“Figure it out, Christina. The amendment will beef up antiterrorist laws. Maybe this terrorist doesn’t want the laws beefed up.”
“So he’s taking out the leading proponents of-” She froze in midsentence. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”
She raced toward the electronic tram that would carry her back to the Russell Building while simultaneously dialing her cell phone.
“Pick up, damn it. Pick up!”
No one answered.
“Ben!” She sprinted toward the downward staircase that led to the subterranean passageway. “For God’s sake, Ben-don’t open the mail!”
40
Ben found the office empty. How often did that happen? At first, it seemed rather refreshing. Then, inevitably, insecurity and neurosis tainted the peaceful picture. Did everyone know something he didn’t? Was there someplace he was supposed to be?
What the heck. He’d been working like a dog for days. If he missed one briefing on some issue somewhere, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. He already had some meetings with Senator DeMouy on the amendment that he couldn’t get out of, wheeling and dealing to get the remaining votes they needed to assure passage. He wanted to make sure he got home in time tonight. Christina told him she’d been shopping at Victoria’s Secret during her lunch hour.
Yes, he definitely wanted to get home tonight.
He noticed a stack of mail on his desk. Was he imagining it, or was Jones getting lazier on a daily basis? Pretty soon he’d have to answer his own phone. Of course, back in Tulsa, he’d always answered his own phone. But now that he was an important D.C. senator-well, that just wouldn’t do anymore. Besides, when people called a senator they always seemed to want something. He supposed when people called a lawyer, they usually wanted something, too. But at least they expected to pay for it.
He reached for the mail-then stopped. No, the mail, too, would only bring him more work. He could let that slide for now. He opened his briefcase and pulled out his notes from the last meeting and began to read.
A few moments later, he felt his cell phone ringing. He flipped it open.
“Hello?”
There was no caller ID. And there was so much static on the line he could barely make out the voice, except he could tell it was female, and he thought he heard his wife’s name.
“Christina, is that you?”
More static. “Sweetie, I can’t hear you. Are you somewhere near? I can go meet you.”
If anything, the static intensified. He could pick out only a few words here and there. “…open the mail…don’t let Jones…surprise…”
“What? Are you saying you want me to open the mail?”
“…don’t let Jones…”
This was impossible. Why would she not want Jones to-?
Oh, wait. His birthday was coming up, wasn’t it? Must be a present, or the receipt for something she ordered, something like that. Another perk of marriage. She remembered birthdays; he always forgot birthdays, even his own. Now she could shop for both of them.
“Christina, tell me which envelope,” he shouted, trying to be heard over the static.
There was a clicking sound; then the line went dead.
Well, hell’s bells. What was he going to do now?
He picked up the stack of mail, but one envelope immediately caught his eye. It was long, oversize, and cream-colored, with blue lettering. No stamp, which meant it must have come from somewhere within the building. Handwritten on the front was the word: PHOTOS.
He just hoped they were photos of Jones. Last time someone mailed him photos featuring himself…well, he preferred not to think about it. He was very fortunate Christina had been understanding-once. He didn’t care to push his luck.
Seemed like as good a place to start as any. As soon as he was ready, he slid one finger under the flap. The envelope opened easily, and Ben detected a faint odor emanating from the package…
41
The room was so dark, it was difficult to tell if he was awake or still dreaming in fitful sleep. His head felt as if it were made of lead, and a blacksmith was hammering away, battering the metal into another shape. Slowly he tried to stretch one muscle after the next, but he found he could barely move at all. Something was restricting him; all he could do was lift his head, and even that caused an enormous amount of pain, so he abandoned the effort.
Someone else had the courtesy to do it for him.
Loving felt the hand grip his chin roughly, as he might grab a tomato he was planning to squash.
“Are you awake?” someone in the darkness growled, in a thick Eurotrash accent.
Loving considered answering, but it seemed like too much effort, too likely to hurt.
Unfortunately, the man holding his face began to shake it, and that hurt even worse. “I said, are you awake?”
Loving’s throat felt dry and creaky, like a gate hinge in serious need of oil. “Gettin’…there.”
“You Americans. You think you are so tough. You will conquer the world. And then, a few little blows to the head and you are gone for days.”
Days? Had it really been days? Good God-what had happened to him? Where was he?
“Pretty sure…two blows…”
“Yes, and then you tumbled like the proverbial sack of potatoes. We had much more fun with you after you could no longer resist.”
It was Emil, gloating like the pervert pig he was. Loving wondered just exactly what they had done to him. He’d been in some tough scrapes before, but he’d never felt this bad, this…hurt. He thought his body was cut and bruised all over. He wasn’t wearing any clothes, or perhaps they were so torn there wasn’t enough left to matter, he couldn’t be sure. He seemed to be tied to a chair, his arms stretched behind him, his ankles tied to the chair legs. There was not the slightest give in any extremity. Duct tape, probably. There was no chance that he might escape.
“You thought you would be the great rescuer, no? You, the all-powerful American, the cavalry, come to save the day, just as you ride in all over the world to force your will on people who do not wish it.” He leaned in close to Loving’s face. “Did it ever occur to you that perhaps not everyone wishes to be saved by you? Or did that thought only arise when you saw the young girl bringing the baseball bat to your head?”
“You…brainwashed her.”
“You are a fool.” He slapped Loving harshly across the face. “If it were up to me, I would have killed you long ago. But the General thinks you might have some information, something I doubt very much. You are just a stupid
