Shattered Bone (20 page)

“What can I do for you?”

Jesse shivered as she looked into the man's eyes. They seemed to stare right through her. She quickly glanced around. By now it was completely dark. The tall lamppost cast dim shadows through the empty parking lot. She glanced toward the library. Not another soul in sight. Jesse's instincts kicked into high gear. She hadn't spent the past ten years in southern California without developing an acute sense of imminent danger. And right then, her instincts were very clear. Something was not right about this man.

“I'm looking for one of the fighter squadrons,” the man continued. “An old friend of mine works there. Can you tell me how to get to the F-16 fighter building?”

“I'm new to base myself,” Jesse answered cautiously. “Perhaps the security police can help you.” The man watched Jesse very closely.

“Yeah, but if you could just show me where we are, then I could probably find it myself.” Clyde said, pointing to a map he had laid out across the steering wheel of his car. Jesse didn't move. Clyde shifted anxiously in his seat. It wasn't working. He swore at her under his breath as he caught a whiff of the soaking rag of chloroform that lay in the seat next to him. He glanced across the parking lot to the blue sedan where Nadine sat watching. He was growing anxious. His eyes darted around. He could be patient, but only for so long.

Jesse took a step away from his car. “I don't think I can help you. As I said, it's my first time on base.”

The man grunted. Jesse turned and briskly walked away. Heading back toward the library, she jumped up the flight of stairs, taking them three at a time. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the man's Toyota start to pull away with a kick and sputter. As she pulled on the thick glass doors, she knew he was gone.

Jesse waited in the library, watching the parking lot carefully for any signs of the old gray car. She didn't know why. She shouldn't have been so suspicious. But over the years she had learned to trust her instincts, and so didn't consider it wasting her time.

llalf an hour later, she walked quickly to her car and climbed in, locking all of the doors before even starting the engine. Pulling out of the parking lot, she maneuvered onto the main boulevard that would lead her off base, merged with the traffic, and headed north on Las Vegas Boulevard.

Weaving in the traffic behind her, in a rented blue sedan, was Nadine. She always stayed at least three cars behind the red Mazda, leaving her enough time to change lanes and follow Jesse off the main highway if her target ever turned. Steering with her left hand, she reached down onto the seat and picked up a cellular phone.

“I've got her,” she said when Clyde answered.

“Where are you?”

“I'm heading north on Las Vegas Boulevard.”

“Okay, I'm about five blocks behind you. Don't lose her. I'm getting tired of chasing this wench!”

Nadine only grunted in reply.

They followed her all through the night, always keeping their distance, stopping in the shadows when she pulled over for gas, all the time expecting her to turn back toward L.A., or check into some hotel. But she didn't. Instead she headed north, toward central California. By early morning, she was passing through the town of Lone Pine. Nadine followed her as she turned off the main highway and onto a small dirt road that headed off into the pine-covered foot hills that lay at the base of the Inyo mountains. Once Jesse turned off the main highway, Nadine didn't follow her any further. She didn't need to. She knew the road couldn't go very far back into the forest. She knew what Jesse was driving. She knew they could find her.

_______________________ 

______________________       

LONE PINE, CALIFORNIA

T
HE NIGHT AFTER SHE GOT BACK TO THE CABIN
, J
ESSE STAYED UP AND
read until after midnight, then finally forced herself to bed. Several hours later, she awoke with a start. It was very dark. The cabin floors creaked and moaned from the wind. She glanced at the digital clock next to her bed. It was blank. The power must be out, she thought. Funny, there hadn't been a storm. She rolled off the mattress and set her feet onto the bare floor. It was very cold. The gas furnace needed starting.

Then she heard it.

Her heart jumped into her throat. Every muscle in her body grew tense. Her heart beat like a hammer as she peered desperatcly into the darkness.

Then she heard it again.

Voices.

The hushed sound of whispering voices. And footsteps. Muffled footsteps. Very close. From inside the cabin! From outside her door! Her hands involuntarily shot to her mouth as she stifled a scream. The footsteps tapped once again. Measured, careful footsteps. Then silence. The only sound was the blood pumping in her head. It beat in her ears. It smashed in her brain.

The footsteps were right outside her door!

A gentle night breeze blew outside the cabin window as the mountain air raced to the valley floor. Her window shuddered against the breeze. A pine cone dropped on the cabin's roof and rolled down the eaves, pattering lightly as it fell.

Someone was there! She could hear them! They were right outside her door!

Jesse looked to the window. Twelve feet away. Maybe she could make it. Slowly, carefully, she lifted herself off of the bed.

The door burst open. Flying backward, it slammed against the wall. Jesse screamed in the darkness. At what, she didn't know. She couldn't see. It was so dark!

A bright flashlight beamed through the open doorway. The man from the gray Toyota stormed into the room. Jesse screamed again and pushed herself up against the bedroom wall, the rough logs cutting into the soft skin of her back. The man walked toward her, rope in hand, gun in his belt. The flashlight beamed directly on Jesse, spotlighting her like some kind of trapped animal. She pushed herself away from the wall and tried to run, but tripped and fell to her knees. The man was on top of her in less than an instant, his hands wrapping tightly around her thin neck. Jesse closed her eyes and started to cry.

Clyde pinned her against the wood floor while he pulled both of her arms behind her back and shoved them up toward her neck. Jesse felt a tearing pain which sucked the air from her lungs. She knew he would kill her. She thought she was dead.

Jesse felt the rope twist around her wrists and fingers. Nadine held the flashlight so that Clyde could see what he was doing. He circled her wrists and knotted the rope, then sat back with a huff.

“Go out and turn the power back on,” Clyde directed Nadine as he stood up and pulled Jesse to her feet. “And bring the extra rope from the car.” Nadine turned and walked out of the room.

Within half an hour, they had unloaded the car and hidden it in back of the cabin. Clyde made certain the place was secure, then after some discussion, they decided to leave Jesse in the second bedroom. Clyde threw her onto the bed and tied her up, then nailed the shutters closed and draped a thick quilt over the window to block out the light. He knew that the constant darkness would leave her disoriented and confused and make it that much more difficult to think of escape.

Then he and Nadine settled in for the wait. They would stay up here in the cabin, keeping a watch on the girl. They would wait until they heard from their client. Then they would do what he told them to do.

Jesse lay in the darkness, listening, her eyes tightly closed. Though she wasn't tied up anymore, she didn't dare move. She hardly even dared breathe. A thin blanket had been stretched across her body, but it left her bare feet exposed, and she was icy cold. Time went by. The cabin was very quiet. Perhaps it was night, and they were asleep. After what seemed like a very long time, Jesse pulled her feet inside the blanket, then curled up into a little ball.

The skin around her ankles and wrists had been rubbed raw from the rough nylon ropes. The tender flesh burned and the nerves flashed in pain. Her wrists, which had taken the. worst abuse, oozed tiny drops of blood and clear moisture from the open sores. Purple blotches covered the tops of her feet from the broken blood vessels, a result of the blood flow having been cut off by the tightly cinched ropes.

She shivered again under the thin cotton blanket and tried to think. How long had it been since she had been taken captive? She did not know. Five or six days. Maybe less. Maybe more. She had lost all sense of time. As she lay in the darkness, she was only aware of two things-the terrible pain and the fear.

The door opened a crack. Light filtered into the room. Jesse nearly quit breathing. Despite a violent shiver that ran down her spine, she lay perfectly still. The footsteps moved ever closer. She wanted to cry-cry like a little girl.

“How's the girl?” came the voice from the bathroom.

The man studied her face for a few seconds before he answered. “She hasn't moved in the past ten hours,” he finally said.

The man paused as he hovered over the bed. He bent down toward her, studying her closed eyes, watching her breathing. He glanced at the open sores around her wrists.

“She's awake though,” he called out after a while. “I guess she wants to ignore me.” He reached into his pocket and produced a shiny gold lighter and unfiltered cigarette which he lit with a flip of his wrist.

He walked to the window and studied the thick wooden shutters that covered the double-paned glass. He had used three two-by-fours to nail the shutters closed. He grabbed the thick boards and pulled at them, checking to make sure they were still secure.

Turning back toward Jesse, he took several long drags on his cigarette and held the smoke in his chest. What was wrong with the girl? She had been laying there for almost two days. She wouldn't eat. She didn't move. She hardly even opened her eyes. Stupid wench. What was she going to do? Just lie there and die?

He took another drag on his cigarette. The glow burned down to his lips, and he tossed the smoldering white stub on the floor and stomped it out, smearing the highly polished wood floor with ashes and spit.

He was bored and tired of the cabin. He was tired of the forest and trees. He missed the noise of the city. He missed his friends and his girl. He was tired of his wife. He was tired of guarding this stupid woman who just lay there and slept.
It
had been too long. He needed more beer.

He paced across the floor to the bed. Jesse hadn't moved. He glanced at his watch. A couple more days. One way or another, in a couple days this job would be through.

BOLLING AIR FORCE BASE, WASHINGTON D.C.

“Did you read the bulletin we sent out a couple days ago about the Ukrainian named Morozov?” Buddy Spencer asked.

Lt Col Oliver Tray didn't answer as he concentrated on the ball. He checked his back foot alignment and tried once again to relax his grip. Align. Align. Back foot slightly forward. Knees slightly bent. Check displacement from the ball....

“It's weird,” Buddy cut in once again. “For six years the guy was a ghost. Absolutely invisible. Now suddenly, it's like he's everywhere. I'm telling you, once we started to track him, he showed up all over the freakin' world.”

Left arm straight. Head down. Eyes on the ball. Slow, controlled back swing ....

“Have you seen any of the bulletin traffic? It's pretty interesting. You ought to take a look at it if you get a chance.”

Tray let it go. The ball sailed off over the trees, cutting the par four dog-leg at a near perfect angle. He squinted into the hazy, early winter sun and watched the ball just clear the last stand of pines and drop out of view. Good shot, he smiled to himself. No ... great shot. Good distance, no hook or slice, right over the left edge of fairway. It was perfect. He lifted his driver onto his right shoulder and turned back to Spencer. “Just like on the tour,” he instructed proudly. “You concentrate. You learn to ignore the distractions. There will always be jerks in the crowd.”

Spencer laughed and prepared to tee up. It was only the fifth hole and he was already down by three strokes. It was time for combat rules. Next time he would stand so that his shadow fell over Ollie's tee and dance around the box to distract him.

Tray stood in silence while his friend teed off, placing his ball down the middle of the fairway, a nice but conservative shot.

“You're not going to beat me with balls like that,” Oliver prodded. “When you're behind to a master, you've got to play a little more aggressively. Haven't you learned that by now?”

“Yeah, yeah, teach me, Oh Master,” Buddy lifted his arms over his head in mock adoration. “Let me walk in your footsteps, Oh Great One. So long as you're buying the beer.”

Oliver smiled, picked up his clubs, and began to stride down the fairway.

Oliver Tray and Buddy Spencer had been playing golf together for more than three years. They met at the Bolling golf course every other Wednesday afternoon; rain or shine, heat or sleet, if the course was open, then they played. In that time, Spencer had beaten Oliver only three times, but he no longer let it bother him. He had accepted the obvious fact that, unlike his friend, he would never be a scratch golfer.

Besides, the game was not the main reason he and Tray liked to spend a couple of afternoons a month together.

Passing the ladies' marker, they strolled down a small hill toward Buddy's ball which lay two hundred yards in the distance, a tiny- speck of white peeking above the tightly cut grass. “Judging from your ball, it's pretty obvious you weren't listening to me,” Buddy observed. “So I'll ask you again. Did you read the general bulletin? It was sent toward the end of last week.”

Tray thought for a moment. He remembered something about it, but so many things had been happening the past few days, it wasn't something that stuck in his mind. “Yeah, I saw it in our morning message traffic a couple days back. Didn't pay much attention to it. Something you're working on, Buddy?”

“Me and about three hundred other guys. It's really got the CIA rocking. This guy Morozov has developed a fairly large gathering over the past year or so.” Spencer paused as he kicked his way through a small clump of wiregrass and cattails that lined the left edge of the fair-way, looking for lost balls as he went. “And there's a little more to it than it would first appear,” he continued. Oliver nodded with understanding. There always was.