Mortal Dilemma (41 page)

They stood behind the coquina hut and Jock peeked around the corner. There was a sweeping stairway, positioned on the east side of the building and leading up to the long veranda that ran the width of the house. The front door opened off the veranda at the top of the stairs. That was going to make it difficult to get inside without being seen.

Large picture windows fronted on the two sides of the house that overlooked the bay. There was a smaller window that overlooked the little hut. Maybe a kitchen window, Jock thought. Still, if anybody were looking out of it, they'd have a good chance of spotting him and J.D.

“We need to make a run for it,” Jock said. “We need to get under the house. They won't be able to see us there.”

“Got any ideas on how to get up those stairs without being seen?”

“Not yet. You go first. I'll cover you.”

J.D. ran across the twenty feet or so that separated the hut from the house. Nobody seemed to notice. As soon as she got under the house, Jock followed.

“What now?” J.D. asked.

Jock pointed to a ladder affixed to the underside of the first story of the house. “What's that?”

“Let's go see.”

The ladder stood straight and had the look of a built-in feature. There was what appeared to be a trapdoor at the top of the ladder. Did that open onto the veranda near the front door, or were they standing directly under the living room, or whatever was just inside the front door? Jock walked off the distance between the foot of the ladder and the edge of the house. He didn't know how wide the veranda was so his calculations could be off by several feet.

“I'm going to climb up there,” Jock said. “See if I hear anything. If anybody opens that trapdoor, shoot him.”

“Gotcha.”

Jock climbed to the top, stood there for a minute, listening, trying to discern any voices or household noises. A TV was on, the volume turned low, some sort of daytime talk show. He climbed back down. “Somebody's watching TV, or at least it's on. I felt cool air coming from around the trapdoor. That means it opens to the inside of the house. It's still warm outside and that veranda sits right in the late morning sun.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I think we might want to go in that way. I'm going back up. I wish I knew the layout of the house. That trap door might have a table or a sofa sitting on it. If it's in a hallway or the foyer, it might open. I'm going to try it. If I start shooting, you put some lead through the floorboards.”

Jock climbed back up and put a hand up to push on the trapdoor. It moved easily. He inched it up until he could see through the crack between the door and the floor. He balanced on the ladder and put his other hand into the crack and pushed something aside. He let the trapdoor down quietly and climbed back down the ladder.

“It opens into the living room,” he said. “The man who built this place may have put it in as a fire escape. If his front steps were in flames, this would be the only way out. There's a rug on top of the trapdoor. I had to push it aside, but I saw one man sitting on a sofa watching TV. There's a closed door just to the right of the opening of the trapdoor and the kitchen is to the left and a little behind. I can see a staircase all the way over on the far side of the living room. I'm thinking the closed door might be the master bedroom. Maybe that's where they've got Matt.”

“This may be the best way in,” J.D. said, “but there's no way to set up covering fire. There's not enough room.”

“Precisely. The stairway outside is plenty wide enough for both you and me to go up side by side. If we make it to the front door, we'll at least be able to cover each other. With one of the guys distracted by the TV, we might have a chance.”

“We've got to get in there quick before they can kill Matt,” J.D. said. “If they haven't already.”

“He's alive, J.D. I can feel it. Let's go.”

And that's what they did. J.D. hugged the right railing of the stairway, and Jock stayed on the far left. They moved as fast as they could without making enough noise to warn the men in the house. Jock counted twenty-three steps, and they made it in less than ten seconds.

When they got to the veranda, each took up a position on either side of the door. They could hear nothing but the TV. The plan was for J.D. to go in first, with Jock guarding her. J.D. would take care of the man in the living room while Jock forced the door to the right of the trapdoor. Hopefully, that's where they held Matt.

Jock was on the side of the door nearest the handle. He pushed down on it. Not locked. He looked at J.D. She nodded. Jock threw open the door and J.D. rushed in, Jock right behind her. J.D. had the shotgun at the ready. Jock was holding his pistol, the M-1 slung over his back.

The man on the sofa stood quickly and turned toward J.D. She didn't hesitate. The shotgun blast pushed the man backward into the picture windows overlooking the bay. Blood splattered and started running down the inside of the window. J.D. was aware of the large hole in the man's torso, and she was also aware that he was very young. And very ugly.

She turned quickly as Jock pushed open the door. She followed him into the room, her shotgun ready for action. Her gaze slipped around the room and rested on Matt, sitting in a chair, his arms and legs taped to it. He had bled a lot. His t-shirt was soaked with it. His nose appeared to be broken. His upper lip was split and there was fresh blood on his teeth. An enormous bruise was spreading across his left cheek, reaching toward his forehead. A man was standing behind the chair, a large hunting knife at Matt's throat.

Matt's grin was lopsided, as if the left side of his face hurt too much to look happy. “Glad you guys could make it,” he said. “About damn time.”

F
RIDAY
, N
OVEMBER
7

Y
OUSSEF CAME INTO
the room holding a large knife. I could hear a TV on the other side of the door. Saif soaking up a little Western culture, I thought. Youssef stood close, staring at me, taking my measure perhaps, as if I could do anything while bound up like some poorly wrapped Christmas present.

“I've got to pee,” I said. “Do you want to cut me loose and let me use the toilet or do you want to hold my dick and let me piss in a jar?”

He slapped me. It wasn't unexpected, but it still hurt. The bastard had no sense of humor. He was pretty much just bruising the bruises. I hadn't seen a mirror, but I was guessing my face looked like Mike Tyson had worked me over.

“I'm going to cut off your finger and send it to your woman. I want her to know we've got you. She can run the fingerprint.” He laughed, sounding a little bit like a hyena. He was losing control. No telling what he had in store for me.

Oh well, just roll with the punches, Royal. They can't stay here forever, wherever we are, and when they get tired of abusing me, or decide they have to leave this place, they'll kill me. It'll all be over. I thought I could take a couple of days of their crap, and then just float off into whatever comes next. Death isn't something to be afraid of. It's something to regret, I guess. At least when you're on the side of
the divide where you're still breathing. I had always believed that one of two things will happen when you're dead. If there's no afterlife, there's just oblivion, and I won't know anything. If there is another life out there waiting for me, it'll be a place of pleasure, of renewal, a time to be with those I've loved the most. Jock and J.D. My grandmother. My parents. A few others. The real test is getting from here to the other side. At least, that's a problem when you're at the mercy of a bunch of nutcases who think death is about getting laid by a bunch of celestial virgins.

“You know, Youssef, this isn't going to happen without a fight.”

“I don't think that'll be much of a fight. Not with you tied to that chair.” He laughed again, that high-pitched yelp that really got on my nerves.

“Try me,” I said. And I heard a shotgun blast.

The door to the room flew open and Jock rushed in, pistol in hand. J.D. was right behind him, the shotgun stock under her arm, her finger on the trigger, the barrel pointing right at me. Youssef moved quickly behind me, squatted a bit, using me for a shield and making himself as small a target as possible. I felt the knifepoint dig into the right side of my throat. I said something, but I don't remember what it was. I was very happy that my friends were there. I was thinking that the shotgun had probably taken out Saif and wondering a little crazily if J.D. had read him his rights before she sent him to wherever he was going. Hell, I supposed, if there was such a place.

“Give it up, Youssef,” Jock said. “I don't want to kill you.”

“Your friend will be dead before I am,” Youssef said.

“But you'll still be dead. Think about it. You can live even if it's in prison, or you can die here. Today. I'd rather you live.”

“You killed my entire family, you bastard. Why do you care if I live or die?”

Jock's voice was cold, like a wind blowing from a grave. “I guess
I don't, Youssef. But I'm giving you a chance. Take it or leave it. It makes no difference to me.”

“If you kill me, I'll die a martyr. I'll go directly to heaven. I'll sleep with Allah and the virgins.”

Jock still held his pistol pointed at Youssef. I could feel the pressure of the knife increasing. I could feel blood starting to drip down my neck. He'd punctured the skin. He was about to kill me.

I jerked my head to the left and Jock shot Youssef through his forehead. “Go fuck yourself to death, you witless bastard,” Jock said. “Tell the virgins I'm sorry I missed them.”

*    *    *

“Where are we?” I asked, as Jock was cutting away the tape. J.D. had hugged me and didn't seem to want to let go. She finally stepped back so Jock could get to the restraints.

“Jewfish Key,” she said.

“You're kidding me,” I said. “I could've swum home.”

“I don't think so,” Jock said. “Not with that chair taped to your ass.”

“Man, am I ever glad to see you two. How did you find me?”

“Let's talk about that later,” J.D. said. “I've got to call the paramedics.”

Within about five minutes the place was swarming with people; paramedics, cops, forensics techs, medical examiner's assistants. The paramedics took a quick look at me, listened to my chest, felt around on my abdomen, gingerly touched my nose and cheeks, and grunted to each other. “You're going to be fine, Matt,” their lieutenant, Pete Collandra, said. “Now get your ass on the gurney.”

“I'm fine, Pete. I don't need no stinking gurney.”

“Did anybody ever tell you that your impersonations stink?”

“Yeah. All the time. I think you're all just jealous of my talent.”

“Right,” said Pete. “Now get on the gurney.”

“I'll walk, Pete. You guys will probably lose me on those steps.”

“You've got a point. You can lean on me.”

“I've always known that, Pete.” And I was afraid I was going to cry. Most everybody in that room was a friend and some of them were close friends. They'd put on a big operation to find and free me. I think I'd silently said good-bye to each one of them when I thought I was close to checking out for good. Sometimes, a little self-pity is called for.

Jock had been talking to the deputy chief, telling him what had happened. He walked over to me and said, “Glad you're okay, podna, but you're sure one big pain in the ass. Don't get lost again.”

So much for self-pity, I thought. I might as well enjoy it because I sure wasn't going to get any from my friends. And I appreciated that.

F
RIDAY
, N
OVEMBER
7

W
E WERE CLEAR
of Jewfish by noon, and I didn't think I'd ever want to see the place again, maybe not even a glance from my boat going by. Given that I could see the place from my house, I'd just have to get over that.

Buddy Murphy, the young man Jock and J.D. found in the coquina hut had been looked over by the paramedics and taken to jail. It was a pretty good bet that he'd be there for a few years. I didn't think he'd be charged with kidnapping, but he did steal a boat and that would probably get him some prison time.

Jock was at the Longboat police station giving a statement. There was a lot he wouldn't tell them, but nobody was going to push too hard. Since Jewfish Key is part of the Town of Longboat Key, Chief Bill Lester was in charge of the investigation and he knew about Jock's ties to the intelligence community.

The ambulance had taken me to Blake Hospital and after more poking and prodding and a few needle sticks and a nose splint, J.D. drove me home. She hadn't said much since my rescue. “You want to talk about it?” I asked.

“Not yet. Let's get home and open a bottle of wine and talk this out. I was so afraid I'd lost you. And now, I'm just so happy that you're here. I want to hug you and I'm afraid I'll hurt you. It's like I've felt
about brand-new babies my friends have had. They're so fragile, and yet, I wanted to hug them and squeeze them.”

“Hey, sweetie. I'm not going to break. How do you feel about the man you blasted with the shotgun in the living room?”

“Not good. We need to talk about that, too.”

“If it's any consolation, that guy was the worst of the two. He was a sadist and seemed to live to cause me agony.” It wasn't true, of course, although Saif had done his share of the beatings, but sometimes you have to lie to the ones you love to spare them pain. I was pretty sure this was one of those times.

By the time we got back to my house, the police presence had cleared out. We'd stopped by Jose's for a couple of Cuban sandwiches and ate on the patio overlooking the bay. The weather was cool and the relative absence of humidity made for a pleasant day. I was hurting from all the punishment I'd taken, but felt nothing but relief that the danger we'd been facing for a week was over. I could actually feel myself slipping back into island mode. No worries. That was the island creed, and I had subscribed to it without reservation. It was time to get back to normal.