“Secure,” was the second word spoken over the radio silence.
Anthony quickly examined Driggs’ body and turned him over. Emily scrambled to her knees. The captor’s bullet had struck Driggs squarely between the shoulder blades. Anthony snapped a small plastic vial and placed it under Driggs’ nose.
Thanks to the bulletproof vest, Driggs was only unconscious with a painful bruise in the middle of his back. “Let’s get her out of here,” Driggs said as he opened his eyes and began coughing.
Anthony helped Driggs stand up and then guided him to the open door of the black Range Rover. There was another man dressed in black, just like Driggs and Anthony, sitting in the driver’s seat. When everyone was seated, the Range Rover began speeding away from the warehouse along a graveled access road. Anthony immediately got on the phone with Hap.
“Are you okay?” Emily called out, looking over at Driggs.
“Nothing a hot tub won’t cure,” Driggs said as he leaned back in his seat. “How about you?”
“I’m fine now, thanks to all of you,” she said, still feeling overwhelmed. “Where’s Wilson? Is he safe?”
“Yes ma’am. We should have you reunited with him in a few hours.”
“Where are we?” Emily asked.
“Just outside Princeton, New Jersey.”
“How did you find me?” she said, rubbing the skin around her mouth, trying to remove the remaining pieces of adhesive.
“We’ve had you under surveillance since you left Teterboro Airport.”
“The clues worked?” she said, her eyes beginning to glisten with tears. She had almost given up hope that anyone would ever find her alive.
“You’re damn right they worked,” Driggs said, handing her a bottle of Gatorade from a pouch on the back of the seat in front of him. “Whatever you did to make them stop the truck when they were moving, you allowed us to find you. As soon as they got out of the truck to deal with you, we were all over it. Our night scopes caught you struggling inside. Otherwise, we would have missed you. They had you in an in-flight service truck that was leaving for the airfield at the same time as forty other identical trucks.” Driggs paused. “It was Wilson who decoded your message.”
“Oh god…I need to talk to him.” Tears were now spilling down Emily’s cheeks. Driggs flinched as he put his arm around her. She laid her head on his chest. “Thank you for finding me, but I really need to talk to Wilson,” she sobbed.
“Hap is already arranging the call. As soon we have him on the phone, we’ll let you know,” Anthony injected while glancing at Driggs. Both of them knew what Wilson was currently dealing with.
“We’re just glad you’re safe and unharmed,” Driggs said, attempting to give her as much comfort as he could. “We’ll get Wilson on the phone as soon as we can.”
Emily sat back in her seat and tried to relax for the first time in what seemed like months, but she couldn’t. She desperately needed to hear Wilson’s voice. Was it finally over? Were they still in danger? Then she reflected on the words that had saved her life. No more fear. She reminded herself of her vow: she would never let her fear control her again. Ever.
57
Wilson — Boston, MA
Jerked from the exhausted sleep that had engulfed him after talking to Emily a few hours earlier, Wilson could vaguely hear someone calling his name. When he opened his eyes, he saw her above him. She was stroking his hair and kissing him. “Wilson, it’s me,” Emily said tenderly.
“At last! Thank God, at last,” Wilson cried as he leapt from the bed and embraced her.
They held each other tight for several moments, releasing unspoken prayers of gratitude. Just as they relaxed their embrace to stare into each other’s tear-filled eyes, Driggs came running into the bedroom yelling the word “compromised.” He shoved a cell phone into Wilson’s face. Wilson grabbed the phone and heard Hap’s voice on the other end.
“Counter-surveillance is springing up all over the place. We have to move you now. I’ll be upstairs in five minutes. Be ready.”
“What’s been compromised?”
“I’ll talk to you when I get there. Bring the escape bags.”
“What’s been…” Wilson said before the connection ended. Hap was gone. Wilson screamed at Driggs, “What’s been compromised?”
“Your safety, Mr. Fielder. Somebody inside. Word on the arrests is out.”
Emily clung to Wilson, this new shock coming too soon on heels of her trauma and the relief of reuniting.
“Get dressed; we gotta get outta here,” Driggs demanded.
Wilson threw on his clothes and grabbed the pre-packed escape bags that contained food, water, clothes, and various other survival items. Forty seconds had passed. Suddenly, from the corridor outside the apartment came several crashing thuds and a muffled blast. Commands were shouted. Three heavily armed FBI agents burst through the door of the apartment. One of them turned to Driggs and shouted, “Get them out of here, now! Use the escape route.”
Driggs ran to the strategy room’s walk-in closet with Wilson and Emily behind him. He pushed aside the rack of clothes and opened a concealed door to a narrow hallway before pushing Emily and Wilson in ahead of him. They ran like scared rats through the dimly lit maze of hallways for what seemed like a city block until they reached another door. “Open it,” Driggs shouted from behind.
They entered a small stairwell and began running down twelve flights of stairs. At the bottom they entered another long, dark corridor that took them to an underground parking garage. Driggs pushed past them and stepped cautiously into the garage, his eyes scanning in all directions. He motioned toward a black Range Rover and handed Wilson the keys. “Get in and follow me to the street,” Driggs said, maintaining his reconnaissance. “If everything’s clear, I’ll join you there. Otherwise, get as far away from this place as fast as you can. Any questions?”
“No,” Wilson said, as he and Emily climbed into the vehicle obviously customized for battle: two shotguns attached to the dash, handheld automatics holstered on each side of the gear box with similar weaponry positioned behind the two front seats.
Driggs reached in across Wilson and pushed a remote control button on the console to open the garage gate. As the iron barrier rolled past the halfway point, five men dressed in black ran into the garage and opened fire on the Range Rover. The sound of the gunfire was muffled, which meant silencers, but the thuds against the doors and windows were deafening. Driggs hit the ground, violently waving his arm and yelling, “Go!”
Wilson jammed the accelerator to the floor. A barrage of bullets pocked the windshield. Driggs took out two of the five before the Range Rover reached the open gate. The three others kept shooting at the Range Rover as Wilson made a hard right onto Beacon Street, almost rolling the vehicle.
They headed north toward Boston Common. In the rear view mirror Wilson saw more men under the streetlights. Flashes of weapon fire brought more earsplitting smacks to the Range Rover’s exterior. He saw two more men fall before turning at the first intersection. Once on Storrow Drive, they sped through the Callahan Tunnel to Route 1 and I-95 North, Wilson continued to watch his rearview mirror. There was nothing.
“I don’t think anyone’s following us,” Emily finally said.
Wilson sighed, “What happened to Driggs?”
“God, I hope he survived.”
They drove hard and fast toward Maine with its 3,000 miles of coastline and countless coves and peninsulas, agreeing that it was the best place to hide out. While incessantly scanning the cars around them during their two- hour drive through New Hampshire and into Maine, Wilson asked about the kidnapping.
As Emily recounted her ordeal, Wilson thanked God she hadn’t been sexually assaulted or physically abused more than the nasty blow to her cheek. But it was obvious from her tearful account that the experience had taken its toll on her emotional and psychological well-being. He gazed at her for as long as he could without driving off the
