Scarcity (Jack Randall #3) (10 page)

The detective’s happy tone was checked by the rebuke. For a moment he had forgotten who he was working for.

“I’ll call him right now.”

The call ended without a reply and the detective dialed a new number from memory.

“Yes.”

“They need you tonight. He wants the full package.”

“I understand.”

•      •      •

The Major watched as the team stopped their actions and the doctor checked the time.

“16:42.”

The nurse wrote it in his notes at the same time as the Major. The doctor shook his head in disgust. He had thought the man would pull through. He turned to see the Major waiting.

“He’s all yours now. Sun will be down in a few hours, you’ll have to hurry. I’ll go talk to his commander.”

“We’ll get him ready quick.”

He watched as the team removed all the debris left behind after they ran a code. The tube was pulled from the man’s throat and the syringes all counted. The Major moved in to roll the man out on the gurney and the team made room for him, all of them wanting the evidence of their defeat gone as soon as possible.

He pushed through the double doors of the medical unit and quickly entered the morgue. Here he found his partner waiting with the autopsy table already set up. They quickly moved the Afghan soldier’s body to the table and positioned him with his head in the clamp. The man wasted no time and placed a cooler full of dry ice on the floor next to him. He pulled out a scalpel and began the Y incision. The body wasn’t even cold yet, but he was already behind.

“Time of death?”

“16:42.”

The man glanced at the clock on the wall between incisions and speeded things up.

“The plane is already on its way. It was at another base north of here. Should be about thirty minutes.”

“Just the liver and the kidneys, right?”

“That’s it. His blood type isn’t a match for the heart we need.”

The mortician did some quick calculations before speaking.

“It’ll be close. Get the funeral linen ready. We’ll have to wrap him quick if they want him tonight.”

“The doctor’s talking to the guy’s commander, but his village is close. They probably will want him tonight.”

“Well then quit jawing and get your hands dirty.”

He sliced his way through to the abdominal cavity and began removing bowel. The smell was overpowering, but the man had gotten past that years ago. He would slow down when he got to the liver, as it required some finesse.

The Major locked the door behind him and pulled the shade down over the window before moving to one of the cabinets against the wall. He pulled out a sealed package of white cloth that had been approved by the Afghan government for the wrapping of the bodies of their dead soldiers. Unlike the Americans, they received no embalming or dress uniform before burial. While their religion didn’t forbid an autopsy, it did call for a simple cleaning of the body before being wrapped in clean white linen for burial without a casket. Something his company was contracted to do.

The Major opened the package and spread it out on an adjoining table. It had to be applied in a certain way, so as not to show the large crude stitches left by the mortician’s handiwork.

Despite the air conditioner, he started to sweat. A glance at the clock showed only twenty minutes left until the plane arrived. He preferred to meet them on the tarmac, but today they may have to wait for him. Waiting meant a greater chance of conversation with the ground crews. It was better if they just landed, fueled, and took right back off, the shorter the time on the ground the better.

He looked across the room to see his partner elbow deep in the body of the Afghan soldier. He was sweating as well.

It was going to be close.

•      •      •

Anita sensed a change in the conversation outside the door. Normally loud and brash, it had been hushed for the last hour. The TV they watched constantly was also louder. She strained to hear what they were saying over the sound of the radio, but was unable to make it out. Clearly it was something they didn’t wish her to hear, and this set both her mind and stomach in motion. The fear ratcheted up as her mind filled itself with thoughts of what they could be discussing. Where they planning her death? Her rape? Was she going to be moved as she had heard them discuss before? It dawned on her that they had not been drinking today, and this only added to the mystery.

The sound of a door slamming shut on the lower floors made her jump and she heard the men scramble to their feet. Someone was arriving, someone important.

The squeaky steps and heaving footfalls announced the presence of not one, but two men. They were greeted with respect and another hushed conversation took place near the blaring television.

“. . . take at least three of each.”

“. . . after I . . . what I need.”

The sound of a weapon being cocked sent her stumbling back from the door and she retreated to the far corner with her towel. Her heart raced and she fought back the bile rising in her throat. The urge to gag had just subsided when a loud knock on the door caused her legs to fail her. As the locks were turned one by one, she managed to grope for the towel and throw it over her head.

The door opened a few inches while the first man peered in to see if the towel was in place. Once he saw her cowering in the corner, he entered, and she heard several footsteps follow. She trembled as they approached.

The lead man smiled at her fear. He enjoyed this part.

“Stand up.”

“W-What do you want?”

“Stand up!”

She rose on shaky legs. The tears flowed from under the towel.

He grabbed her arms and roughly spun her around till she faced the wall. She cried out as he twisted her wrist.

“Be quiet! We are going to remove the towel and put a smaller blindfold on you. You will shut your eyes and not open them until we say. Do you hear me?”

“Y-yes.”

A hand roughly gripped the back of her neck and she felt the towel pulled from her face. She didn’t dare turn her head, and held as still as she could while hands placed thick wads of cotton over her eyes before a long strip of black cloth was wrapped around her head and tied.

“Tighter.”

The blindfold was given another yank and knotted off before the hand on her neck was removed. The pain remained, and she knew her neck was bruised from the rough treatment. She hoped that was the end of it as one of them turned the radio volume even higher.

She was lead toward the door, but halfway there hands seized her and a rag was stuffed into her mouth before she could cry out. She felt herself lifted and flung onto the bed.

This was it, she thought. They were going to rape her.

She struggled futilely against their grip until she felt something round and cold against her head. She immediately stopped as the barrel of the gun pinned her head to the pillow.

“Hold still, little girl, or I will make you very dead, very quickly.”

To her surprise and confusion, her clothes stayed on, and she only felt the odd sensation of her arm being exposed as someone ripped the sleeve of her sweatshirt open to her armpit. She felt a gentle hand caress her arm before the others tightened around her biceps.

The sting of the needle caused her to flinch, but the movement was checked by the strong hands holding her. The needle burned for some time as the hands performed their task. She heard the ripping of tape and felt the needle being removed, only to be replaced with a small bandage.

What were they doing? Why did they want her blood? The thought died as she was again yanked to her feet and walked to the wall.

“Are you ready?” she heard the man ask another.

“Yes.”

The rag was yanked roughly from her mouth and she had time to take half a breath before a fist slammed into her stomach, driving the wind from her. She sank to the ground and gasped for breath only to have her head snapped back by another blow to the face.

“Again!”

The unseen fist came from the right this time and connected with her eye beneath the blindfold.

“Again!”

The fists continued to rain down on her face and head and she rolled on the floor in a futile attempt to avoid the blows she could not see coming.

“Enough.”

She was allowed enough time to regain her breath and she sucked in the cool night air in deep ragged breaths before being dragged back up against the wall. They left her seated and the unseen hands worked to prop her against the wall, turning her toward the room.

The leader approached and grabbed her swollen face in his hand, turning it left and right as he examined his handiwork. A trickle of blood poured from her nose, as well as her mouth where she had bitten her lip. The bruises were already beginning to swell her eye shut.

“We wait one minute,” he announced.

Anita could not help but whimper at the remark. One minute until what? Her death? Further beating? What did they want from her? The adrenaline and fear soured her stomach and she vomited onto the floor. The men stepped back to avoid the mess. One of them laughed at her reaction.

“Stand back. Move that light over here. Be still, little girl, and hold this.”

She felt something thrust into her hands. Despite her confusion, she recognized it immediately as a newspaper. She was guided by their hands into holding it against her chest with her bound hands showing. The barrel of the gun was back against her temple, and she held still as ordered.

The sound of the camera sent waves of relief through her body, and it was all she could do to hold herself up for the six quick shots. The gun was soon removed and the men filed out of the room. She collapsed onto the floor and sobbed uncontrollably.

Part of her stayed alert enough to hear the return of footsteps and she froze in place, awaiting another blow to the face. Instead she smelled the cologne of the young kidnapper who had spoken to her previously. She felt his hands as they cut the tape from her wrist and sat her up. He wiped the vomit from her face and hands before placing a towel full of ice in them.

“It’s over. They won’t be back.”

He guided the towel to her face, and she held the ice there until the pain subsided.

“I want to go home,” she whispered to him.

“I know, I know. With luck, this will be over soon. They won’t hurt you again. They just needed the pictures.”

“Why did they have to hit me?”

“The pictures must be . . . convincing.”

They sat in silence for a moment and he reached out to stroke her hair as she quietly cried behind the blindfold. He pulled his hand back as someone entered the doorway.

“That’s enough. Let’s go.”

“I’m coming.”

The young one grasped her hand and placed two small objects in it before he silently departed. She kept her fist closed until she heard the three locks engage and only then did she slowly untie the blindfold and pull the multiple wraps away from her eyes. She was blinded by the light of the lamp that they had aimed at her for the pictures, but averted her eyes to reveal what was in her clenched fist.

Pills.

For pain.

She held them in her hand and wept. The tears continued as she crawled across the floor to the bed and pulled the blanket down to her. Wrapping it around herself, she curled herself into a ball and cried some more. The tears continued until sleep finally overcame her, and she slept the deep sleep that only a survivor knows.

The ice melted on the floor beside her.

Mexico Holds Drug Suspect Accused of Grisly Tactics
January 13, 2010—The New York Times
 
 

—SEVEN—

T
he approach into Miami airport was uneventful and they gazed out the window of the plane as it banked over the neon glow of South Beach. As usual, they did not wait for landing clearance as their Lifeguard call sign, used by all air-medical planes, placed them first in line. They could see several airliners circling like vultures as they waited for their turn to land, but the small plane ducked under the mob and lined up on their approach vector quickly.

Their biggest delay was the fault of the wind. The planes were landing from a direction that put them a long taxi away from the customs offices, and they readied themselves as they bumped over the expansion joints of the still warm taxiway. The scream of jet engines sounded repeatedly over their heads as the heavy traffic continued.

But their Lifeguard status even worked on the ground, and they didn’t even slow as a 747 stopped on its way to the runway in order for the small plane to taxi past. Soon they passed the freight haulers where FedEx and UPS fought for space. Once past them, it was a short trip to the Customs ramp.

Nothing more than a small modular structure, it sat on the apron like an afterthought. There was plenty of room tonight, and the pilots had no problem turning the plane all the way around so it faced the taxiway they had just come from.

“Everybody ready?” the crewman asked as he stuck his head in the cockpit.

“We’re good up here. Just pop open the door and sit on the floor. It’s the only way they’ll see you from this distance.”