The name swam before his eyes as Joe stared in disbelief. Sure enough – Jana E. Sayers. The hair wasn’t Sam’s after all. The bitter pill didn’t go down easily.
“But the voice, the things she knew. How in the world could she have known all that?”
The SAC shook his head. “Maybe this Elite group pumped Miss Bartlett for information before killing her – you know, use the identities of some of their victims.”
“They blew up her house.”
“But there was that portion of a tunnel remember,” Hitchens reminded him.
The tunnel – he’d never be able to forget that blasted tunnel. It haunted his dreams nearly every night. The ground-penetrating radar hadn’t picked up anything past the caved-in area. Was it possible it was only a fall-out shelter or something?
Then there was the lady in black at the cemetery. She’d been staring at her parents’ graves – not Sam’s. So many times he’d wished he could’ve gone back to that moment. Why hadn’t he paid a little more attention to her that day?
“But why would this Jana Sayers have given me this Elite name then? Also, how could she have recognized me?”
The squawk box buzzed. “Sir, the other lab report just arrived.”
Hitchens responded, “Bring it in.”
Joe ground his teeth. Once again he ran through last week’s encounter in his mind. The new results threw all his theories and hopes out the window, but there were still too many bells going off inside his head. The body definitely hadn’t looked like Sam. Of course, he’d never really seen Sam nude before, but she was just the right height. The green eyes were easily explained – colored contact lenses. The hair could have been dyed, but then the hair was where the real problem lay. Was it really Sam’s voice or had he just wanted so badly to believe it was her?
The agent brought in the packet and handed it to Hitchens. Joe waited for the confirmation of DNA from the blood samples they’d taken at the warehouse.
A low whistle emanated from the SAC. “I’ll be damned.” Hitchens handed the sleeve to Joe. “No doubt now. We’ve got an interesting twist on this suspect.”
The name on the report screamed from the pages.
Samantha J. Bartlett.
***
The back room was in mass confusion. Digital images of Samantha flooded computer screens in various stages of reconstruction as multiple agents tried to piece together plastic surgery procedures used to alter her appearance.
Joe scanned the screens and clarified images. Her new appearance was seared in his mind from the shock he’d experienced in the alley of trying to bring together the familiar voice with the unfamiliar face.
“And she’d had, um…implants,” Joe offered.
Several agents asked in unison, “What kind?”
The darkness of the room concealed Joe’s blush. “You know – in the chest.”
“Breast augmentation?” one asked.
“Yes.”
Fingers flew across keyboards, the tapping creating a hypnotic drone.
“Would you estimate the cup size?”
Joe rolled his eyes. The line of questions was becoming almost humiliating. “I’m no expert in women’s lingerie, guys. Maybe about here.” Joe held his hands at about the right distance from his body.
The agents whistled.
“Looks like a G to me.”
“Hubba-hubba.”
“Did you get to touch them?”
Hitchens walked over and slammed a button. The images on the screens immediately switched over to a camera feed – the President’s funeral procession.
“Who here does not understand that we are in a very serious situation? President Warner is dead, people. This woman is the only sure link we have to that sinister plot.”
Silence filled the room. The feed showed the horse-drawn caisson slowly rolling down Constitution Avenue, a flag-draped casket resting inside on its journey to the U.S. Capitol Building. Minutes ticked by as the horses continued their deathly cadence. The silence continued even after the SAC switched the image back to Samantha’s, save for the resumed clacking of keyboards. Hitchens pulled Joe aside.
“Has it occurred to you that with the level of blood found, your friend may not have survived this time?”
Joe nodded. “Then I keep coming back to the fact that they went through the trouble of rescuing her.”
“Yes, that’s where I end up too.”
Her image across the screens seemed so unreal. Samantha a killer? How was it possible? That just didn’t compute. If those in her group had saved her, she was still a marked woman. When found, she’d be tried and executed. Even if he saved her, he couldn’t save her.
Joe felt trapped, his allegiances divided. Memories of their youth together, her return to Kansas, their kiss. Bitterness waged war in his soul as reality crashed over him, drowning out any hopes of reconciliation.
Samantha was doomed.
Chapter 54 – For Love
The enormous agony lessened day-by-day. Samantha’s waning strength gradually returned, but to what point and purpose?
Debrille never came to visit her – more of a blessing instead of a curse. Too soon Marcus started in on exercising the leg to the barrage of Samantha’s curses. But it didn’t compute. Why was he so concerned about rehabilitating her when she’d completed her deadly mission? Debrille had to have a new plan for her up his sleeve, however she wasn’t going to stick around long enough to find out what it was. She had plans of her own, foolhardy though they were.
No longer would she continue being their little Barbie doll. No longer could she stomach being controlled by a crazed madman. She’d committed the most heinous of crimes – taken a life. As soon as she were able she would escape – or die trying.
The thought pushed her to work the leg when Marcus left the room, sometimes to the point of passing out cold. Then as soon as the darkness cleared and the throbbing grew more manageable, she’d flex and bend it again. Always she massaged the muscles to keep them warm and ready, the blood flowing. Atrophy would be the worst possible roadblock to her plans of escape.
Marcus came in alone one evening after dinner. Silently he checked her over, paying diligent attention to the healing laceration around her thigh. Apparently satisfied, he reached into his pocket, took out a notebook and pen, and began to write. Sweat gathered above his lip and on his forehead. Samantha had never seen the guy break a sweat before except when training. Something was up.
After he finished, he ripped the page out and handed it to her. The paper trembled almost imperceptibly as she took it from his hands.
“What – testing my eyesight now?”
His face grew stern - fearful. He tapped the paper she held and motioned for silence.
The words leapt from the page and nearly stilled her heart.
Plan to escape. Get you walking without anyone’s knowledge.
Samantha stared at him. Was it another mind trick? Was he setting her up? His eyes held a glimmer of truth, his mouth set in a firm resolve. This was no test.
She grabbed the pad and pen from his hands and wrote one word. Why?
Debrille sending to South American brothel. Worse hell.
Nausea gripped her belly. A sex slave? Wasn’t that what she was already? She stared at him in bewilderment, her mind unable to comprehend a worse horror.
Marcus scribbled again. Tied up – drugged – new john every thirty minutes until you DIE.
Samantha’s hand shook as she wrote. Bone strength?
New drug heals bone faster.
Ear chip?
Working on it.
Samantha nodded. Marcus grabbed all the pages, stuffed them into a ceramic dish, then poured a small sample of hydrochloric acid until the contents dissolved. The evidence of their plot disappeared.
Gently he lifted Samantha from the bed and propped her against him as she tested her weight on the good leg.
“Careful,” he whispered.
Weight transferred gradual
ly between her legs until darkness closed in around her. Before she lost consciousness, Samantha was aware of concern emanating from Marcus’ eyes.
It wasn’t until she regained consciousness and found herself alone in the dark once again that Samantha realized Marcus’ eyes held something else – something so entirely foreign.
Love.
***
Abbie Warner peered through the dank darkness of the long tunnel. Where was he? Anticipation beat in her chest, longing rose. It had been so long.
Secret Service agents were probably already planning their strategy to come in after her if she didn’t get back topside soon. Hopefully Ben could keep them busy. The chance that they’d find the shaft and then the corresponding tunnel did not bode well for future plans. They’d been in more dire predicaments than this though. Just a few moments longer.
A light suddenly glimmered in the distance. Hope leapt. The tram pulled near and stopped. She could barely contain herself when he stepped from the vehicle.
“Oh, Adolf.” She buried her face in his neck and smelled his nearness. Tears rose in her eyes.
“You should not have risked coming down here now,” he chastised in German. “Your days of mourning have not yet ended.”
Through the sternness in his voice she still detected his tender regard. “I could not wait another day.” The guttural language came easily to her lips. “Do not make me go back. I cannot bear to be away from you any longer.”
“Just another year, my love.”
Abbie’s heart threatened to wrench from her chest at his words. Her sobbing increased. She clung desperately to him.
“But it’s already been two years since I last saw you, and that was brief enough,” she choked.
Adolf’s hands were warm as he stroked her hair. “There, there. You have done so well. No one suspects you killed him?”
“No. They are chasing down your Alexandra girl, or whatever her name was.”
“Good. One year more, then all our plans will be fixed, and we’ll never be apart again.” He lifted her chin until their eyes locked. “I promise you.”
Abbie stared at his face, devouring just one more look to last her another year. She swallowed her sobs and dabbed at her eyes.
“I will hold you to that promise.”
“And I will fulfill it.” He enveloped her mouth with his. “Until then, my dear Eva.”
***
“So, Rookie, tell me more about this sex-goddess, murdering tramp friend of yours. Is she that good?”
If Hitchens hadn’t grabbed his arm, Joe would have laid Laturno out flat on his back.
“That’s enough, Laturno,” Hitchens said.
Laturno stared at Joe and grinned. “So – even after all she’s done, you still love her?”
Joe seethed. “You’re sick, Laturno, you know that?”
“I’m sick? Your girlfriend bucked him like a bronco then killed the President of the United States, and I’m the sick one?”
The SAC intervened. “I said that’s enough. Now either cut the sarcastic comments, Laturno, or you’re off the investigation.”
Their voices echoed throughout the warehouse. At this rate they’d get very little investigating done.
“Hey, I’ve been the lead on this case four years. He’s the one with the personal connection. The rookie should be off if anyone.”
“Last I checked, I’m the one they call Special Agent-in-Charge around here. Therefore I lead every damned investigation in this division of the entire Bureau. Therefore I decide who is on what case. You got it?”
Steam almost belched from Hitchens’ collar. Daggers practically glinted from Laturno’s eyes, but eventually he backed down.
“As you say, sir.”
They returned to pouring over the blueprints of the building.
Fact – Samantha had entered the building through the fourth floor window.
Fact – She’d not exited the building through normal channels.
Fact – No one else had been able to enter or leave the building to rescue her.
Fact – A trail of blood droplets led down the hallway to the stairwell where it ended in a small puddle. No footprints. Someone else must have carried her, but how did they get in, then how did they get out without being seen?
Joe had a thought. “Sir, what if we undertook a demolition project?”
Hitchens face held questions. “Where?”
“Here.”
“We’d have to get the owner’s permission.”
“Not hard for the Bureau, I’m sure.”
“Done. What perimeter area?”
“Around the stairwell.”
Laturno interrupted. “Wait a minute. What in the world do you expect to accomplish by taking out a stairwell of an old building?”
“Not the stairwell itself, but the wall here,” Joe pointed on the blueprints, “between the stairwell and the elevator shaft.”
Laturno slapped the blueprints. “It’s just empty space. There’s not enough room there for anything.”
Joe was about to lose his patience. “Look, they had to have a way to get in and out of the building without being seen – why else would she have done something so crazy as to have crashed through the window after crawling up the other building? She was obviously in the wrong place and needed to get over here.”
Hitchens leaned back and lit a cigarette. “Keep going, Roberts.”
“Okay, consider this. If these people are somehow connected with Hitler or Nazis or some other such…”
“Hogwash?” Laturno intervened.
“Sure, whatever. The Nazis were famous for their secret bunkers, underground labyrinths of tunnels, you name it. This building may be one of the entry points to getting to their hideout.”
Hitchens flipped out his phone and barked orders. “I want permissions and permits pulled on this building ASAP. And get demolition out here pronto. We’ve got a duck to pluck.”
Chapter 55 – Lost and Found
“Samantha. Samantha, wake up. It’s time.”
The light pierced through the edges of sleep as Marcus flipped on the bedroom light. He’d already covered the camera with black tape. With a sweep of his arm he cleared the surface of her dresser and laid out an array of instruments.
Samantha bolted up in bed. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“We’ve got to get you out of here – now.”
“I’m still limping.”
“I know, but we’ve run out of time. I can’t believe they’ve figured it all out so fast, but they’ve linked Alexandra to Samantha. They know you are you. They know for certain you didn’t die in the explosion a year ago, and now they’re searching. Debrille’s been briefed on the FBI’s knowledge. He’s on his way back.”
Samantha’s stomach did a flip-flop as she got out of bed and threw on some clothes. How could…?
Joe.
The realization gave her comfort followed by a fear and torment chaser. The memory of his kiss left bitterness on her lips. He was on her tail now. He knew what she’d done. Joe was an honorable man, and he’d make sure she was brought to justice for her crimes. If anyone could find her Joe would. Then he’d throw the book at her. But she was dead whether she stayed or left the underground. Anything was better than a life ended in a South American brothel.
The backpack lay right where she’d hidden it in the closet. Comfortable shoes were going to be important, so she threw an extra pair in along with another change of garments.
Marcus slid a wad of cash out of his pocket. “Put this in your bag. It’s only a few thousand but is all I could pilfer on such short notice. I didn’t expect this to happen so soon. How’s the leg?”
“Doesn’t hurt as much anymore. Still a little weak, but it’s okay.”
“Hold still then – this will only hurt for a moment.”
The shot near her ear was necessary. They couldn’t risk getting too close to the ear chip and setting off a signal. Otherwise they’d both be blown
to bits. Still they had to get close enough for the medicine to work where it was needed.
After he finished the injection, Marcus pinched her ear chip then outlined it with a black pen. “Once numbness takes effect get it over with as quickly as possible. I’ve brought plenty of gauze. Just dress it quickly and put the rest in the bag, but most importantly be careful.”
“What about you?”
“While Debrille is up in arms sweating it out over your escape, I’ll follow within twenty-four hours – no more, you hear?”
“Right.”
Marcus reached into the other pocket, pulled out a map, and handed it to her – the National Cathedral. Samantha nodded.
“If I’m not there in the allotted time, get out.”
“And go where?”
Marcus smiled. He had a nice smile. She wished she’d had the chance to see it more often.
“You’re a smart girl. You’ll manage to stay one step ahead of them if you have to.”
No time for tears. No time for introspection. Samantha stared into Marcus’ blue eyes as if truly seeing him for the first time.
“Why now?”
“You still haven’t figured it out?”
He grabbed her and kissed her deep – so simple, so much less than everything else they’d done before, and yet it held so much more.
Marcus looked hard into her eyes as he pulled away and whispered in her ear. “Just make it out, you hear? Bank three, shaft eight – I’ve disabled the camera and set the controls on automatic. Twenty-four hours. Hurry.”
With one more kiss, Marcus left her alone. So alone.
Adrenaline rushed through her body as she picked up the hole-punch, stared in the mirror, and lined it up with the pen marks drawn on her ear lobe. She had to be firm. She had to be quick. She had to sever all lines from the ear chip at exactly the same time or there’d be one big mess for them to clean up.
Samantha exhaled. Closed her eyes.
And squeezed.
***
The demolition claw pulled back panel after panel of sheet rock. Dust swirled in the air like tornadoes during a Kansas spring before settling in a fine layer on the stairs. Then the claw bit more carefully into the wood panels positioned behind it. Minutes turned into nearly three hours. Joe knew immediately when they hit metal by the unnerving screech.
Heads gathered near the open wall as the debris settled. Steel tubes and chalky sheet metal lay cocooned in a narrow slot.