Taken (13 page)

As planned, I spent all of Christmas week at The Highlands with Victoria and Albert. Patience was in Atlanta, so despite Victoria’s daily prodding, I made no effort at all to get out and live my life. I had no adventures. On the positive side, though, I had no night terrors.

I did get to help Victoria with a big domestic project. She and I spent three days “canning preserves,” a nineteenth-century activity right out of
The Manor House Four-Season Cookbook.
We sliced up apricots, pears, and mangoes; boiled them in a pan with white sugar and pectin; then poured the contents into color-coded glass jars. It was hard, sticky work, but it was fun. Especially when Albert passed through the kitchen and we both fell under his disapproving gaze.

Mickie and my father were both gone for the first part of the week. Mickie traveled to Orlando and then to New York to rehearse for that Times Square broadcast. She burst through the door on December thirtieth, announcing to no one in particular that she had to “rest up for a day! Do nothing for a day!”

I guess that’s what she did. I didn’t see much of her. But because she was at home, I had to stop helping Victoria in the kitchen.

I don’t even know where my father was for the first part of the week. I know he flew his helicopter to West Palm Beach to play golf on the twenty-ninth. He didn’t return until late afternoon on the thirty-first. I think he had been drinking. He handed a suitcase full of dirty laundry to Albert and went upstairs to sleep. He got up and packed to leave again a few hours later.

The only thing he said to me was in the foyer, at the door. He turned and asked, “Have you tried out those thermal pj’s yet?”

“No,” I admitted.

“It’s supposed to be cold tonight.” He stood for a moment and waited for me to commit to wearing them, so I mumbled, “Okay. I’ll put them on tonight.”

He smiled. “You’ll be glad you did.” Then he raised his eyebrows ridiculously high and shouted, “Go, Canes! National champs!” I smiled weakly, and he headed out the door.

Confident that no one but Victoria and Albert could possibly see me, I went upstairs and dutifully pulled on the gray pajamas. I stood before my full-length bedroom mirror. The feet looked hideous, like a storybook monster’s, and the golf ball called attention to my flat chest, but I definitely felt warm and comfortable in them.

I padded downstairs to the kitchen for an early supper. Victoria and Albert both smiled at my choice of clothing, but the only comment was from Victoria: “I’ll bet those feel real comfortable.”

“They really do,” I conceded.

Victoria and I sat together at the kitchen counter and ate roast beef sandwiches with potato salad. Albert sat at the small kitchen table and ate the same. For dessert, Albert poured us all cups of eggnog—regular for Victoria and himself and a special chocolate one for me. We agreed to meet in the living room later to watch the Mickie Meyers special from Times Square.

But that was never to be.

On my way upstairs after supper, my stomach started to gurgle and churn. It felt like it was twisting itself into a knot. A few minutes later, I was sitting on the toilet in my bathroom with the grossest case of diarrhea in medical history. Victoria brought me two anti-diarrheal tablets to try to stop the mass evacuation of solids and fluids from my body, but the tablets didn’t do any good.

At 18:30 Albert touched a thermometer to my ear. He told Victoria, “It’s one hundred point five.”

Victoria put her cool hand on my neck. “Should I call Mr. and Ms. Meyers?”

Albert shook his head. “Ms. Meyers is in the middle of two hundred thousand people. Mr. Meyers is at a big party, too.”

Victoria insisted, “Still, that’s the protocol. We have to try.”

Albert exited and returned quickly with a securephone. Victoria typed in my father’s number, followed by Mickie’s number. Then we waited. After about three minutes, Victoria broke the silence. “Okay, Miss Charity, we’ll keep trying. For now, you need sleep more than anything else. We’ll be back to check on you.”

As soon as they left the room, I fell deeply asleep.

I do remember the two of them coming back in the dark. I sat up groggily; my mouth tasted totally disgusting. Victoria held a glass of water to my lips and gave me two more anti-diarrheals.

Albert took my temperature. Then he whispered, “One hundred and one. A half point higher. Let’s check it in an hour. If it goes up, we’ll call the parents again.”

I must have passed out after that, because the next thing I knew they were back in my room and I could hear gunshots from outside. Some of our Highlands neighbors greeted each new year by firing Glocks into the air. It must have been exactly midnight.

This time, I felt Victoria’s small hand touch the thermometer to my ear. She emitted a gasp. Albert immediately whispered, “What?” He stared over her shoulder at the thermometer’s readout. Then he made a decision: “All right. We have to take action. You try to reach the parents. I’ll call the hospital.”

Victoria corrected him. “No, that’s not the protocol. If I can’t reach the parents this time, we have to follow the protocol, to the letter.” She punched the same two numbers into the securephone, but she didn’t wait nearly as long to decide. “They’re not answering. All right. You need to call the hospital from the securephone, and you need to patch the guardhouse into the call.”

Albert agreed: “Right.”

“Tell the hospital to send an ambulance right away.”

I watched Albert’s long fingers punching buttons on the phone. He spoke into the receiver in his most formal voice. “This is the residence of Dr. Henry Meyers in The Highlands. This is a simultaneous call to the Martin County Regional Hospital and the Highlands security office. Do you both acknowledge?” After a brief pause, he went on: “The security code for this emergency is one-one-two, three-five-eight. Do you acknowledge?”

Then he told the hospital operator, “I need an ambulance at this residence for a thirteen-year-old female. She is experiencing diarrhea and a high fever, one hundred and two point five Fahrenheit. She has ingested four fifty-milligram tablets of an anti-diarrheal, the latest dosage shortly before zero hundred hours.”

Victoria interrupted him. “She has the flu. Tell them she has the flu.”

Albert frowned, then added, “We believe she has the flu. Yes. Yes, I understand. All right.” I heard a beep as Albert hung up. He told Victoria, “You have to be careful how you word things with them.”

Victoria applied a wet washcloth to my forehead. It felt cool and very good. “Why? What do you mean?”

“We said the word ‘flu’ to them. That makes this an infectious-disease call. They have to wear hazard suits.”

“Fine. They can wear whatever they want just as long as they get here fast.”

“I just don’t want Miss Charity to be alarmed by the sight of them. That’s all. They’ll look like men in space suits.”

Victoria moved the cloth down to my neck. She whispered, “You’re going to be okay soon, Miss. The doctor is on the way.”

“Two doctors,” Albert added. “That’s their protocol for The Highlands. If they can’t spare two doctors, they send a doctor and a nurse.”

“Two is better still.” She leaned over me and explained, “This is some messy flu bug you have. They’ll find out which one, and they’ll give you the right treatment for it.”

Albert said, “I’ll pack her bag.”

Victoria instructed him, “Put in her vidscreen, in case she’s there overnight. And her toothbrush and toothpaste. And a book.” She turned back to me. “Albert will be with you the whole time. Don’t worry. He’ll ride right there in the ambulance. I’ll get your father and Ms. Meyers on the phone soon. Everything’s going to be all right.”

I tried to nod, but my head felt very heavy. I was in a total mental fog. I have no recollection of the Highlands guards arriving, but they suddenly were there in my room in their black shirts, pants, and boots.

Then two men in green hospital scrubs entered, pushing a stretcher. One was short and stocky; the other was taller and thinner. They wore surgical face masks and caps. I watched groggily as the guards inspected the men’s Martin County Regional Hospital badges. A guard read each one aloud:
DR. M. REYES
for the shorter man;
DR. LANYON
for the taller one.

The two ambulance men took positions on either side of my bed. They pulled out my bedsheet and rolled it toward me until I had a tube of white sheeting running up each side of my body. Then they emitted a collective grunt and slid me horizontally onto the waiting stretcher.

Dr. Reyes bent over me. He lifted my eyelids and felt for a pulse behind my ear. He swabbed my arm with an alcohol pad. I felt a prick as he quickly slid a needle into my vein and taped it in place.

Dr. Lanyon hung a plastic bag of clear liquid over me, on a metal rod. After some fumbling, he connected a tube from that bag to the needle in my vein.

Victoria spoke to Dr. Reyes in Spanish: something like,
“¿Cómo está ella?”

But it was Dr. Lanyon who answered, in a light Indian-accented voice: “This will keep her hydrated on the ride. Blood-testing at the hospital will determine her course of treatment. Who is the family physician?”

Victoria answered, “That would be her father, Dr. Henry Meyers.”

“All right. We will contact him on the way.”

“You may not be able to. Not for a while.”

The two men never said another word. With Victoria, Albert, and the guards preceding them, they wheeled me out of the room.

Looking back on this scene, I can say that I felt something was not quite right. Even in my fogged state, I had some doubts. Why were Dr. Lanyon’s hands trembling when he hung up my intravenous bag? Why didn’t Dr. Reyes speak? And, more significantly, why did Dr. Reyes, the last one out, place an envelope on my unmade bed?

I remember rolling through the marble foyer and past the stained glass of the front door. I remember the diesel engine of the ambulance running. I remember the black smoke blowing across my face. The ambulance had the words
MARTIN COUNTY REGIONAL HOSPITAL
painted across the side, in orange letters with black highlights. The two doctors lifted me up, slid me inside, and locked the wheels of the stretcher in place. Then Dr. Reyes closed the door without saying a word, leaving me back there alone.

I could hear the guards asking the doctors to sign some forms, and I could hear Victoria speaking impatiently to Albert, something like, “What’s taking them so long? This is an emergency!” I heard her say, “I’m going inside to call the parents again. Take care of her, Albert.”

Finally, the Highlands guards left.

I remember that the doctors and Albert all climbed into the front cab.

I remember that we stopped at the guardhouse, and I heard Albert speak briefly to someone there. His voice sounded strange. Was he worried? Nervous?

I heard the gates swing open as we drove out.

Somewhere just beyond the gate, I fell deeply asleep. Obviously, there must have been a powerful sedative in that plastic bag. I remember nothing else. But it probably doesn’t matter. According to my kidnapping training, it was all over at that point, that point just beyond The Highlands’ gate. The kidnappers had succeeded. I was in their hands. I was their prisoner.

I had been taken.

Saint Elmo’s Fire

A
t exactly 18:00 Dessi stood up, snapped his two-way closed, and pointed at my pile of WorldMart clothes. “They just said that you need to put on the new clothes. Right now. So I need to give you some privacy.”

That was fine with me. I was about to mutter “Okay,” but he slipped out before I could even open my mouth.

I listened to be sure the ambulance door clicked closed.

I checked the vidscreen to be sure the red light was out.

Then I set to work quickly. I peeled off the top of the golf pajamas and, with my hands shaking, hooked on the bra and pulled the T-shirt over my head. Then I slipped out of the footed bottoms. I pulled on the panties, jeans, and sneakers in just a few swift moves. Even while keeping an eye on the back door and the vidscreen, I managed to complete the entire transformation in less than one minute.

I stood with my back to the red light and looked down at myself. The simple act of putting on clothes, even these WorldMart clothes, made me feel much better. I kicked the footed pj’s under the stretcher. I ran my hands through my grungy hair, finger-combing it as best I could. I took my index finger and scraped at my teeth, too, for whatever that was worth. I had just finished when Dessi returned. He sat back sullenly in his chair. I waited for him to look at me, or to say something, but he did not.

After about one minute of waiting, I gave up and climbed onto the stretcher again. As soon as I did, though, the red light
did
blink on. It watched me for about fifteen seconds and went off.

Then, without warning, things got very weird and very frightening.

Dessi jumped up and stood as if at attention. His eyes darted to a spot directly behind me. He stared at that spot dumbly, like he was getting a set of instructions that he could not understand.

Coming from that same direction, from the ambulance cab, a figure entered my field of vision. It was the stooped figure of Dr. Reyes, dressed as always in his hospital scrubs.

I watched in rising fear as he opened a cabinet door and pulled out a contraption that he quickly assembled into a standing metal table. He placed the table next to my head. He placed a package on top of it, a sterile-wrapped package with rows of sharp objects visible inside. Then he reached under the stretcher and snapped a latch that made it fall back flat. I fell back with it, too frightened to do anything at all. I felt him reattach the leather strap around my waist.

Dr. Reyes studied my face briefly through a dark plastic visor, but he didn’t say a word. He turned and opened the other cabinet and removed two items—a coil of clear tubing and a plastic mask, the kind they use to give anesthesia.

Dessi remained standing there, straight as a pole, just staring at us both.

It wasn’t until Dr. Reyes pulled on a pair of surgical gloves that I truly realized what was happening. My worst fear of all.
Oh my God,
I thought.
This is it. He’s going to cut into me! He’s going after my GTD.

The last thing I remember was him connecting the tubing to the wall outlet, placing the mask over my face, and holding it there. After that, I was nowhere. I entered a state of delirium. Crazy images flashed through my brain, and then one not-so-crazy image: I had a revelation.

I saw myself back in my bedroom at the very start of my ordeal. I was watching Dr. Lanyon struggling to hang the IV bag over me. His green scrubs slid down along his upraised arm, and I saw his dark, dark skin. I recognized that skin, those four layers of derma.

Dessi.

Dr. Lanyon was Dessi. I told myself, in my delirium,
You have to remember this.

I drifted in and out of consciousness. I felt a pair of hands working on me, like a mechanic working on a car, swiftly and efficiently.

Eventually, I woke up enough to focus on the vidscreen. It showed 20:55. I had been out for nearly three hours. My mind felt surprisingly clear, though, like the anesthesia had already worked its way out of my system. I even felt momentarily elated.

Then I remembered where I was, and what had just happened to me. Dr. Reyes. The surgical knife. The search for my GTD. It all came back to me like a wave of nausea. Had I been mutilated? Where? What part of my body was missing?

I started to wiggle my toes frantically. Were all ten there? It felt like it. My fingers? Yes, all ten. What about my earlobes? I turned my head and scraped it each way against the sheet. Yes, they were both there, and intact. I ran my tongue over my teeth, poking around them for several seconds until it hit me: My braces! My braces were gone.

As if he could hear my thoughts, Dessi spoke up from his seat. “That’s right. It was in your braces.”

I lifted my head up, very carefully. “Huh?”

“The GTD. It was in your braces.” I didn’t answer. I laid my head back down heavily, and he continued. “I had braces, too. Back when we had the currency for such things.”

I rolled my head back and forth slowly, trying to gather my thoughts. I finally asked him, “What did it look like?”

“What? The GTD?”

“Yeah.”

“It looked like a little piece of metal, like a ball bearing.”

“Was it in a tooth? Like a filling?” I felt around with my tongue.

“No. It was hidden inside the wire that held your braces on. That was a smart move. Placing a GTD within a metal wire actually increases its broadcast range.”

I was starting to feel better, well enough to try to sit up. Dessi saw my efforts and came around to help. He undid the leather strap around my waist; then he latched the back of the stretcher at an angle so that I could pull myself to a sitting position.

I asked, “So what happens to it now?”

“To the ball bearing?”

“Yeah.”

“It goes away. Far away.” Dessi backed toward the door. “I’m supposed to report in as soon as you’re awake.”

“Why? To who?”

He seemed to consider giving me a real answer, but then he just muttered, “You’ll see.”

“Who? Who do you have to report to? Reyes? What’s going on?”

“Relax. There’s just something that you need to know.”

He left me alone for about five minutes. I enjoyed the feeling of sitting up straight. I actually thought myself lucky to lose my GTD so painlessly. Luckier than Hopewell, anyway.

Then the back door opened.

I peered into the dark. A shape filled the doorway. It was not Dessi’s shape, and it was not Dr. Reyes’s. It was a taller, broader figure; a big man. He pulled the door shut behind him and turned around, and I screamed. I screamed like I had seen a creature risen from the grave.

Because it was Albert.

All I could do was babble, “Albert?”

He stared at me blankly, like a zombie.

“I thought you were dead,” I told him.

After a long pause, he spoke in a voice as deep as my Albert’s, but different. “Albert is dead, yes. But
I’m
not dead.”

“What?”

“I was never really Albert. I think you know that.”

“Well, yes, I know it was just your work name. Oh, Albert, I am so happy to see you alive!” I wanted to run to him. To hug him. But he looked away. “What did they do to you?”

“Who?”

“The kidnappers. Did they lock you up somewhere?”

Albert stepped closer so that he loomed over me. “You need to know what’s going on here.”

“I’m so glad to see you safe.”

“You need to know that
I
am the kidnapper.”

His words did not register at all. “What?”

“
I
am the kidnapper.”

I stared at him for a long moment. Then I finally understood. “No!”

“Yes.”

“No!” My eyes started to fill up with tears. “No, you can’t be!”

His voice hardened. He answered like he was giving instructions to a lawn guy: “We don’t have much time. You need to know the facts: I am
not
dead. I am
not
Albert. I
am
the kidnapper. Understand?”

I was frightened by his voice. I answered meekly, “Okay. Yes.”

“Your father has agreed to our terms. He has agreed to pay us a ransom, after which you will be released unharmed. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Your parents have been given a packet of very specific instructions telling them what things to do, and in what order.”

“Yes? Was that in the envelope?”

This seemed to throw him off balance. “What?”

“The envelope that Dr. Reyes left on my bed?”

“You saw that?”

“I did.”

His eyes shifted to the door and back. “Yes, well, you’re right. That envelope had instructions for the payoff. It names the location for the payoff, and it describes a backup plan if necessary. The payment is to be made by your father, alone, from his helicopter. He will fly over a secluded area. He will lower the currency down on a wire. When we have the currency, you will be released.”

Albert extended his big hands outward. “That’s it. That’s everything you need to know. For now, you need to rest. You’ve been through a lot.” He spoke with such authority that I automatically closed my eyes. I soon fell back to sleep.

I awoke at 21:21. Albert was still with me, seated on Dessi’s pull-down bench. He addressed me right away in his no-nonsense voice: “Charity? Do you remember the conversation we had earlier?”

It sounded odd to hear him call me by name, without the “Miss.” I answered, “Yes.”

“So you understand who I really am?”

“Yes.”

“And you understand what we are going to do next? The payoff plan?”

I nodded, but I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. My eyes were welling up with tears again. After about two minutes of staring at him, I finally choked out, “Do you have any idea what you put me through? I cried my eyes out for you! I cried at the thought of your dead body lying in a ditch by the side of the road.”

Albert looked down. “I am sorry you did that. But now you know it didn’t really happen. It was merely a feint, like in a chess match.” He leaned forward in his seat and stole a look at the clock. I guess we had some time to kill, because he asked me, in a kinder voice, “So, do you have questions? You must have questions.”

Of course I did. But this was too bizarre for words. This man was Albert! He had lived with me for the past three years. He had served me my meals. He had protected me with his life. Suddenly, in an instant, he had become a totally different person. He had become his own opposite. I didn’t want to talk to him at all. But I needed answers, so I finally replied, “My GTD. Obviously, this ‘doctor’ didn’t cut into me. I still have all of my body parts. How did he know where it was?”

“Your father told us.”

“Really? I’m surprised he remembered.”

“Your father has been totally cooperative in every way. Now that we’re in touch with him, things should go smoothly.”

“Wasn’t he at his big football party?”

“Yes. But we were able to reach him. He has canceled all other activities until he gets you back.”

I felt brave enough to ask him what was really on my mind. “And what if he didn’t answer your call? Were you just going to kill me?”

Albert’s whole demeanor changed. He replied indignantly, “No! Never. We knew he would call back. We knew everything would go just as it has.”

“How? How could you be sure?”

He took a breath to calm down. He answered quietly, logically: “Because I know your father. You are his daughter, his only child. He would do anything to get you back. And because I know your family. Things are very predictable in your family at this time of year. Dr. Meyers is at the Orange Bowl Fest; Ms. Meyers is in Times Square; you are at home, alone with the help.”

I didn’t like that. “‘The help’? You’re talking about yourself, I hope. Not Victoria.”

“She’s the help, too.”

“You’re not telling me that Victoria had anything to do with this!”

He emitted a short, unhappy laugh. “No. No. Victoria is true blue, all the way.”

“Yeah. Like all RDS employees swear to be.”

“That’s right. She bought into the deal one hundred percent.”

“But you didn’t?”

“I did for a while. But then things changed.”

“Why?”

“Let’s leave it at that.”

“You became a kidnapper instead.”

“I said, let’s leave it.”

“Okay. How many of you are there?”

“How many of me?”

“Kidnappers.”

“Oh. I can’t tell you that.”

I raised up my fingers as I counted. “There’s you, Dessi, Dr. Reyes, Monnonk, a guy on guard duty up front. Anyone else?”

He stood up. “That’s enough questions for now.”

“I have one more.”

He answered reluctantly: “Okay.”

“Do you really think you’ll get away with this?”

“Yes. Like I said, it’s perfect timing. Your parents are working through a messy divorce. There’s still a lot of currency to be divided up. The assets are liquid and accessible. So we will take some and disappear.”

“They’ll catch you. Eventually.”

“Who?”

“The security forces. The police. The FBI.”

“Is that what you learned in your training?”

“Yes.”

“Then learn this: The security forces, the police, and the FBI will not come after me unless your father or your ex-stepmother tells them to. Your father and your ex-stepmother want nothing to do with the FBI or with any branch of the government. I know for a fact that they are both cheating about the currency. They’re both dipping into frozen funds. Neither one wants the Currency Authority looking into this. Believe me.”

We both turned at the sound of a gruff voice outside. Albert lowered his voice. “Listen to me. You don’t want to cross paths with that doctor. Okay? Got that?”

“Okay.”

“You do all your communicating through me. Don’t even look at him if you don’t have to. Don’t let him think you could ever recognize him again. That would be very dangerous.”

“Okay.” Then, as Albert grabbed the door handle, I said, “Albert?”

“What?”

“I can’t keep calling you that name. What else can I call you?”

“Don’t call me anything.”

“But I might have to. Just give me a temporary name.”