“What does he do?”
“Why are you asking me all these questions?”
“I’m trying to figure out why we’ve been brought here. Before you came in, one of the men wanted me to call my father.”
“Who’s your father?”
“It doesn’t matter who my father is. He’s just a sergeant. It makes no sense why they’d want to get to him through me. That’s why I’m curious what your father does.”
“I don’t know what he does exactly,” Brooke says, “but he’s a colonel.”
“What’s his name?”
“His name?”
“Yes, Brooke, his name.”
“Daniel Heller.” She pauses. “What’s your father’s name?”
“John Lin. But in the larger scheme of things it doesn’t matter because my father’s nobody. But your father … he’s somebody. Did the men who brought you here say anything to you?”
“Like what?”
“Like did they tell you to do anything?”
“No. I mean, I don’t think they did.” She sighs, frustrated. “I’m sorry I’m not more helpful, but I just”—her voice cracks again—“I’m so scared.”
She starts sobbing again.
I don’t bother trying to calm her. She’ll wear herself out eventually. Besides, I got the information I needed.
Both of our fathers are currently stationed at Schofield Barracks. Brooke’s father is more highly ranked than my father. Like, much more highly ranked. It would make sense why these men would abduct her—her father certainly has more sway over whatever it is these men want—but why my father?
Before I can rack my brain even more, the door opens again.
Two hours to go.
Twelve
Dolph doesn’t come alone this time. Two other masked men follow him into the room—maybe the same two that dragged Brooke here—and they stand by the door, their arms crossed, while Dolph slowly walks toward me.
He pulls out the cell phone from his pocket, holds it up. “Ready to make the call?”
I say nothing.
He shakes his head, making soft tsks, then immediately backhands me.
This time he strikes the right-hand side of my face, which will at least even out the bruising, so that’s thoughtful of him.
Brooke, hearing the slap, cries out.
Dolph chuckles. He looks past me, seems to consider something, and circles around to Brooke. I can’t see him, but I picture him leaning forward as he looks up and down the length of her body.
“Are you scared?”
Brooke doesn’t answer, sobbing again.
“Little girl, I asked you a question.”
More sobbing.
Dolph says, “Little girl, do you want me to hurt you?”
Brooke’s voice is a soft, tremulous whisper: “No.”
“Then do as I tell you and you will not be hurt. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“I want you to call your father. Will you do that for me?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Very good. Now understand that we have no intentions of hurting you, but we will if we must. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to make this hard on yourself and disobey when we tell you to do something?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Brooke says, still sobbing.
“Good. Very good. Now I want you to give me the number that will reach your father. I will dial that number, and for your sake, let us hope he answers. When he answers, I will place the phone to your ear and you will tell him what has happened. You will tell him that you have thus far not been hurt. I will then speak to your father. I will tell him that you will not be harmed as long as he gives us what we want. Do you understand?”
Don’t, I think. Don’t do it.
But of course she does. Brooke tells Dolph yes and then he asks her for the number and she rattles off the digits and several seconds pass where Dolph must be listening to the rings, and then Brooke says, her voice still trembling, “Daddy? Daddy, it’s me! They took me and I don’t know where I am and I’m so scared!” and then Dolph must take the phone, because he says, “I’m the man who has your daughter. If you want her back in one piece, you will do as I tell you. Understood?” There’s a pause, as Brooke’s father no doubt promises that he’ll do whatever it takes to get his little girl back, and then Dolph says, “Good. Now listen carefully, because I am only going to tell you this once.”
Dolph walks past me toward the door. One of the masked men opens it, and Dolph steps through, and then the rest of the masked men follow him.
Once the door closes and it’s just the two of us again, Brooke breaks down into tears. She really goes at it again, sounding like she’s going to hyperventilate.
“Hey,” I whisper. “It’s okay. Breathe.”
She doesn’t answer, her sobbing nonstop.
“Brooke, just breathe.”
It takes a while, but then she calms down. Not a lot, but still enough so that she can ask a question.
“Do you … do you think they’re really going to let us go?”
“I don’t know. I hope so. They haven’t taken off their masks yet, so that’s a good sign.”
The very notion of their masks seems to terrify her. “Why—why—why is that a good sign?”
“Because if they planned to kill us, they wouldn’t care whether or not we saw their faces.”
I expect her to freak out again at this, but she doesn’t. Instead, she asks, “Did you say you’re seventeen?”
“Yes.”
“What—what—what high school do you attend?”
“I’m sorta homeschooled at the moment.”
“How so?”
“I go to school in D.C. My dad was stationed out here a few weeks ago, and my mom and I came with him. There are only a couple weeks of school left, so the school let me take all the work I need to complete along with me.”
“Do you know what these people want?”
“No.”
“My dad”—her voice cracks again—“he sounded so scared for me.”
“I’m sure he was.”
“What did your dad say when you talked to him?”
I don’t answer.
Brooke says, “Holly?”
“He didn’t say anything.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“He didn’t say anything because I didn’t call him.”
“Why … why would they make me call my dad and not have you call yours? Did they make you call someone else?”
“No, they wanted me to call my dad. I refused.”
“What?” she says, incredulous. “But
