Gone Forever (Jack Widow Book 1), page 23
I started shivering. My skin got goosebumps, and my jaw started chattering. My shivers turned to an intense shake. I wanted to run to the trees and find cover, but I had to press on. Then I saw a pair of headlights coming toward me. An SUV with bright high beams drove up slowly. I waved my arms in the air to flag it down. The vehicle drew nearer and came to a stop in the middle of the road. The high beams switched to low beams, and I saw Sheldon behind the wheel.
I scrambled around to the passenger door, opened it, and dumped myself into the seat. I slammed the door, tugged my shirt down, and gave her a wide smile. Regardless of what was happening in her town, I’d never been happier to see someone. And my smile told her exactly that.
She said, “You’re soaked.”
I shook my head and hair like a wet dog. Water droplets sprayed across her dash and on the inside of the passenger window.
“Towel?” She had a towel in her hand, outstretched to me.
“Thanks.”
I grabbed it and dried off in a flutter of hand movements. The towel was soaked by the time I’d finished. And I was still wet.
She asked, “Where to?”
“Redneck compound. And go as fast as possible.”
She made a U-turn and headed back in the opposite direction. Water splashed up and away from the tires.
I asked, “Did you bring your gun?”
“Glovebox.”
Not the shotgun, I thought.
I reached forward and popped it open.
The gun inside was a CZ 52, not a great firearm. It was Czech made, had terrible aim, and the firing pin was easy to remove. It was barely better than no gun at all. I would’ve traded anything for the shotgun.
“This is your gun?”
“Yes, I bought it for protection. Why?”
“It’s a piece of crap. Terrible. Where’s the Remington?”
“I had no shells for it. I was bluffing.”
I scowled as I looked down again at the piece-of-shit gun she had brought me. I tilted it in my hand and studied it in the dim light from the dashboard lights.
Guess I can throw it at the bad guys, I thought. I asked, “Where the hell did you buy it? The Soviet Union thirty years ago?”
“I bought it in an auction.”
I sighed, and then I asked, “Historical?”
“Partly. Why? A gun is a gun.”
“Unless you can pull it on your attacker at point-blank range, it won’t do much good.”
“The guy told me it was a great deal.”
“It was if you paid for it with pocket change.”
She said, “Well, that and the shotgun with no bullets are all I’ve got. I’m not used to needing a gun.”
I said, “The shotgun with no shells would’ve been better. At least we could have bluffed like you did.”
She stayed quiet.
Then I asked, “Does it fire?”
“I’ve fired it before. Like I said, I wanted protection… just in case.”
I shrugged. I couldn’t be mad at her for it. But I sure hoped I wouldn’t need to fire it. It’d probably blow up in my hands.
I checked it out. The safety was switched to the on position. I turned it over and examined the butt. On old European-style guns, the magazine ejector was on the bottom. I ejected the magazine and inspected it. It was loaded. I replaced it and pulled back the slide. A bullet chambered. Ready to fire, if it would fire. It was heavy in my hand. The frame was all steel, and there was a bulky back end between my thumb and index knuckle. Despite being an old relic, it’d been well maintained. Clean. Oiled. It looked like Sheldon had kept up with it. I guess I’d have to trust her.
I asked, “So what about Grady?”
“Something’s going on across the lake. And now they’ve got to deal with the weather.”
I nodded and said, “We’re on our own.”
She asked, “What exactly is going on?”
“You know the rednecks?”
“Of course.”
“And you know about Chris Matlind?”
She nodded without taking her eyes off the road. She was glued to it like our lives depended on it, which they did. The rain wasn’t letting up.
I said, “They’re the ones who abducted his wife. They’ve been taking women all over North Mississippi.”
“Taking women? What? Why?”
I paused and said, “This is a small town. There are no secrets in a small town.”
“What are you saying?”
“I think you know something. You all know something. No way have they been doing this in complete secrecy.”
She said, “They’re a bunch of idiots who drink beer and shoot squirrels. No one knows anything about women being taken.”
“Come on, Sheldon. Tell me the truth. What’ve you heard?”
“Only that they grow weed. Maybe cook meth. But no one says anything else. They keep to themselves. It wasn’t until you blew into town that they started making a ruckus.”
I said, “They do more than cook meth.”
“Like what?”
“Second night I was here, they tried to take Matlind. It’s deeper than meth. And it’s more than random abductions. They’re part of something bigger.”
Sheldon looked doubtful. She asked, “Like organized crime?”
I nodded. “More like an international crime syndicate. Has to be.”
“Are you serious? Most of them barely passed high school. A couple of them can’t even read.”
“Yeah. They aren’t rocket scientists. They’re walking redneck clichés, but they aren’t the brains behind the operation.”
“Who is?”
“Have you heard of Oskar Tega?”
Her eyes flashed at me. She said, “Yeah. The guy from the news. He escaped capture in Mexico, right?”
“That’s what the media was saying, but tonight I was on a bus and checked the news. Now they’re saying that he’s thought to have escaped on a seaplane. And a compound in Texas was half burned to the ground. His complex. The guards, equipment, and even the immigrant workers there were all burned. The drugs and any cash were the only things missing,” I told her.
“So, what does that mean?”
“Do you remember the old man who’s staying on the lake? The day I first saw you, I was with him.”
She nodded.
I said, “He’s an airplane mechanic. He was paid to drive here from Jackson. He said that he was coming here to refuel a special type of seaplane.”
“A seaplane?” she asked. The car veered to the middle of the road. She turned the wheel and let off the gas to fight a quick skid. She regained control and continued on. Then she asked, “So the seaplane is Oskar Tega’s, and the rednecks are selling drugs for him?”
“The rednecks are well financed. I saw their compound when I first got here. They drive brand-new F-150s. They have a new brick house and a brand-new barn. I noticed the barn has motion sensors hanging above it. Those sensors are attached to expensive-looking floodlights. And that giant Confederate flag? The flag itself might’ve cost a few thousand dollars, but that steel flagpole had to cost a fortune. It’s huge. I’ve seen nothing like it. Where else are they getting the money? Not from selling weed to tourists. No way. And I doubt it’s from cooking meth. Now, I believe they are cooking meth, but that’s not how they’re making their money.”
She said, “So you think that they’re cooking meth, but they’re making their money from kidnapping women? Like for a ransom? But no one has been asked for a ransom for any of the missing girls.”
I shook my head and said, “They aren’t selling drugs. Not to Tega. And they aren’t kidnapping the women for ransom money. They’re taking the women for Tega because that’s his real business. They aren’t drug dealers. They’re human traffickers. Tega isn’t a drug dealer. He’s a human trafficker. And he’s been paying the rednecks a percentage like a finder’s fee. And that’s where they’re making their money.”
She looked over at me, an incredulous look crossing her face.
I said, “We have to get there before they do.”
She asked, “They?”
“The old guy said that his client was flying in with a group of guys. Plural. Tega’s coming, and he’s not coming alone. The old guy said the plane seats eight on the rear bench. So Tega probably has at least five guys with him, depending on how much cargo he has.”
“Cargo? You mean the women?”
I nodded.
She paused and then said, “This sounds crazy. Are you sure about this?”
“Sheldon, Oskar Tega escaped in a flying boat. It’s a huge seaplane.”
She nodded.
“And just before I called you, I saw a flying boat. It flew just over my head, and it was headed to the lake. It was landing. Oskar Tega is already here. My bet is that he’s headed to the rednecks by now and plans to take what’s his and kill everyone else.”
She turned her head, took her foot off the gas, and stared at me with shock in her eyes.
I nodded.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
I said, “Whatever is necessary.”
She stayed quiet. She pressed her foot harder on the gas and accelerated the SUV. Ten minutes later, we were at the fork in the road.
45
We parked on the side of the road down from the compound. A patch of trees hid Sheldon's SUV. She killed the headlights and left the engine running. The windshield wipers swept the light rain off the glass. The sound echoed through the cabin like a slow, loud clock. Rain fell slower now. I took advantage and scanned the compound as best I could from our position.
Sheldon broke the silence. She squeezed the steering wheel. I could hear the nervousness in her voice. She said, "Oh, take this." She reached into her center console and pulled out a hands-free set. "It has Bluetooth. It's already paired with this phone." She handed me a smartphone.
I stared at it.
She said, "I have two for work."
I placed the set in my right ear, and she pulled out a second phone and called me.
I clicked the tiny button on the back of the Bluetooth. I said, "Hey."
She said, "Okay. I can hear you."
I looked back out over the compound. The rain had slowed some more, but the fog was still thick. I could see the rednecks' pickups. A couple of other vehicles were parked near them. I couldn't make them out. More trucks, probably.
Sheldon asked, "What's the plan?"
"I got no idea."
"What're you going to do?"
I looked at her and smiled. Then I held the gun and got out. The door opened smoothly, but a rush of cold air blew in some rainwater. It misted across the seat behind me. I reached to shut the door, but the wind pushed it out of my grip. A wind tunnel sucked it closed. The door slammed. The wind outside howled, and the trees waved. A colossal bolt of lightning crashed across the sky and over the direction of the lake. The storm was loud enough to camouflage any door slamming.
The fog lit up with a giant flash-bang of lightning across the sky. Even though it was bright and white, its thickness camouflaged my movements like a blizzard would in snow country.
Sheldon's voice came over my earpiece and said, "I'll stay here and try to contact Grady again. I'll keep you on conference calling."
"Good idea. If you get him, tell him to bring everything he's got. I'm sure these rednecks are armed to the teeth. If I don't come back out or this goes sideways, drive to the other side of the lake and find him."
"What are you going to do?" she asked again.
"I'm going to sneak in, grab the women, and sneak out."
"What about Tega? What if he's there?"
"He's not. His plane just landed. In this weather, they'll still be trying to find their car. Besides, the cops can deal with Tega. All I want to do is keep my promise to Matlind." I said, "Sheldon, if a firefight starts, you drive away."
"Okay."
She said nothing else.
"Forget about the conference calling—radio silence for now. I need to concentrate. I'll call you if I need to."
I clicked off the Bluetooth.
46
The rain hammered down in one torrential rush like an invading force. Then it slowed suddenly. A minute later, it stopped. I was left in the cold, damp night with only the fog as cover. It would have to be enough.
I snuck through the trees and made my way to the edge of the compound’s erratic circle of buildings. I ran up to the closest one and pressed my back against it. It was wood. It smelled of wet boards and had the odor of animals inside. There was no sound.
I shimmied along the wall and up to a window. I crouched underneath it and didn’t risk peeking in. This window was near the back door. Nine times out of ten, that’s the one where someone is waiting inside with a shotgun. I tiptoed to the second window and peeked in. The room was quiet and empty. It seemed to be some kind of bedroom. I saw no personal effects—no pictures, no jewelry on the vanity, no sheets on the bed. No sign that anyone lived there. The closet door was wide open—no shoes on the floor. No clothes were hanging on the bar. Empty. It wasn’t clean, but it wasn’t dirty. It appeared to be just an extra building. The only distinct thing about this building was an animal smell, but I saw no dogs and no cats. No animals at all.
I went around to the back door and tried the knob and got lucky. It was unlocked. I twisted the knob and opened the door in a quiet rush. I threw myself against the outer wall in case someone inside had a gun pointed in my direction. Nothing. I entered the building with the CZ 52 drawn.
I’d been raised to believe that if you pointed a gun, you’d better be ready to fire it. I wasn’t really ready because that piece-of-shit gun wasn’t worth firing. But in the dark, a gun barrel looked like a gun barrel, and I could at least scare someone with it. So, it was better than nothing.
Luckily, there was no one in the building. It took only a few seconds to confirm that. The structure had only four rooms in total. And they were all small. The only thing of use I found was a Maglite flashlight. It was a foot long, hefty, and could be dangerous as a club. So, I grabbed it. It would be more useful than the Cold War relic that Sheldon had given me, especially in close-quarter combat.
I left the little house and headed to the main one, the next closest one. The fog began thinning, and I saw the outlines of vehicles and the other buildings. The main house was the only one with lights on. In order to get there, I’d have to travel through the center of the front yard. It was about a hundred feet. I couldn’t be sure—it was too dark, too foggy.
I slipped the CZ 52 into the waistband of my jeans. No reason to run with it. No reason to even have it out. The Maglite would work just fine.
I kept the light off, crouched, staying low, and scrambled across the yard. Halfway to the main house, I could make out its red brick. From a distance, it had looked brand new, but now that I was closer to it, I saw it wasn’t. It was an old, two-story house. The newest addition was a grayish wooden deck that had been slung around the front. A porch swing rocked and swayed in the breeze. The porch lights were on, but they were dimmed by the fog. There was one light on in the house. That was all. It was late at night, so the darkness inside wasn’t unexpected. I figured that the house’s occupants weren’t expecting visitors, least of all Tega. And I was sure that Tega meant for his visit to be a surprise.
I had run through two-thirds of the yard when I heard a strange sound. It sounded like the bell from a buoy off in the distance. A slow ding. Ding. Ding. The sound was ominous in the silence. I stopped and turned around to see what the source of the sound was. Then I realized it had come from above me, from the flagpole. I gazed up into the darkness. My eyes followed the giant steel flagpole. It towered over me. At this range, it was even more massive. It was like standing underneath the Washington Monument and looking straight up. The top of it was hazy in the weather, but I could make out the flag. It was drenched, and it flapped like a wet bag in the breeze.
They left it up?
That didn’t sit well with me. Rednecks were not only known for being fanatical, but also for being patriotic. Usually, they were more fanatical about their patriotic beliefs than anything else, at least enough to have the flag and to raise it every day and take it down every night. But they left it up in this nasty weather? That seemed unusual.
I pressed on. I scrambled for the porch and the front door. No lights came on—no signs of life. I peeked through a man-sized window—still nothing. Then I reached for the doorknob and turned it. It was unlocked. The door creaked open with a high-pitched, whiny squeal.
No one came rushing out. No guys with guns. None of Tega’s men. No one.
I clicked the Maglite on and swept it across the downstairs. The house had an open layout. The staircase was wide and impressive, curving up from the first floor of the house to the second. I spotlighted every inch in my line of sight with the Maglite. Nothing.
I walked upstairs. I wasn’t silent. I wasn’t loud—just a normal but careful pace. At the top of the stairs, I saw that there were three doors. All bedrooms. All wide open and empty. There was no one in the house unless they had hidden in the attic or the cupboards. I couldn’t understand it. Where was everyone?
I returned downstairs. The beam of the flashlight fell across the bottom steps as I descended, and then swept across the floor. I moved it around the living room to get a better look. There was broken glass against the back wall. Furniture was splintered and knocked over. I’d been in too much of a hurry before to notice. I should’ve seen it. There were signs of a struggle all over the living room. A long Persian rug near the front door was stained with wet shoe prints—multiple prints.
Dumb, Widow, I thought.
I clicked the Bluetooth on. A computerized female voice asked, “Call whom?”
I said, “Sheldon Eckhart.”
The voice replied, “I don’t recognize that name.”
