Warriors in Paradise (33 page)

“Charlie and Santi, please take care of the transport. My sister and I will take care of the disguises, and Caleb will look after Terry.

“We’ll meet back here by three p.m. so Miranda can provide our disguises before we leave for the Torpedo Factory. I would like to arrive there half an hour before the meeting time.”

Charlie said, “Fine, but before leaving, let us have a quick lunch together. We’re going to be more effective if we are not hungry.”

Santi said, “I couldn’t agree more. All this planning revs up my appetite.”

I said, “Santi, everything revs up your appetite. You remind me of a hungry clock.”

“OK, Caleb, you got me. And I know I am going to regret this, but how can you tell when a clock is hungry?” asked Santi.

“It goes back four seconds,” I answered.

“Ho, ho, ho,” Santi said, opening up the cabinets and getting out the tableware. Miranda and Charlie opened the fridge in search of bread, cold cuts, cheese, arugula, lettuce, tomatoes, jalapeños, onions, alfalfa, mayonnaise, and mustard.

Everybody was in an eating mode, so I filled a large glass with water and put it in front of Miranda’s place. I took out four Samuel Adams beers from the fridge and passed them around.

Each of us made a sandwich to his or her liking. We were feeling better fifteen minutes later.

Santi and Charlie went down to the basement and grabbed the ID and the credit cards of one of the dead Mexican guards who had looked somewhat similar to Santi. They also took $10,000 in cash and left in the Camry for southwest Washington.

Miranda and Jonathan drove the Grand Cherokee to Tysons Corner in Virginia.

I made a sandwich and put it on a tray along with a glass of milk. I went down to see to Terry.

Terry was out cold. His face was pale, and he was breathing shallowly. I cut his restraints and tried to reanimate him. I wondered what had happened.…Hell, I slapped my forehead with my hand. Terry was diabetic. That was why there was a tiny fridge in this room—to store his insulin. That morning he had forgone his breakfast, and with yesterday’s drinks and the roofie, his blood sugar had gotten dangerously low. He needed insulin. I could be wrong, but I doubted it.

I called Jonathan. He answered before the end of the first ring. I said, “Terry has fainted. I believe he is diabetic. We need confirmation before we give him an insulin shot.”

Jonathan answered, “Wait for me. I am going back.”

I got some orange juice and some cookies from the kitchen. I went down into Terri’s room and with my finger, I put some of the juice inside his mouth. I knew that some of it would eventually make it down to his digestive tract.

Jonathan arrived soon after and told me, “I called his father. He confirmed that he has type I diabetes. I called a medic friend of mine. He should be bringing some fast-action insulin in the next couple of minutes.”

Jonathan’s friend arrived with a traditional black doctor’s bag. He made a quick examination of Terry’s heartbeat and blood pressure. He took a syringe out of his bag and shoved it casually into Terry’s arm. Terry’s sleeping face lost its waxy paleness, and color rushed back into his lips and cheeks.

“Your friend is having a mild diabetic shock. Nothing to be concerned about. He should be coming out of it in the next fifteen minutes. But he should go back to taking his regular insulin shots as soon as possible.”

He stood up, and, without a word to me, he left with Jonathan.

Another one of Jonathan’s spook friends.

I sat down and watched Terry. After ten minutes, he began slowly to wake up. His eyes caught mine, and he asked, “What happened to me?”

“Your blood sugar got too low, and you passed out. We just gave you an insulin shot, and you are all right now. You should have told me that you were diabetic.”

“Yes,” Terry answered. “I should have told you, but it didn’t seem important at the time.”

“No problem,” I said. “Here is your lunch, and please finish it all. Are we clear, Terry?”

“I am not hungry,” said Terry in a whining voice.

“Terry, I don’t care if you’re not hungry. You’re going to eat, or I am making you eat, and, trust me, you don’t want me to make you.”

“No,” Terry shouted back, “you cannot make me. And if I don’t want to eat, nobody can make me. This is a free country!”

I rapidly walked up to Terry and slapped his face. Grabbing his head with my hands, I asked him, “How difficult do you think it would be for me to make you eat all of this food?”

“You are a big brute of a bully. I hate you more than Osama bin Laden.” Terry said, beginning to cry.

“Are you going to eat by yourself, or do you want me to make you?”

Terry looked defeated. “Fine, fine. I’ll eat by myself. Pass me the tray,” he said, crying.

He ate between sobs and tears.

After he finished, I said, “Good Terry. Do you feel better now?”

I could see him looking healthier, so I added, “I like to see you’re looking better.”

With a little pouting of his mouth, he said, “Yes, yes, you like me, but not enough to make love to me, or to not kidnap me.”

“I do like, you Terry. I did what needed to be done to talk to your father.

“Would you like to go to the toilet or have something more to drink or eat?”

Terry responded with a little resentment in his voice, “Yes, I would like to use the bathroom. I would also like to have some more cookies.”

I took my knife out and cut through the flex-cuffs. I put the pillowcase over his head and took him to the bathroom.

“I am sorry,” he said. “But I have to go number one and number two.”

“That is fine, Terry. You do what you have to do and forget that I’m here.”

“OK,” he said. “But it is going to get a little smelly.”

I said, “Don’t you worry about a little love in the air.”

Terry chuckled and went about his needs.

I left him in the workshop and went up to the kitchen. I put cookies on a plate, poured orange juice in a glass, and took them to Terry.

While he was munching away, I told him, “This afternoon I am taking you back to your father. Would you like that?”

“Yes, yes, I would.”

“Then,” I said, “I want you to trust me and not make any scenes that could jeopardize your freedom. If you are quiet and do as you are told, you should be sleeping in your own bed tonight. OK, Terry?”

“OK, I will try to do as you tell me.”

“Terry, don’t try, just do it.”

“OK, I promise!”

Terry finished his cookies and OJ. I took the plate and glass and put them down by the door. I said to him, “Sorry, Terry, but I have to put the restraints back on you. This is required for our security and to prevent you from doing something you shouldn’t do, or seeing something you shouldn’t see.”

“OK, I understand,” Terry said resignedly.

***

Miranda arrived with several shopping bags. “What did you get?” I asked.

“Seven identical warm-up suits and Afro wigs. The girls who go into the Torpedo Factory will not be the same ones who come out,” said Miranda.

Charlie and Santi arrived an hour later with a large white van that could seat a whole football team. “Good acquisition,” I said, adding, “How much did you pay?”

“You don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” said Santi.

“I don’t remember giving you no fucking horse,” I responded.

“Oh, of course. It wasn’t you, it was your friend Nicanor Toro’s bodyguard. We got it for $9,000; $6,000 in cash and $3,000 on his credit card. It runs well and should do the job. We have already switched the plates with the Camry.

“We are good to go.”

The trade

Miranda fixed us up with our disguises.

Miranda, Jonathan, and Charlie left in the van.

I went down to the basement and walked into the workshop. I asked Terry, “Do you want to see your father? Do you really want to go back home?”

“Yes, I want to see my father, and yes, I really want to go back home.”

“Well,” I said, “I am now taking you to see your father, but I need your help.”

“What can I do?”

“Allow me to put you in the trunk of a car and stay quiet during the ride to meet your father. Do you think you can do that?”

“Rocco, I don’t want to be in the trunk! Why can’t I ride next to you? I am not a piece of luggage to be disposed of. I am a human being, one that you’ve said you liked!”

“Terry, calm down. I know I am asking much of you. But it needs to be done. You know how your father’s guards are. They might start shooting and hurt you, me, or my friends. Please help me.”

“Oh, OK, I will help you, Rocco. I will ride in the trunk and keep quiet.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” I thought. “I would rather cross the border into Pakistan and face suicide bombers than spend another day taking care of Terry.”

I slapped some tape on his mouth and covered his head with the pillowcase. Santi and I took Terry upstairs to the garage, where we put him in the trunk of the Camry in as comfortable a position as possible.

“OK, Terry, please be patient. We should be there shortly,” I said and then closed the trunk.

I worried that Terry might do something to mess up the prisoner exchange. Even though he promised me to cooperate, he could be volatile. I turned to Santi and told him to keep a careful eye on Terry as well.

We arrived at the Torpedo Factory twenty minutes before the scheduled meeting time.

We went around to the delivery area and saw Jonathan looking busy in gray overalls, moving a couple of boxes in and out of the van. He looked as if he belonged there until I watched closely and saw that he was loading boxes into the van and then unloading the same ones from it. I was certain Jonathan was going to have lower back pain that night.

We parked close to him and opened the trunk. Nobody could see what we were doing, with our backs to the Potomac River. We got Terry out and removed the pillowcase and tape. I cut through his plastic restraints.

I told him, “Terry, this is the Torpedo Factory in Alexandria, Virginia. Here is where we will meet your father. I need you to be quiet and act friendly. You think you can do that?”

“Yes, I can. Rocco, I gave you my word, didn’t I?”

“Good,” I said. “We are going to wait for your father.” I grabbed his hand and walked with him around the building to the main entrance. Terry was looking around, but fortunately, he did not look nervous or out of place. He actually looked content. We walked in like a couple of lovers and took the stairs to the second floor. We walked to the north side of the building. I sat Terry on a bench facing the courtyard below. From that angle, I had a view of most of the ground floor and the entrance. Anyone coming in could look up and see Terry sitting on the bench.

It was 4:15 p.m.—just fifteen minutes to wait. I squatted behind Terry and said to him, “Terry, I’m going to be behind you. Please don’t look back. Just listen to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, you’re going to be behind me. I should not look around to see you. I understand, Rocco.”

Santi came up the stairs and stood behind the bench and in front of me. This way I was hidden from view from the front and from the courtyard below. I nudged Santi to keep a watchful eye on Terry. I couldn’t stop worrying that he would do something crazy and unexpected.

When Rupert came in, he would see his son sitting on the bench and the waiter who had served him the water at the hotel standing behind him.

Rupert walked into the Torpedo Factory at exactly 4:30 p.m. He stood in the middle of the courtyard looking around.

I dialed his phone, and he answered after the first ring. I said, “Hello, Rupert. Look up!”

Pattinson, holding his cell phone to his ear, looked up to see his son on the bench and the waiter behind him.

I said, “Before going any further, I want you to show me the girls.”

Rupert said, “Fine, fine. I have to use the phone. Call back after seeing the girls.”

I responded, “And Rupert, stay where you are now. Don’t move.”

After I hung up, Rupert dialed his men. A minute or two later, two men walked Juliette, Camille, and the three Russian girls into the Torpedo Factory.

My heart started beating faster when I saw Camille. She looked as pretty and angelic as the first time I had seen her in Acapulco. I wondered if Charlie’s heart was racing as fast as mine was.

I dialed Rupert’s cell again. He answered immediately, saying, “What now?”

“Send the girls alone to the second floor. Terry will walk down the stairs toward you. As soon as you have Terry and we have the girls, I want you to leave the Torpedo Factory. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes, we do.” Pattison then instructed one of his men on what to do.

The two men walked the girls toward the stairs. The men waited behind as the girls climbed the stairs alone.

I asked, “Terry, can you see your father?”

“Yes, I can,” he answered.