A short fictional work based on the tv series 'Without a Trace'
Rating: PG-17 (Language, violence)
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the show or characters. This story is for entertainment purposes only, without profit or gain of any kind.
Note: First, thanks to all of you who've read both of my earlier Without a Trace pieces, Nothing Gold Can Stay from last year and more recently, In Extremis: Epilogue. I truly appreciate your kind and generous support, it really does make a difference hearing from you, it helps me write better.
A big huge Debt of gratitude to my friend and advise giver and most excellent editor, Christy. Thanks Pard, without you, this story wouldn't be here.
Warning, this story might be long, (those of you who've read my Magnificent Seven Fic's know how hard it is for me to write short stories. Stop laughing Laramee, I can hear you!)
Without Further interruption, let the tale begin.
It was the perfect setting. Hollywood couldn't have scripted it any better. Sheer luck and a bit of good fortune twenty years ago had brought this piece of property into his lap. For close to sixty years the sturdy stone building had produced rich chocolate confections. But when the owner died in nineteen seventy nine, his sons sold the business. It had been on the market for a few years when he bought it. The spacious three story building had a wonderfully laid out cellar as well.
When Pete heard about casino gambling appearing in Atlantic City , he did some homework. He'd purchased this old factory with the hopes of knocking it down and building condos. It was close enough to Atlantic City for the gamblers but the private beach and access road would offer a relaxing Mecca as well. It was money in the bank. It wasn't even in his own name so there would be no ties to him.
But the demands of his job and unforeseen expenses had dashed those hopes. All but forgotten, it would now serve as the hub for the fruition of his plan. He'd begun renovations last year when the need for the plan of action was born. He did most of the work himself. He was amazed at just how much information was available on the internet. He'd poured all his extra time and money into converting the large stone building into his arena of judgement. It had state of the art extras in electronics, videos and other necessary tools.
It would be in this room that he would be the judge, jury and executioner. There would be no stay of execution; the governor would not call at the last minute. The face of his prey loomed in his mind and his rage grew. He clutched his fist and banged it against the wall.
"You'll pay for your sin!"
Pete Gibson strolled through the first floor, eyeing the renovations. His office was here, a small cantina that would serve as a kitchen and of course his 'playroom'. That was where the fun would be, where he could watch and plan his every move. All the time and effort paid off; mostly on his own or the use of day laborers. Untraceable and illegal, these desperate souls showed up at designated locations to hire out for the day. The rest had been the efforts of some of his patients, who traded off their talent for his silence.
The top floor was mostly storage. The floor above him had been converted into a three bedroom condo where he would stay. Below, in the 'dungeon' the cells were waiting. Spacious and with all the comforts of home, they would serve the prisoners well. After all, what good was the show with out without an audience? Confined to their last earthly abode, they would be treated to the entire story. They would see the origins of the ordeal, watch live events and of course the execution.
"Live and in technicolor!" he boasted.
He paused at the control room and eyed the wall of monitors. Below on several workstations were computers and other electronic toys. He spared no expense and got top of the line material from overseas. He sat down at the primary work station and turned the computer on. He punched in the numbers and smiled as the image appeared. Martin Fitzgerald was having coffee and fidgeting. Those animated blue eyes were trained on the phone and the fingers on his right hand tapped the table in front of him impatiently
"So you're waiting for your doctor to call and give the green light..." he guessed based on their conversation early that morning.
Fitzgerald was nervous; his knee was jumping as he waited for the doctor's office to call him. Based on the examination last night, Martin hoped to be cleared for work. Now that his 'head' was clear, he was confident and cocky again.
"But not for long..." he predicted.
Gibson's unsuspecting prize student had been all to accommodating this morning, unaware that his subconscious had provided information on his co-worker's schedule for today. He'd come in at seven a.m. for their final session. He'd left more confident than ever, unaware of the fine-tuning that had been done. Today's session had just reinforced what he knew. Combined with all the prior hypnotherapy, he now just how to pull the strings to make his puppet work.
"Enjoy it while you can, Mister Fitzgerald," he laughed, eyeing his watch. He lifted his own coffee and toasted the screen. "Actually, I think thanks are in order. You are indeed my prize specimen!"
He thought on the information the unsuspecting patient had given while under hypnosis. Cell phone and home phone numbers of his team, vital information on the cases they were working, their habits and other delicious details. He had more than enough rope for the hanging. As for the others, they would be never be found. His years as a cop had given him many trips up and down the turnpike to New Jersey. He knew every exit and knew several spots in the Pine Barrens that no man could find without a map.
"Malone"
The leader of one of New York's finest squad of federal agents picked the ringing phone up on the second cry. He was expecting a call from Martin's doctor. The anxious agent has called twice since eight a.m, hoping for news.
"Falcone here, Johnson said to call if anything turned up. I got her voicemail, she's not in town?"
"No, she and Agent Spade left for Maine this morning to talk to Abby Harrison's father. What do you have?"
"Two positive ID's from the Trop and Harrah's. Hughes worked for them as a legal consultant. He was on retainer with Harrah's for about seven years, the Trop for over five. He moved out of the area about five years ago."
"Friends or associates? Anything we can go on?"
"Not so far, but there's such a high turnover of employees in this business..." Falcone scratched his chin. "You're talking over ten years ago. His secretary was an older woman, died a couple years back. So far, we can't locate any records of files." He eyed his notes. "Your crew get anything on the grounds of Tex's?" The lawmen inquired on the site where the meeting between the dead man and suspect supposedly took place.
"Not yet," Malone saw the other line blinking several times and threw a pen at the window. Danny Taylor turned around and he pointed to the line. The younger man nodded and picked it up. "But if anything turns up, I'll let you know. Taylor and I have a meeting this morning. If he's not tied up all afternoon, I'll send him down there. He can meet with you and you can give him what you got. Hughes must have made an impression on somebody."
Danny poked his head in the door and nodded to his boss. He shifted his cheese bear claw into the other hand, swallowed and licked the sugar mustache from his lips.
"Jack, Doctor Andrews in is on the phone."
Jack nodded, "Okay, Captain Falcone, thanks. I'll have Danny check in with you when he gets to Atlantic City." He signed off and punched the other line. His annoyed face and waving hand did nothing to dispel the anxious Taylor who lingered in the entry to the office. "Malone..."
"Good Morning Mister Malone. I won't keep you long I know you are a busy man. I gave Martin Fitzgerald a complete exam yesterday and he passed with flying colors. The leg is healing nicely, but I'd like him restricted to desk duty for another ten days. I don't want to put undue pressure on the healing tissues."
"Good enough, Doc. You sign off on his paperwork?"
"I will do that as soon as his final lab work is here. I called them and they read the results but I need to sign them. I told Martin that last night that the paperwork wouldn't be ready until after lunch. Have him stop by at 1 p.m. and I'll turn the papers over to him. I just faxed you the final report which is a synopsis of the incident and treatment."
"Thanks." Jack nodded to the fax machine then snapped his fingers when Taylor never moved. Finally Danny ambled over, shoved the pastry in his mouth, brushed his sticky fingers on his suit jacket and picked up the papers. After scanning them, he muffled a cry of glee which sent crumbs and tiny pieces of cheese flying.
"You're cleanin' that mess up!" Jack whispered, snapping his fingers. "Yeah, I got it. Anything I should know? He okay to do a full day?"
"Fine. He's been resting, taking his medication and eating well. I read him the riot act about permanent tissue damage. He seemed to comply."
"You don't know him like I do," Jack thought aloud of the blue-eyed terrier. It would be a long week and a half and a cranky agent. "Okay, thanks again."
Jack hung up, pulled a side drawer open in his desk by his knee and fingered through the red and green folders until he came to the one he sought. He filed Martin's medical release into it and then shut the drawer. He put his glasses on and went back to reading one of the many open files on his desk. Several minutes went by and he heard footsteps.
"Well?" Danny paused by the desk, watching as his dishevelled boss's head came up. The dark eyes appraised him still tinged with annoyance.
"Well what?"
"What did he say? Is my man Harvard okay for duty? He's been working so hard..."
"Working?" Malone frowned. "He's supposed to be resting." He saw the handsome agent's dark eyes shift and the jaw was set. "You keeping something from me?"
"No, he had some business to take care of... it got done. He gave me his word and he did it."
"Business?" He thought back on the last time the two were working. The strange incident by the cave came to mine. "This tied to that cave and him getting sick?"
"It was..." Danny changed the subject. "So he's back on board?"
"He is," Jack replied, "Get cleaned up, Helen Bacon's expecting us," he noted of the meeting they were having at the State Department. She had a potential contact calling in who knew both the missing nun and the priest who they couldn't locate in Costa Rica.
"Are you gonna call him?"
"Is this my office?" Jack eyed the puzzled agent and nodded at the door. "Don't let it hit your ass," he ordered, picking up the phone as a slow smile formed on Taylor's face. "GO!"
"Grouch... even with a ton of caffeine."
Martin was pacing the living room again, having re-adjusted every picture that hung on the walls and moved the same neat pile of magazines to each end of the coffee table. He paused at the mirror and adjusted his tie. He found a small smile, having selected one with wide stripes just to annoy the hell out of Danny Taylor. He sighed, eyed his watch and frowned.
"...the hell's taking so long... it's almost eleven..." He broke his thought when the phone rang. "Jack?"
"You psychic or anxious?"
"Maybe both... I'm leaving now. I can..."
"You weren't invited yet."
"Aw, hell..." Martin sank back on his heels, raking a hand through his short hair.
"Desk duty for ten days and then..."
"Ten days!" Martin barked. "Come on Jack... you can't be serious. I'm fine. There's no reason I can't..."
"That skinny ass of yours isn't even in the door yet and you're bitchin'. You keep that temper under control or I'll make a call to that doctor and it'll be twelve."
"That's blackmail!"
"Shootin' for fourteen?" The silence followed by a short and annoyed huff gave him his reply. Satisfied he leaned back cast his eyes on the empty desk where Fitzgerald usually worked. The office seemed off balance without him. He'd become that much of an integral part of their machine. "Danny and I are headed over to the State Department to talk to Helen Bacon. You stop by the doctor's office arount one o'clock he said he'll have your paperwork signed off. I'm leaving some files in the conference room. You read over them and get yourself caught up on the case."
"Yeah I know... paperwork's the glue..." Martin returned tersely.
"It's the truth."
"It's bullshit..."
"You're on duty, Fitzgerald and you're late. Get that hot head of yours out the door." Jack ended the conversation by hanging up.
As Vivian drove up the street crowded with tourists and workers seeking lunch by the sea, Sam's gaze lingered on the rocky coast. There was a golden sun leaving shimmering shades of luster on deep blue water while gulls sang a chorus above. A lighthouse sat on a point, its weather beaten sides speaking eloquently of days gone by. She tossed back her flaxen locks and inhaled the sweet scent of wild roses. Coupled with the salt spray and stunning visuals, it was intoxicating. Fishing boats dotted the murky depths, no doubt the men and women working them harvesting that which this area of the country was famous for.
"World's best lobster bisque," Vivian read a cafe sign as they drove by. Her eyes swept over the very picturesque seascape. "Sure is pretty. I think I understand why he might have come here. The lure of the sea is a powerful thing."
"I gotta think that this place was created just for photographers..."
"...and painters..." Vivian supplied, catching that rare glint of sentiment in the blonde's eye. "...and dreamers?"
"Hungry federal agents," Sam quipped, turning back. "lobster bisque... broiled lobster... lobster ice cream... bring it on!"
"Work first, stomach later," Vivian chased. "Go grab a lobster roll from that cart while I look at this map again." She pulled the car over and flipped open the map that the rental place at the airport provided. Two minutes later, her hungry partner was back with two enormous Lobster rolls and two cans of diet soda. She placed her roll strategically on her leg, in order to take a drink. She heard a crunch as Sam dug in and began to groan in delight.
"I've had orgasms that weren't this good," Sam moaned, causing her partner to choke. "Sorry," she laughed at the soda now clinging to the driver's raincoat.
"Just remember that Johnson paybacks are a bitch," Vivian warned. "We're not far. A half mile up the road there's a turnoff. Robert Harrison's house is up that hill."
Sam saw the house first. A turn of the century restored cottage perched on a picture perfect bluff. Its whitewashed walls were accented by red shutters. Simple but elegant, its pristine condition and glorious rose bushes suggested the owner took great care.
"Cottage?" Vivian shook her head as they got out of the car and stood in the dirt driveway. The 'cottage' was impressive. "I'd hate to see what they call mansions around here."
"Nice place to retire," Sam teased.
"This town ain't ready for a New York City girl that far from downtown Manhattan. I'll visit..." she decided, rapping on the door.
Sam got impatient and rang the bell. Vivian was about to knock again when a voice sounded on the other side.
"Yes?"
"Robert Harrison?" Vivian saw a green eye appear in the side window and held her badge up. "Agents Johnson and Spade, FBI. We'd like to speak with you."
"Come inside," the host offered.
"Wow," Sam glanced past the middle aged man, who didn't look his age. Lean and tall, his dark hair was just starting to turn silver. He was dressed in expensive slacks and a hunter green cashmere sweater over a striped shirt. The house was just as tastefully appointed inside, with a cream and deep blue color scheme. "Beautiful."
"Thank you, Miss?"
"Agent Spade," Sam flashed her badge. "We would like to ask you a few questions about your family."
"I have no family," he replied, entering the study
He sat down on a dark blue sofa and eyed the portrait over the fireplace. Neither agent missed the absolute heartache in his eyes when they studied the oil painting over the mantle. A pretty blond child with blue eyes and the face of angel. "That's Abigail... just after she turned five. It was to be a gift for my wife. But... before it was completed my angel was stolen ... You can't imagine the pain."
"No, I can't." Vivian walked over and sat down next to him. "I have a child Mister Harrison, a son. If he were taken from me, I'd be devastated too."
"I can't even remember if I kissed her goodbye that morning. I can tell you what she wore, what she ate but..." he paused, rubbing his eyes. "Funny the things you remember.. is this about Abby?"
"We're not sure, but it's possible the man who took her might be back in the New York area. We were wondering if you or your wife had been contacted by him or anyone else inquiring about Abby?"
"No... my God... that monster resurfaced!" Harrison's anger rose, flushing his cheeks. "Have you arrested him? What about Abby? Where is she?"
"Easy Mister Harrison," Vivian soothed. "We haven't found him. Let me explain."
While Vivian brought the anxious father up to date, Sam studied him carefully. She read his eyes, body language and responses. She was a good student and it was clear to her this man had no idea about Hughes. She excused herself to go to the bathroom and saw photos of the pretty child everywhere. Along the walls also were dance class citations, crayon drawings from a devoted daughter and stuffed animals and dolls were still waiting for their owner to return. No, she was certain he wasn't involved. She came back into the room just as Vivian was asking about Mrs. Harrison.
"So you and your wife split?"
"Yes, the divorce was final about six months ago. We tried after... after Abby..." he sighed hard, his eyes filling. "I'm sorry. It never gets any easier. Karen didn't have many friends. Usually it was just the three of us. After that dark day and those that followed, the sun never shone again. I suppose I was at fault, I was so terribly depressed. A man reaches my age without marrying... then finds such happiness and a baby to boot. All smashed... broken dreams..."
"Have you spoken to her? Do you know where she is?" Vivian asked. "We need to talk with her about this and DMV doesn't have information."
"She didn't drive," Robert stated. "I'm sorry, I don't know where she lives now. The lawyers did all the work... there is no alimony, just an even split of assets. That was her idea... I really didn't care. What does money mean when your heart is shattered?"
"Does your wife have any family? Would she have gone to live with them?"
"I'm afraid I don't know much about Karen's life before we met. She was a loner... an artist. Her mother died several years ago. She had a sister... up in Canada somewhere... Kitty... short for Kathryn I believe. They haven't spoken in many years. I wish I could be of more help. Do you think this vile creature is after Karen?"
"We don't know what his motive is," Vivian relayed. "But we reopened the case when that voiceprint confirmed who he was."
"Can you tell us anything about your wife's life; Habits, hobbies, anything that might lead us to where she is?"
"We met in New York. She didn't know the area very well, she had just moved here from Toronto. That was oh... about nine years ago. Yes... that's right. I'm afraid I was quite flattered that a woman twenty years younger would become smitten so quickly. We wed six months later and Abby was born a few months after that. Karen was rather shy. She didn't open up around strangers very much. She loved to paint, she was taking lessons and quite good. I travel alot a lot for my business, I'm a consultant for a large engineering firm... or rather I was. Anyway... we led a rather quiet life."
"Would there be any information in your address books? Maybe the phone numbers of some of her old friends?"
"She took all her things..." He paused, "I suppose I could go through some of the trunks in the attic. There might be holiday cards, return addresses... she kept them in the envelopes. Some of the older boxes were intact."
"Alright," Vivian agreed, "Seven o'clock."
"I'm sorry, I feel as if I've left you down."
"That's okay," Sam shook his hand. "We never stopped looking for her. You remember that."
"Dare I hope?" he prayed, watching as the car drove away, "that my angel is still alive?"
Jack leaned forward and studied the monitor intently. The image was black and white and very grainy. Through the dense jungle in South America, several rebels could be seen. Angry and nearly animalistic, they hooted and hollered while using machine guns to murder their prisoners.
"Who were they?" Danny grimaced, shuddering slightly.
"Soldiers... the uniforms," Helen Bacon answered.
"Is that him?" Jack squinted and resisted the image to use his hand to bang the side of the monitor. A method he still used on his ten inch black and white television to clear up the fuzz.
"Yes, the Embassy confirmed it. That is Father Paulo."
"He looks awful," Danny decided, eyeing the gaunt features and bruises on the older man.
"He's still alive," Jack commented, "How old is this?"
"We're not sure... but once they find the graves... we can confirm time of death. This was found on a dead rebel after a skirmish near the border. We got the feed last night from a Costa Rican television station."
"Why didn't they kill him?" Danny asked.
"Well for one thing, from what you told me and what I've learned since our first meeting," the slim silver-haired woman replied opening a folder, "Father Paulo is a medical missionary. To those rebels, that's worth more than gold. They have casualities..."
"So they'll keep him alive to tend to the wounded..." Jack nodded.
"For now," she agreed, "But the South American Government is holding Juan Xavier Martinez. He is one of the rebel leaders. They might offer Father Paulo in exchange. The American Embassy is involved, since FatherPaulo has dual citizenship."
"Is that where this Jose Colon comes in?" Danny peered at the notes she'd given them.
"Yes, Mister Colon is a farmer in that region. His home is often used by the rebels when they are in the area. He has a sister in Texas who he visits on occasion. He spoke with her earlier this week and mentioned Father Paulo. She read about your missing nun in USA today and reconized recognized the priest's name. She called the local police who contacted us. She is expecting him to call this afternoon. It should be anytime now."
"He met Father Paulo?"
"Yes, he's been in the area for years. He may have information we can use to find Sister Francesca."
"Excuse me." Danny rose and headed for the door. "Too much ice tea. I'll be right back."
The handsome agent made his way down the hall towards the men's room. At the end of the hallway, Pete Gibson watched and waited. His eyes were lit up and he had such an adrenalin rush he was giddy. His fingers were tingling in anticipation. This was it, after all the months of planning, finally it was time to start the show.
He'd left a package at the edge of the river, right where the fishermen would find it. He'd studied their habits and on Wednesdays they used the small cut-off and arrived just after midday. He also knew that every operator on the waterway had a flyer on board courtesy of the county. The number on the front of it would be the one being dialed right about now. He waited until Danny exited the washroom and glanced at his watch. Then he heard the distinct sound of that cell phone.
"Bingo," he whispered, keeping his eyes on the agent.
"Taylor." Danny paused and his eyes widened, "Who? Yes this is the FBI..."
"My name is Max Jones, me and my brother have a small fishing boat we run on the river. Well we just found something by the bank. We spotted something stuck in the rocks and thought it was a person."
"Mister Jones, what does this have to do with me?"
"We got your card from Sheriff Yates. We're up here on the Hudson, just north of Tarrytown. We come down this way a couple times a week. He made sure everyone using the river had your number, cause of that missing nun..."
"Where are you? What did you find? Did you disturb anything?"
The anxious agent stopped at a nearby bench and sat down. While cradling the phone with his neck, he rummaged through his pocket, withdrawing his notebook and a pen.
"We were heading past Bootleggers Cave when we saw something white floating in the water. We thought it was a woman. I jumped in and when I got close, I saw it was just a dress. I didn't touch it, poked it with a stick. It must have travelled from further up; it had bits of wood and rocks on it, not from here. It has dark stains... reddish brown, could be blood."
"A habit maybe?"
"Yeah, as a matter of fact there's a paper or something hanging from one of the pockets. I think it's a mass schedule or something. It has a cross and the words Our... and Grace still on it with some numbers like times you know? So me and Al, that's my brother, well we thought about that flyer on the missing nun."
"Yeah..." Taylor kept writing. "Exactly where are you on the river?"
"If you follow it inward, it becomes a tunnel to a cave that ends up at the old prison."
"Hickock?"
"Yeah... you know where I am now?"
"Yeah... Don't leave. I'm coming up there. You keep your eye on it. " Danny thought on the logistics. "I'll need to contact the coast guard I guess, you're pretty far out."
"Be faster to drive to the nursing home and go through the old bootleggers tunnel. It's under the prison."
"Yeah I know..." Danny nodded. "That'll save a lot of time. I'll be there in less than an hour. Stay put!"
"Yessir!"
While the anxious agent went back into the State Department's office, his observer hid an evil smile. His face was glowing as he headed for the street. Timing was everything and he couldn't afford to make any mistakes. Danny Taylor would be the first resident of his newly appointed prison. He hoped the affair wouldn't be too messy, he so hated blood stains.
"Jack I gotta call from a fisherman near the nursing home," Danny issued in a fast burst, "He found a nun's habit in the river. It sounds like it's hers. They're waiting up there for me. I'm gonna drive up now..."
"Okay," Jack agreed, "Go... call me!"
"Yeah," Danny grabbed his jacket and ran for the elevator.
When he hit the street, he stopped dead in his tracks and frowned as he eyed the snarling mess of traffic. He had come here with Jack. Even if he was able to snag a cab back to collect his car it would take well over an hour to get back to the office. Nothing was moving, not midday in Manhattan.
"Shit!" He kicked the curb in frustration. Then an idea sprung to mind. He glanced at his watch. "Perfect timing," he sighed. Jack mentioned Martin picking up his paperwork at the doctor's. That office was about two blocks away in the Medical Plaza. He punched the numbers as he strode along.
"Fitzgerald," Martin answered, jogging down the stairs in the modern building.
"My man Harvard! Welcome back! So are you official?"
"Huh?" the blue eyed agent frowned. "Yeah... I got the paperwork. I'm on my way in the office. You and Jack done already?"
"No, he's gonna be tied up all afternoon. I got a lead on the missing nun. Some fishermen found her habit in the river. My wheels are clear across town and traffic is a mess."
"Where are you?" Martin asked, striding through the lobby. "Oh..." he waved, seeing the other agent outside. "I take it this isn't a coincidence?"
"Hey, as long as you're back on duty and we need to get to the Interstate ASAP..." Danny grinned, clapping the other man's back.
"Yeah..." Martin frowned, hearing Jack bellow already. In addition to the cursing, he 'heard' a long list of regulations. He could turn his keys over to Danny and get a cab. But then again, if Jack wouldn't be back all afternoon, he wouldn't know. It was just a detour on his way in. Technically he was still off duty and helping out a friend. He could drop Danny off and drive back. He'd be in the office before Jack got back. He'd been out of the saddle too long and was dying to get back to work. "You just need a ride up there? Can you get a lift back with the lab?"
"Sure, why?" Danny paused at the passenger side of Fitzgerald's car.
"I'm supposed to check in," Martin slid behind the wheel. "So once we get there and secure the scene, I'm gonna take off. You call the lab?"
"No yet... I'll do it on the way. I need to call the sheriff too." When he eyed the profile of the driver, it was nice to see the fine features relaxed, no sign of the tension of the last few weeks. "Hey Partner?"
"Yeah," Martin turned and his brows furrowed when the dark eyes lit up and a smile formed.
"Lookin' good!" Danny grinned as they turned onto the highway.
The sun was high and life was good... but beyond the edge of the ribbon of highway was a dark cloud. It churned and brewed, anxious to seize its unsuspecting victim who had no idea the nightmare that awaited him.
The journey to Hell had begun.
Prelude | Page 1 | Page 2 | Page 3 | Page 4 | Page 5 | Page 6 | Page 7 | Page 8 | Page 9 | Page 10 | Page 11 | Page 12 | Page 13 | Page 14 | Page 15 | Page 16 | Page 17 | Page 18 | Page 19 | Page 20 | Page 21 | Page 22 | Page 23 | Page 24 | Page 25 | Page 26 | Page 27 | Page 28 | Page 29 | Page 30 | Page 31
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