Chapter 8

Russ staggered back, cursing wildly, blinded by the spray and crippled by the bullet he'd accidentally fired into his own foot. He fell backward onto the floor - and Steve pulled out his datacom. ''Move in,'' he called to the units waiting outside. ''We'll need a stretcher; he's out.''

Normally, he'd have felt horrible guilt at deceiving his friend. (In fact, such deception wasn't possible for him, really.) But this was about as far from a normal situation as it could get and Russ's safety - as well as the safety of the public - had been in serious jeopardy. Relieved and gratified by their success, he picked up the motel phone to call Jaime...then puzzled when there was no answer. But he knew how confined she'd felt in the bunker (and before that, in the hospital) and smiled as he pictured her reading the paper in the backyard, reveling in the fresh air and sunshine.


Spurred on by a rising sense of panic that she couldn't force back any longer (and even knowing it would likely earn her another dose of chloroform), Jaime began to struggle at her bonds. They proved too heavy for her to break (probably designed that way on purpose by Kingsley).

''Wait,'' one of the men said. ''Maybe we should leave her awake...for now. He wants her to suffer, remember?''

''Good point,'' another agreed. Jaime could feel his breath as he leaned over her. ''Don't be scared,'' he told her. ''This is nothing. When we get there...then you can be scared!''


Steve accompanied Russ to National (where - for now - he'd be sedated and held in a guarded, locked room), gave his statement to Oscar (who was there waiting for him)...and hurried home to Jaime. He'd no sooner made his way up the front sidewalk when he nearly dropped to his knees, all the breath momentarily sucked out of him. There had been people standing in the flower beds, on both sides of the front stoop! Security, from a few days ago? No; Jaime'd have had their heads on a silver platter if they'd trampled her flowers! Clearly, people (at least two of them) had been standing in wait, pressed against the house where she wouldn't have seen them when she first stepped outside. Jaime had been ambushed!


Jaime continued to struggle against her bonds. She clearly had nothing to lose; from the sound of it, these men had been directed to bring her to the head of Cobra alive. She couldn't begin to imagine what might happen then...but she didn't want to, either. She wished - as awful as the thought was - that they'd simply kill her instead.

The chains had to be fashioned from lead because as hard as she strained, she couldn't break them. Finally, she was forced to accept her own helplessness and she laid back against the cold metal floor of the van...defeated. The men continued to throw random taunts in her direction for what she judged to be about an hour - but thankfully, at least none of them touched her. Then...

''Better put her out again. We've here.''


For the second time in less than a week, 'suits' were swarming Jaime's front and back yards and her house as well. ''No blood anywhere, Sir,'' one of them reported to Oscar. ''No signs of a struggle, either. Colonel, are you sure -''

''Of course he's sure!'' Oscar snapped. He pulled out his own datacom and issued another All Points Bulletin - this one for Endangered Person, Federal Agent - and then escorted a totally distraught Steve inside to sit on the sofa. ''Let's put our heads together here, Pal,'' he suggested. ''The neighborhood's being canvassed for anyone who may have seen anything, no matter how insignificant they think it might be. Tell me everything you can think of about Jaime's morning routine.''

Steve related every detail he could think of, from being awakened by Oscar's phone call to guessing Jaime hadn't had time to have breakfast yet, judging from the lack of dishes (except for a juice glass) in the sink. Nothing he could recall seemed to be much help...and then one of the investigative teams brought them something concrete!

''Neighbor across the street reports seeing a dark green van - no side or rear windows - parked in front of the house just before the paperboy made his rounds. A few minutes later she was reading the paper when she heard the squeal of tires. Looked out again...and the van was gone. So no plate number, but at least we've got a vehicle to go on. It's a start.''

Not enough of one...and they all knew it. It might take hours to pour over the lists of every owner of a dark green van in Southern California - and that was IF the van was even from the area! But for now, it was all they had.


Jaime could smell the room - the rot, mildew and decay - before she even opened her eyes. Surprisingly, her blindfold was gone and - even more of a surprise - she was alone in the room. She could hear footsteps (heavy ones, made by men's boots) just outside though, and knew she was still being guarded. One look around told her that they'd wanted her to be able to see these horrific surroundings! The concrete walls had once been painted a garish shade of green but that had been peeled away by age, neglect and something else...flooding? Jaime could see a water line that went several feet up the now-crumbling walls.

To her left was a counter that would've been waist-high if she'd been standing, with several rusted old cash registers atop it that looked like they'd fall over with the slightest provocation. To her right, bad knock-offs of Tweety Bird, Mickey Mouse and a dog she supposed was meant to represent either Pluto or Goofy hung in a macabre fashion from hooks in the wall, their now-rotten ribbons resembling nooses around their necks. She'd been secured by more of the same heavy chains, with an extra one added around her middle to ensure she wouldn't be going anywhere. Already sensing the futility of the effort, she began to strain at them with everything she was worth. Lead, she concluded; they'd been fashioned from lead.

That was when she noticed just what it was that she'd been secured to - designed to induce maximum terror (and it worked). Jaime had been chained to a dentist's chair!