half-crazed beggar is what it took, then so be it. “Ok, so who did it?”
The
creep smiled, showing a mouth that was short several teeth. “Ah, but you know it doesn’t work like
that. I need a small reward for this
little answer.”
At
this point, I wanted to slam this guy into the turf. Not only was he crazy, he was also attempting
to get a reward from his craziness. I
forced myself to remain calm. One thing
that training had drilled into my head was that you needed to remain calm in
all situations, especially if you were dealing with a suspect or witness. At this point, I counted this fellow as
both. I debated how to get this guy to
tell me what I needed to hear. At that
moment, another teen-slightly older than me, if I had to guess- passed me. He had a backpack on his shoulder, and as he
walked by, he took it off, and tossed it to me.
I nodded my thanks as he moved off.
We weren’t very big, but the MDI was well organized. Inside the pack, I pulled out a new set of
clothing, some ID, a microgun that fit in my pocket perfectly, a small load of
cash, and, best of all, some deodorant.
All this time, the guy next to me had been waiting patiently, but when
he saw the money—about fifty bucks—his eyes lit up.
“That
should about cover the price of that info you wanted.”
I
looked over at him. “You honestly think
that I think that you have any useful information.”
In
reality, I was nervous. He may have
info, and right now, I’d take any break I could get. I couldn’t let him know that, though. He already had a slight advantage over
me. I didn’t want him to get more.
He
seemed to consider me for a second, and then called my bluff.
“Forty-five
dollars.”
I
considered it, but decided to give bargaining a shot.
“You’re
info probably isn’t going to be helpful, if you even have it. Ten.”
His
eyes lit up. I had a suspicion he had
done this before.
“But
I might. Thirty-five.”
I
smiled. He may have had experience, but
I had the next best thing: book lore. I
had read enough books to know how these arguments went. I smiled and shot back, “Yes, but you seem to
be managing pretty well on the streets. Twenty dollars.” It was true.
The man, while he defiantly had the homeless dude look, appeared
somewhat on the plump side, and his clothing wasn’t that bad, aside from
stinking to high heaven.”
He
smiled. “True, I am. But life on the streets can change from good
to bad in a heartbeat. Twenty five
dollars, and that’s your final offer.”
I
considered it. That would leave me with
about twenty-five dollars myself, and, if the man didn’t actually have any
useful information, I doubted my dad would be too upset over the loss of the
money. “Deal.”
I
gave him a couple bills. He took them
eagerly, that bolted.
I
was ready for him, and took off, running down the alley that was next to the
gas station. He was quick, but I think I
surprised him more than he surprised me.
I was ready for him to jump, and he only made it a few feet down the
alley before I dove at his feet, tripping him up. As we both scrambled up, I drew my microgun. The gun was designed to fit it the
pocket. It was made of a metal (I didn’t
know what) that was apparently one of the hardest to brake in the world. It shot small pellets that were designed to
hurt a lot, but not actually kill you unless you were virtually touching it when
the gun fired. It appeared to be
basically two tubes that were welded together to look like a gun, though I had
taken one apart once, and it had a ton of small parts that were actually quite
incredible. The trigger guard was huge
relative to the rest of the gun; it was set from about half way up the barrel
to about half way across the barrel. At
the sight of it, he froze. “Listen,” I
said, recovering from the adrenaline rush, “I work for the MDI. You probably haven’t heard of us, but we are
an important part of our government’s security system.” (Actually, we could barely be considered part
of our government’s security system, but he didn’t need to know that.) I continued, “This gun I’m currently pointing
at your skull is fairly new; it’s a Z4-32 Robertson. It probably won’t kill you, but it will make
life very miserable for you. Now than, I
am very tempted to pull the trigger, so if you could please give me a good
reason why I shouldn’t, you will make yourself very happy.
The
guy started sobbing. I couldn’t believe
my bad luck. Here I had a case to solve
(granted, it technically wasn’t MY case, but that’s beside the point) and this
guy was tearing up on me. I didn’t have
time for this. I started counting down:
“5…4…3…”
“WAIT!”
The guy spat out. He said it while still
out of breath from the running and crying, so it sounded like he was being
strangled while he said it. “I’ll tell
you what I saw. One guy…”
“I
don’t need guys, I need a teen.”
“Patience,
I’m getting to it.” He was in more control
now, and his words came out like water pouring from the faucet. “I saw this guy. He was taking this other teen, with this
weird leg, to a car. The guy was hiding
it pretty well, but I saw it. The man
was holding a gun. After they got in the
car, they drove off.”
I
smiled for a second, and then, realizing my mistake, quickly changed my face
back into a deadpan expression. It was
too late. The beggar had seen it.
“That’s
what you wanted, right. I can go now.”
I
was about to let him go, then remembered one more important question I needed
to ask: “Which direction did the car go?”
The
guy hesitated for a moment, then said, “Past the gas station, towards Fifth
Street. That’s all I know, really. Now can I go?”
I
sighed. The area that the kidnapper—and
I was certain that’s what we were dealing with now— had gone towards the a
confusing section of the city. The roads
were so complex; he could have gone just about anywhere from there. As for the beggar, there was no reason that I
should hold him, now that I had the info that I wanted. “Fine, but keep yourself available.”
As
I lowered my gun, he finally smiled at me.
“Kid, I’m always available…for a price.”
He didn’t stick around, however, and was gone within seconds.
