Authors: D. T. Jones
“You need to be sleeping,” a deep voice from the doorway said as the dark form of William entered the room, walking through the dim light from the stove
. He patted his son on the shoulder as he veered around the counter on his way to the coffee pot. His arm was in a dark blue sling and moving was painful, but not intolerable. Like Creighton, he had been awake the entire night thinking, cursing himself for not listening to his son and taking more precautions to protect his family.
“I can’t sleep without her dad,” Creighton answered, forcing his eyes of
f the house he shared with his beloved Sandra. Signs of his emotion etched his voice and his eyes appeared red from the tears he had shed in private. “I keep thinking if I loved her as much as I claim, I would have packed her up after her trip to France and let her go.”
“She wouldn’t have left,” he said with
a soft smile. “That’s not the kind of person she is. Real love has a lot of very unusual turns on the path to happily ever after, son. You need to remember that in order to move forward.”
“If he hurts either of them…” he began in a quiet, threatening tone.
“We have to give her our faith. She’s a smart girl and a strong one, you just have to keep believing that.”
“I’m trying, but it isn’t working.
I should never have left her alone; I should never have brought her here, not until he was caught or dead, and now Sabrina’s involved as well. My past just keeps coming back to haunt us. The fact that he attacked you and your livestock in broad daylight only proves that he has no conscious. I could have lost you today as well as my wife and sister, simply because I made the mistake of caring enough to give him a job in the first place. There is just no end to this bastard.”
“Caring is never something you should regret, Crey. Once you start thinking like that, then you’re no better than he is.”
“Dad, I’ve never been so terrified of anything in my life, than losing her.” The tears began to fall down his cheeks as he closed his eyes, his large hands covering his face as though to block out his grief and fear.
“Son, this isn’t going to help. You need your wits about you and you need to remain calm.” William took his lukewarm coffee and sat at the counter next to his
middle child, his good arm wrapping around Creighton’s shoulders.
“We
could hear them from the cellar; your mum and I,” he began a few moments later. “I was so proud of Sandra; she was calm and brave and did what he told her, but she challenged him as well. I think if Sabrina wasn’t in his grip, she’d have knocked him through a wall.” Creighton chuckled; his father probably wasn’t that far off the mark. He drew a deep breath and sniffed back the tears, uncovering his face and looking back out the window.
“
I feel helpless just sitting here. I feel like everything I’ve worked so hard for is slipping through my fingers and there is nothing I can do to stop it. If I only knew where they were,” he whispered as the house phone rang. William patted his son’s shoulder again as he stepped to it and picked it up, then handed it off to Creighton.
“It’s Andrew,” he said in a hopeful tone.
“Crey, Sandra made contact with Scotland Yard,” he said when Creighton placed the phone to his ear.
“What
…How…When?” The fear and the fatigue were gone in an instant as Creighton stood from his stool and paced to the sink, looking out at the single light left shining in the foyer of the home next door.
“They stopped at a diner outside Folkestone. She paid with her private credit card, we’ve
put a trace on it and she managed to slip the waitress a note.”
“What did it say?” Creighton was already gathering his coat
from the back of the stool and looking for his keys as they spoke, being pulled back around the corner of the kitchen door by the cord that connected the phone to the receiver.
“It said,
we’re being kidnapped. Contact Andrew Ashford, Scotland Yard, Tell him to tell Crey I’ve got the watch.
Does that make sense to you?”
“God bless you Sandra,” he smiled, reaching for the phone
on the counter. “She’s wearing the watch my company developed; a prototype, it’s a tracking device. If she’s still within range, I can find her.” He pressed the button that started the tracking and waited impatiently, as the communication between the two tried to make a connection.
“The manager got the license number,” Andrew continued. “We’ve got local police tracking them down. It looks like they’re heading for the train at Channel Tunnel.”
“Damn it!” Creighton growled. “My phone is nearly dead.”
“I’m almost there, be ready. We’ll go together. I’ve contacted the
passenger trains to Coquelles, they’re on the lookout for them and Interpol is involved in the hunt. They want him for questions involving the death of their guards.”
“Hurry up, the tracking device only has a 402 kilometer distance.”
The horn honked from out in the driveway and Creighton dropped the phone, ignoring it as it slammed against the wall. He turned back to his father as Emma hurried down the stairs, tying the sash of her robe around her waist.
“I’ll let you know when we find them,” he shouted over his shoulder and took the porch stairs in a single jump, running to the car.
William and Emma stood on the porch, his arm around his wife’s shoulders as they watched Andrew’s car speed off down the road. Derek’s porch light came on and the tall lean figure of their eldest son stepped out to his porch. Three o’clock in the morning, William smiled as he waved his son over; looks like a good time to start the day.
The train began its long drive through the tunnel as Sandra and Sabrina sat across from each other on the benches, looking out onto the concrete walls as they sped by. Sandra was trying to keep her spirits up, but as predicted the fish stew was beginning to churn, making her feel nauseated. When her stomach growled, she knew she wouldn’t have much time to find a bathroom.
“I’m getting sick,” she told Bachmeier, holding her stomach.
“Go,” he snarled, waving his hand toward the hallway. “But this one stays with me, just for insurance purposes.” Sandra didn’t hesitate and hurried down the hall, finding the bathroom door and pushing through. She locked the door to the stall, just in time to lose whatever she had in her stomach. It was a useful tactic, eating something she knew would make her sick, she just hadn’t anticipated it would leave her feeling so weak. She subconsciously recalled passing a small woman with a cart of snacks, perhaps she could find her without Bachmeier seeing and get something to settle her stomach; anything that would provide some sort of nourishment to hold her over until they got to France. With luck, she could then use the motion sickness to her advantage once again.
The door to the bathroom opened and she sighed, fearing that he had come looking for her, but when she heard a woman’s voice call out her name
in English, she frowned. That wasn’t Sabrina and she knew it wasn’t Bachmeier.
“Yes?” she answered, flushing the toilet and leaving the small
enclosure. She frowned at the attractive blonde who stood near the sink. She wore a dark blue pair of jeans, a pullover long sleeved shirt and a pair of boots. Her hair was short and she wore a pair of sunglasses, which she quickly moved to the top of her head.
“I am
Inspector Bridgette Morris with Interpol. Scotland Yard has filled us in on what’s happening,” she said quietly, her tone thick with a French accent as she watched Sandra go to the sink to rinse her mouth out. “Are you alright?”
“I ate something that made me sick,” she said honestly. “Is Andrew here?”
“No ma’am, but he knows where you are. He and your husband will meet us in Coquelles. We have to get you to safety.”
“No,” Sandra said suddenly.
“What…why not?” the woman asked. “We’ll have Bachmeier in custody once we stop.”
“You can’t do that,” Sandra insisted. “He has a partner, someone who is meeting us in France. If we capture him now, we’ll lose the other one and this will never end. Tell Andrew I have to stay behind until we know who else is involved.”
“Your husband is not going to like this,” Morris said with a frown that caused Sandra to smile.
“I’m sure he won’t
,” she smiled watching the frown deepen on the woman’s face. “Just tell him he has to trust me too and to keep his stalking persona alert for a bit longer, he’ll know what I mean.”
“At least take this,” Morris insisted, handing her the gun she held hidden in a holster on her side. “Do you know how to use this?” Sandra smiled, fighting the urge to laugh
as she tucked it into the top of her boot and slid her pants back down across the leather.
“I’m an American,” she answered. “
Don’t we all know how to use guns?”
“We’ll stay close
. The first time you need us, just signal and we’ll move in.”
“I’ll be fine
for now, but keep your distance, he’s very antsy. I don’t want to give him any more cause to be alarmed.”
Morris nodded
and walked to the door as it suddenly pushed open and Bachmeier stepped in, his arm around Sabrina’s elbow.
“What the hell is going on?” he growled.
“You can’t come in here,” Sandra snapped as Morris took a step back. “This is a woman’s bathroom.”
“Telling secrets are we?” he narrowed his eyes on
the blonde, his hand reaching for the gun he had hidden in his jacket. Sandra saw Morris start to reach behind her back for the gun she saw hiding in the waistband of her pants. She had to think fast.
“It’s impossible to communicate with her, even if I tried. She only speaks French and I don’t.” Morris turned to Sandra, catching onto her side tracking. Sandra just hoped the woman wasn’t as ignorant to the language as she was.
“
Vous ne pouvez pas venir dans elle, ceci est le bathroom d'une femm
,” Morris snapped and Sandra saw him relax his hand instantly, removing it from his jacket. “
Dehors!, sortez
.”
“Shut up,” Bachmeier snarled, taking a step toward her as though he intended to strike her.
“No!” Sandra said suddenly, standing between them and holding her hand up to him. “Don’t you speak French?”
“Why would I want to know that filthy language?”
“Is that a yes or a no?” Sandra asked impatiently.
“No, idiot,” he answered sharply.
“Well, Sabrina does. Let her tell the woman everything is fine so she doesn’t alert the train’s security.” Sandra turned to her sister-in-law who looked like she was the one about to get sick this time. “Just tell her that he’s our brother and was worried about me taking so long.” Sabrina glanced to Bachmeier and then the woman across from her. She spoke for a moment in French and actually looked like she was relaxing as Morris answered her. Sandra knew the woman was explaining who she was and what was going on, but hoped Bachmeier didn’t catch on to Sabrina’s change in attitude.
“She said she is here with her husband and two brothers and if you don’t leave, she’ll yell for them,” Sabrina said, her tone slightly stronger than Sandra had hoped. Bachmeier apparently didn’t notice as he reached out and grabbed Sandra by the arm and pulled her to him.
“Tell the bitch to go fuck herself,” he told her, then turned and pulled both his hostages out the door. Sandra glanced behind her as the door closed and saw Morris smile.
The train arrived in Coquelles France barely twenty minutes later and Sandra found herself feeling the anxiety of the chase as they left the train with Bachmeier’s hand wrapped around her arm as well as Sabrina. They walked directly to the parking lot where he let go of Sandra’s arm and removed his phone, looking at the text message he apparently had been reading. She glanced over his shoulder but couldn’t make out the words; they were in Italian. He slipped the phone back in his pocket and took her by the arm again, pulling her toward the center area of the parking stalls.
Sandra glanced behind her and saw Morris with three men, all in jeans and casual shirts
slowly begin to walk behind them, watching their every move closely. She smiled; the game had changed directions and she felt slightly braver than she already did.
Bachmeier stopped in front of a black sedan and bent over, removing the key from the wheel well and opened the door. Again he cuffed them to the doors and to each other in the back seat before turning the key and starting the engine. Sandra knew nothing about this area of France but could tell from the way they were driving, they were heading North. She only wondered if they were meeting up with his partner, or if he was going to be a nameless someone over the phone
forever.
They drove in silence for nearly an hour before a light on the dashboard began to flash, a soft pinging noise echoing through the stillness.
“
Hurensohn
,” Bachmeier said from the front seat, slamming his hand onto the steering wheel. Sabrina’s breath caught in her throat as she clenched Sandra’s hand tightly; whether in alarm or fear she wasn’t sure.
“What’s the matter?” Sandra asked quietly, unable to keep the words from escaping her throat.