Angels Mark (The Serena Wilcox Mysteries Dystopian Thriller Trilogy) (11 page)

13

Bryce was terribly uncomfortable crunched up in the trunk of Clyde’s car.
His long lean frame was contorted over a now-full bladder. His mind raced until he hit upon something a former girlfriend once babbled about. What was it she’d said? She saw it on Oprah, or got it in a forwarded e-mail, something like that. It was about if you are ever stuffed into a trunk of a car, what to do. Ah! He remembered. Kick out the taillight. Someone would notice. Hopefully the police.

Bryce kicked and kicked. He had no idea if he was anywhere close to the taillight area, but his foot was hitting on something. He struck out again and again until his heel popped some kind of latch. What was that? Had he popped open the trunk? Yes, the road noise and the rush of air confirmed it. He was free!

He was not bound, gagged, or restrained in any way. Clyde had simply pushed him into the trunk, held him down, and slammed the lid over him. Nothing hurt really, except for his pride. All he needed to do now was climb up and jump out, and hope he could get far enough away before Clyde noticed the trunk lid was open. His opportunity for escape came right away, when Clyde slowed for a four-way stop.

Bryce didn’t wait for the car to stop. He hoisted himself up onto his knees, then, as quickly as he could, he climbed out of the trunk and jumped onto the road. He didn’t look behind him, but ran on nearly-numb legs, hoping the adrenaline would give him the strength and speed he needed to slip away before Clyde could get to him.

Clyde, confident that Bryce wouldn’t be able to get out of the trunk, was unaware of his escape. Not a big fan of defensive driving, Clyde didn’t make much use of mirrors or overall attentiveness. His driving time was his down time for personal recreation. He was currently snacking from a new bag of Peanut Butter Bugles while quoting along with “The Notebook”. He didn’t notice the trunk was open until he parked the car in the garage.

“What’s that?” asked Tom.

Paul froze. He could hear Clyde slamming around in the garage, cursing, throwing things. “That would be my brother in a foul mood. I better go see what’s going on.” As he headed out to the garage, using the door located in the back of the kitchen, Serena returned to the kitchen.

With Paul gone, she could speak freely, but she whispered to be safe: “Tom, he has the e-mail, the one from Karen’s friend in Iran.”

“The kids are in the car.”

“I know
, we have to get them out of here.”

Tom rose to leave just as Paul and Clyde came in. Clyde snarled, “Where do you think
you’re
going?”

“Clyde, calm down, he just finished his coffee. I haven’t talked with him yet…” Paul placed himself between Tom and his brother.

Clyde pushed Paul out of the way and grabbed Tom’s arm. He pulled him back into the chair. “Toss me some duct tape. It’s in the junk drawer.”

“I don’t think this is—“

“Necessary? Necessary Paul? That’s what you were going to say? Well I didn’t restrain that idiot Bryce and now he’s gone. Won’t make that mistake twice. Give me the tape!”

Paul rooted around in the drawer, found the tape, and handed it to Clyde. “There’s not much left.”

Clyde secured Tom to the chair by wrapping the tape around Tom’s middle and the back of the chair, over and over again until the tape was almost gone. He gave Paul the rest of the roll. “Tape his ankles to the chair legs. I’m getting more tape.”

As soon as Clyde left the room and Paul was bent over, working on the ankle taping, Serena leaned close to Tom. “Hang in there honey, it will be ok,” she said. She tried to give him a meaningful glance but his eyes reflected puzzlement. What was his wife up to? Whatever the secret code was, he didn’t get it.

Paul looked up. “Sit down, Serena. You’re going to be next.”

“I guessed as much. I want to put my chair next to Tom’s.” She slid her chair near him.

“No, put it back. I don’t want you to try to get him out.” Paul bent over to work on the second ankle.

“Okay, I’ll put it back,” she said, and made sliding noises with her chair while slipping her hand under Tom’s waistband. Fortunately Clyde’s duct tape
was above his belly button, nowhere near the handle of the gun. The gun slid out easily. and before she knew it, she was holding a gun, a real loaded gun. If she had time to digest that information she would have been intimidated, but she was reacting on auto-pilot now, feeling nothing, just doing what she needed to do.

Serena held the gun to Paul’s head. He looked up at her from his kneeling position near Tom’s legs. His eyes registered surprise, but surprise was quickly replaced by mirth. He snickered. “You wouldn’t shoot me.”

Serena cocked the gun. “I’m Momma Bear and my babies are threatened. You have no idea.”

Clyde entered the kitchen from behind Serena, sized up the situation and grabbed a large cast iron skillet. Tom saw him and yelled “Look out!”

Serena whirled around, firing the gun without thinking twice. The bullet hit Clyde’s arm. He dropped the skillet. Serena dropped the gun.

Then they both started screaming. Clyde sounded like a wounded animal, Serena hit an octave she normally reserved for when she saw a mouse. The two screamed and screamed, the guttural strangled scream conjoined with the shrill siren scream. The combination shook up the kids in the car.

Carrie called 911. So did a couple of the neighbors. No one knew what was going on, but whatever it was, it sounded like a bloodbath, and then suddenly it was quiet. They thought they heard a gunshot, but weren’t sure. The kids were terrified but did not get out of the car. The neighbors locked their doors and stayed away from the windows. Everyone waited for the police to arrive. As they waited, the foursome inside the house took stock of the situation.

Serena broke the silence. She also picked the gun up from the floor and waved it at Paul. “Go stand next to your brother.”

Paul didn’t move. He looked at her, stunned.

“Now!
Go, go! Or I’ll shoot you too.”

Paul did as she wanted. He moved close to Clyde and stared at his brother’s arm. The wound did not look life threatening, but it did look ugly, and painful. Clyde examined it scornfully.

“What’s your plan, lady? I bet you don’t know what to do now that you’ve shot me,” said Clyde. He spat into the sink from his position a couple feet away. “Do you even know why we have you? We weren’t the ones who were going to kill you. They won’t care if you’ve shot me or not. They want me dead too.”

Serena looked at Tom. “Paul, I want you to let my husband out. And then he is going to drive our kids somewhere safe.”

“I’m not leaving you here, Serena!” said Tom.

“Then let’s make this fast so I can go too. Paul, get that tape off of him. Start talking. What did you want with us? Why do you have that e-mail from Iran? How do you know Bryce?” Serena held the gun with both hands. She was struggling to hold her arms steady. She also realized that Paul was not in her line of fire anymore.
“Clyde, go stand next to Paul. Go!”

Clyde moved a few steps in that direction.

“Okay, good enough, stay there, don’t move.” Serena adjusted her stance so that both men were covered by the gun.

Paul took his time cutting the duct tape, stalling. The sooner he freed Tom, the sooner Tom could take over. If there was a reason to shoot, he didn’t think Tom would stop at a flesh wound. “I have the e-mail because Bryce sent it to me. He works for President Williams. Williams knew about everything before the Big War. There’s a cover up. They want to get rid of anyone who knows about it. You’re the target. So am I, and Clyde. We were planning to help you. You shot the wrong guy.”

“I don’t trust you. What aren’t you telling me?” Serena asked, looking from one man to the another.

“What he’s not saying is that we planned to give you to Williams to save our own skin. You’d have done the same,” said Clyde.

“What about Bryce?” asked Tom. He flexed his ankles, the first part of him that Paul had freed. Paul worked on the duct tape girdle next.

“Bryce escaped. I had him in the trunk. He got out. It’s just down to you now,” said Clyde.

Paul added, “Now we have nothing. With him gone and you with the gun, we have no leverage. You might as well shoot us -- it would be better than whatever they’ll do to me after they put me in prison.”

“Would they have killed you anyway, even if you had me and Bryce?” asked Serena.

“We have that e-mail. I’ve sent it to several safe places,” said Clyde. “And we had a plan to record our meeting with them. We’d have enough incriminating evidence to keep us alive. It would have worked. It still can if you play along.”

“No thanks. I don’t need your plan. You have enough proof with the e-mail. All I have to do is tell the FBI,” said Serena.

“That didn’t help your friend much, did it?” said Paul. “What protection do you expect from them? William’s team found you even when you joined Off Ghost. We’re better than witness protection. If we couldn’t hide you, they can’t.”

“I’ll go to the top,” said Serena.

“He
is
the top,” said Clyde.

“You’re forgetting about President Kinji. She has just as much power as Williams,” said Serena.

“Theoretically,” said Clyde with contempt.

“The police are here,” said Tom.

“What are you going to do? Press charges? You’ll kill us all. William’s people will find us,” said Paul.

“The police are already at the door,” said Serena.

14

Bryce chuckled to himself.
What an idiot Clyde was. He was as stupid as he was ugly. Not only did he not restrain Bryce, but he also didn’t think to strip him of his cell phone, which had been on the entire time. Bryce used it now to call his security detail. They could pick him up, no problem. There was a GPS tracker on the phone, which was a good thing since Bryce had no idea where he was, just some country road in the boonies, they all looked the same after a while. He swatted at a deer fly. The sooner he got back to the Windy City the better.

The sound of multiple cars speeding down a nearby gravel road caught his attention. Wow, that was fast. How did they find him already? They must have sent local law enforcement to pick him up. No matter, just as well. He needed a restroom and after that some water, and some food. A good night’s sleep sounded good too.

The cars reached him, three government-issue sedans total. It sure looked like secret service detail. But how did they reach him so fast? It had only been about five minutes. Four car doors opened simultaneously: one hulk of a man each from two of the vehicles, and two bureaucratic looking individuals, one male and one female, from the third vehicle.

“Hey guys, how did you get here so fast?” Bryce smiled full wattage, his social smile, not a trace of wolf. He was taken aback when no one responded. One of the beefy men yanked his right arm, another grabbed his left. They steered him toward the nearest sedan. “Hey! What’s going on?” Bryce protested. No one answered. “You’re taking me to the President? You are, right?”

“Yes, she’s waiting for you,” said the female bureaucrat.

“She?”
Bryce hoped he had heard wrong.

“President Kinji. She’s waiting for you. Get in the car.”

The convoy, with Bryce pouting in the backseat of one of the sedans, made its way to its next pick-up, about four miles away. Their tires crunched on a long gravel road and then rolled to a stop. Doors opened and shut. The driver of the sedan carrying Bryce did not get out.

“Where are we?” asked Bryce.

The driver looked at Bryce through the mirror but said nothing.

“What is this place?” he tried again.

Still no answer.

“Hey! I know them! What is going on?” Bryce tapped on his window. “Open this up!”

The driver ignored Bryce. Bryce was forced to watch silently from his backseat point of view as four familiar figures were escorted to the other two vehicles. Clyde, his flesh wound bandaged and his arm in a sling, and Paul were led to the sedan behind the vehicle holding Bryce. Serena and Tom, stripped of his gun, which was bagged and tagged, were led to the sedan in front of him. Bryce couldn’t hear what they were saying. Completely baffled, he tried to puzzle out what was happening.

Serena spoke to the female bureaucrat, Nancy. “Our kids are still in the car.”

“No, they are already with us. They’re fine,” said Nancy.

“Where are they?” asked Tom.

“We’re right here,” called Carrie, leaning out the open door of the sleek government vehicle.

“Please get in,” said Nancy, gesturing to the generous seating space that her children occupied. Nonetheless, five people made the backseat uncomfortable. No one dared to complain though. After the Meadows were settled in, Nancy shut the door to the backseat, walked to the front passenger’s side door, and got in.

“You aren’t the police. FBI?” asked Tom.

“No. We are President Kinji’s detail,” said Nancy.

Her partner Rick started the vehicle and pulled away, leading the convoy of three. “Where are we going?” asked Serena.

Nancy exchanged a look with Rick, who returned her question with a shrug. Nancy hesitated, but then answered Serena’s question, “Chicago.”

“Chicago!” Serena exclaimed.

“Isn’t that a whole day’s drive? I need to go to the restroom,” said Carrie.

“Do you need to make a rest stop now?” asked Nancy.

“YES!” said the kids and Tom in unison.

“Why are we going to Chicago?” asked Serena.

“President Kinji wants to see you.”

“We get to meet the President!” Carrie said. More quietly, addressed to her family, she said, “Had I known, I would have worn something else today.”

“Why does she want to see us?” asked Samuel, who had been quiet during all of the excitement. All three kids had kept themselves nearly invisible, but they heard everything that happened within their earshot, and hung on every word.
Earbuds or no, when something exciting was happening, they managed to listen.

Nancy shut down the conversation with a firm, “You’ll have to ask her that. I am not authorized to brief you. We’ll be stopping shortly for a quick restroom break.” With that, she pressed the divider button. The Meadows were alone in the backseat, where they quickly took up chatting. The past few harrowing days had renewed their appreciation for each other and suddenly they all had so much to say.

It was far from happy family chatter in the sedan carrying the two brothers. Clyde was seething. “We need a plan,” he hissed.

Paul recoiled from Clyde’s breath. He couldn’t quite define the stench. It was a revolting mix of garlic, coffee, and long-trapped odors from years of plaque build-up, Clyde’s own special blend. “I don’t know what we can do, Clyde. We might as well hope for the best. At least they aren’t taking us to John. Kinji might have a heart and put us in witness relocation.”

“Where they will find us and kill us, you know that. At their level, they can ferret out witnesses, protected or not.”

“I don’t see any solution. I also doubt we’re having a private conversation right now.”

Clyde snickered. “Of course we aren’t, they’re listening to everything we say.”

“Then I don’t know what you expect to plan.”

“You’re right, we might as well admit defeat,” said Clyde. Then he slyly winked at Paul and said, “Just like when we were kids and we were losing at kickball against the Keller kids.”

Paul nodded, aware of where Clyde was going with this, and hoping he remembered their secret language. “Yes, who could forget
G
roin
O
r
T
oe
I
njuries
T
oo?”

Clyde smiled approvingly. Paul did remember: invent a sentence that, when taking the first letter of each word, spells a phrase. Paul had said, “Got it.” Just like when they were kids. The code was easier to speak and comprehend with practice, and being brothers, they could practically read each other’s minds anyway, so it was easier for them to follow than it would be for most people.

Clyde said, “
H
ow
A
re
C
hildren
K
ickball
E
nthusiasts?
R
eally
S
tupid.” He felt in his pocket for his cell phone. Yes, there it was, all charged up and everything. Yes, they would know he had used the phone, but it would take them awhile to puzzle out what he used it for. He sent a quick text to one of the kids on his team, the new kid, who wasn’t listed on the roster yet. “Activate Clyde. Urgent.”

Clyde put his hand behind his back, feigning to massage a painful lower back, while discretely slipping his thumb under the waistband of his jeans until he could feel the elastic band of his briefs. Yes, it was still there: a tiny microphone. Obviously this could be problematic if Clyde had intestinal problems, but it was a good solution to the problem of: what if they forced him to strip down? He figured they were unlikely to make him take off his underwear. He knew Nick would have it up and running before they reached Kinji’s office.

“
W
acky
H
appy
Y
outh,” said Paul.

Clyde, struggling to come up with a word for each letter, stumbled through the next few sentences at an agonizingly slow pace: “
P
eople
L
et
A
ll
Y
outh,
A
lone.
N
ow
N
obody,
J
ust
O
pens
H
omes.
N
eighbors,
A
ll
G
et
A
nnoyed --
I
s
N
ever
S
afe
T
o,
E
ver
A
llow
C
hildren
H
ome,
O
utside
T
heir
H
omes.
E
veryone’s
R
eality.”

Paul traced the beginning letters on his hand until he could piece together what Clyde was saying:
Play Ann, John against each other.
He nodded, ending their tedious conversation. He stared at the divider wall between their seats and the ones occupied by the Muscle. Were they listening? Probably. Paul’s mind raced. Clyde’s plan was idealistic: he assumed they would be released, free to put the plan in motion. Bring the recordings to both political camps, work a deal.

But Paul had his doubts that either of them would ever be free men. He didn’t expect to be alive much longer either. But what was reality to Clyde? Paul’s heart sank the more he realized that Clyde had always been crazy, he simply hadn’t seen it. He had been caught up in Clyde’s plans and schemes for his entire life – could Paul have lived a normal upstanding life had it not been for being raised by an insane brother? Sadly, he would never know the answer. Nor would he have an opportunity to live his life differently.

While Clyde plotted and planned his next move, and Paul sulked, Kinji’s surveillance team back in Chicago was cracking up, having figured out the brother’s secret code in a matter of seconds. One man laughed so hard that he shot water out of his nose. “We can’t make this stuff up,” he said, after he recovered.

“I thought they’d break into Klingon,” said another.

“Should we send this to Morey in Encrypton?”

“Only if you want your head snapped off.”

“Seriously though,” said a third, “What do you think they meant by ‘play Ann and John against each other’? What are they up to?”

“Doesn’t matter,” said the first. “They won’t be going anywhere.”

“It’s not like President Kinji is going to waterboard them. There’s nothing to hide.”

“John has reason to fear a bug.”

“Doesn’t matter, they won’t see him.”

“Yes, they will. He’ll be there.”

“Seriously? What’s going down?”

“I don’t know. We share the building, it’s not that surprising.”

“I hope he rots.”

“Think these two idiots have something on him?”

“Maybe. If they do, we’ll be the first to hear it.”

The team continued to monitor the activity in the three sedans, analyzing the feed the mobile team was uploading to them; there wasn’t anything else that caught their attention. The Meadow’s family was still chatting, but none of what they were saying was of interest to the team. Bryce was silent, as were
Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, who the team had dubbed “The Double D’s”, for Dee and Dum, or “Dumb and Dumber”. The rest of the journey went by uneventfully for both the team and the eight passengers they were keeping an ear to.

When the sedans slowed to circle the post-Big-War White House, in the queue to enter the three-mile descent to the underground secured parking area, Serena thought to ask about the third sedan. She had seen Clyde and Paul enter the second vehicle, but what about the third? She knocked on the divider window.

Nancy responded right away with an open window and an invitation, “Yes?”

“Who is in that third car?” asked Serena.

“Not sure you’d know him, but you can see for yourself, he’s getting out,” said Nancy.

As their own vehicle came to a stop, the other two sedans pulled up alongside them, flanking their car. Paul and Clyde were in the car on their right, so Serena and Tom kept their attention focused on their left, waiting to see who would emerge. They saw the top of his head first, a familiar blond wave, that ridiculous surfer-Prince Charming-frat boy look. Could it be? No, surely not. But it was.

“Why is Bryce here?” asked Serena, panic in her voice.

Nancy’s tone revealed nothing. “That’s Bryce Otto, one of President William’s staff. I don’t know why he’s here.”

“Otto is his last name,” muttered Tom.

“Please get out of the car,” said the driver of their sedan.

The other two sedans were now empty. The Meadows were slow to get out of the vehicle. “Where are we going?” asked Tom. He and Serena did not move. The three kids looked at their parents for guidance. Rick held the door open for them, but the family didn’t budge, unsure of what to do.