The Senator's Choice (5 page)

“Yep, that
’
s the one. It
’
s not normally here at this time of day.”

“So, what
’
s it doing here now?”

“Just keep walking and don
’
t draw attention to yourself.”

Zellers complied with Shepherd
’
s request, eyeing the vehicle through his sunglasses.

“How are you feeling out there?” Matthews said.

“Vulnerable. Scared. Nervous.”

“Seriously?” Shepherd asked. “I thought I was the only one who—”

“
Bag it, Shepherd. I
’
m not in the mood. Besides, I
’
ve got mail to deliver.”

Zellers moved methodically from house to house, inserting the mail in each proper box. He watched for any sudden movements out of the black SUV. Nothing.

He moved to the
’
senator
’
s mailbox. The red flag was up as planned. Zellers also tripped just before he reached the house — as planned. His bag tumbled onto the ground. Click. Click. Click. Zellers collected a few errant junk mail flyers and stood upright. He dusted himself off and looked around.

“Zellers, you
’
re a pro.” Matthews
’
voice came through loud and clear in his earpiece. “Just another clumsy mailman looking around to see if anyone saw you”

Zellers snarled and continued down the street toward the next house. Several houses later down the street he walked right by the suspicious vehicle, slowing down and moving his bag from one shoulder to the other as he passed it. Click. Click. Click.

Out of earshot of the car, Zellers rubbed his nose and spoke into his com link. “Tell me you got something, Shepherd.”

“Hustle back, Zellers” Matthews said. “We
’
ll brief you as soon as you get back in the truck.”

Inside the truck, Shepherd rhythmically tapped on his keyboard as if he was playing Tchaikovsky
’
s Piano Concerto No. 1.
“Working on it,” he blurted between a flurry of key strokes. “There”he said as he pounded the final key. Images began to populate the screens in front of the team shoehorned into the truck.

Zellers quickened his pace and dipped below a rise and out of view from the black SUV. Awaiting him on the other side was the real Eric Bowman. With nothing more than a “thanks”Zellers handed the bag back to the mailman and darted down a side street until he was able to circle back around to meet up with the team.

“’
What
’
d you find?”Zellers said as he climbed into the truck.

“That you better not quit your day job to become a postman”
Jones quipped.

“Save it, gringo”
Zellers snapped.

“Shepherd is working on the plates of that SUV right now” Matthews said. “But the biggest news so far is the discovery — or lack thereof — regarding Luke
’
s bike.
’
It
’
s nowhere to be found, which means he had to be taken somewhere between the house and the school.”

“So,
’
what
’
s next”Zellers asked.

“Let
’
s split up,
” Matthews said. “Hammond, Zellers — you two start at the school. Jones and I
’
ll start at the house, while, Shepherd, you stay with us but monitor everything. We
’
ll all meet in the middle later. Daniels said he
’
d been getting threatening letters for a while now and they seem to be coming from an investment group that opposes his vote on a new bill. I want everything you can get on these guys, Shepherd. Phone taps, bank records, the works. Check out their wives and girlfriends. Heck, check out their dry cleaners and who mows their lawns. We need to find out as much as we can if we
’
re going to get Luke back safely. They
’
ve already got a six-hour head start on us, so let
’
s move, people!”

CHAPTER 7

LUKE DANIELS FELT the car lurch to a stop. When the trunk swung open, he struggled to shield his eyes from the blast of light. He retreated deep into the trunk before two strong hands took hold of each side of his shirt and yanked him into the fresh air. A man removed the gag from his mouth.

“What
’
s goin
’
on? Why are you doing this?” Luke asked as he squinted.

“Keep your mouth shut,” one of the men snarled.

As his eyes began to adjust, Luke thought it might be good advice. Three men wearing masks surrounded him, all of them pointing their guns at him. Then the largest man among the trio strode toward Luke before pushing him to the ground.

The man knelt down beside Luke and grabbed a tuft of his golden locks. “You do what we say. You understand?” He didn
’
t wait for Luke to respond before continuing. “If you play along, you might get out of here alive. But try anything cute and we won
’
t hesitate to put a bullet in the back of your head and send you back to your daddy in a body bag. Is that clear?”

Luke nodded and stared at the ground. His head bounced as the man released his hair. The man returned to his fellow assailants and discussed something quietly.

This is crazy! Calm down, Luke. You can do this.

Luke glanced at his watch: 1:30 p.m. That meant he
’
d been in the car for six hours. Doing quick math, he figured they couldn
’
t be any further than 400 miles from home — and even that would be a stretch. These guys certainly wouldn
’
t want to get pulled over for speeding. And they made two stops that had to last about ten minutes each.

While the men talked, Luke glanced westward. They appeared to be about a half-mile off the main road, far enough away that motorists speeding by would be unable to see the details of the situation. All he could see was a towering sign that skied above all the vegetation: Springfield Truck Stop. Springfield, Illinois. Luke had seen this place before on a trip with his father. He was stumping for a friend whose campaign was sinking fast. It didn
’
t make any difference to the election, but Luke remembered it because it got him out of school for two days.

After a few moments, the hulking man lumbered toward Luke.

“We
’
re going to get some supplies at that gas station,” he said. “Don
’
t make a move or I
’
ll have to kill everyone there.”

Luke nodded. As fearful as he was for his own life, the last thing he wanted was to be responsible for the death of others. He could be cool, if only for a few moments.

They all loaded into the car and tore off down the road toward the truck stop.

When the car came to a stop, Luke waited for a few moments until the trunk popped open. One of the men — now unmasked — told Luke to keep his head down and go to the bathroom. “We
’
ll be watching,” he said. The man cut Luke free, ripping through the ropes that bound his hands and feet.

Cramping, Luke struggled to gain his balance. He
’
d been shut up tight in the trunk for nearly half a day and his muscles weren
’
t so easily manipulated. One of the men picked him up and slung him into the car. Luke felt his head slam into the inside portion of the car door, causing an even greater headache.

“Walk like you
’
ve done it before,” one of the men barked.

Luke clambered to his feet and headed toward the restroom. He stumbled as he walked past the counter and snatched a receipt left behind by a disinterested customer. Crumpling the paper in his hand, he avoided even the slightest glance from the clerk or his captor. It took him a few moments to shake the bound feeling he had. He still felt bound, but it didn
’
t stay that way for long.

Once inside the restroom, Luke headed straight for the first stall. He entered it and sat down. It was the first moment he
’
d had to relax in the past several hours.

What to do — what do do.

Luke stared at the stall wall.
Oh well. Here it goes.
He began scribbling on the wall with his new prized possession.

Due east. Three men. One shorter and white. Two big guys — brothers. Both black. One always playing with a knife. Help.

He folded up the paper tightly and rammed it into a small slot in the cinder block wall. Then he drew a large arrow pointing toward it.

Without a moment
’
s hesitation, he hiked up his pants, zipped them up and flushed the toilet. He shuffled toward the sink and washed his hands.

“Everything come out all right?” one of the guards quipped. He was unmasked but Luke refused to look directly at him. Side glances would suffice for now. He said a little prayer and hoped they didn
’
t inspect the stall for new markings on the wall. His prayer was answered.

“Let
’
s go,” one of the captors barked, cutting short Luke
’
s hand-washing session.

Without any resistance, Luke walked toward him with his head down. He looked around the convenience store, hoping to catch a glimpse off a reflective surface of his two men. The more information he could offer his uncle, the better. That is, if his uncle could find
this
place.

Give him something else.

Luke
’
s mind whirred as he tried to remember everything he
’
d been taught by his uncle. It was precisely this kind of situation that they practiced for — but this time was different. This time it was real.

Before Luke could take another step, he remembered:
Smile for the camera
.

Luke let his eyes do the work while his head remained in a downward posture.
The key to outwitting your captor is not letting them know you
’re doing it.
A tidal rush of information flooded his mind. If only he could figure out a way to follow all of these rules.

His eyes darted back and forth, searching for a camera out of the corner of his eye.
Bingo!
But finding a camera was never going to be a problem — smiling for it was. Luke put his snack and drink on the counter. He heard one of the guys mutter the name “Longshore”, to which the white guy responded — though it was with a scowl before shooting a look Luke
’
s way. They weren
’
t saying anything but Luke understood:
Don
’
t say my name in front of the kid.

Luke pretended to read the nutrition information on the back of the bag of chips and Mountain Dew bottle in his hand. Then the gang threw their items on the counter. Luke followed suit.

“Is that all for you, guys?” the clerk asked.

Act like a normal teenager
. Luke glanced up and nodded before returning his gaze to his feet. No adult would suspect anything about a kid who would barely make eye contact.
Just stay calm and wait.

Once Longshore paid, everybody snatched their snacks and drinks off the counter and turned toward the door. Longshore first, then shorty, then Luke followed by the other guy behind him. He was running out of time.

Think, Luke. Think.

After the other two men exited the door, Luke dropped his bag of chips on the ground. The guy behind him stopped.

“Come on, man,” he said as he stopped down to pick up the bag for Luke.

It was the second and a half Luke needed to smile at the camera without them knowing it.

“Sorry,” Luke said as the man shoved the chips back into his arms.

The man nodded toward the door. “Let
’
s go.”

As they continued the slow march toward their vehicle, Luke began flexing his hand.

It caught the attention of his trailing captor. “You all right, kid?”

“
Yeah. Carpal tunnel syndrome
’
s acting up. Too many first-person shooter games.”

“Don
’
t confuse video games with reality, kid. It don
’
t always work out in real life.”

Luke nodded and continued to stretch his fingers.

“Get in the car. We
’
ve got a long trip ahead of us.”

CHAPTER 8

“WE NEED TO SPLIT UP if we
’
re going to have a chance of tracking these guys,” Matthews said.