Ransom Part Three

Ransom03

Echoes in Eternity - Ransom

Part Three - The Accommodation

by

Reagan Kavanagh

This work of adult fiction, loosely based on characters portrayed by Russell Crowe, includes adult language and experiences; you have been warned. This specific work includes references to sexually predatory criminals and their behaviours and may be difficult for some readers. No copyright infringement on the original work is intended. ©Reagan Kavanagh 2006.

Author’s Note: Pacing the Cage by Bruce Cockburn is worth the listening, and may be found at http://music.allofmp3.com/r2/Bruce_Cockburn/The_Charity_Of_Night/group_4282/album_4/albref_53/mcatalog.shtml Reagan

TED ACKERMAN
Reagan and I boarded the plane, putting wheels up at 0842. I’d scanned the departure lounge, looking for any and everyone who might conceivably be watching us. The air marshals were there but kept their distance.

Nothing …at least nothing I could discern, and I’m pretty fucking good at discernment. Two additional air marshals met us on landing in Atlanta. Acting on orders from the Bureau and FAA, the pilot stopped the plane on the apron coming into the terminal, and a crew ran out the steps that allowed us to deplane before taking the aircraft on to the jet way. I’m sure the other passengers wondered what the Hell was going on. They should thank God they’ll never be in any position to know. I suspect they’ll be telling their families about the woman accompanied by three men who got off the plane before it got to the jet way, probably assuming she’s a prisoner of some kind because the marshals looked like federal marshals. They might as well have had signs hanging from their necks that flashed FEDERAL AIR MARSHAL with each heartbeat. Think about the LA cop in that movie a few years back …Bud something or other with the flat-top, and you’ll get the picture. We were taken to the connecting flight to Dulles and boarded from the pilots’ waiting area, well ahead of the other passengers. Jack Marshall was standing beside the car on the tarmac when we landed in DC. He walked toward us as we covered the 100 feet from the plane to the car and stopped about three feet from Reagan, shaking his head at her before pulling her into his arms.

“Well, Reagan, what have you gotten yourself into this time?” She laughed as she looked up at him. Reagan’s a tall woman, but Jack’s as tall as me, six-three if he’s an inch; we all look up to Jack Marshall in more ways than one. If it weren’t for Jack and a few others like him – John Douglas and Mark Olshaker in particular – there wouldn’t be a Behavioral Sciences Unit at the Bureau. Jack and his late wife never had kids, and I think Reagan was as close as he had to a daughter. He’d probably have been a better choice to walk her down the aisle, but she and I knew each other a lot better. He’d put me on TDY when I left for Dallas and during our conversation yesterday, said I was assigned to cover her until this was over, however long that might be. My active case load had been transferred, and Reagan had become my sole priority; I’d owe my colleagues a lot for carrying the additional burden. He shook his head again as we got into the car, looking at her for several moments before speaking again.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Reagan.” She was in the back seat with Jack, and I turned to look at them. The air marshals accompanying us from Atlanta were in the car behind us; they were locked and loaded. “We’ve got a match on the photos you sent me, and the GPS in his passport – it’s obvious Khan doesn’t know his passport is tagged – says he entered through John F. Kennedy in New York three weeks ago. From there he boarded a flight to Houston for some unknown reason – probably the first flight he could get out of New York to Texas - then on to Dallas. As far as we know, he’s still there, or if he isn’t, his passport is, and it’s following you.” He took a deep breath. “Khan is about as bad as they come …makes some of the serial killers you profiled when you were here look like kids cruising a candy store. There are warrants out on him from Kabul to Bali to Singapore and on to Riyadh, throughout Southeast Asia and the Middle East. He likes them young. Until now, he’s been an opportunistic killer - grabbed whatever kid was unfortunate enough to cross his path - but that’s changed. This time, he’s clearly targeting you. We’ve back-tracked his movements since he got to Dallas. His first stop was at the university where you teach. He’s been tracked to the hallway outside your classroom – you may have seen him and not realized it - and to your car in the parking lot. He knows where you live and is watching your house. We’ve tracked him within 50 yards of your front door.”

Kabul. Reagan and I looked at each other when Jack said that. The United States can’t extradite to Afghanistan on a murder warrant because of the treaty, but they can – and will - for torture. This man specialized in torture. Death was merely a result of his game. I’d get the specifics on all outstanding warrants on the son of a bitch while we were here and take copies back to Dallas with me. We’d go through them carefully before deciding to go with extradition to Afghanistan. There might be another country that had a stronger claim, and we wanted him sent to wherever he was least likely to be set free. If we could extradite him to Afghanistan, that might go a long way toward healing some of the ill feelings the Afghanis harbor toward the United States. They’d like nothing better than to prove to the Americans and the rest of the world that they were hard on terrorists, and serial killers of children definitely qualify as terrorists.

JACK MARSHALL
I looked at her and shook my head. She hadn’t changed a great deal physically since the last time I saw her. That was the day she walked out of the BAU and the FBI, on her way to Dallas and a new life. Yes, there were subtle changes …there was a spring in her step and a sparkle in her eyes, neither of which had been there when she worked for me. When Reagan Kavanagh had been part of the BAU, she’d already lost her child to miscarriage, and her marriage was in an agonal state. She threw every ounce of energy she had into becoming one of the better agents – and ultimately, profilers – I’d ever had on my team, but there was no joy in her. She’d had her work, but that was all she’d had, and there’s no ‘joy’ in what we do.

I looked down at her left hand – it was clutching the same black, portfolio-style briefcase she’d carried when she was at the Bureau - and noted a large, diamond solitaire. Well, well, well …Reagan was finally moving on; that ring was the outward sign. I wondered what the man was like; I already knew he’d been taken hostage, and that was the reason for her visit. Ted said something to her, and she looked at him, nodding before stopping in front of me, squinting into the afternoon sunlight.

“Hey, Jack.” I grinned as she spoke.

“That the best you can do, Reagan?” She laughed, and was in my arms as we hugged each other like long-lost relatives. I kept my arm around her shoulders as we walked the 15 feet to the car. “So, tell me about the man.”

“You mean Max?”

“Yeah, Max …tell me about Max. I know what’s in his file, but that leaves a lot to speculation.” I didn’t expect her to tell me everything and she didn’t, but on and off over the next few hours she told me enough to make me relax. He sounded like a good man …strong enough to stand up to a woman with Reagan’s high spirits and – on occasion – her equally high temper. I also knew that Max Espan and his partners operated in that nether world of what’s commonly called international intrigue. I’d checked out everything the Bureau, Secret Service, Homeland Security, and the CIA had on the three of them, and it was next to nothing. I don’t access the Interpol databases; that’s the Director’s purview, and we’re very conscious of territory here at the Bureau. Given that I have access to damned near anything other than the Interpol databases, I knew the names I had for them weren’t real. I wondered who was covering for them, who had built the covers so carefully inserted into the databases. I knew Reagan couldn’t tell me, and wouldn’t even if she could, but that didn’t make me any less curious. The three of us – Ted, Reagan, and me – got into the car before she spoke.

“Max is the man I’ve waited for all my life.” Her voice was low when she said it, but the timbre was unmistakable. This was the man. There was no doubt in my mind about that. I knew they were getting married in the fall. She’d asked Ted to give her away, and he’d accepted. He’d told me to hold the date open on my calendar because I was on the guest list, and I’d put in my leave request a couple of days later. October 21^st was circled, and the two days before and one after were blocked out. We were in my office by 1400, and I pushed a copy of the file we had on Tamir Omar Khan - it was almost two inches thick - across the desk to Reagan; we’d talked about him briefly in the car. She took a deep breath before picking it up and opening it, scanning the brief just inside the cover before speaking.

“This is my copy, right?” I nodded. She pulled a yellow highlighter pen from her briefcase and opened the folder, flipping through the photos of the crime scenes, dumpsites, the children, and the police reports. I could see the wheels turning behind the inscrutable expression on her face. Half-an-hour later, she looked up at me.

“You got enough to work with there?” She nodded before speaking; it was if she’d just walked into my office from her own down the hall, and we were discussing one of her active cases.

“Based on what I have from Max’s captors and this, yes. The former UNSUB is a single Middle Eastern male, between 25 and 35 years of age, 40 at the outside. Even if we didn’t know his ethnicity, I’d still say he was Middle Eastern – or at least part Middle Eastern, possibly part European or American. His victims to date have been Middle Eastern and fair-skinned, and serial killers rarely cross ethnic or racial lines. He’s young and fit because he has the strength to initially overpower his victims and then bludgeon someone to death if necessary, no matter how hard she may fight. His crimes validate that. There’ll be a dysfunctional family background; abusive father, unusually passive mother, even by Middle Eastern standards. No clear preference for victims’ ages other than young. His victims are between eight and 14, but he does prefer girls who develop early.” She flipped to three separate photos – all victims between eight and 11 – of girls already showing the signs of pubescence.

“He can’t function with women his own age. He’s probably been married and divorced her; he’d have preferred killing her to be sure she wouldn’t tell anyone about his sexual inadequacies, but that would have been unwise. I suspect his community was small, and if that’s correct, he’d have been caught. His next option was to return her to her father in disgrace, and I’m sure he did precisely that. If he has sisters, he’ll have abused one or more of them when they were children, and his father would have retaliated violently. This goes to motive …he’s angry at women in general and young ones in particular. He sees females as the source of all his problems. He considers women as having failed in providing him his rights as a man, that being to serve – and service - him. His mother failed to protect him from his father’s wrath; his sister or sisters told his father of his abuse and/or molestation, thus incurring the father’s wrath. He views his wife as failing to excite him sexually. He couldn’t function with her, and that followed him into other attempted – and failed – relationships with other adult women. At that point, he turned to children, young girls, because they have no frame of reference and don’t know whether or not he’s sexually adequate. His motive – overwhelming rage at females - fuels his need to hurt them in retaliation.” She paused for a moment before continuing.

“If we could look at his childhood, I’d bet you would find a series of fires in the area where he lived, fires that were unexplained, and no one ever quite sorted out how they started. He probably wet his bed well into middle childhood and was ridiculed for that by his father and other family members. There would likely have been animal mutilations and killings in and around his village. Not too many Middle Easterners have dogs as pets, but many have cats. I’d bet over time, a number of those cats went missing and were found dismembered. He might have gone after some of the herding dogs – Salukis are indigenous in the Middle East – but they’re valuable enough that their disappearance would have been noted. Someone would have followed up if their remains had been found …and the remains would have been found. There are few natural predators of dogs in the Middle East or Afghanistan. Sheep or goats would have been an acceptable substitute for dogs, and that’s likely what he went for after smaller animals. As he matured, he moved on to people. He’s an Apex predator now, in every sense of the term …he has no natural enemies. We’re his self-appointed enemies.

“He owns a vehicle wherever he goes, but it’s an inexpensive, second-hand model. He has to have a way of transporting the girls, and later, their remains. I’m betting he prefers vans or a sedan with a large boot, dark-coloured or a neutral shade of gray or beige, and not in particularly good condition, something that won’t attract attention. The car we know he used to dump Aiesha’s body was a maroon sedan. He was very disorganized early on; the first few murders of which we’re aware were frenzied rather than showing any clear plan or method of attack. They were crimes of opportunity. He saw the chance and took it. Because those early kills occurred in locations with poor police services – and lack of police experience with serial predators – he got away with them. Local police in small towns or villages would have lacked the crime analysis equipment and the sophistication in their officers to have picked up on the clues he left behind and would never have linked them to other similar crimes in the area. He’s become more polished as he moves along, and his mobility – now moving from one country to another – says he’s now very comfortable with his method and doesn’t expect to be caught. Look at this.” She put the file on the desk and turned it toward me, tapping a photograph with one nail to make her point.

“Compare that photo with the earlier ones.” I did. “His early attacks were frenzied …lust overkill. Initially, there was no clear method to his torture or execution method; it was pure rage that motivated him. This one is about half way through the known kills, and he’s refined his technique. He’s discovered over time what excites him. The infliction of pain on this child was very specific. He wanted her to suffer mentally as well as physically, to know that she was going to die. He wanted her to have time to think about what was coming. He gets off on their terror; it’s their dread and display of pain that turns him on sexually. Once he’d done playing with her, the kill was quick. She was likely almost dead anyway and wasn’t fun for him any longer. He cut her throat with one quick motion.” She stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath before moving ahead.

“We always learn more about why they commit these crimes from the earlier ones, before they start refining their technique. Khan’s method evolves with each kill, but his signature – what gives him the thrill and what motivates him to kill - is most apparent in the earlier work. His signature is overwhelming, unbridled rage against young females. It makes him want to destroy everything that makes them female. His debasement of their femininity is consistent and ongoing. That brings me back to thinking he abused a sister and paid the consequences. Along with blaming his mother for not stopping the beating, he blames his sister for telling on him. He takes out that rage on any young female he can grab.” She stopped again and rifled through the stack of photos and looked back at me.

“Did you notice that he takes a souvenir?” That caught me off guard because I hadn’t. I must be slipping because I’d just flipped through the file rather than paying close attention to the details. Reagan removed the stack of photographs clipped to the back of the file and shoved them across the desk at me. “Look at the left temple of each child …there’s a small lock of hair missing. He takes that to relive his kill …probably masturbates over it to relive the fantasy. He depersonalises his victims. He leaves them out in the open, faces and bodies exposed in sexually suggestive positions. He’s never seen any of them as being human; they’re toys for his use. Once he’s broken them beyond repair and they’re of no further use to him, he throws them away like garbage, but the positioning of their bodies speaks of further contempt for the female sex in general. I take it the autopsy reports are here?” I nodded.

“We have to assume – and you know how I hate that word – that he wasn’t in any of the international data bases until fairly recently. If that’s true, he mightn’t have taken the precaution of cleaning up the bodies of his earlier victims. His DNA was all over them. Surely samples were recovered and stored, at least in terms of hair or fluids found on the victims, even though it may not have been processed at the time. When we catch him and get a sample for comparison – and we will – there will be no denying he’s the perpetrator.” She went on with her observations, unconsciously building the profile. Ted and I didn’t have to do a thing. It was as natural for her as breathing. Reagan had been out of this work for years, but slipped back into it with the heart and instinct of a born profiler. Some people have the ability to see inside others and figure out their motives, what drives them to behave as they do; Reagan Kavanagh was one of those rare individuals. I’d bet she had her students on the edge of their seats in every class. She looked across the desk at me.

“He’ll have had difficulty holding a job; he can’t control his temper when someone makes him angry or he thinks they’ve offended him. He doesn’t read social cues well and often takes offense where none was intended. It’s unlikely he was in the military because of the requirement for discipline. If he was in for a while, it would have been for a very short time, and it’s likely he’ll have a dishonourable discharge from service. He works just enough to keep money in his pocket and may live in his car or van on occasion, but I’d bet he has a low-rent apartment. He won’t take the children to his lodgings to kill them; he’ll have another location for that. He’s paranoid, and that fuels his anger even more. He’s inadequate, not just sexually, but in every aspect of his life. In the short term, any associates do what he tells them because they fear him; they take off at the first opportunity. He makes it a point to know what young girls like – music, clothes, film stars – and he uses that knowledge. He’s very charming so long as it suits his purposes, and we already know he’s attractive because of the photos we have of him. His good looks appeal to young girls. Getting these children to go with him is easy, and he hates them even more because he considers them stupid. He’s now very organised and very confident of his ability to get away clean. Unless his temper gets the best of him and he really screws up, that’s going to make him more difficult to catch, even given that he’s here in the States. He’s learnt to be careful, and he won’t take any unnecessary chances. He’s blending in well. Jesus, he was in the hallway between classes when I was out there, and I never noticed him. He was just another Middle Easterner that I took for an older student.” She took a deep breath. “And now he has me in his crosshairs.” Ted and I exchanged a look as she closed the file. “Let’s head to Bethesda and get that chip implanted. I want to catch this bastard, and I want to do it now, before he kills another child.”

MAXIMUS
I lay on my cot, staring into the dark of an endless night. I had ceased thinking of my own freedom or consideration of escape. My sole thought was Cassandra. Was she safe? Had Terry and Dino taken all possible precautions to ensure her well-being? Did she miss my presence as I missed hers? Each day without her was an ongoing torture more painful than any inflicted by the Praetorians my last night in captivity. I dreamt of her, ached for her, prayed the Gods would give me one more moment with her before I closed my eyes in death.

Though I have great appreciation for the art of others, I have never fancied myself a poet. I had begun composing verse in an effort to pass the hours. Cassandra was always the central theme, always the inspiration that enabled the drawing of my next breath.

I had no paper, no pen, and likely would not have written the words even were the means available. Writing them was unnecessary; they were engraved on my heart, on my very soul. I had no wish to share these thoughts with anyone save my Cara. I begged the Gods give me one more hour with her that I might speak these thoughts and hold her close to my heart just once more.

I woke with a start, drenched in cold sweat, fear making my heart pound sickeningly within my breast. I could see his form in my mind’s eye, blade in his hand as he reached for her. The cold metallic taste of fear was as bitter in my mouth as it would be in hers. Cassandra, my Cara, in the hands of a monster. I leant over the side of the bed and vomited onto the floor. This had become a nightly occurrence. My only way of keeping the nightmares temporarily at bay lay in complete physical exhaustion. I rose from my cot and dropped to the floor, doing push-ups until my arms trembled and would no longer support me, though my mind still raced down a thousand dark and haunted passages. I stood and paced the floor of my room, like a tiger in a cage, and the words of a song favoured by my Cara came to my mind.

Sunset is an angel weeping
Holding out a bloody sword
No matter how I squint I cannot
Make out what it's pointing toward
Sometimes you feel like you live too long
Days drip slowly on the page
You catch yourself
Pacing the cage.

The nightmares began after my captors had sent their files on Tamir Omar Khan to Terry and Dino. I had been provided a complete copy of the material prior to its transmission. I did not know if they did so to impress upon me the evil of this man, and thus encourage my complicity in their scheme, or had some possible darker purpose though what that might be I could not imagine. Their motive did not matter; the photos were burned into my brain, along with an ever growing fear for Cassandra, a fear that clawed at my belly like the talons of a ravening beast. In my nightmares I saw the terror in her eyes; I heard the agony in her voice as she begged for mercy and the release of death. Worse yet, the sound of her screams echoed in my brain, and I was powerless to help her. I beseeched the Gods to keep her from harm, but my words echoed hollowly in my brain, beating endlessly against my skull.

When morning came, the man who sought my assistance in his mission brought food to break my fast and sat beside me on my cot. I turned to look at him and spoke; my decision was made, my mind focused on my plan.

“Release me. I will find this man and kill him. I give you my word as a man of honour.” He looked at me, eyebrows raised.

“Why do you agree now, after telling me earlier that you were not a hired killer?”

“Because the one most dear to me is in danger. I have lost one woman to a madman; I will not lose a second. I will find him and kill him; I will not be caught. It will not happen immediately on my return home. I will require time to observe his activities and formulate an appropriate plan. When it is done, you will have proof of my actions, but his body will never be found.” He regarded me calmly before standing and leaving the room. Ten minutes later he returned and handed me a large and bulky envelope; the clothing I had worn on the night of my abduction was on his arm, and he placed it on the cot.

“You are free to go. I trust you will do as you have promised. This man is of no consequence in your country; even should his body be found, the news will make little of a dead Arab. Notify me of his death when it is accomplished in order that I may have it confirmed. You may contact me at this number.” I nodded and held out my hand to take the slip of paper he offered, memorising the number before tossing the paper to the floor. When he left, the door to my room remained open. I changed clothes and transferred the contents of the envelope – my passport and wallet, the key card to my hotel room, my travellers’ cheques and cell phone – to the pockets of my suit and walked out the door. He was waiting for me in the hallway.

“Be safe, Max Espan. Much depends on your skill.”

“You will know when it is done.” Three hours later I had a passport and travellers’ cheques under an assumed name and a new cell phone. I had not returned to my hotel. There was no need; Terry would have had it stripped, and the possessions found there returned to Cassandra. I burnt my room key card, holding it until only an inconsequential remnant of the plastic remained before dropping it through the grate of a sewer. My original documents were secreted in the false bottom of the briefcase given me by the man from whom I obtained the counterfeit documents. I purchased a cheap suitcase from a street vendor and sufficient clothing to toss into it to avoid the suspicion I should have aroused had I attempted to board an international flight with no check-through baggage. I stopped at a travel agent’s shop and reserved a ticket on the Syrian Arab Airlines flight leaving for Paris at 0730 the following morning. From there I would board Air France non-stop to Houston and following a brief layover, would arrive in Dallas at 1949 hours – local time - that evening. I would be in the air for 17 hours and 14 minutes if there was no deviation in schedules, and the North Atlantic headwinds no stronger than anticipated at this time of year.

I paid for my passage with the travellers’ cheques and took a room in a small hotel to rest for the night. I had no weapon of any kind; I would obtain one on arriving in Dallas. My former captors had determined where Tamir Oman Khan was living; once I arrived home, his days would be numbered. If Khan’s death should be reported by the media and linked to me, I would disavow all knowledge. I had lied before to stay alive; I could do so again, and I knew well how to remove any trace of my presence. Cassandra has said that anyone entering or leaving a crime scene leaves traces; she does not know how thorough I can be in leaving nothing behind to mark my presence. I have had much practise in this day, as well as in that earlier life; I have never been caught without first being betrayed.

TERRY
Ted and Reags returned on schedule; Jim Wesley and I met them on the tarmac at DFW. She came down the ramp, briefcase in hand and looking none the worse for wear. We got into the car and took off for her house. She was in the front seat with me, whilst Ted and Jim sat in the back. As I pulled onto the interstate, I turned to look at her but not quickly enough to have prevented her always observant gaze from lighting on my left hand.

“When did you start wearing a ring, Terrence?” My hand was on the steering wheel and the ring on my little finger was there for all to see.

“Whilst you were at Quantico.” She grinned at me.

“Never had you pegged for a man who would wear a ring on his pinky.”

“Never had Diana Walker jam one on my finger before.” She reached over and patted me on the cheek.

“A lot can happen when you’re out of circulation for 24 hours. It’s about time, Terry.” She had no idea just how much could happen in that short a time. I nodded and directed the convo away from what was still rather raw ground.

“So, you’re chipped now, right?” She nodded. I knew dogs and cats were microchipped between their shoulder blades, but humans – with some exceptions – don’t have enough flesh there for that purpose. I was wondering where in bloody hell Reags’ chip was located; I could think of a couple of prime locations. She turned to look at me.

“Go on.”

“Go on what?” She grinned.

“Go on and ask.” She had me sussed.

“Where’s the chip?”

“Just under my left breast. It will be easier to locate there when it’s time to remove it. I don’t plan on being traceable the rest of my life.” I looked at Ted in the rear view mirror, and his shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter. The grin on Jim’s face and shake of his head said ‘do not go there, Terry,’ so – of course – I did.
“Any bruising?”

“A bit.”

“Soreness? Tenderness? Anything of that sort?”

“Yes.” She cut her eyes round at me. “And if you’re planning on offering to massage it for me, just think for a moment what Max would do if he ever learnt of your concern.” Yes. Well. So much for concern and well-intentioned offers of assistance. Besides, Diana would have my goolies in a vise at the very thought of such largesse on my part. The reality was that I couldn’t resist taking the piss with Reags. After all, I doubt any of us ever thought we’d know someone with a GPS microchip. It isn’t your everyday sort of happening. I hoped to God it worked as intended because whether it did or not, Reags was planning on returning to the Uni on Monday, and she’d be fair game for that bastard. We needed to laugh whilst we could, and I knew Reags would be in for her fair share of jokes over the next couple of days. Come Monday when she returned to work, we’d all be in deadly earnest.

TAMIR OMAR KHAN
She left her house with the taller of the men now living there and was gone for two days. When she returned, the first was in the car with her, now joined by the other two, one of whom had been with her in Cairo; he was not the one who lived with her, though I believe them to be brothers. Why would the one who claims her permit his brother to stay in his house in his absence, and why are the others here as well? The woman staying there on occasion can only be her sister. Perhaps her man has been killed, and they seek to console her. If not that, their presence here must mean they know someone seeks her, and they would protect her. They are foolish men. They do not know my name or where I am, nor is my appearance known to them. They will not know when I take her, and they will not find her until I wish them to do so. She will be mine; she will take the place of the blonde child in Cairo. She will pay for their collective interference. She will be mine, and she will plead for death before I am done with her.

Monday Morning – Dallas

REAGAN
I was up at five-thirty on Monday, my usual time on days that I had classes. I’d called my Chair and my substitute on Friday and told them I’d be in my classroom Monday morning. Dee and Terry were back at the farm and Dino back at his flat in town. Those three left only after a few rather sharp words on my part.

“Jim and Ted are here and will be for the duration. You two,” I pointed to Terry and Dino, “aren’t running this show …Jim is, and love both of you though I do, you’re getting on my last frigging nerve.” I’d promised all concerned that I’d check in before and after my class, on returning to my car in the car park, as well as on arrival and departure from the campus and on my arrival home each day. They weren’t happy, but they acquiesced. In truth, I didn’t give them much in the way of an option.

I’d appealed to Dee. “Please tell them I’m capable of taking care of myself. I don’t need to be cosseted, and I don’t enjoy it. For the sake of our friendship, please, go home!” She hustled them out to the back yard and somehow got them to listen to reason. Though Terry had sent them all packing earlier, they’d all drifted back over the ensuing couple of days.

The bruising from the chip implantation had largely disappeared over the weekend. I was dressed and in the car on my way to school by seven, my Glock in the shoulder holster under the lightweight blazer I was wearing over my usual turtleneck; my .25 Beretta was in the holster on my right ankle. My combat knife was in its sheath on my right arm. Jim had left half-an-hour earlier and would meet me on campus; Ted stayed at home to monitor the tracking device we’d brought back from Quantico. The three of us were equipped with ear buds and microphones so we’d be in constant contact. Two entrances up the interstate, a dark gray van – I’d guessed correctly on Khans’ choice of vehicle colour - pulled up the entrance ramp and fell in a couple of cars behind me. It didn’t change lanes every time I did but did so often enough to make me sure he was tailing me. At one point when I changed lanes, I had a good view of the driver …fairly dark complexion, neatly trimmed moustache and goatee, Middle Eastern features. He was the image of the photo sent us by Maximus’ captors. It was Tamir Omar Khan. I spoke into the microphone hidden inside the lapel of my blazer.

“Tamir’s behind me in the traffic. Dark gray panel van, no windows. Tag number is Texas EL5 723.” Ted’s voice responded. “I’ll trace to see who the owner is, if he hasn’t switched the plates.”

“Is the transponder working?”

“I’m showing you on I-30, approaching the exit for 45 North. How’s that?” I smiled.

“Dead on.”

TED ACKERMAN
I smiled to myself. The microphone and ear bud were working, and I spoke to Reags and Jim. “Let’s see if Jack is tracking her as well as we are.” I pulled my cell from my pocket and hit Jack Marshall’s number on speed dial.

“Marshall.”

“Jack, Ackerman here. Where do you show Reagan as being right now?”

“Wait one.” I gave him time to turn to his tracker and check. “She’s at Interstate 45, approaching the Mockingbird Lane exit. What do you show?”

“The same. Just talked to her less than five minutes ago. Khan’s on her tail. Are you guys on him?”

“Should be, but I don’t have a terminal tracking him in my office. Let me get back to you on that. She wearing and packing?”

“Kevlar vest, blazer with shoulder holster and the Glock underneath, plus ankle holster and her combat knife. She’s loaded for bear.”

“Okay. Keep me updated. I’ll check Khan’s location and update you by e-mail.”

“Later, Jack.”

“Yeah.” Jim’s voice sounded in my ear as the conversation ended.

“We need to get a tracker for Khan so we know where he is in relation to Reagan.” That would be helpful. I called Jack again and relayed that message.

“I’ll see what I can do. Don’t get your hopes up.” I wouldn’t.

MAXIMUS
I took a small apartment just off the Interstate and close to our home. I leased a car using the false American Express card I had obtained in Damascus and did not cut my hair; it had grown whilst I had been held captive and was now well over my collar and long about my face. I allowed my beard to grow in more heavily and dressed in the clothes of a day labourer, cotton work shirts, khaki pants, and work boots purchased at a nearby discount store. On one occasion I was in the supermarket where Cassandra and I first met and saw her two counters over, waiting in line to make her purchases. I was consumed with joy that she was safe whilst aching from the pain of not being able to speak to her, to touch her and tell her of my love for her. She walked past me on her way out of the store, looking at me as she smiled and nodded on noting a man in passing. Though she paused momentarily, she did not recognise me; we see only what we expect to see.

TERRY
Reags checked in when she got home after that first day back at work. The bastard had followed her, and she’d seen him in the car park when she left to go home. I’d already talked to Ted and Jim. They’d advised that Jack Marshall was trying to get us a second tracking device so we could keep tabs on Khan’s location through the GPS chip in his passport. Ted had run a trace on the licence tags on Khan’s van. They had been taken from a car in the Oak Cliff area of Dallas, the ones on the van having been put in their place. The van had been stolen from a trailer park in Denton, just north of Dallas. Khan had been a busy lad.

It became a daily routine …Reags going to class, with Ted or Jim shadowing her and the other at her house monitoring both her location and Khan’s. Much to my surprise, Jack Marshall had succeeded in getting us a transponder so that we could monitor Khan. I’m not sure how he pulled that off, but we were all in his debt. We had a bit of a jolt not quite three weeks into the game when Reags, Ted, Jim, and Dino came up to the farm to join us for dinner one evening. We’d walked down to the barn and were on our way back to the house when Reags spoke.

“Don’t anyone make any sudden moves or look surprised, but we have an uninvited guest.” Ted and I looked at her, and she gave a barely perceptible nod toward the road in front of the house. A dark gray panel van was parked at the far end of the road, in the cul-de-sac. As we approached the house, the ignition started up and the van moved slowly down the road. Khan signalled, turned left onto the main road, and disappeared from sight. Diana turned to me, her eyes wide. This was what we had feared all along, that he would somehow figure out Diana’s location, and stupidly, we had lead him right to her front door. Inside the house, I poured drinks for all of us and looked at Ted.

“You got any suggestions aside from me not letting Diana out of my sight until we catch him?” He was silent for a minute before answering me.

“I’ll call Jack. We have female agents in the Dallas Field Office. I’ll ask that he have one assigned to Dee 24/7. For all Kahn will know, she has a sister or friend who’s come to visit.” He had his cell phone out and was dialling Jack’s home number as he spoke. He spoke briefly to Jack, and half an hour later, we had a call from the FBI’s local field office. They were assigning an agent to protect Diana; she would be here by ten tonight. Reags tried to apologise, and I stopped her.

“Reags, we all knew from the start that he might discover where Diana and I live. That was a given. I doubt he’ll try anything, but it’s best to be safe.”

Diana hadn’t said a word until now and when she spoke her voice was shaking, not with fear but with anger. “If that son of a bitch touches any of my animals, I’ll kill him myself.”

“Won’t be necessary. Call Alice right now and implement the disaster plan to move the herd to her place tomorrow. We’ll keep the dogs in the house as we’ve done with Reags’ lot. Khan will be watching her when she leaves for class tomorrow just as he has since the day she returned to work. He likely doesn’t even know you have horses and won’t miss them if he comes snooping about.” The horses had all been in the barn when the others arrived, and I knew Khan hadn’t been parked on the road at that time. An hour later, Alice knew what was happening - as much as we were wiling to tell her - and she’d have barn space ready for Diana’s herd by seven the next morning. She would drive down early tomorrow with her big trailer, and with Diana's two-horse, the relocation could be done in one trip. I would be a bit late getting to the office.

REAGAN
In making that surprise dinner-time visit to Dee’s house, Khan had upped the ante considerably. Until that moment, I’d been content to wait until he made a definitive move toward me, as I didn’t think it would take very long. Now my best friend was potentially in danger, and I was unwilling to live with that threat. It was time to make myself easily accessible to Khan and end this as quickly as possible. I didn’t mention my plan to anyone; they would have chained me to my bed if they’d had any notion of what I intended doing.

When I left for work the next morning, I altered the route I usually take. It was Ted’s day to shadow me at school, leaving Jim home to monitor Tamir Khan and myself on the transponders. As I pulled onto the Interstate, I looked into the rear view mirror …Khan had pulled out of the service station on the corner as I passed it, and was now three cars behind me. The fact that he was waiting for me at the entrance ramp closest to my home said he was getting bolder. I also noted the old model gray Toyota Corolla that fell in behind Khan. Whoever was driving that car had been following one or both of us for three weeks; I’d not been able to get a look at the driver. Instinct told me it was likely one of the Dallas FBI field agents; I never bothered to call and ask, and should have known better. I had decided to take the scenic route, turning north onto 635 and exiting at Highway 78 before cutting back south toward City Place, the shopping centre close to the University. As soon as I had moved onto the exit ramp for 635, Jim’s voice crackled in my ear.

“Reagan, where in bloody Hell are you going?” Ted cut in before I could answer.

“Where is she?”

“Taking 635 North, and from there, I’ve no fucking clue.”

“FUCK!” Ted wasn’t happy with me. “What the Hell are you doing, Reagan?”

“Reeling in a fish. I’ve let him run out the line, and I’m tired of playing with him.”

“Sweet bleeding Christ on His Cross, Reagan! Have you lost your mind?” I’d venture to say that Jim wasn’t in agreement with my change of plan.

“All cognitive functions are working well, but I’m damned if I’m going to give him the opportunity get to Dee. I’m stopping for gas at the exit for Highway 78 – there’s a Quik Trip service station there. With luck, he’ll be able to grab me whilst I’m dawdling with cleaning the windows. If that station is crowded, there are two more at 78 South and Jupiter Road, a Fina station and an On-the-Go Fuel. One of the three is bound to be having a slow morning.” Ted was sputtering when he registered that comment.

“You think for one minute he won’t rip that microphone and ear bud off you as soon as he shoves you in his van and gets a good look at you?”

“Of course he will, but he doesn’t know about the GPS chip. You’ll know where I am. Put the local boys and the Feds on alert. We’re taking this bastard down today. I’ll keep talking until he finds the mike and ear bud.” I could just see the two of them with their mouths open in horror. Jim got his wits about him first.

“Reagan, this is very ill advised.” I’ve always loved the British penchant for understatement.

“Possibly, possibly not …but I’m tired of playing his game, and I want Max home. One way or another, this ends today.” Ted had gone silent on me, a very good indicator of just how furious he was. His voice finally crackled into my earpiece again.

“I’ll call Dallas PD and the Feds. Jim, you get Terry and Dino. Tell them Reagan’s lost her fucking mind.” Well, I suppose that was a possibility. I glanced in the rear view mirror and noted that the driver of the gray Toyota had increased his speed and was changing lanes. He’d fallen several cars behind Khan but now seemed to be manoeuvring to get between Khan’s car and mine. Whoever he was, he was one determined son of a bitch.

TERRY
“She’s doing WHAT? Has she gone totally, fucking mental?” I put my hand over the mouthpiece on the phone and shouted down the hall for Dino, who appeared in my doorway three seconds later. I put the phone on speaker and looked at him, working to control my temper as Jim spoke.

“She said she’s pulling him in, Terry. She’s tired of playing his game and is afraid he’s going to get to Dee. Most of all, she wants Max home.” Dino’s jaw dropped. Until a couple of minutes ago, I’d always figured him to be the loose cannon in this organisation. Clearly, I was mistaken. When I got my hands on Reagan Kavanagh, I was going to turn her over my knee and spank her bum as I’d done on one occasion with Henry when he was a child. Christ! Even a child had better sense than to do something this foolhardy. Jim was talking again, and I turned my attention back to him.

“She’s well armed, Terry. Has her Glock under her blazer and the Beretta in her ankle holster. The Perejil is in the sheath on her arm, and she’s wearing her Kevlar. The bloke’s in for one Hell of a shock once he gets her alone. She may be a bit the worse for wear after, but I doubt he can take her down.” Small comfort that afforded me at this juncture. Dino had his head in his hands. Max would fucking kill both of us when he found out about this. I could only pray he’d never learn of it.

“Where’s Ted?”

“Backtracking from her usual route and heading for Highway 78, then north, looking for the petrol stations she mentioned. He was calling Dallas Police and the Feds from his car. They’ll likely have every available unit converging on the area within ten minutes.” I looked at Dino who’d finally found his voice.

“I hope to Christ she has ten minutes.”

“Hold on …she’s talking to us …first petrol station is too crowded. She’s heading for those at the intersection of 78 and 244. Khan is two cars behind her.” I’d had all I could take and spoke as I shoved my chair away from the desk, pulling my shoulder holster and Ruger from a drawer as I shrugged out of my coat and into the holster, pulling the coat on over it.

“I’m on my way. Dino will stay here and monitor from you. Tell Reags I’m going to bloody kill her if Khan doesn’t do it first.” I looked at Dino as he stood and moved to the window behind my desk and looked at the skyline. “You got any thoughts on this?”

“Yeah. I think Max is about to have two new sets of door decorations.”

REAGAN
I pulled in at the Fina station. There were only two other cars there, both at the same end of the station. I pulled to the far end, out of sight of the other two drivers, whilst staying in clear view of the clerk in his little glass box. I wanted a witness to verify that Khan abducted me at the gas pump. I smiled and waved to the clerk as I got out of the car; he smiled back, nodding as I pulled my credit card from my hip pocket. Khan pulled his van beside the pump on the other side of mine, between me and the other two drivers, but not blocking the station attendant’s view of me. He opened the door of his car but left the engine running. Okay, Buddy, let’s get it on. I spoke softly into the microphone inside my blazer.

“I’m at the Fina station at 244 and 78. Khan is at the pump across from me and getting out of his car …engine is running. We’re going loud.”

JIM WESLEY
I listened in horror to Reagan’s exchange with Khan.

        Khan:        Good morning.

        Reagan:     Good morning to you. Lovely day, isn’t it?

        Khan:        Yes. May I help you with that? It would be a pity to soil such lovely hands.

        Reagan:     Really? You wouldn’t mind?

        Khan:        It would be my pleasure.

The next thing I heard was his voice, as clear as Reagan’s had been, and I knew he had her.

        Khan:        There is a knife at your back. If you scream, you will die now.

Her voice was low as she spoke.

        Reagan:     What are you doing? Please, don’t hurt me!

        Khan:        Walk quietly and get into my car. Do not make any sudden move, or I will kill you now.

        Reagan:     Please …why are you doing this?

His laugh chilled me to the bone. I spoke into my microphone, asking Ted for his location.

“Ted! What’s your position?”

“About two miles from her location. Police are cordoning off the area starting three blocks from the station, and they have unmarkeds heading for the site. I’ve given them a description of my car and the tag numbers; they’ll wave me through.” There had been no sound from Reagan or Khan whilst Ted spoke, aside from her rapid breathing, then I heard the sound of Khan’s car door slam before the engine accelerated as he sped out of the petrol station. Suddenly, she spoke again.

        Reagan:     Where are you taking me? What are you going to do?

        Khan:        What do you think I am going to do, Whore?

        Reagan:     Please, don’t hurt me …please, I’m getting married next month! Please don’t do this!

        Khan:        Shut your filthy mouth! The man you were to marry is lucky that day will not arrive. You have betrayed him by fornicating with his brother and the other men you have taken into his house. Do you think I have not watched you? Do you think I do not know that you are a whore, that you do not deserve to live?

She didn’t say another word for several seconds; all I could hear was the engine of Khan’s van until I heard the sudden wail of sirens followed by a screeching of tyres and a crash. Reagan must have opened the door and tried to get out, as I heard her screaming at Khan to let her go. That’s one very sensitive microphone she’s wearing; I could also hear the federal officers on a loud hailer.

“Tamir Oman Kahn! You are surrounded and cannot escape. Let go of the woman and put your hands on the steering wheel. You are surrounded by federal officers. Let go of the woman NOW!” I heard the report of a single shot and a scream, followed by the slam of a car door and Reagan’s voice.

“I’m out, I’m okay! I’m okay!” The next thing I heard was Terry’s voice, though how he got there so quickly, I’ll never know.

“Reags! Are you alright?”

“I’m okay, Terry, I’m fine!”

“Jesus, Woman, you scared all of us pissless!” I sat back and smiled, content now to listen to what was happening, suddenly realising that my shirt was soaked through with sweat.

MAXIMUS
She was deviating from her usual route to the University, and I knew her intention immediately; she intended Khan to catch her in order to end this. I wove in and out of the morning traffic, attempting to position my car between hers and Khan’s. As I exited behind them onto 635, a large truck cut me off, forcing me to the shoulder of the road. I changed gears, accelerated, and moved back into the merging traffic just before seeing her exit at Highway 78, Khan's car one behind hers. Whilst I acknowledge her facility with weapons, I also cursed her strong headedness in taking this matter into her own hands. I unbuttoned my shirt to give me ease of access to my sidearm on exiting the car, driving with one hand as I followed their cars through the first intersection.

She seemed to be looking for something, but I had no notion of what that might be until I turned on my ear bud and realised she was seeking a petrol station that might afford Khan the opportunity to take her. I had watched our home, and one morning whilst Cassandra was at work, the man there that day – I later surmised it was Jim Wesley, as his appearance was unknown to me – left for half-an-hour. I entered the house and set the programming on my own ear bud to correspond with that of their transponder. I had placed listening devices throughout the house in order that I might monitor all that transpired. The dogs were quite pleased to see me; I left them with reluctance.

I skidded to a stop at the next intersection, barely avoiding being struck broadside by a bread delivery truck when I almost ran through the changing light. Cassandra was in the far right lane, and I pounded the steering wheel in frustration as she went through the next intersection. Once the light changed, I followed, beginning to look into the various strip mall car parks I passed in the event Khan had forced her into one of them, hoping to see both vehicles. There was no sign of them. I could feel the cold sweat of fear break out on my forehead as more dripped down my spine. I stopped at the next traffic light, looking all round as I did, seeing nothing of either vehicle. It was then I heard her exchange with Khan on my earbud and realised he taken her; she had succeeded in her plan.

When the light changed and I moved forward with the traffic, I heard the distant wail of sirens and began looking for the source of the sounds. Glancing into my rear view mirror, I saw a Dallas Police vehicle bearing down on me, sirens blazing and lights flashing even as he leant on his horn and drove up onto the paved walkway, weaving round the light stanchions to run his car down the centre of the walk. I followed him. Less than five minutes later we arrived at a snarl of local police vehicles and unmarked units with temporary flashers affixed to their roofs. We were at a petrol station, and her car was at one of the pumps, its door open wide. She was not to be seen until I looked across the intersection and saw Khan’s van where it had run into a light stanchion. Terry was there and holding her in his arms. May the Gods be praised.

TERRY
I ran every bloody red light between the office and the intersection just south of the petrol station where Khan had grabbed Reags, literally going up onto sidewalks a couple of times and scaring the piss out of a few pedestrians in order to get round the slowly moving traffic. I arrived and jumped out of the car just as I heard the report of a pistol, and my heart damned near stopped until I saw Reags bail out of Khan’s van and run for the closest law enforcement officer. I shoved through the gathering crowd, telling the uniformed officer who attempted to stop me that I was her brother-in-law. It was the best I could come up with on the instant. She saw me and ran to my arms; I held her closer than I’d ever done with any woman other than Diana. She was safe, and the police were surrounding the van. I looked over at the van but didn’t see any movement, and Khan was no where in sight …interesting.

The federal officers moved in slowly, followed by the locals who had originally surrounded the van. They called Khan’s name a number of times but got no response. I looked down at Reags and spoke softly.

“Reagan, listen to me.” She looked up in surprise; I doubt either of us could recall the last time I’d used her full given name. “All I heard was the report of a sidearm …did you shoot Khan or did the police?”

“I did …he pulled a knife on me and was close enough to do a lot of damage. I ….”

“Reagan …shut up now, and listen carefully. You did NOT deviate from your usual route to lure Khan to you. You had a reason for going the way you did this morning. What was it?”

“What are you talking about?” I gave her a shake.

“Shut up and listen to me. If Khan is dead and the police have reason to suspect you lured him to you, that’s good for a charge of premeditated murder. Do I have your attention now?” She went white as a sheet; it was clear she hadn’t thought this through to its logical conclusion. “Think, Love. What was your reason for your diversion this morning?” I could almost see the thoughts racing through her head before she spoke.

“Just before Maximus left for Damascus, I got caught in a terrific traffic snarl-up on my way to work. I was late for class that day. That’s documented because I called in and asked someone go to my class and tell them I was running late because of traffic. I thought at the time I should explore alternate routes for getting to the university. This morning seemed as good a time as any.” She was still wearing her microphone, and I knew Ted and Jim could hear her.

“Jim? The fucking tape goes into the burn bag.” She looked up at me and then over my shoulder, her mouth falling open in shock as her pupils dilated. I unstrapped the sheath with the Perejil on her arm and put that in my inside coat pocket, then pulled the ear bud and transmitter from her ear and blazer, shoving them deep in my pocket before turning in the direction she was looking. Her voice was barely more than a whisper when she spoke.

“Maximus?”

REAGAN
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The little gray Toyota that had been following us had pulled up just outside the knot of official vehicles. A man jumped out, running past the astonished police officers, knocking one who tried to stop him to the ground. His hair was long, and his beard had grown higher up onto his cheeks. He was dressed in khaki pants, work boots, and the Sears work shirt he wore was unbuttoned almost to his waist, clearly revealing his shoulder holster. My heart was pounding like a trip-hammer as I said his name.

“Maximus?” Terry’s head snapped round, and I heard his muttered ‘oh, Christ,’ as I felt myself pulled into the warmth of the only man I will ever love. Dear God, I could smell him again ….

TERRY
The emergency wagon called for Khan pulled up within ten minutes of Reagan’s having told Max and me her official reason for taking an alternate route this morning. A few minutes later Khan was taken out of his van on a stretcher and shouted when he saw Reags, gesturing wildly, shouting that a crazy woman had forced her way into his van at gunpoint, forcing him to drive her away before he overpowered her, and she shot him to get away. Well, in a manner of speaking, he might not be that far off the mark with the crazy bit …I suppose it depends on your point of view. I looked at Reags as they loaded Khan into the wagon.

“Where’s your Glock …and did you use it or the .25?”

“The .25, and I dropped it in the van. He knocked it out of my hand after I shot him. His knife is there, too …he gave me ample reason to defend myself.” Max spoke first, moving her away from his body, eyes scanning her for injuries.

“Have you been injured?” She raised her left hand from where it had been on her thigh and looked down. Now I noted the blood, the slice in her jeans, and a very large, nasty looking wound on her leg.

“He was holding me with his right hand just before he crashed the car. I tried to jerk away; he let go of the wheel and slashed at me as I moved across the seat toward the door. I got to my Beretta and fired only after he slashed at me.” It seemed finally to be getting through to her that she might have been killed and truly had been wounded; she was looking a bit pale as she looked down at her leg. “Damn! He actually got me ….” Max and I were looking at her leg. The blood didn’t seem to be spurting, but it was a steady flow down her leg. Her jeans were soaked all the way to her ankle, and her boot was glistening with blood. What with Max’s sudden reappearance and the wound, I suppose she was too shocky at the moment to realise she was sloshing about in a boot filled with her own blood. We walked her over to the medics just as they got Khan into the emergency vehicle and asked them to call another transport.

“The man in your truck injured the lady here. She’s bleeding rather heavily.” Max turned her round so they could see for themselves. One of them took a look and called to his mate in the cab.

“Hey, Tony, call another wagon. The lady that got grabbed is injured.” He pulled his kit from the back of the wagon and turned back to us. “Ma’am, you come over here and sit. It’s gonna be a few minutes before we’re ready to leave, and I need to take a look at that.” Billy Mason - according to his name badge - walked us to my car and turned Reags round to face the bonnet and knelt beside her to take a look, then shook his head.

“You’re one lucky lady, Ma’am. If he’d shoved that blade in, he’d have sliced right into the major vessels. As it is, he probably just got superficial ones …maybe nicked a deeper one. Lots of bleeding but just a couple of tiny pumpers …a pressure bandage should stop them. Let me get a pressure dressing on that for you, and as soon as the next bus gets here, we’ll get you to the hospital.” He looked at Max. “You her husband?”

“Her fiancé; we are to be married in October.”

“Right. Then let’s sit her down until the bus gets here.” Of course Reags refused to sit. I shook my head. Women. I’m glad Max has to deal with this particular woman on a long-term basis, rather than me. Diana's observation about my feelings for Reags notwithstanding, I’d likely wring her bloody neck on general principle. I looked at her as I opened the passenger door to the Jag.

“Reagan, sit before you fall.”

“What? And get blood all over your upholstery? I don’t think so!” I didn’t give Max time to try and talk her round. I’d had about enough of her bloody independence for one day.

“Get in the fucking car, Reagan!” Shocked hell out of me, but she did. She was turning waxen and getting shakier into the bargain. She’d likely lost more blood than she realised, and with the accompanying adrenalin rush now subsiding, she was starting to feel the strain. A man in a suit, whom I took to be one of the local police officers, walked over to us.

“You okay, Ma’am? I heard the medics call another wagon. Are you injured or just scared?” The medic answered for her, advising that a second wagon was on the way to take her to hospital for an injury. The officer nodded. “The man you shot will make it. Looking at the size of the knife we found on the floor of his van, it’s a good thing you had a firearm on you. You wouldn’t happen to have a licence to carry it, would you?” She perked up a bit. Max and I exchanged a look.

“Of course I do. I’m a former federal agent and do occasional work for Mr. Thorne’s firm. Unfortunately, my licence to carry, my ID, everything is in my car, at the station where that son of a bitch grabbed me.” Reags waved her hand in the direction of the station, though at this point it wasn’t likely anyone could get through the crowd to check her Jeep. The officer nodded and looked at me.

“And who might you be, Sir?” I reached into my pocket and produced a business card.

“Terry Thorne. We’re in personal security. Dr. Kavanagh works for us on an ad hoc basis.” He turned to Max. “How ‘bout you?”

“Her fiancé. Mr. Thorne and I are partners.” He produced his driving licence and business card before the officer could ask for identification.

“Okay.” It seemed he was about to say something else but stopped himself as he looked across the car park. I’d seen Ted Ackerman pull up a few minutes earlier and stop to talk with what I assumed to be a couple of the local FBI types. He walked to us and knelt in front of Reags.

“Jesus, Girl. What the Hell happened?” He seemed then to register that the unshaven bloke with the long hair was Max and shook his head and grinned as Reags answered.

“Later, Ted. Right now would someone just please take me home?” The medic put in his two cents worth.

“Not quite yet, Ma’am. Your next stop is Parkland.” As soon as I can get away from this lot of escapees from a mental ward, I need to call Dino and Diana.

DETECTIVE SERGEANT AL GARZA, DALLAS POLICE DEPARTMENT
I’d stopped for coffee at one of the local stop-and-robs and was just walking out the door with the cup in my hand when I heard the APB on the unit’s radio. My partner was in the car, and we gunned it out of the parking lot. The incident was less than two blocks from our present location, and we pulled onto the scene just as the federal boys arrived. One of the uniforms from a blue-and-white told me he’d arrived just as a tall, blonde woman bailed from a dark gray panel van, running Hell for leather across the parking lot toward a man who had just screeched up in a black Jag. That got my attention and made me even more suspicious than the gunshot had.

By the time Andy – my partner – and I got to them, the man had his arms around her and was holding her. Obviously, they were pretty well acquainted …probably her husband. She looked over his shoulder, and her mouth dropped open as another guy wearing work clothes bailed from a beat up Toyota and sprinted across the lot toward her, pulling her away from the first guy and into his arms like he’d just found salvation, and she was it. What was this? The husband and the boyfriend? This had great potential for turning into a classic domestic disturbance.

I let the blue-and-whites take care of the van and sprinted over to check the status of the guy who’d apparently been removed from it. He was injured but not badly. He’d taken a bullet in his upper left arm and was making a lot of noise. I turned and headed to the cozy threesome, pulling my ID from my coat pocket as I approached them. The woman was sitting in the front seat of the first guy’s Jag with one of the medics giving her a look over. A lot of blood on her left leg and a nasty cut on her left thigh. Her pants were soaked, and if she stayed on her feet, she was going to be squishing around in the blood pooling in her left boot.

“Detective Sergeant Al Garza, Violent Crimes Unit.” I looked at the woman “You okay, Ma’am? How badly are you hurt?” She looked at me with wide eyes but didn’t give any sort of affirmation. The man with her - the one who’d been holding her when I drove up – and who was wearing a suit spoke first. We went through the formalities; he gave me his card. The second guy – the one in work clothes – said he was the woman’s fiancé and produced his business card and driver’s license. The woman said she was a former federal agent and had a license to carry. The first man – Terry Thorne – said she worked for him on an ad hoc basis. Man number two – the boyfriend – said his name was Max Espan. Interesting; but for the difference in surnames, I’d have bet he and Thorne were brothers. We were getting that worked out when one of the federal boys jogged over and hugged the woman …another man she apparently knows well. I’m beginning to think this little gal might be a lot of fun at a party.

The second bus rolled up, and the medics loaded her into it, with Thorne in the jump seat up front and Espan – the boyfriend - in the back with her. I stayed behind and talked to the Fed – Ted Ackerman – who agreed to follow me to the hospital so I could get the rest of the story. I asked if he knew whether or not she had a permit to carry the gun she’d used to shoot the perp. Ackerman said she did. She’d said she did but as she didn’t have documentation on her, I wanted corroboration.  I sent two uniforms to find her car, get the registration and permit, and bring them to me at Parkland. Thorne had given the name and account number of his auto club to one of the uniforms, asking that he call and have the woman’s car towed back to her home and leave the keys under the floor mat. This was shaping up to be one Hell of an interesting morning.

To be Continued

NOTES

Just Once More	Reprinted with permission of the author. G. Gregory, Copyright 2006 http://www.myerotica.net
Pacing the Cage	Pacing the Cage, Charity of the Night. Bruce Cockburn. http://music.allofmp3.com/r2/Bruce_Cockburn/The_Charity_Of_Night/group_4282/album_4/albref_53/mcatalog.shtml
Assume	In both military and federal service, the word ‘assume’ is an acronym for ASS – U – ME. The meaning is that to assume makes an ASS of both U and ME.
Burn Bag	U.S. Government expression. The bag into which classified, shredded documents are placed for burning.
Parkland	Parkland General Hospital. The acute care, general hospital for Dallas County, Texas.
Stop-and-Rob	Slang used for small, corner markets, which are frequently targeted by thieves after the contents of the cash register.
APB	All Points Bulletin. Commonly issued when all officers in a specific vicinity are required to respond to an emergent situation.
Blue-and-whites	Dallas police cars are blue and white, hence, ‘blue-and-whites.’
Uniforms	Uniformed police officers

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