THE BLUE STALKER (43 page)

             
As soon as Ella walked out of his office Agent Peterson was on the phone with Agent Harris. He explained everything Ella told him. 

             
“Let’s put an all points bulletin out on Frank Smith. She left a picture of him. This may be our lucky break.” Agent Peterson told Agent Harris.

             
Upon Ella leaving the hotel late February 14
th
.  There was a knock at Frank’s hotel door. 

Frank thought Ella was back maybe she forgot something went through his mind. Just as Frank unlocked the door two men in ski masks holding pistols pushed their way through the door.

Frank didn’t resist knowing this must have something to do with the frozen bodies. He didn’t want to do anything to put Ella in harms way. He pushed a lamp over as he walked out the door.  Maybe this would be a sign of a struggle when someone decides he’s missing. 

             
They put him in a van, tied his wrists together and blindfolded him. They drove a few miles and loaded him in a helicopter and flew for what seemed hours. Frank didn’t have a clue where they were taking him. Surely someone would realize he was missing.

             
He knew Ella would call the hotel but would probably figure he went back home. The captors spoke in Spanish. Frank is fluent in Spanish but he wasn’t about to let them know.

             
The helicopter smelled of nasty cigars. The Mexican men kicked Frank around but didn’t hurt him.  It was more of a game with them.

             
The helicopter descended to the ground and the door opened.  Frank could see the sun coming up through the slit in his blindfold. It was cold he could feel the sand under his feet as he walked for quite a distance. A rifle jabbing his ribs with every step. The men tied his feet and threw him in the shack.

             
He heard the helicopter ascend. Frank knew his transportation out of this hell hole was gone. For God’s sake why has he been kidnapped and where is he?

             
The blindfold was still covering his eyes.  The shack had a dirt floor. The cold early morning air was brisk. He cuddled in a corner. Frank heard the door slam as the captors left the shack. 

             
“Hey, take this damn blindfold off. I don’t know where I’m at and I sure as hell can’t run.” He yelled.

             
Hours passed and no one came by to check on him. Frank managed to untie his feet.  Giving him a chance to stretch his legs. There wasn’t a window in the building or at least not one Frank could see from the slit in his blindfold.

             
He was shivering from the cold.  He knew when the sun was high it might warm up some but he also knew the desert nights are very cold in February.  He could hear voices outside his door. Discussing whether to give him a blanket or not. He heard a female voice. 

             
“Give the bastard a blanket we need to keep him alive.” 

             
A senorita busted through door tossing a blanket in Frank’s direction.

             
“Hey good lookin’ you untied your feet. Don’t matter there’s no where to run out here in this God forsaken hell hole. You would just die in the desert and the vultures would feast on your pretty ass. You best stay put for your own good.”  She told him as she ripped the blindfold from his head.

             
The lady was young maybe in her mid thirties. Maybe she would help him if he was nice to her. He thought. An attractive Mexican woman but rough around the edges. Her hair black, wavy and fell to her waist. She pulled it back and tied a scarf to keep it from her face. Her jeans were worn and her blouse was off the shoulder, moccasin’s covered her dirty feet. Frank wondered what they wanted with him. What were they planning on doing with him? He certainly didn’t have any money and his dad’s pension wasn’t much. This has got to go a lot deeper than money. No one knew he and the ladies found the deep freeze. No one but the FBI and he called the office in Baker and reported it to the dispatcher in charge that night. He requested they not call the office in Coopersville.

             
Is the whole damn FBI corrupt?  Frank thought to himself.

             
The captors brought a bowl of cereal with nasty milk in the mornings and at night they brought cold tacos laden with lard.  So much lard it coated his tongue. They supplied him with a jug of water. Once in the morning and one time before dark they took him to a make shift toilet.  A hole in the ground, the stench was so vile he gagged. The one good thing about going to the toilet not only to relieve himself, they untied his hands. He rubbed his hands trying to keep the circulation going.  The ties cut into his wrists. Frank knew he needed to keep the circulation going as much as possible or gangrene would set in and his hands would need to be amputated or he would die. He knew he wouldn’t be any good to them dead.

             
Frank started a calendar in the corner on the dirt floor.  He knew he was abducted on February 14
th
. He marked off each day.  Day ten arrived and he was still living in the shack. 

             
When the suns went down the men built a fire and danced around the fire. Drinking themselves to a stupor. They had their way with the young woman. Each throwing her from one to the other. Frank could hear what was going on and it made him sick to think men were so disgusting.

             
Frank wished he knew what was going on in the real world.  This was hell, no place for a human to live. There must be a reason I’m here.  But, what is it?  He asked himself. The nights are dark, he could hear the hissing of snakes around the shack.  Coyote’s barked in the distance. The sound of buzzards wings fluttering overhead.  The wind howling through the cracks in the shack made the night even colder. Frank wrapped the blanket tightly around his body and propped up in a corner.

             
The helicopter descended early one morning. Day fifteen if Frank has his calendar correct. He heard a voice without an accent. The man walked past the shack. Frank looked between the boards of the shack and caught a glimpse of the stranger. He didn’t recognize the man dressed in a white suit with a wide brimmed white hat. 

             
Everyone followed the man into another shack. Frank wanted to know what was going on.  He got to his feet and hobbled to the shack.  He leaned against the back wall. He could hear one man without the accent talking.  He spoke of a van ready to take a load of Mexican men to the United States. He talked about the last van not taking care of business and being gunned down by the FBI. He warned the men. Do not let this happen again. You get the bastard’s to the drop-house and if the family doesn’t pay the ransom in three days you take them to the desert and blow their friggin’’ heads off.  We aren’t taking anymore chances.

             
Frank knew the meeting was about to end. He ran as best he could back to the shack hoping not to be seen.

             
He watched the men bowing to the stranger in white.  He noticed a red carpet on the ground for the bastard to walk on.  This must be the leader of the Coyote’s.  Frank got a good look at the mad man. He didn’t know him although he looked familiar.  He would be able to identify him if he ever saw freedom again. 

             
The big black bird sprouted wings and was up and away carrying the mad man dressed in white.

THIRTY-THREE

             
Mark Brandon stopped off at the flower shop to remind everyone about the Wilson’s barn dance. An annual event for the town folk. They have the dance every year in celebration of the first day of spring. The event is the third Saturday evening in March.

             
“The weather will be starting to be nice the end of March.”  Mark said as he pushed his cowboy hat back heading out the door. Looking back over his shoulder he reminded Ella she owed him a dance.

             
“Thought I took care of that at the New Year’s Eve party at my house.”

             
Ella hadn’t heard anything from Agent Peterson. She and Alicia were wondering why. The phone rang.

             
“Good morning, Ally’s Flower Shop, may I help you?” 

             
“May I speak with Ella Smith?”  A deep voice came from the hollow of the phone.

             
“Certainly, May I tell her whose calling?”  She politely asked.

             
“I’d rather not say.”

             
“Ella, it’s for you.”  Susan handed the receiver to Ella.

             
“This is Ella Smith may I help you?”  She said wondering why anyone would be calling her at the shop. And hoping it was good news on Frank.

             
“Agent Peterson here.” The anonymous deep voice introduced himself.

             
Ella walked to the other side of the shop hoping no one would hear the conversation.

             
“Just wanted to inform you we are searching for Mr. Smith. We haven’t come up with anything concrete but we checked his motel room and all his belongings are there.  Seems a lamp was knocked over. That could be a sign of a struggle. 

             
“Oh, my God do you think he’s met with foul play?”  Ella asked.

             
“That’s a possibility. If anyone contacts you concerning this matter don’t give them any information and call me immediately.”  Agent Peterson ordered her.

             
“We located his vehicle at the sheriff’s storage yard.  Seems he parked it in a handicap parking space and it was towed and stored.”

             
“I told him that was a handicap space and he didn’t think it was marked correctly. Thank you for keeping me informed.”  Ella laid the phone on the counter her stomach  tied in knots.

             
“Ella, you’re as white as a sheet are you okay?”  Susan asked.

             
“Yes, Susan just some business I need to clear up.”  Ella said nonchalantly.

             
“For a moment there I thought someone had died.” Susan said sighing with relief.

             
Ella motioned for Alicia to meet her in the work room.  They pretended to be working as Ella told her the conversation with Agent Peterson.

             
“Alicia I think Frank’s met with foul play. Someone must know we found the bodies. You be extra cautious when you are out and about.

             
“I have my 38, I carry it my big bag. Don’t worry about me if anyone bothers me they will have to answer to hard steel.”  Alicia told her.

             
“What about you, you got some heat?”

             
“Yes, I have a 22 pistol my dad gave me years ago tucked in my purse.”  Ella assured Alicia.

             
“Are you going to the Wilson’s barn dance? Saturday night?” Alicia asked.

             
“Yes, Agent Peterson said for us to go about with our daily routine.

             
“You should be there, too. And bring your nice family.”

             
It was a few miles out to the Wilson’s.  The entrance to the ranch was marked distinctly with high flying balloons filled with helium from Ally’s Flower Shop.  The perimeter of the ranch was marked with a white rail fence. The drive to the house was a quarter mile off the main highway. A beautiful colonial house greeted guests at the end of the drive. Large white pillars lined the front porch spanning the width of the house reminded Ella of her visit to 1600 Pennsylvania Ave Washington, D.C. with her eighth grade class.