Friday, December 2, 1988
"Phillip?" Jamie called, knocking lightly
as he entered his brother's sanctum. "Have you seen Mom? I need her to. . ."
He paused, puzzled by the empty room. He could have
sworn his brother had disappeared into his bedroom right after dinner.
Shrugging, he turned to leave when sounds of muffled conversation caught him by
surprise.
It appeared to be coming from the closet.
"Phillip?" he repeated, moving forward in cautious steps. His
brother's behavior was just getting stranger and stranger. Closing his hand
around the knob, he pushed his glasses back up his nose and flung the door
open.
He could just make out
Phillip's tall, lanky form in the corner of the walk-in closet. "Jeez, you
scared me," Jamie exclaimed, wiping his brow.
"I don't remember
saying you could come in here, Worm Brain," Phillip grumbled, kicking his
jeans into the corner as he turned to glare at his brother.
"I was just. . .
never mind. Why are you hiding in your closet?"
"None of your
business," he replied sullenly as he pushed Jamie in the direction of the
door, adding brusquely, "get out of here."
Jamie bowed his head
obediently as he reluctantly moved away, shoulders suitably cowed. He heard Phillip's sigh of relief and,
grinning, he mouthed, "Make me." Whirling around, he made a beeline
for Phillip's laundry pile.
"Jamie," he
heard his brother yell as he scrambled frantically to pull him back. He felt
hands grab his leg, pulling him to the floor with a resounding thud.
"I'm gonna kill
you, Twerp," Phillip growled, pinning him down as he rolled him onto his
back. "Give," he demanded, invoking their time-honored signal of
surrender.
"No," Jamie
replied stubbornly, his hand closing around something beneath the dirty
t-shirts. "Phillip, cut it. .
."
"Guys, what's going
on up there?"
They both froze,
exchanging a worried look as their mother's voice reached them from the
stairway. "Nothing, Mom," Jamie called, "I just dropped my, uh,
skateboard, that's all."
"You know that
doesn't belong in the house, Jamie," she called as the brothers exchanged
a conspiratorial grin. "Take it outside, okay?"
"Okay, Mom,"
he called as Phillip gave him a silent thank you. His brother rolled away,
letting him up.
"Geez, Phillip," he
exclaimed wide-eyed as he unveiled Phillip's hidden treasure. "What's your
problem? It's just the telephone."
"Yeah, well, I was,
uh, on the phone with Christy."
"So? You're always
on the phone with her."
"I was making plans
to meet her tomorrow night." Phillip hesitated for a moment, then added
hastily, "Jeremy's parents are gone this weekend, and he's having a
blow-out party."
"And you're
going?" Jamie asked open-mouthed. Scrambling to his feet, he walked over
to Phillip's bed, throwing himself on the tousled bedspread. "Boy, you must
really like her."
Phillip shrugged,
dropping down beside his younger brother. "Yeah, I do."
Jamie whistled. "If
Mom finds out, you're gonna be grounded for life."
"She won't find
out, unless you decide to spill your guts again." Phillip gave his brother
a pleading look. "Promise not to tell? She thinks I'm going to
Tommy's."
"I promise."
Phillip rolled onto his
back to stare at the ceiling. "Thanks. I just really need to see Christy
tomorrow. When I'm with her, I don't think about. . . well, stuff. You
know?"
"Yeah." Jamie
turned over, mimicking his brother as he concentrated on the nubby white
ceiling. 'Textured', his mother called it that day they'd moved in. All the
rooms in the new house had 'textured' ceilings. He remembered wondering why it was
such a big deal – it just looked bumpy to him. The ceilings on Maplewood Drive
had been smooth.
Shutting his eyes, he let
out a long breath, his tongue carefully exploring the roughened surface of his
braces. "Do you think they're
okay?" he whispered shakily. "Dad and Lee, I mean. Mom doesn't say
anything, but I can tell she's really worried."
"I don't
know," Phillip murmured in a similar tone, his foot drumming repeatedly on
the metal bed frame. "I really don't know."
* * * * *
Lee crouched low, listening to the sounds drifting
to him from the camp. Raucous laughter mixed with occasional gunfire. The party
was in full swing, the tired soldiers evidently making full use of the supplies
Carlos had so generously provided. He smiled grimly. So far, the plan was
working like clockwork. It won't be long now, Amanda, he thought with a sigh of
satisfaction. Just a few more days. . .
Ruffling noises in the brush startled him and his
hand closed around the butt of his gun. He silently cursed his lack of control.
He shouldn't have let his thoughts drift towards home; there was too much at
stake right here.
"Scarecrow," a lightly accented voice
called from the darkness.
"Over here," he responded, holstering his
gun. Reaching out, he grabbed Carlos by the shirt, pulling him into the bushes.
"What the hell is this? We're supposed to be under contact zero."
"Don't worry, they're all busy
celebrating," the thin man reassured him. Glancing around, he ran his
tongue across his upper lip. It was a nervous habit he seemed to employ all too
frequently; Lee noted that both his lips were cracked and dry.
"Okay. You have information?"
Carlos nodded. "They moved the prisoner. He's
in the shed – over there." He pointed to a small, ramshackle structure on
the edge of the encampment. "They locked him in. This way they don't have
to waste a guard."
"He's not guarded?" Lee asked skeptically.
Carlos shrugged. "No one wanted to sit out the
fun. They had a big 'discussion' about it."
Lee nodded. "What about you? When I get him
out, will you be compromised?"
"No, I should be okay." He ran his tongue
across his lip again.
"All right. Then get the hell out of here. I
don't want you near when I make my move. And Carlos." His eyes narrowed as
he frowned. "From now on, contact zero."
Lee sighed as his contact disappeared, swallowed up
by the night. He listened for a few minutes, certain that the only noises
belonged to the celebrating rebel band. Satisfied, he reached for the
walkie-talkie hanging from his belt, adjusting the volume for the earpiece.
"Scarecrow to Houdini, come in."
"Houdini here. What's your status? Over."
"The shoe is about to drop." He hesitated
for a moment. "Looks like it's a size twelve."
"Size twelve. Got it. See you in a few days.
Houdini out."
"Affirmative. Scarecrow out."
Grunting, he replaced the walkie-talkie and stashed
the small backpack in the brush. Noiselessly, he edged closer, moving towards
the target in halting increments. Pausing at the edge of the clearing, his eyes
carefully swept the perimeter of the camp. Most of the soldiers were sprawled
around the fire, the guffaws of the few who were still awake quickly fading
away. Tugging on the collar of his black, Agency-issue jumpsuit, he began to
belly crawl across the open space to the small shed that housed Joe King.
Pulling his small, silver lock pick from his pocket,
he made quick work of the padlock, pulling the chain through the door handles
as quietly as possible. Opening it a crack, he slipped inside, wincing as the
hinges creaked. He listened for a minute, barely breathing, heaving a silent
sigh when all remained quiet. Squinting, he peered through the darkness.
"Joe?" he whispered. Receiving no
response, he spoke a little louder, his tone rough and authoritative. "Joe
King?"
"What 'ya want?"
Lee exhaled loudly. The voice was barely
recognizable. "Joe," he called again, more gently this time.
"It's me, it's Lee." Blinking as his eyes adjusted to the darkness,
he could finally make out the crumpled form resting in the corner. Crossing the
distance, he squatted in front of him, quickly taking in his condition.
"Lee," Joe croaked, finding his voice as
recognition sank in. "What are you doing. . ."
"Getting you out of here." He ran his hands lightly over Joe's
shoulders and arms. "What kind of shape are you in?"
"My leg's not so good," Joe moaned as
Lee's hand gently brushed across him.
"Can you walk?"
"I think so. Hell, if it means getting out of
here, I'll crawl."
"Lean on me," Lee told him brusquely,
pulling him to his feet. "And be careful. The guards are otherwise
occupied at the moment, but we need to be quiet."
"Lee, I. . ."
"Shhh." Lee held up a warning hand, his
ear trained on the door. The sharp
crack of a breaking twig immediately put him on guard. Depositing Joe in the
corner once again, his hand automatically went to his gun as he quickly
flattened himself against the wall behind the door. Cautiously, he checked the
silencer, finger primed on the trigger.
"Who left this chain unlocked," the
roughed voice demanded in slurred tones as the door creaked open, adding under
his breath, "I warned them once about leaving the prisoner unguarded. .
."
As the husky soldier approached Joe, Lee kicked the
door shut with his toe. Whirling, the man began to fire at the sound, but
Scarecrow beat him to the punch, efficiently dropping him with two shots to the
head and throat.
"Is he. . ." Joe said in a hushed voice.
"Yes."
"Lee, I. . ."
"Save it," he said tersely. "Let's
get out of here." Re-holstering his gun, he extended an arm to Joe.
"Come on, before his friends decide to join him."