Closer (7 page)

“What exactly did you do for the Army?” she questioned.

“I can’t tell you a lot of what I did, as I am sure you can understand. Classified,” he responded briefly.

A nagging feeling annoyed her. She wanted him to open up to her the way she had opened up to him. “I told you what it is that I do and that is highly classified information,” she argued biting on her thumb nail.

She placed her hands in her lap twisting her fingers until they were white. Here she was divulging state secrets and he couldn’t come clean about his past work. Her face reddened and she bit into the cuticle of her thumb.

He took notice of her maddening red face and asked, “What’s wrong, Emma?”

“I basically told you everything about my work which I was never to tell to another living soul, and you can’t tell me about what you did in the past?” she spouted as she shot him a look of frustration.

“Don’t get upset. What is it that you want to know,” he asked her to calm her down.

“The basics would be nice,” she retorted.

“I was what is known as a Special Forces Engineer Sergeant. Basically, I was responsible for blowing stuff up. Anything that had to do with explosives, I was the guy,” he answered keeping it brief and to the point.

The color of her face was returning to normal, and she had stopped biting her cuticle.

He continued, “I was cross trained with the Medic Sergeant, my good friend Rob.”

“Did you ever have to save anybody’s life?” she asked.

“I didn’t do the saving, I just patched up a few guys until they could be saved,” he told her, remembering how he couldn’t save his brother Leroy. His eyes saddened and he fought at the threatening tears. A lump formed in the back of his throat, and he needed a minute to regain his composure.

“Did you do anything else besides blow things up and stop the bleeding?” she questioned.

He swallowed hard and then casually said, “Well, usually we trained troops in foreign lands in the ways of war, but we also had our own missions like hostage retrieval, reconnaissance, unconventional warfare, counter terrorism, that kind of thing.

“And how long did you spend in the military again?” She felt foolish for asking but after everything that occurred between them, she couldn’t remember this piece of information.

“I was in for eight years. I joined right after I graduated with my Bachelors in Political Science, when I was 22.”

“How old are you?” she wondered as she kept her eyes on the road in front of them. She knew she was pressing her luck by asking so many questions.

Playing twenty questions with her wasn’t getting old. He found he liked being interrogated by her. “Thirty, as of last June,” he smiled. “Why? How old are you?” he asked as he looked at her.

“I’m 28, also as of last June,” she returned his smile.

Depressing the knob for the radio, he turned it on and quickly found “Lips of an Angel” by Nickleback, effectively ending her interrogation. He allowed the station to play until it faded out. Then he tuned the radio to find another contemporary rock station which was playing “Alone Together” by Fall Out Boy. That was his favorite song and he had watched “The Young Blood Chronicles” videos, parts one through eleven, over and over again.

They drove on in enjoyable silence listening to bands like Linkin Park and The Killers. She was most surprised when he stopped scanning the stations at Adele’s “Make You Feel My Love.” He kept peeking at her during Adele’s song, and it was making her feel awkward. The song talked about love. She spent so much time in her head, she never allowed herself to feel. Could she have feelings for Michael; she wanted him; was that a feeling? She had heard those stories about love at first sight, but her head didn’t believe in such nonsense.

They had been driving for three hours when he sat up and took notice of a car following close behind them. His erect posture alerted her to danger. He started driving more aggressively, weaving in and out of traffic. She looked behind her and spotted an SUV trying to keep up with them. “What’s going on,” she asked breathlessly as she gripped the grab handle above her head.

“Hang on tight. We’re being followed. I’m gonna try and lose ‘em,” he explained.

She sat up straighter herself, turning to stare behind them. All of the sudden, the driver’s side mirror exploded as she heard a pop. “They’re shooting at us!” she screamed.

“Calm down. I will get us out of this,” he chided. If ever there was a time he needed her to trust him, it was now. He couldn’t be worried about her and this clown chasing them at the same time. “Just close your eyes,” he suggested as he overtook a Toyota and squeezed between two cars.

She couldn’t. The man was still on their tail and was gaining speed. Michael took the next exit off of I95 onto a two-lane road. The man kept up and took the same exit. “Damn it,” he exclaimed.

The SUV behind them started shooting again. This time Michael had to swerve or the bullet would have busted the rear window. “Turn off the music. I need to concentrate,” he demanded. She complied and pressed the button. Michael sped away into a small town and turned down an alley. The SUV followed. Michael wasn’t giving the car behind them any time to fire shots. He banked hard to the right and ended up on the road headed out of town. He made another quick left onto a back country road. Just when she thought they had lost the SUV, here it came again, even faster.

“Whoever this fucker is, he’s trained,” Michael commented as he barreled, white knuckled, down the road.

The SUV plowed into the right-hand corner of the Jeep causing Michael to swerve in order to keep the car on the road. The SUV rammed them again, same spot, but this time Michael lost control of the Jeep and crashed it head-on into a tree.

Michael wasted no time going for his gun. He had it out of its holster before she could even lift her head. “Stay down,” he commanded. She tried to tuck her head between her knees and curl up into a tight ball, but the airbags were in her way.

“Thank god for air bags,” she thought.

Michael took out his knife from his hip holster and slit the airbags causing them to deflate. Just then her door jerked open and a man appeared. He reached in and began pulling at her arm, but she was still safely belted into the seat. Michael raised his gun and pointed it directly at the man’s face. “Let her go,” Michael growled.

The man raised his gun and pointed it at her head. “I suggest she come with me, or I will just have to kill her here. You don’t really want to see that, do you?” he asked Michael as he reached in and undid her seatbelt. Michael kept his gun pointed at the man’s head.

“Drop your weapon, or I will shoot her,” the man demanded.

Michael couldn’t risk losing her. But if this bastard took her, how would he get her back? His car was totaled. He couldn’t follow them. He was at least five miles from the nearest town.

“Drop it,” the man mocked.

Michael found himself laying down his weapon. He got out of his Jeep and walked to the other side to see the man forcing Emma into the passenger side of a SUV. Michael mentally catalogued everything he could about the situation. The kidnapper was American, he could tell by his lack of accent and his three-piece, designer suit. Who would be after Emma besides the GIA? He forced himself to think. The CIA could be out for information; weren’t they always? That would explain the expensive suit and shoes and the standard issued GMC Terrain SUV Emma was currently being belted in to. Still, why would the CIA want her dead? She worked for the DOD. They had to know that. If he was going to go after Emma, he couldn’t call the CIA. They would tie him up in paperwork for the next year, not to mention the circumstances under which he and Emma had met. No, Michael would need help, but his own particular brand of help.

Emma stared at him as the car slowly pulled away from the crash site. Michael mouthed, “I’m coming for you. Stay safe.” When she left, she took his breath with him. He realized he had failed to protect her.

He made a mental note of the license plate, definitely government issued: Government Fleet DC2368. The man that had taken Emma no longer worked undercover, that much was clear from his plate. Someone high up the chain of the CIA wanted her. But why? What kind of information did they want? Maybe they wanted her to lead them to the GIA, but he was the only one who knew about the kidnapping. Only he and Rob he thought in disgust. He had to talk to Rob. That was his first step in finding his breath again.

CIA Special Agent Daniel Ingrams had handcuffed her to the door. What did he think she was going to do, jump out of a speeding vehicle? She stared at his clean-shaven face. He was balding on top with a pathetic comb over. He was an unattractive man with high cheekbones, a large nose, and skinny lips. She would be surprised if he was still married. He gave off this “don’t touch me” vibe loud and clear.

“What do you want with me?” she asked as she tried to find a comfortable position. She had a hard time turning her body to face his. She managed to turn her head so she could gauge his reactions to her questions.

“What do you think I am going to do with you? Ms. Welby,” he retorted.

“I work for the Department of Defense. I work on a top-secret project for them. They won’t take kindly to me being ‘taken,’ ” she explained as she eyed his profile.

His hands were steady on the wheel. This was a man on a mission. “I know exactly what you do for the DOD. You let me worry about them. You just worry about how to keep yourself alive for the next three days,” he censured as he stared ahead at the road in front of him.

“What did I do to you? Why do you want me dead?” she pleaded.

“It’s not what you did to me; it’s what you know that is going to get you killed. And I am just the man for the job. It’s better I kill you to keep what you know out of the hands of the terrorists, than you confess state secrets to the GIA,” he blurted.

He would be a hero for his actions. His boss would see the error of his ways in closing the case on the Armed Islamic Group before he had a chance to fully vet it. It was true, he worked on the case for over three years and in that time, not one message of chatter indicated a threat to any American target. All of it indicated threats against Algerian targets. Still, he wasn’t finished, he had made it his personal mission to bring down the GIA after they had taken and killed his best friend who worked as a contractor in Algeria. Once the CIA closed the case eight months ago, he took it upon himself to continue investigating. And it was a good thing he did too or he would not have found out about Emma Welby and her prototype for chemical weapon disbursement. Too bad he couldn’t go to his boss with what he had found. The first time he tried, he got his ass chewed out for still investigating in the first place. A much lower level agent was put in charge of the GIA and its subsequent chatter. That agent would deem what was a worthy threat. His boss had said Ingrams had taken things too personally; he needed someone with objectivity, and Ingrams had lost his. Lost his objectivity, Ingrams would show him. He would neutralize the threat no one else at the agency seemed concerned about. Still Ingrams knew. He knew what the GIA wanted and they weren’t going to get it; he would kill her first.

“Where are we going?” asked Emma swallowing the bile that rose in the back of her throat.

“We are taking a little ride to a cabin I rented in Wells. It is part of the Rachel Carson National Wildlife Refuge. It really is quite beautiful as the property is adjacent to the Atlantic Ocean. I even rented a boat. If I weigh you down enough, no one will ever find your body,” he expounded, as he looked straight at her.

She saw the cold, dead eyes of a man who had lost his way. She saw her death when he looked at her. He really was going to kill her.
Would Michael even know where to look?

She remembered seeing Michael before they pulled away. He said he was coming for her and for her to stay safe. She would stay safe until he found her. She would use her brains and come up with a plan to keep herself safe, until Michael could get to her. He promised to protect her, but a part of her couldn’t help but doubt him now. He was left without a car. How would he ever find her in time? Ingrams had said three days. Why did he plan on keeping her alive for that specific amount of time?

Michael was five miles away from Kennebunk and ran there in under an hour. Good thing his training and work had required him to remain extremely physically fit. He still ran every morning out of habit. Coming upon the first restaurant he found, he inquired about the nearest hotel.

“Three blocks due south,” the waitress told him as a pen peeked out behind her ear.

He approached the desk clerk of the Kennebunk Inn and asked for a first floor room near the emergency exit. “Follow this hall and turn right. Your room is at the end of the hall on the right hand side,” the desk clerk explained as she pointed down the hall.

Once inside, he sat down on the bed and placed his first call. “Rob. What the fuck is going on?” he demanded, getting up to pace in front of the window.

“What are you talking about, Michael?” Rob asked playing it cool.

“You can cut the shit Rob, I know about the GIA’s involvement. I know that you had me working for a fucking terrorist organization,” Michael bellowed. “How could you?” Michael pressed.

“Look man, you don’t understand,” Rob pleaded.

“Make me understand. Make me understand how my best fucking friend could set me up,” Michael sneered.

“They have Lizzie,” Rob groaned.

Stunned into silence, Michael sat back down onto the bed.

Rob continued, “They told me if I ever wanted to see her alive again, I would find a way to deliver Emma Welby to them.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me that? You know I would have helped you retrieve her,” Michael explained.

“I know you would have man, but I didn’t have the time. I could hear her…I could hear her screaming in the background. I would have agreed to anything at that point,” Rob claimed. “Please tell me you are still making the drop. Please tell me nothing has changed. You already received half the money,” he rambled.