The Senator's Choice (4 page)

“I
’
m very well aware of what I
’
ve told you,” Matthews snapped. “But this is different.”

“How?”

“It
’
s family.”

“So was Shepherd
’
s case.”

“But Luke
’
s a kid. He
’
s going to die if we don
’
t save him. You know that. I know that. And if he
’
s smart, he knows it too. I sure as hell ain
’
t gonna sit around while someone else does this. Not for Luke.”

Matthews strode toward the cinder block structure and handed Hammond a pad to take stock of their supplies. Machine guns, pistols, ammo, clips, knives, ropes, grappling hooks. If Matthews ever needed to make a stand against someone on his property, his stash assured he would be on the winning end of any altercation.

They had almost finished their inventory process when Jones burst into the storage room.

“What is it?” Matthews asked.

“Shepherd thinks he
’
s found something. You gotta come see this.”

CHAPTER 5

LUKE DANIELS OPENED HIS EYES and blinked. It made no difference whether they were open or shut — darkness dominated his field of vision compliments of the bandanna tied snug over his face. His back ached and so did his head. He tried to move and realized his feet were tied together along with his hands. A blunt metal object jabbed him in the back, clinking as he squirmed. If the cramped space didn
’
t give it away, the hum of the tires on the freeway certainly did.

What am I doing tied up in a trunk?

Luke tried to remember. Even though he was awake now, he remained groggy.

I was riding my bike to school when a car cut me off. I swerved to avoid it and tumbled into the street. I got up and then … nothing.

He heard voices talking from inside the car and eased forward in an effort to listen.

One man was going on about the overreaching government.
I know that voice. That
’
s
—

“Rush Limbaugh
’
s an idiot,” an unfamiliar voice said.

“Just turn it off,” said another man.

“Don
’
t you want to hear his latest theory?”

“No.”

Click
.

The voices went quiet as the tires continued to whirr on the smooth road.

Luke had yet to see their faces, but it wasn
’
t
their
faces that he longed to see.

The minute Dad finds out about this, I know he
’
ll call Uncle Seth.

The summer of an election year, his father
’
s seat proved to be hotly contested. Reluctantly, the senator sent his 10-year-old son to spend a few months with his recently retired Uncle Seth. It started out innocently enough. A few fishing trips, excursions to watch the Nationals play, and watching
Castaway
multiple times. Luke told his uncle
Castaway
was about as boring as
Moby Dick
, which Uncle Seth bristled at. In one sentence, Luke managed to put down his uncle
’
s favorite book
and
movie. The next few days, his uncle called him Wilson just to rattle his cage. It was nothing but fun and good times for Luke, aside from watching
Castaway
several times more than he ever wanted to.

But then something happened one day while they were coming back from lunch at his uncle
’
s favorite downtown restaurant.

Uncle Seth received a phone call and as soon as he hung up, spun the car around and stomped on the gas.

“What
’
s going on?” Luke asked.

“Something
’
s come up,
” Uncle Seth said.

“
Just don’
t ask any questions or get out of the car. Got it?”

Luke nodded. He wasn
’
t sure whether to cry out of fear or smile at the prospect of adventure lurking ahead. He remained quiet and stayed in the car when they skidded to a stop in the driveway of a home in a nearby Virginia suburb.

Luke rolled his window down to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“What
’
s the situation now?” Uncle Seth asked.

“The girl
’
s inside but we don
’
t know how many kidnappers there are,” a man in tactical gear said. He gestured with his gun toward the home. “Any ideas on how you want to handle this?”

“Yeah. I
’
m goin
’
in alone.”

“That
’s crazy, man. You can’
t do that.”

“I can and I will. Just cover me when I bring her out.”

Uncle Seth walked back over to the car, opened his door and grabbed his pistol hidden beneath his seat. “Sit tight, Luke. This won
’
t take long.”

He was right. It didn
’
t take more than five minutes before Uncle Seth barreled around the back of the house carrying a young girl.

“The hostage is clear. Two armed men. Go get ‘em!” he shouted.

In a matter of seconds, the girl was sitting in the backseat of the car. Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed.

“I … want … my …. mommy,” she stammered between heaves.

An hour later, Luke watched Uncle Seth place the little girl in a frantic mother
’
s arms at a nearby police precinct. He didn
’
t wait for any hugs or thank you
’
s as he turned and strode back toward the car.

“Who was that, Uncle Seth? Why did that happen? Is she going to be okay?” Luke asked, unwilling to wait for an answer before inquiring again.

“She
’
s going to be fine,” he said.

“You
’
re not going to tell me anything about her or what happened back there?”

“A little girl was kidnapped. I saved her. End of story.”

“But—”

“End of story, big guy. Just remember if anyone ever takes you, I
’
ll be coming after you too. Use your head and stay alive. It
’
ll only be a matter of time before I show up.”

I
’
ll be coming after you too.

The memory quelled some of Luke
’
s fears, but it didn
’
t provide him with a guarantee.

Use your head and stay alive.

That
’
s what he needed to focus on now. The
why
and the
who
wasn
’
t as important as the
where
. He used the side of the trunk for the necessary leverage to peel the blindfold off his eyes. A few pinholes provided just enough light for him to look around the trunk. A piece of crumpled up paper, a grease-stained receipt and a half-empty pack of cigarettes. He contorted his body around in the tight space in order to position his hands to snag the items. One by one, he jammed them into his back pocket.

It
’
ll only be a matter of time.

Luke was counting on his uncle to keep his word.

The car slowed down and veered right, tossing Luke to the other side of the trunk. It sped up again and continued as a consistent speed for several minutes before slowing down again. The grinding of dirt and gravel replaced the hum of the tires on the highway. Luke then lurched forward as the car came to a halt. He worked to jam the blindfold back over his face. He didn
’
t want his kidnappers to think he was anything more than a scared kid. It wouldn
’
t require much acting on his part.

He heard voices outside the trunk.

“You sure nobody can see us?” asked one of the men.

“We
’
re in the middle of nowhere. Who
’
s gonna see us out here?” said another man.

Luke swallowed hard and strained to hear the rest of the conversation. But he couldn
’
t make out anything. They must be whispering.

Moments later he heard a key inserted into the trunk. Click.
Creeeek
. The trunk flew open and gave Luke his first blast of fresh air in several hours.

One of the men grabbed Luke and yanked him out of the trunk.

“You ready kid?”

CHAPTER 6

GREG ZELLERS SIGHED and donned a U.S. Postal Service uniform. He
’
d once gone undercover as a Muslim cleric. His disguise and accent were flawless. Instead of being rewarded for his exceptional skills, Zellers viewed his designation as the primary masquerader as a punishment.

“You look great, Zellers,”
Jones said.
“As my friends in Venezuela might say,
muy guapo
.”

Zellers shot him a look. “First of all,
you
have
friends
? Secondly, even I know basic Spanish.”

“I didn
’
t think that was a term you would
’
ve heard all that often,” Jones fired back. “Perhaps only when you
’
re pretending to be someone else—”

Zellers bowed up like he was going to punch Jones.

“Simmer down, Zellers,” Matthews said. “We
’
ve got a job to do. Besides, we all know you
’
ve never been called
guapo
by the ladies.”

Jones chuckled, which earned him a disapproving glance from Matthews.

“Everything is in place,”
Shepherd said.
“Are you ready to move, Zellers?”

He nodded and exited the truck.

“Sell it hard,” Matthews said. “We can
’
t afford to put Luke or the senator at risk.”

Zellers emerged from the team
’
s van parked just beyond the view of Senator Daniels
’
house. He adjusted the strap to his mail carrier and began his ruse. A few hours earlier, he
’
d arranged to deliver the mail for the regular mail carrier during his afternoon route through the senator
’
s neighborhood.

The regular postman gaped at Zellers once he approached the official mail truck. “You look like—”

“You?” Zeller said.

“How
’
d you do that?” he asked as he stared at an exact duplicate of his name tag: Eric Bowman.

“If I told you that, I
’
d have to kill you, Eric.”

The postal worker stared at Zellers and didn
’
t say a word for a few moments. He finally mustered a weak response. “Seriously?”

“
I don’
t joke about such things.” Zellers traded bags with the postman and began to walk the route.

Through clenched teeth, Zellers asked, “Can you read me, Shepherd?”

“Roger that,”
Shepherd said.

“Let
’
s do this.”

Zellers loathed disguise work. Any monkey could do what he was doing. But Zellers was good — too good. He once gained access to Jack Nicholson
’
s court-side seat for a Laker
’
s game while on a reconnaissance operation. That performance solidified himself as the resident expert in disguises. No one dared ask Matthews to don a disguise after that, while Zellers quickly learned to refrain from begging out of such tasks. He owned it whether he liked it or not.

Shepherd fed him intel as he meandered up the hill near Senator Daniels
’
house. He advised Zellers on what to look for and what might be out of place. “You don
’
t look like an Eric,” Shepherd finally said.

“Will you knock it off? I
’
m supposed to be delivering the mail, not serving as a stunt double.”

“I
’
m not so sure about that,”
Shepherd said.

Zellers stopped.
“What are you talking about?”

“Look at that car up there.”

Zellers scanned the street. “The black SUV?”