Captive-in-Chief (24 page)

Elsa watched the same show with her father. He smiled all the way through. Every time they mentioned the Baldwins were guaranteed their positions, he beamed all the more.

“You’re looking particularly happy with this news,” Elsa remarked.

“I couldn’t have written this script better myself. It’s perfect.”

Elsa had learned long ago that her father only smiled like that when it was something he had instigated.

“Do the Baldwins even know about the vote tomorrow?” she asked.

“They know to be in New York tomorrow, now they’ll know why.”

“What if someone asks them about calling the vote?”

“Do you think they’ll deny it?” he scoffed. “They’re going to win!”

“So you did actually script this show?” Elsa asked.

Her father smiled. “Not verbatim. Even if I had, it couldn’t have played out any better.”

The bus pulled into Rosendale at 1.20 a.m., exactly as scheduled. Joe woke up as the bus’ air brakes engaged, signaling they had come to a final stop. He looked around in a panic, Sandy wasn’t by his side. She was always by his side. It took a few seconds for him to remember she wasn’t with him. He shouldn’t have slept, he always felt anxious after sleeping. His mind needed to be busy. His hand tremble was back and he felt hot sweat running down his back. It wasn’t time for a Librium but he took one anyway. He needed to be on his ‘A’ game.

He let the other passengers disembark first, the less fuss and attention he drew to himself the better. A number of cars awaited returning partners, wives and husbands who had spent the day and evening in Manhattan. Though it took a few minutes for them to clear, Joe was in no great hurry. He had four hours until the first bus was scheduled to return to New York. While a few minutes weren’t going to make a big difference, being spotted and subsequently recognized could.

He pretended to gather his things together as the coach driver, keen to knock off for the night, hovered impatiently at the door. Finally, with the last of the stragglers leaving the bus stop, Joe stepped off the bus, keeping his head down as he thanked the driver and disappeared into the night. He had hoped for a street sign directing him to the hotel. Everywhere he looked was blackness. The town had been carved out of the forest, the dark depths of the deep woods encroaching everywhere he looked.

A sign for the police station pointed east. He had two options; east or west. He was looking for criminals, so he went west. After a few hundred yards, another decision. South down a hill or continue west up a hill. There were more lights to the south, so he kept west. A few hundred yards later, another decision. A road went off to the north, a smaller road, or continue west? Both ways looked as dark as each other. He kept west on the wider road.

A sign, ‘Thank you for visiting Rosendale’, confirmed his decision a few minutes later. He thought back to the husband’s words:
In Rosendale.
Not
outside
, not
near
,
in
Rosendale. He turned back. The road to the north was back in play a few minutes after. Binnewater Road. Not Fifth Lake Road but it was water related. He continued east, although, only for a few steps. A signpost lay on the ground. What had been blackness when he left the artificial light of the bus had become a moonlit gray as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. The stars shone brightly overhead, offering more illumination. He pulled the sign towards him, and read one word, ‘HOTEL,’ with an arrow indicating left. Depending on how the sign had been placed, it either meant keep going west or take the north road. It definitely ruled out east.

Joe felt around for the base of where the sign had been broken, and finally found it by brushing away grass and shrubbery that had grown over the stump that remained. He picked up the sign and tried to match up the broken shaft with the base. It fit both ways. The wood had rotted too much to tell which was right or wrong. He went with his gut. North. The husband had said
in Rosendale
.

After ten minutes, he questioned his decision. The road was going nowhere. He kept going. Clara needed him. Something was telling him he was right; it was a feeling he had relied on as a Marine, a feeling he hadn’t had for many years. Not since that fateful night he had gone to Clay’s aid. Had he not had that same feeling that night, Clay and his entire platoon would have been wiped out. There was no question Joe had saved them all. No question that given the same situation, he wouldn’t have done the same again. Clay had needed him that night and Joe had been there. Clara needed him tonight and he would be there.

He walked on with renewed resolve and was rewarded shortly afterwards when Williams Lake Hotel came into view. The old feeling hadn’t let him down. Darkness reigned ahead. Not a single light shone anywhere. The hotel was nothing more than a pile of rubble on the bank of the black as night lake. His gut had let him down, although it had found the hotel as planned. The husband had assumed his wife may have been there, he had never promised she was. Movement caught his eye, something in the treeline. He didn’t react and remained where he was, as though a casual stroller, stumbling across a ruin. Of course it was almost 2.30 a.m. and pitch black, but he went with it. Whoever it was they were clumsy. Trained, but clumsy. Joe turned casually back towards the way he had come and walked away. The watcher had no idea they had been spotted. Joe could almost sense them relax as he walked away.

Joe kept walking, a few hundred yards beyond where the watcher could have seen him. He paused and waited, five, ten minutes. Nobody followed him, nobody came to even check he’d kept walking. Sloppy.

Joe tracked back, ducking into the treeline and making his way down to the bank of the lake. He removed his shoes, tied them around his neck, and slipped into the water. He fought against the coldness. He hadn’t swum in waters that cold for a very long time. It was a dark, deep, and eerie body of water. He tried not to think of what may lurk below but at night it was almost a given. He could have sworn something was tugging at him as he made his way slowly and methodically, causing as little ripple as possible across the small bay. He wanted to swim beyond the hotel and come back out of the water in the woods behind the watcher.

Finally, he made it, pulling himself out of the water, he reckoned fifty yards from where the watcher had spied on him. He put his shoes back on and tracked back through the woods. A clearing appeared ahead of him. Deep in the woods and out of sight of the hotel or road, four small cabins, one with a barely visible light on.

Joe crept forward, avoiding every leaf and stick that he possibly could. He could hear his instructor from Force Recon selection screaming at him nearly thirty years on. The irony wasn’t loss on him.
Silent and deadly, silent and deadly.

He reached the base of the outside wall of the cabin and relaxed. The woods were deathly quiet. One sound and he’d have alerted the watcher. He had no weapons and had nowhere to hide if he did reveal himself. After a few seconds’ breather, he positioned himself on his knees and slowly got up, the window was directly above him. He only needed the slightest view to understand what he was up against. A curtain blocked his view. A gap in the center where they weren’t completely drawn together had him edging to the right. The gap was less than an inch, it was all he needed. Three chairs in the room, one guy directly opposite the window, the other two chairs were facing the other way, but with high seat backs, he had no idea if they were occupied or not.

One way to find out
, he thought. He bent down and picked up a stone, throwing it off to his right and beyond the front door. He was back in position by the time the stone landed, a dull thud off. The guy directly opposite him reacted instantly. Rising to his feet and grabbing a rifle, he headed to the door. No other person revealed themselves.

Joe didn’t wait any longer. He rushed towards the front door and as the man opened it, he kicked it back into him forcefully. The man was battered between the door and the doorframe, crashing to the floor with a scream. Joe wrenched the door open and retrieved the man’s fallen rifle. The situation was under control.

“What the—”

“Quiet,” commanded Joe. “Who else is here and where’s the girl?”

“Nobody, and what girl?” asked the man rubbing his shoulder which had borne the brunt of Joe’s attack.

“The girl! Where’s the girl?” Joe pressed the rifle under the man’s chin. A realization that Joe wasn’t one of his own suddenly hit the man.

“I thought this was an exercise,” said the man, panic suddenly entering his voice.

“What’s your name?”

“G-Gary.”

“Who else is here, Gary?”

“Nobody!”

“And the girl?”

“There’s no girl.”

Gary was lying with his head at an oblique angle. Joe motioned for him to sit up, pulling the rifle out from under his chin but keeping it directed at Gary. Something felt off. Gary was being…

Joe didn’t finish his thought. Gary whipped his leg out and caught Joe in the fraction of a second that he wasn’t concentrating, sweeping Joe’s feet out from under him. He landed, joining Gary on the floor.

He’s good,
thought Joe as Gary’s second leg connected with his torso. Fortunately, Joe had kept hold of the rifle and although no longer aimed at Gary it had managed to deflect some of Gary’s kick. Both men grimaced in pain. Joe from the kick and Gary from the metal of the rifle connecting with his shin bone.

Joe tried to aim the rifle at Gary although Gary was happy to sacrifice the pain in his shin to keep it pointing away. Joe could continue to fight against Gary’s leg or do the unexpected. He dropped the rifle and threw a punch. Gary was ready and deflected it, returning one of his own. A good one, catching Joe on the chin.

Twenty years Joe’s junior, Gary was far quicker. He threw another punch, catching Joe again, a glance on the chin. Gary eyed the rifle. Joe had few options left. He could try another punch, or go for the rifle. He feigned going for the rifle, Gary bought it. Joe had tricked him, Gary moved to beat Joe to the gun, exposing his manhood, and was rewarded with Joe’s knee driving into it.

Fighting’s like chess, think two, three moves ahead. Don’t make one move without knowing what you’re going to do next.

Another lesson from many, many years earlier.

Gary was bent over, his body convulsing. Joe almost felt sorry for him. Almost. Gary should have had him, his speed and cunning more than countered Joe’s size. Although fighting never was just about speed and size as his instructors had taught him. Joe picked up the rifle and stepped back out of Gary’s sweep range.

“Where’s the girl?”

No response.

“You will tell me everything you know. I know this because the man who taught me all I know was the most evil, sadistic son of a bitch to ever breathe.” Joe wondered if he should record the speech, since he had a feeling it was going to be a common threat.

Unlike the husband, Gary was highly trained. Joe kicked him again in the manhood, another round of moans of agony began. Joe bundled the helpless Gary into the house and tied him up.

Joe walked across to the kitchen. Unlike in New York, he had very little with which to intimidate Gary. Placing a few implements on a table, the most dangerous of which failed to engender any fear in Gary whatsoever, Joe lifted the can opener.

“Do you have any idea what this can do to a scrotum?” he asked, turning the screw on the side.

Gary’s eyes bulged at the thought.

Joe replaced the can opener and picked up the ice cream scoop. “In case you need a hint, I’d use this afterwards.”

Joe let the thought hang as he slowly unbuckled Gary’s belt.

“There is no girl!” he said emphatically.

Joe spun back to face his selection of utensils, dramatically selecting a potato peeler.

Gary looked at him quizzically. Joe clamped his hand over Gary’s tied down wrist. Gary clenched his fingers. Joe powered the handle of the peeler down onto Joe’s knuckle, and a crack of Gary’s bone was followed by his fingers splaying out. Joe grabbed one before Gary clenched his broken hand again.

“The girl?” asked Joe, placing the mouth of the peeler under Gary’s nail. One pull and Gary was going to lose his nail, in the most painful way possible, ripped roughly out of its root.

“I swear to God there’s no girl here!”

Joe applied pressure.

“They moved her yesterday!” Gary screeched as the nail began to lift, tearing at the flesh beneath.

Joe rewarded the honesty, pausing mid-tear, waiting for Gary to divulge more.

Gary remained silent. Joe pulled back, ending the silence to Gary’s scream.

“Shit, you pulled it right off!” he cried. Clearly he thought Joe was faking.

Joe hit the knuckle again and was again rewarded with a splayed hand and the chance to grab another finger. Gary’s breathing became labored as he fought the wave of pain surging through him.

“You should be aware, I will take the rest of your finger nails without pause unless you start talking now. This is a one time offer. Even if after I’ve taken every nail off this hand you tell me everything you know, I will continue on to your other hand regardless.”

“I don’t know shit!” Gary said in frustration. “I’m a hired guard. I arrived yesterday when a squad of guys shipped out with a girl. I only know there was a girl because I saw her legs walking by the door. I wasn’t supposed to see her and have no idea who she is.”

“So what are you guarding?”

“These four cabins. It’s a training ground for whoever they are.”

“You really have no idea what you’re involved with, do you?” asked Joe.

“I work for a security firm, they sent me here. It was supposed to be a couple of weeks’ work, paying good money. Not getting tortured in a chair and asked questions I know shit about.”

“You married?”

Gary nodded.

“Kids?”

“Two.”

“Who did you serve with?”

“82
nd
.”

“Figures,” Joe mused. “Can’t fight for shit. Sorry about the finger,” he said, letting go of Gary’s wrist. “You should have just talked.”

“No offense, not many old men could kick my ass. I figured you were here to test me. My firm does that every now and then to keep us on our toes. When you ripped my fingernail I realized it wasn’t a test.”

“Not much of a test if you know the difference is pain versus threat.”

Joe had minutes to make up his mind. Was the guy genuine or not? A father and husband. He looked him in the eye, as he had Clara’s husband. “You got somewhere you and your family can disappear to?”

A straight yes and Joe was putting a bullet between his eyes.

Gary took a few seconds. “I think so, my uncle’s got a cabin in the Catskills, no one knows where it is. Shit, he can hardly remember himself half the time.”

Joe desperately wanted to believe him but the risks were too high.

“What age are your kids?”

“Five and eight, two little girls.” Gary smiled at the thought of his daughters.

Joe had to leave the room, he couldn’t look the guy in the face while making the decision. It was simple; he either believed Gary or he didn’t. The smile on Gary’s face when he told him his daughters’ ages had to be real. Otherwise the guy was a world class actor. He should have brought Sandy, she could smell bullshit from half a mile away.

Joe checked out the other cabins while he pondered his decision. Lives were at risk, his country was at risk. But was a country where you killed innocent men and deprived little girls of their fathers a country worth fighting for? The first two cabins were empty. The third contained equipment, and lots of it. A small arsenal of weapons filled the cabin, sniper rifles, assault rifles, handguns, and thousands of paper targets. Joe grabbed a kit bag and armed himself. If nothing else came of the trip, he had solved his ‘no weapons’ issue.

Joe walked back into the cabin and laid the rifle against Gary’s chair.

“Okay, I’m going to trust what you’re telling me,” said Joe, beginning to untie Gary.

Gary breathed in relief. “Thank you.”

“You’re mixed up in something way bigger than you can even conceive. Get out of here and take your family up to that cabin and stay there for the next few weeks,” Joe said, untying the final binding.

Gary leapt out of his seat, grabbed the rifle, and spun out of Joe’s reach aiming the rifle at him.

Joe stood stock-still as Gary pulled the trigger without uttering a word.