JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA
Master Chief Petty Officer Henry Lindstrom looks at his beloved wife Barbara even as a man holds a box cutter to her throat. He inhales and exhales deeply in an attempt to calm down somewhat.
The other person, a thin man awith a thin moustache, steps in front of the master chief.
"You will take us to the girl," says the man with the thin moustache, holding a SIG-Sauer P-226 semiautomatic pistol.
"I can't do that," says Master Chief Lindstrom. "That's a violation of the restraining order."
"Do you think we care, old man? We'll cut her up if you don't."
"Just let me get the keys, okay?"
"I'll be watching you, sailor."
The Navy musician grabs a set of keys from a woven basket sitting on top of a wooden bookcase. He then goes into the garage and presses a button, activating the garage door opener and opening the garage into the evening air. The bearded man also walks into the garage, bringing Mrs. Lindstrom with him.
Lindstrom enters the driver's seat of the green Nissan Pathfinder parked next to the Infiniti. His wife and the two men enter into the back seat.
"Now drive," says the man holding the pistol.
The master chief fumbles around, brushing the key against the surface of the dashboard trying to find the ignition.
"What are you waiting for, old man?"
"It's just hard to do these things under stress, especially with a knife at my wife's throat," says the master chief.
"We're gonna slit her throat if you don't get this car started right now!"
Lindstrom inserts the key into the ignition and turns. Immediatrly, loud music blares from the Pathfinder's stereo, a song by Dr. Dre. The master chief puts the gear into reverse and releases the parking brake, backing out of the garage and onto Beefeaters Road. Putting the gear into drive, he drives forward, the rap music from the stereo drowning out any sound, even the sound of the car's engines. After about a minute, he turns down the volume of the stereo.
"This is Master Chief Petty Officer Henry Lindstrom of the United States Navy," says Lindstrom, gripping the steering wheel tightly. "Why are you holding to knife to the throat of my wife Barbara. Why do you want me to take you to the girl that lived with us?"
"Is the Navy recruiting idiots?" yells the moustached man. "We want to kill the bitch!"
"Why do you want to do that? why do you want to murder her?"
"She could identify us, man," says the man with the beard. "I saw that sketch they showed on America's Most Wanted. It looks a lot like me."
"So you were the ones who killed Stephanie," says Lindstrom. "Uh, why did you do that?"
"The bitch turned against us. Nobody leaves us."
"And you were the ones who grabbed that girl from the mall, right?"
"We needed little children to grow up among us, to bear our children when they become of age."
"It's best if you just let us go here and now. That girl, we called her Sasha, you know, that was the name Stephanie gave us. Anyway, that girl won't be able to identify you in a lineup. That was fourteen years ago, for God's sake. She won't remember a face she's last seen when she was three or four. If you let us go, you can be in Georgia or Alabama by sunrise tomorrow. You won't solve your problems by killing the girl. The police will be all over you, even NCIS. Ever heard of NCIS? That's the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. They're investigating Stephanie's murder again. This agent named Paula Cassidy asked me questions about the case. But the only evidence now is a sketch based on a fourteen-year-old memory. That won't even get you arrested. You can let us go, and get as far away from here as possible."
"We're not going to take any chances," says thwe moustached man. "the girl dies, and there's no identification."
"What about your sense of decency. she justy got into contact with her real parents, the ones you took her away from? They spent fourteen years wondering what happened to her. It..it was like a hole in their heart. Think about it, birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas, all tainted by her disapperance."
"Just drive us to where she is now."
Suddenly, there is the squealing sound of brakes, followed by a crunch of metal.
"Damn!" yells the man holding the boxcutter to Mrs. Lindstrom's throat. "Just drive."
"I got into an accident. I have to exchange the insurance information."
"Just drive, or I slit this bitch's throat!"
Lindstrom places the gear into reverse, backing the car a bit, and then into drive, steering the vehicle around the car he had just hit.
Inside the other vehicle, a man picks up a radio.
"This is Unit Baker Five-Oh," he says. "I am reporting a hit-and-run."
He then steps on the gas, and drives the Ford Crown Victoria down the street, the sirens blaring and red-and-blue lights flashing.
"Damn!" yells the moustahced man sitting in the back seat of the Nissan Pathfinder. "You hit a cop car!"
"We have to pull over," says Lindstrom.
"No! Keep driving, old man."
"We won't get away from the police. You know, this car we're driving. It's a green Nissan Pathfinder. This street we're on, it's called San Juan Avenue. Ahead is the intersection with Roosevelt Boulevard."
"Just lose the cops!"
"Unit Baker Five-Oh," says the police officer driving the police car. "I am in pursuit of a green Nissan Pathfinder. The driver is refusing to pull over. I repeat, I am in pusuit of a green Nissan Pathfinder, suspected in a hit-and-run. I am getting the license plate right now."
oooooooooooooooo
2220 ZULU
JACKSONVILLE POLICE HEADQUARTERS
JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA
"We just got a call," says a sergeant of the Jacksonville Police Department. "A request for an APB on a green Nissan Pathfinder, last seen on San Juan Avenue approaching Roosevelt Boulevard."
"From who?" asks a police officer in the squad room.
oooooooooooooo
2227 ZULU
"You hear that?" asks Master Chief Lindstrom. "That's a police helicopter."
"A helicopter!" exclaims the bearded man.
"Yes, a helicopter. The Jacksonville police don't let hit-and-run drivers get away. We're gonna have to pull over."
"Just keep driving!" yells the man holding the pistol.
"It's over," says the musician. "You can't get away with this now."
"Please," says Mrs. Lindstrom. "Just let us go. This won't do any good."
Suddenly, the Nissan Pathfinder makes a sharp left, and then goes right through the gate of the Naval Air Station. The Jacksonville Police Department Ford Crown Victoria continues the pursuit into the base.
"They have just entered the Navy base," says pilot of the police helicopter tracking the chase from above. "Notify base security of the situation. I repeat, the suspect vehicle is now in the Jacksonville Naval Air Station."
"Look where we are now," says Lindstrom. "The Jacksonville Naval Air Station. I'm stationed here, you know. I play for the band here, the violin, to be exact,. Ever played the violin?"
The master chief drives the car through the streets of the base, passing some hangars.
He then brakes, stopping the Nissan Pathfinder on a taxiway. Police cars from the Jacksonville Police Department soon surround the vehicle. Vehiclwes from the air station's security forces join them.
"This is the Jacksonville police!" yells a police officer through a bullhorn. "Come out of the vehicle with your hands on top of your head!"
Master Chief Lindstrom immediately does that, kneeling on the ground. The moustached man with the pistol does the same.
The bearded man comes out, holding Mrs. Lindstrom, a box cutter at her throat.
"I'm not giving up!" he yells. "I want a plane! I will board the plane with my hostage."
"Over my dead body!" yells a voice from the crowd of police officers and Navy masters-at-arms.
Enraged, the bearded man slashes the woman's throat, resulting in an arterial spray of blood. He then stabs the box cutter into her over and over again.
That is put to an end with several pistol shots.
"Get a medic!" someone yells.
"Barbara!" yells Master Chief Lindstrom. One of the police officers gives aid to her, doing his best to stop the bleeding.