 
# Chapter Twenty

We were herded into a garage that lead into the basement level of the Buncombe County Courthouse. We were stored away in a big cell that consisted of a metal toilet with a sink attached. The only problem was that it was only one cot, and eight women. The guard closed the door behind us and we were, literally, caged like animals.

At around two o'clock I woke up from a nightmare that occurred almost instantly from a peaceful sleep. I had picked the short end of the straw, and was left with a small spot on the floor, near the toilet that stank of urine.

Ashley and I had conversed until she fell asleep almost in mid-sentence. She was a very bright girl and was slowly coming out of her shell. She told me that she was born in Greenwich Village, New York, but that she grew up here in North Carolina. She went to A.C. Reynolds High School, in Fairview, where she was captain of the cheerleading squad.

She had a boyfriend, who was probably worried sick about her, albeit she was alive and well. I told her that I was a World History teacher at Asheville High School, up until the day I was kidnapped.

"So how did they pick you out?" she asked.

"Well they didn't necessarily pick me out. I was having an affair with one of the guy's, Blake Highsmith. The night my house got broken into, I had just finished making love to him and from there all hell broke loose."

Just then the cell opened and in came two guards carrying a heavy set Hispanic woman. They shoved her inside and she turned around and hiss at them like she was a cat. After the guards had left the woman whipped her head around to face us. Me being courageous I stepped forward and introduced myself.

Out of nowhere she removed a shiv from her jumpsuit, lunged at me, and stabbed me in my shoulder. It hurt like a bitch I had to admit. I'm no fighter but I can I hold my own when pushed to a degree. And this bitch had beyond pushed me to that degree.

I used the adrenaline pumping through my body, snatched the shiv out my shoulder and squared off with her. She looked at me with a look of confusion, apparently she underestimated me. She must've deemed me a weakling. Wrong.

Nicole and the others tried to defuse the situation, but I wasn't having that. I wanted blood and that's what intended to get. I slung Nicole's gentle hand from my shoulder, glared at her defiantly. A clear indication meaning back the hell off.

The moment I turned back to the heavy set woman, I was caught by an earth shattering right hook that sent me reeling against the wall.

Rubbing my jaw, I dove for her legs, knocked her off balance and returned the gesture back to her. My hand felt like it had connected to a concrete wall, holding my hand gingerly, I went for the shiv two feet away. I didn't make it.

The woman had my hand crushed under her foot. I winced as pain shot up my forearm like an electric shock wave. I cried out. She yanked me up by the roots of my hair, bringing me to eye level.

"You fight good for a skinny bitch." she said before slinging me into the wall like a rag doll.

I realized then that I'd bitten off more than I could chew. I wasn't going to make it out of this cell alive!

I struggled to sit upright as the woman came upon me. She executed another right hook that George Foreman was dominantly known for. I was seeing stars, I was completely disoriented. I was losing consciousness.

I noticed that the shiv wasn't laying on the ground, confused, I looked up and there it was, arched overhead. The bitch was going to kill me! Survival instincts took over, I dodged the fatal blow all for it to land in my shoulder again. The woman broke off the shiv in my shoulder.

The pain I was enduring was excruciating. My head was starting to swirl next thing I knew I blacked out.

Nicole ran over to Amelia's side screaming her name. "Amelia! Amelia, are you alright?"

Stella and Tatiana joined her. The heavy set woman stood there grinning at the affair. She honestly could care less if the bitch named Amelia lived or died. She had nothing to lose. She was going to prison anyway to serve a life sentence for killing her abusive husband. So what was another murder to her?

Stella yelled, "Look what you've done! You've killed her!"

Stella was so upset she wanted to rip the woman's head off, and use it as a soccer instrument. But she decided against it seeing that the overall consequence could be fatal.

The woman said, "Bitch had it coming to her. She should've taking her ass whooping like a lady."

Nicole said, "She didn't do anything to you for you to attack her like you did."

"So what? What's it to you anyway? She's just another cell mate to the likes of you."

"For you information she was our friend." said Nicole venomously.

"Now she's your dead friend." said the woman, laughing hysterically.

Was that someone laughing? I couldn't quite tell if I was dreaming or if I was indeed hearing a faint laughter. Everywhere I looked it was nothing but darkness. Where was I? Where was Nicole, Stella, Tatiana, and Ashley?

I tried to move my hands, my feet, and then my head. It felt as if I weighed a ton. I couldn't move a muscle. I tried to called out to someone, anyone. But words wouldn't come out.

I heard someone call my name. My heart leap with excitement. I wasn't here alone my friends were just playing a silly prank on me. Then I noticed that this was one serious prank because I swear I heard someone call my name. It sounded like Nicole but I wasn't sure.

"She's alive!" Nicole exclaimed.

"Ashley, grab some water in a cup and douse her with it." said Stella as she began starting shaking Amelia.

Ashley went to the sink pressed the side that was universally known as Cold. The water arched upward and Ashley managed to catch it with her cup. She filled the cup, doused it on Amelia's face, and repeated the cycle.

Amelia responded to the water dished in her face. She coughed violently, shook, then sucked in a deep breath.

Where was everyone this was starting to get...Now I know this part wasn't no dream I saw light for the first time in awhile. My face was dripping with water, the room I was in was very bright. I looked down to see that my entire upper body was magically drenched with water. So idiot had taken this prank a little too far.

A figure came into my view, blocking the God awful brightness of the light. I tried to focus in on the figure standing in front of me. It was female with very prominent features. It was Nicole. And boy was I glad to see a familiar face.

I got to my feet, nearing falling back down for some odd reason before being shoved back up.

I said, "What the hell is going on?"

I honestly had no recall of anything, not even why I was in the room that I was in.

Stella stepped forward. "You honestly don't remember blacking out?"

"No not really. I remember being in some place that was very dark and uncomfortable. That's about it."

Stella threw her chin in the direction of a heavy set looking woman, standing in the far corner, apparently not part of the entourage.

"That's why you had blacked out." she said.

I nearly could've laughed my ass off, only thing was my whole body was aching. I felt like I'd been run over by an eighteen-wheeler at top speed. I tried to give a dismissive wave with my right hand but stopped short due to a breathtaking shock of pain in my shoulder. I yelped.

I asked, "What happened to my shoulder?"

Stella said, "You and the Butch Lady here got into a little scuffle."

"Scuffle? More like a mini war my shoulder is killing me."

I started looking around at the little 16 by 16 room. I was in a jail cell.

"What're we doing in a jail cell?" I asked.

"We're waiting to be transferred to another warehouse. We should be leaving in a couple more hours."

I had no knowledge of ever coming here. I knew we were supposed to be relocated to another warehouse but I never knew a jail house was part of the plan.

I looked over to the heavy set woman.

I said, "So you're the reason for me blacking out?"

"Yep," said she boldly.

# Chapter Nine

Davenport sat in front of the television set watching ESPN, his wife, Nikki, was in the kitchen preparing dinner. Their four year old daughter, Kelly, was in her bedroom watching Spongebob. Davenport had just gotten off work a little over an hour ago, and just needed a moment of peace from all the chaos that had occurred earlier today. He got up to grab a Corona from the fridge, when his phone rang. He checked the caller ID, it was the Department, he sighed then answered.

"Davenport, here."

"Hey it's Abbie, Chief wants us to meet him in his office in 10 minutes. Its urgent."

"Abbie,"he said trying to keep his conversation covert. "That's nearly impossible for me to get to department in ten minutes. I live fifteen minutes away."

"Well you better be getting dressed as we speak. I don't want to be the reason why you were late getting to his office,"

Davenport ran up the stairs, threw on his khaki slacks, his Oxford, and his loafers.Running back down the stairs, fasting his shirt, Abbie added, "And by the way, I'm your new partner detective." She hung up.

"You..." Davenport began. He looked at the phone, shaking his head as he walked to kiss his wife good bye.

"Where are you going mister?" Nikki asked, a cutting knife poised in her left hand.

"Got to go see what Chief Gates wants, apparently it's urgent because he's expecting me at his office in ten minutes,"he looked at his watch, "and that was five minutes ago."

"Well you better get going before you find yourself at the unemployment office instead," she replied, continuing her chopping of vegetables.

Davenport dashed out the front door, jumped in his unmarked Crown Vic, reversed, and gunned it down the street. He threw on his sirens and grille lights to alert random pedestrians of his coming. He looked at his clock on the dashboard, he had two minutes to be in that office. He decided to call Abbie to inform her that he would definitely be late and to apologize on his behalf.

"Abbie, look I'm on my way. I'm on Patton avenue as we speak. Apologize to Gates for me."

"Just hurry up and get here, Chief isn't here just yet. But I'll pass the message along,"

"Thanks,"

"No problem, that's what friends are for, partner,"

They clicked off. Davenport was only five minutes from the Department. He slowed to a creep as he reached downtown Asheville. And like always they were having some sort of ridiculous festival of some kind. He pulled in to his reserved parking spot, place the car in Park, and headed for the Department.

Abigail was dressed in plain clothes, which consisted of creased navy slacks, a navy blouse, and a white blazer. She looked good dressed to impress, and she was now his new partner. Officer Abigail Harmon was now Detective Abigail Harmon. Damn how life changes.

"Looking good," said Davenport as he gave her the once over. "Real good, say how's it feel to be a detective now?"

She seemed to ponder the question, "Same old shit,"opening up her blazer, in a show and tell manner. "Just a different toilet."

They laughed at the irony. She was obviously happy to be back out in the field. They walked side by side to Chief Gates's, corner office. The door was slightly ajar. They pushed it open, but Gates wasn't there.

"Sorry I'm late guys, traffic is pain out there," said Gates barging in from behind. He was looking a bit unkempt as if he were just getting out of the bed.

Davenport took notice of how his hands shook continuously.

"So what's the urgent conference all about Chief?" Asked Davenport.

The Chief held his head down, "It's Caldwell, he..." Gates stammered. "He died earlier this evening, cause of death was an overdose of Morphine."

"Jesus Christ," Davenport exclaimed, "I was just there with him before I got off work. He was doing fine, just a little lethargic but alive and well all the same."

"Any idea who is responsible?" Abbie asked.

"No. We have all the doctors under investigation as we speak, but no solid leads." said Chief Gates

"You know come to think of it, there was one doctor who was acting a bit odd when I arrived. I think he said his name was Dr Kozak or Kodak."

The Chief was ecstatic, "That's the best news I've heard since his death, I'm going to have Officer Sanchez run the names in the database to see if a Kozak or Kodak works at the Mission or Saint Joseph's."

Chief Gates began dialing a series of numbers. He got someone on the line.He told him what he needed him to do. He hung up the phone and sat back in his chair.

"I have Sanchez on it, but for the meantime I want the two of you to go back to the hospital and interview everyone who had access to his room."

"Okay,"

They left Chief Gates's office, walked to Davenport's Crown Victoria, and fired it up. They had a long night ahead of them and they were going to need all the resources at their disposal.

"What's your take on this Caldwell thing?"

"There's something about this case that's not right. For instance, that doc from the hospital, I mean the guy didn't even stick around to answer my questions."

They pulled into the parking garage of Saint Joseph's. A security booth, with a overweight guard in attendance eating a doughnut, stopped them.

"I'm sorry but you guys can't park there,"

"I'm sure we can," said Davenport, flashing his credentials. "Now if you can be so kind and help us locate your human resources department, that would be great."

"Certainly, sir, right through those elevators," he pointed to a bank of elevators.

"Thank you," said Abbie, winking at the doughnut boy seductively.

They took the elevator to the second floor, there they spoke to a receptionist, who referred them to the fourth floor, the human resource department.

"So I'm going to speak to Nurse Cindy, see if she can tell me about Dr Kozak. Something tells me that she's going to have a serious case of amnesia.

Sitting behind a desk, nursing a tumbler of Scotch, The General waited for the call to come in. His cell rang and he answered.

"United States Army, how may I assist you?"

"Hey its Michael Greene, I received a report that Officer Caldwell has been terminated,"

"Has The Operative said anything of value in reference to the detective?"

"No sir, it seems the detective has been at home since his death. But The Operative has said that he has set a plan to which he plans to eliminate Detective Davenport. He's waiting to hear from you, sir."

"How many soldiers does he need to eliminate Mr Davenport?"

"If I'm correct he needs two of your best. But he does plan on being part of the plan he's just getting a little rest."

"What happened to this "plan" happening tomorrow?"

"The Hitman had a little change of heart so to speak. He said that he wanted to intervene on the investigation, being that Davenport has a good BS detector, and for the simple fact that there's an additional helper involved. Her name is uh...,"

The General heard him flipping through some loose papers on the other end. "Here we are her name's Abigail Harmon. I can email you her dossier if you'd like?"

"Certainly," The General replied without hesitation. "I'll need to see what my men would be up against. Try to give me a sure timetable for when my troops need to be deployed. I expect an answer to that in one hour." He hung up.

Greene sat back in his chair, he didn't know when The Hitman would be ready to execute his course of action. The man was just obscene when it came to things of that nature. He liked to be the one who calls the shots, not the other way around. He called for his second in command, Blake Highsmith, he needed to relieve some stress.

"What's up boss?"

"Bring me a girl, the Amelia girl," replied Greene.

Highsmith did as he was bid and came back, with a feisty Amelia in his grasp. She had defiance in her eyes. Greene enjoyed a spark in his sex life. He stood, grabbed her by the hair, and slung her to the ground. Turning half way towards Highsmith, waving him off in dismissal.

"Leave us,"

After the door close behind, Greene undid his pants, pulled out his member, and beckoned her to him.

"Don't make this any harder than it has to be baby. I'm sure you're used to one of these by now."

He grabbed the back of her head with his hand and thrust himself in her mouth. She fought back but it was no use, he was stronger than her.

I sat there feeling disgusted, humiliated. I couldn't believe the body odor that one carries. Michael was scum. Complete filth. His nether region smelled horrible, like he hadn't bathed in a century horrible. I wanted nothing more than to wipe that stupid smirk off his face.

"You ready for some more baby?" Asked Greene.

I couldn't believe this creep, he was really getting a kick out of this.

"Not really," I said with as much conviction as I could muster.

"Well you better get ready,"

He leaned down, inches from my face. I could smell his bad breath even worse. I never thought garbage to be so nauseating.

He grabbed my left breast, and squeezed hard. I cried out. He slid his fingers between my inner thigh. I nearly vomited in his hideous looking face. He forced my legs open and raped me over and over.

I woke up hours later, completely naked surrounded by four figures. They began grinning from ear to ear. I screamed in contempt.

# Chapter Twenty-Four

Nicole, Ashley, and Tatiana ran over to Amelia's side. She was bleeding from various places along her face. Timidly, Nicole, took a washcloth and began cleaning the cuts and laceration marks with warm water. Amelia winced, as she gingerly applied the cloth to the cut above her right eye.

Nicole looked uneased, scared. "Why'd you have to go running your mouth to him, Amelia? This would've never happened." she said baffled by her audacity.

"Nicole, this would've happened regardless of what I did or didn't say to him." I sighed heavily. "I mean, take for an example, I was abducted and raped by the man. I didn't caused that on myself, did I? No. I sure as hell did not."

I tried to balance myself on my elbows, but the pain gripping my upper and lower back, permitted that from happening. I cried out as I let my determination, lift me up on my elbows , and continued onward until I gotten myself upright on the bed.

"You have a lot of intrepidity, when it comes to forcing yourself through pain and suffering." said Ashley astounded.

"Believe me, it's not pleasurable." I said grunting as I tried to get myself comfortable. "My father taught me and my siblings, at a young age, to endure aspects of pain and convert them into a pleasurable moment. Therefore, your adversary has naught to triumph with."

Silence.

"Your father must've been a real role model for you." said Ashley breaking the silence.

I contemplated on the topic, wishing deep down that that was the case. I couldn't find nothing of satisfactory, so I concluded the conversation as sudden as I initiated it.

I said, "Yeah he was quite the role model for us." I was being sardonic. My father wasn't no role model, in fact, he sought after the very ones who called themselves "role models".

"Lucky you, my father was an arrogant-abusive man," said Ashley acrimoniously. "I remember one time, I had come home from school and he was chastising my mother for not paying the house payment on time.

"He acted as if I hadn't come into the house and just continued his belittling charade. I felt sad for my mother, because she took it. She could've left his ass years before. Then one day I came home to the same charade, except this time he was beating her, literally slapping her around."

Everyone sat quietly, befuddled, by what they just heard. I could certainly relate to the abusive father part, almost to a "T". I had no idea that a girl from Greenwich Village, New York, a town I've never even heard of, could have gone through what she claimed to have gone through. It was unfathomable, to put it mildly.

Tatiana asked, "Where is your mother now?"

Tatiana had been completely quiet up until now.

"Probably, still with his worthless ass. Who knows, right?"

If she thought she could fool them she certainly couldn't fool me. I saw the hurt in her eyes. I walked with teenagers on the daily basis. Dealt with them and their erratic behaviors and outburst, presumably, caused by chaos occurring in their homes.

"Is there something else that's bothering you, Ashley? I mean, I find it odd that my father being a "role model," I said signifying the universal gesture for quotations. "Struck up such minor similarities in your father."

"Look lady, just because you're a teacher and all doesn't give you the right to make assumptions. You don't know me, so don't act otherwise!" Ashley snapped back, stormed off.

"I think I hit a sensitive spot." I said sardonically, chuckling.

No one was laughing with me.

Tatiana said, "I'm a go check on her." Then walked off.

I was really starting to feel like everything was my fault. It was my fault that I got abducted and betrayed by my ex beau. It was my fault that I was gangraped by a bunch of sadistic men. It was my fault that poor Kelly, was separated from her mother, Nikki. And it was my fault that Ashley, was upset and pouting in the far corner.

I was getting ready to conjure some other examples of it being my fault, when the door to our room opened, and in stepped the four star.

Back at the Buncombe County jail, in the same cell as the others had left. Nikki, and three others were being transferred out of their cell. Nikki and the other three, Stacey, Paula, and Carla, were glad to know that they were finally being transferred out of there. Nikki was hoping against hope that she'd be reunited with her daughter, Kelly.

She turned to the guard, gripping her arm, and asked, "Do you know if I'll get to see my daughter where I'm going?"

The guard nearly choked on her tears, it was so funny.

She said, "You think I give a shit if you see that little bastard again? Hell no. Keep it moving." The guard, gave her a rough shove to the shoulder.

That instantly pissed Nikki off. "Do you have any idea who I am?!"

"Yeah some lunatic who believes I actually give a shit." said the guard generating a sudden burst of laughter from her colleagues.

"So you know, I'm Nikki Davenport, wife of Detective Drake Davenport, ummph."

"And I'm Deputy Raineesha Williams, from Reno 911," replied the guard.

They continued their laughing affair all the way to the annex floor of the jail. They handed the four women over to an awaiting Correctional Officer.

"Be careful Officer Clement," the female guard joked. "This one here claims to be Detective Drake Davenport's wife." She cackled uncontrollably.

Nikki reminded herself, they'll get what's coming to them. My husband will see to their incarceration, personally.

She and the others, boarded the black van. Like the women before them, they were handcuffed and shackled to one another. Nikki, started thinking about her first encounter with that Amelia girl, the very day she was abducted.

What was it she had said about the man responsible for abducting her? He was the Chief of Police, my husband's brass, she confirmed.

She now realized that her situation just became more complicated. If the Chief of Police was involved in this abduction, did that mean that her husband was in on it as well? She couldn't exclude it from her theory, could she? Would Drake, condemn me to the wolves for a substantial amount of money?

All sorts of crazed thoughts flowed through her mind as she pondered her situation. Could she trust anyone these days? Absolutely not! She hoped to God that Drake wouldn't be concocting against her and her daughter, in exchange for cash.

"Good afternoon, ladies. I hope your living arrangements are to your liking. If not, I apologize, dearly, for any inconvenience." said the four star plucking at his cuff links. "Today is the beginning of a Revolutionary movement, an earth shattering monumental moment. The United States Army, is conducting my mission called 'Operation Genesis', taking it's name from the book of Creation.

"I plan on creating a new human race, starting from the very blood line of Ms Amelia Deese, better known as Akilah Muhammad, daughter of Aladdin Muhammad, heir to the ally of Al Qaeda itself, Jaish-e-Mohammed."

All if eyes turned on me, I was in the red seat, no pun intended.

"You're a terrorist!" shouted Nicole recoiling from my presence.

"No I'm not!" I protested.

There were shouts coming from all the women. It showed how easily Americans can easily be persuaded. These women knew me longer than they had this "four star" and yet they took him at his word, 100 percent.

"Settle down, ladies she's only a terrorist by birth, not otherwise." said the four star.

That was very reassuring, I thought.

"Her father is a highly notorious terrorist, known to have several means of finding weapons of mass destruction. Has killed hundreds of thousands of his own people for nothing short of lying.

"And ladies, I'm giving her over to her father, along with the rest of you. In exchange, I'll have total freedom to do as I wish when in hazardous areas. I appreciate your cooperation, good day."

As he went for the door, I grabbed his leg. He turned around quickly as fully loaded M16s were aimed at me. The man was well guarded that's for certain.

"Sir, please don't send me back to my father's." I pleaded with the ruthless monster. "He'll have me beheaded for sure, I'll do anything."

"Careful what you wish for young lady. It could very well bite you in the ass if you're not careful." And with that he left.

I was left in a room, with several hateful faces glancing my way. These women, with no doubt, wanted me dead. They deemed me a terrorist, rather by association or not. I was a terrorist that shattered their world on September 11th.

Nicole made her way toward me, stood over me, asked, "Why?"

For once in my entire life, I had nothing to say to that question. I was ashamed beyond belief.

# Chapter Twenty-Eight

On Leicester Highway, Davenport and Harmon raced passed slow moving cars and pick up trucks a like. On both sides, there were numerous abandoned fields, any one of them canvassing Nikki.

Davenport's heart quickened as he realized that he was being toyed with. He picked up his cell, both hands on the steering wheel, and tried to call back to kidnapper. Unfortunately, the number was a restricted one. He cursed quietly under his breath.

Beside him, Harmon craned her neck around, looking for any sign of a woman stranded in the open fields. "Let's pull over and comb these fields manually." she suggested.

Davenport, located a nearby Post Office off to his left, pulled in a vacant spot, and killed the motor. He exited the driver's side, ran to the edge of the road, glanced both direction, then ran across. Harmon did the same. As they neared the muddy field, they decided it best to split up, in order to cover more ground.

Davenport took the field that they were at and Harmon advanced to the one further down the road, on the left hand side. As she made her way across, she pulled out her phone and dial a number.

"Hey, it's Abigail, are you in position?" she spoke into the phone.

"Locked and loaded," replied the voice on the other end.

She hung up, and continued her trek towards the field she was assigned.

As Davenport, was searching through the field, he was walking aimlessly, into Top Gun's crosshairs. The assassin took immediate aim, and fired. The shot missed its target, but that was the purpose of the shot. A warning shot. He ran over a nine o'clock position, aimed, and fired again. This time, having the shot land inches from Davenport's left foot. The detective hit the deck hard. Top Gun mused to himself, What's the matter Detective? The ground to hot for ya?

Davenport slowly raised his head from the ground, mud and horse shit covering his face. This was the second time, in a week, that he'd been shot at. These people didn't want him snooping around, he surmised.

That last shot had come within inches of contacting his left foot. Either the shooter was a bad shot or worse, the shooter was playing with him.

He unholstered his Glock, gazed in the direction of the shots. He saw no one of interest. He crab walked to a boulder like rock, about 3 yards away. The closer he got to the boulder, the deeper the muddy ground caved.

At the moment he was already at his elbow, in mud. Before he reached the boulder, another shot landed overhead, ricocheting off the boulder.

He positioned himself against the boulder, and returned fire.

Top Gun, had apparently underestimated his adversary. He was holding his side, where, Detective Davenport has gotten off a luck shot that grazed his hip, causing eye-watering pain. He was certain that the detective hadn't located him, he hobbled over to his truck, and tended to his wound.

He searched for the Vodka bottle from the night before, as he ripped apart his shirt. He poured the Vodka over the wound, turning his head away with intent to gain courage. He cried out, in agony, then realizing the danger of his outburst, threw his hand over his mouth.

He needed to called Abigail, to let her know his situation.

Struggling, he managed to free his phone from his pocket. He punched at the numbers frantically.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"I'm thirty yards or so to your right, why?"

"Your man, he shot me. Its only a flesh wound but still I need time to recuperate."

"Okay, I'll finish the job." she hung up.

She was in love with Drake Davenport, had always been in love with him. She made up her mind to just shoot him, but not kill him.

She withdrew her suppressor from her right pants pocket, screwed it on, and advanced covertly, towards Davenport's location. She seen that he was hiding behind a boulder, she took aim at his shoulder, and fired. The bullet hit its mark, perfectly.

Bravo.

Davenport, peered around the boulder, in search, for the shooter. It had been a full five minutes since his last bullet hit the boulder, only inches from a perfect head shot. He was making his way back around, when he launched forward, pain shooting through his shoulder.

He grabbed his shoulder, writhing around on the ground, like a toddler having a temper tantrum. He glared angrily over his shoulder, realizing that the shooter had just set him up for the kill shot. He knew it was only seconds before the shooter would advance on him, take aim and shot him between the eyes.

He wondered where the hell Abbie, had gone off too. She had to have heard these gunshots, where was she at?

He was starting to lose a lot of blood now, going in and out of consciousness. His vision blurred as a figure was head his direction. Is this how I'm to die, he thought, as he waited to feel his body jerk one last time. He tried desperately, to focus in on the figure heading toward him. He swore the figure was female, but he wasn't positive.

The figure was on him. Gazing down at him, as if he were a stranger and not a gunshot victim. He groaned, reaching his hand up for help. The figure grabbed his, twisted, and broke his wrist. The pain from his wrist, instantly knocked him out cold.

Detective Harmon, hoisted Davenport up, dragging him toward the awaiting car. She placed him in the back seat, staring horrified, at his grotesquely broken wrist. She closed the back door. I hope he didn't notice that it was me who broke his wrist, she thought, hoping in the driver's seat. She started the car, and headed for town.

The mission was on a down-slope for disaster. She prayed that The Operative could fix this and make it all go away. But she knew better than to think of something so stupid. The Operative had an agenda to stick to, he was going to make sure that public enemy number one, Drake Davenport, was out of the picture.

She placed a call to his cell, instantly getting his voice-mail. She left him a message, informing him of the shootout that occurred between Davenport and Top Gun. She told him that she was on her way the Mission Hospital, with Davenport.

She clicked off and continued on to Patton Avenue. Traffic was heavy, which allowed her a moment of serenity.

As the traffic slowly progressed, she kept thinking of killing herself to avoid the truth about her becoming public. She glanced over at her Glock, sitting in the passenger's seat.

The thought was very tempting, she could almost hear an eerie voice, prompting her to go for it. But she held firm, she wanted to be woman enough to let Davenport know why she'd done what she did. She at the very least, owed him that 

# Chapter Seven

Davenport pulled into the driveway of Amelia Deese, her car was not in the driveway and it appeared as if no one was home. He got out, walked up to the front door, and rapped on the door.

No answer.

He checked his watch, then went around back to see if he could get a decent look inside. He had a bad feeling about this situation. Something wasn't clicking on all cylinders.

At the back he peered through the kitchen window which was right at eye level. Empty. He tried the back door knob. Unlocked. Gripping the butt of his Glock 17, he proceeded into the house.

It was immaculate, well furnished, with granite countertops, red apple wooden cabinets. The perfect decor for a World History teacher, he thought. On the table were three things: a slack of mail, a wine glass, and a Bobby Flay signature butcher knife. Davenport froze, tantalized by the thought of having a potential lead on the investigation.

He continued his search, clambering the stairs, he heard a noise that nearly made him to trip on a stair. He caught himself, quickly removed his Glock, and crept toward the direction of the noise.

Maybe she was at a friend's house for the night, he thought, or maybe she had a family emergency. No, the latter wouldn't make sense, since the authorities would have been aware of such events. Think Davenport, think!

About thirty feet away, out on the front lawn, a man wearing black slacks, loafers, and a navy parka was searching the grass. The grass! What the hell was he looking for in the grass dressed like that? Maybe he lost his Rolex, perhaps. No, he was definitely looking for something and a Rolex was far from it.

Davenport watched the man in the loafers pick something up from the ground. It appeared to be a pocket knife. But it was hard to be certain from his vantage point.

Davenport mused the idea of using the element of surprise to see what this wannabe yuppie was doing snooping around missing person's front lawn.

But he disregarded the thought as quickly as he had conjured it. It could so easily backfire, causing him yet another written complaint and a lawsuit against the city. So he did the next best thing he could think of, he called his long time friend, Abbie, from Ballistics.

"Asheville Police Department, Ballistics, this is Officer Harmon, how can I assist you?" She sounded chirpy.

"Abbie, this is Davenport, look I got a guy standing in the front lawn of a potential missing person. I want you to send a patrol unit over this way."

Davenport peered out the window, Glock poised forward.

"And what's wrong with your vehicle? Aren't you in the area?"

"I am yes, but I'm sort of tied up at the moment, can you send one or not? I'm in the middle of something and I don't have time to chat."

He was getting irritated with Abbie's response timing. All cops career depended on their response timing and Abbie was heading for early retirement.

"Will you give me a sec, I have dispatch on the line explaining the situation. It shouldn't take long," She said letting out a deep breath through her nose. "Okay dispatch has a cruiser en route anything else?"

But Davenport had hung up the phone because Mr Fancy pants decided that his search needed a little expansion. He was heading for the front door, with a purpose. Davenport aimed his Glock at chest level and readied himself. The door knob rattled a bit, before bursting inward. Immediately, suppressed gunfire followed as the door swung open. Davenport had to dive to his left to dodge the spray of bullets. He hit the wooden floor with a thud, scurrying away as more gunfire erupted.

Crouched, behind a white sofa with the factory plastic still attached, the man in the loafers sat, panting, as he tried to regain his oxygen. What the fuck was this cop doing here, he thought.

This thing was getting more messier than he intended. Now he was in a gun battle with some nosy cop! Shit! He reloaded his suppressed Beretta M9, counted to three, then laid another rain of gunfire as he retreated for the front door. Once, at the entrance of the front door he reached on his pocket for the keys to a rented Ford sedan. He was oblivious to the fact that as he pulled out the Hertz key ring, something else dropped in the doorway.

Certain that the coast was clear, Davenport stood up, disoriented as he brushed the debris from his jacket. He looked around for any sign of the intruder. There were none. Convinced, he walked towards the front door. He poked his head out, looking left then right. The neighborhood was unscathed from the events that just occurred. They were totally at a loss as to what just happened only moments ago.

Davenport stuck his head back inside, closing the door behind him...but it wouldn't shut all the way. That's strange, he thought, I wonder what could be...

Then he spotted it, a key ring, standing upright between the door and the landing. He took a pen from his pocket, reached down and grabbed it. He looked around the room for a container to place it in.

Above the fireplace there was a plastic container, like the kind you get from your dentist to hold your retainer in. He put the key ring inside. He needed to get out there before that patrol got there. But he was too late, the patrolman was walking up the walkway.

Shit!

Davenport leapt over the tumbled white sofa, making it to the door just as the doorbell sounded from behind. He slipped out the back door, wiping off any fingerprints that he might have left. He did a full circuit around the neighborhood at a jog. He slowed as he approached the patrolman. The patrolman was walk back to his cruiser.

"He got away," said Davenport, panting.

"What are you talking about, Davenport?" The patrolman asked, confused.

"They sent you to respond to the dispatcher's call. I chased the perp all through the neighborhood. Fucker is fast as lightning."

Despite, the fact that he hadn't chase anyone, he was still very much winded from feigning a police chase. The patrolman didn't notice the difference. And Davenport wasn't going to enlighten him on the fact.

He got back in his Crown Victoria, called his wife, Nikki, and told her what had happened.

Nikki was sitting at home reading the new Brad Thor novel, when her phone ranged. She checked the caller ID, then answered the phone.

"Hey honey, what's up?"

"Just had a very intense shootout,"

"What? When? Are you all right?"

That was Nikki Davenport, always asking all the concerning inquiries, and completely oblivious to the obvious.

"Honey, I'm fine just a little banged up from landing on my shoulder. And besides that plus feeling old as hell, I'm fine," he sighed heavily.

He hated telling her these sort of things. "Honey, I want you to lock up the house and stay away from the windows."

Last summer, while Davenport was working a case, involving a copycat killer, who was a cat's paw to the real killer. His wife was cooking a late dinner, when a man broke into the house, wearing a ski mask and carrying a gun. He held Nikki and Kelly hostage for 12 hours until a ERT, Emergency Response Team, from Quantico came in and killed him. Nikkie was never the same afterwards, she was laid off her job, working as an Assistant District Attorney. And hearing that it was possible to reappear was troublesome.

"Don't tell me someone's after you again, Blake. This has got to stop. You're going to get yourself killed before long."

"I know this is troublesome to hear, but I got to catch this jerk off before he does more damage and kidnappings. You have to..."

"I will not keep living in fear, Drake, I will not!" Nikki interrupted.

And she hung up the phone.

Davenport stared, dumbfounded, at the phone in his hand, he knew she wouldn't understand the situation. He called Chief Gates, to arrange for a patrolman to monitor his house.

"Chief, I need two patrolman outside my place while I'm working this case. Nikki she's..." he didn't know how to explain such a tragedy. "She's still recovering from last summer's events. She needs closure."

Gates let out a sigh. "I understand Davenport, I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks Chief, I owe you one."

They clicked off. Davenport sat in his car trying to piece together where he went wrong.

Today was the beginning of a challenge, a challenge that could mean only two things: life and death. And Davenport was going ensure that he came out on the opposite side of death.

# Chapter Thirty-Four

Today was going by uneventful. Nobody so much as knocked on our cellar. Stella and Nicole were sitting on their beds, high on adrenaline when our first victim arrived. Stella grinned a vicious grin as she slide her shiv up her sleeve.

I sat tense as the door swung open. I was expecting to see Blake or the Four Star. But who I saw instead took me by instant surprise. Amanda Capone, a former student of mine was advancing inside. She looked grim, like she was sick. She held her head down as she made her way in.

Capone was a very bright student that I was glad to have the pleasure of working with. She was always on time and almost always passed every test given to her. But deep down, she was a spiteful child. She disliked everyone who would try to help her.

One day, while teaching my class I asked her to come up front and enlighten the rest of the class on the first World War. She hissed, and hurled her textbook across the room hitting me square in the face. She was expelled for the remaining of that school year.

Now, a few years later, she was sharing the same room with me yet again. I must admit it was rather odd.

I said, "Amanda, what're you doing here?"

She glared at me as if I knew the answer.

"Have you..."

"Do you know her too?" asked Nicole, quizzically.

I whipped my head around to acknowledge her question, and said, "Yes I know her she was a student of mine a few years back. Her name's Amanda Capone." I looked back at Amanda. "Care to tell us why you're here?"

She said, "Dunno, why don't you ask them yourself. I'm sure they'll tell you all the details." She giggled.

Something about her was off I was sure. This was not the smart, but yet disturbed adolescent from high school. I was starting to feel like she too was apart of this abduction. I just hope she wasn't that stupid to fall for such extremities.

"Why can't you tell me? You're right here and they're out there," I pointed toward the door.

"Sorry, they're rules not mine. They told me you were going to be asking me all sort of questions."

The cellar opened and a voice yelled, "Amanda times up!"

Amanda bowed her head and left without saying another word. I couldn't believe that she was working with killers. This bright girl, who could've been a teacher herself chose the wrong side of the law. It hurt my heart to witness her career path.

I knew I had to found a way to escape this hell hole once and for all. It was apparent that these men would go far and beyond to get to me. Having a former student of mine, was a prime example.

I looked up at the clock on the wall. It was 7:05 p.m. I needed to rest so I can figure out how to escape. I decided to lay down and turn on my thinking cap. It didn't take long before my mind drifted off to another place.

I was in my cellar writing out my plan of escape. I had coaxed Blake into my cellar where I had slit his throat and took his keys. It was far fetched, perhaps that's why it was a dream.

I woke up abruptly from my slumber. The clock read: 8:45 p.m. I had only been asleep for nearly two hours. I gazed around at the others, who were curled up on their beds. I crept over to where Stella lay, and nudged her shoulder. She woke on the third try, glaring at me through sleepy eyes.

She said, "This better be worth you waking me up."

"Oh it is," I smiled. "Listen closely, I have a way for us to escape but we have to be quick about it."

I began telling her about my dream and she laughed quietly as I told her how quickly Blake had dropped his pants at the sight of my naked body. I told her that we needed to make our move before we were relocated. She agreed.

She said, "It should be a piece of cake. There's only three people if you include that general guy. And like in your dream men are quick to get distracted at the sight of a naked body."

"So what're we waiting for let's tell the others."

I didn't want anything to happen to Kelly, so I walked over to her bedside and whispered in her ear, "I want you to run when I say run, okay? Don't look back and whatever you do don't get caught."

Tears were forming in my eyes again. Shit! I hated this emotional strain it can be so damned nerve wrecking.

Kelly rolled over on her back and whispered back, "Okay, but where are you going?"

"I'll be right behind you." I lied. I tore my gaze from her and joined the others who were huddled up in a corner.

"So you honestly think this is going to work, Amelia?" asked Nicole.

Ever since she had found out that my father was a terrorist she's questioned my every move, which was really getting on my last nerve.

I said, "Yes I do believe that if we stick to the plan it would work."

"Will everybody be willing to kill these bastards?"

I had to think about that one, because not everyone could live with that on their conscious. Even if they were placed in a life and death situation.

"That's a question each of you will have to ask yourselves, I can't speak for everyone."

"Well if everyone is willing to do what's necessary to ensure that this plan is executed properly, then I'm in." said Nicole.

I looked around at all the girls standing in this room. Their faces were stoned, they didn't look like the cute little innocents they were. They looked vengeful, awaiting the very moment to pounce on their victim.

"Well let's make the best of it all. Stella is it possible for you to find some more metal laying around?" I asked.

"I'll see what I can scoop up."

"Thanks."

It was something after eleven o'clock when we finally finished our meeting. I was tired and my muscles from yesterday's encounter were aching. I stretched out on my bed and commenced to counting sheep in my head. After a moment I was was fast asleep.

The following morning, breakfast was brought to us from McDonald's. This act of generosity shocked not only me, but the other girls as well. Something was up, they've never been nice to us. So why now?

The sausage and egg biscuits were still warm when I bit into mine; I savored every last bit. I was in heaven. We giggled and conversed about what our "abductors" were up too. It was a cozy situation, if cozy was the word of choice.

Kelly was loving her McDonald's, she almost seemed radiant as she devoured her sausage biscuit. It was a cute spectacle.

We were finishing up a game of Spades when our cellar opened. All heads turned toward the door, presumably, hoping for a second helping of McDonald's. My mouth stood agape as my father; who I hadn't laid eyes on in several years stepped through the door.

# Chapter Fifty-Four

I woke up, feeling exceptionally relaxed. After last night's mouth-watering dream about Jeffrey, I still felt as if I were still on cloud nine. My father hadn't returned Kelly, after snatching her up in order to bring me to a decision; come back home or let the Americans suffer the consequences. Major bluff on his part.

Aziz, my father's second-in-command brought us a very interesting breakfast despite our circumstances: we had pancakes, eggs, actually satisfying toast, and cups of Orange juice. I could definite get more used to this treatment than the prior's.

After we gobbled down our once in a lifetime breakfast, we gathered together to come up with a much better plan of escape. I decided it was best if I kept my mouth shut this go-around. Maybe someone else may have a bright idea that won't turn out faulty, like mines.

We discussed the possibility of Kelly, not coming back alive. And if so, very disabled. We discussed that my father was definitely trying to manipulate us all into believing that he was indeed the oh so, righteous one. I felt more confident now, that my girls were finally seeing the whole picture, from all angles. For a brief moment, I felt the walls caving in on me. But on the other hand, my subconscious was right the whole time. These girls weren't going to turn their backs on me now. Not after all we've been through together these past few weeks.

"I think we should just play along for a while. Maybe he'll let us out in the community for a brief moment. Then all we'll have to do is find someone that can help us escape." said Stella, brimming with anticipation.

Ashley said, "That's a good idea, Stella but who would believe a bunch of girls in the middle of Bum-fuck-Egypt? I mean it's clear we're not from around here and people usually notice things like that."

"We'll just have to be a little more convincing is all. We're girls after all, and hot ones if you ask me. I'm sure if we use a bit a seduction in our attempts we'll pique someone's interest to investigate. Florida is a big state and with a big state comes big opportunities. I'd say let's give it a shot." replied Tatiana her Romanian accent purring with a hint of seduction. I was beginning to get a little warm fuzzy feeling from her accent. Strange.

"Maybe we can try to get some information out of your father's second in command, Amelia. With him being your father's second hand, I'm sure he knows the inside scoop of what's going on. He may even know where Kelly's mother is being held." said Stella.

"Yeah she's right, Amelia. Last night I overheard someone talking with your father saying, the other's are already here. Perhaps, he was referring to Florida in general or this very hotel. Who knows?" Ashley chimed in.

"Well if my father is stupid enough, and I don't think that he is, to bring all of us within the same vicinity. It's not going to end like he expects it. But let it be known, my father has been known to play coy when he deems it necessary. He is not to be underestimated." I replied.

"So do you think he's playing coy with you? By promising us freedom if only you would come back home with him?"

"Yes," I said. "I do, because I know my father well enough to know he's a pathological liar. Everything he lies about is carefully stitched together to give the impression that's his word is as good as gold. Once, when I was a child, he promised to take me to a place where the ground was made of diamonds. But instead he took me to a public beheading and later told me that 'these heads are the diamonds of the future, my dear child. Be aware.' So yes, I know that he's playing his cards well or at least he thinks that he is."

My mind suddenly flashed back to that day, nearly 20 years ago when I was 10 years old. I was playing with one of the village girl's named Aaliyah, we were literally inseparable. We were playing what we called "football" when my father had sent Aziz, who was 15 years old at the time, to summon me immediately. I was upset because I was having so much fun with Aaliyah, which rarely happened. I stormed off toward my father's bungalow, which was nothing more that a low roofed house that no one else in the village could acquire.

My father was sitting behind his massive mahogany desk that I always had to stand on my tip toes, in order to be able to carrying on a respectful conversation. As I walked in, he was leaning back in his chair, looking as if he'd fallen asleep. But I knew that look, I've witnessed it numerous times. My father was getting pleasured by some young village girl. I cleared my throat as the grunting, and groans began to raise bile in the back of my throat. My father snapped his eyes open, looking horrid. He attempted to play it cool. He failed, miserably. The village girl got up and hurried out of the room. And my father bore me with a death gaze of his own; that made me think of the phrase, "If looks could kill."

"Have you ever heard of knocking before entering such a room, sweet daughter? Perhaps, that rudeness you inherited from your witch of a mother. You will first learn manners, you understand?"

I nodded.

"Good, now I've noticed how much you enjoy talks of diamonds and such. Well I have a surprise that will definitely be engraved on your mind for years to come. You still enjoy talks of diamonds, right?"

"Yes, father."

"Good, I'll be taking you to a place where the ground is made of those diamonds. Go wash up and I'll summon you when I am done pleasuring the village girl."

I turned to leave.

"And Amelia, don't come barging in my office again. You will knock and I will answer. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, father."

"Now off with you and tell the village girl she can resume her duties."

I hurried off. I was crying for some strange reason. Was it excitement about the diamonds? Or was it sadness over the village girl who was pleasuring my father? I had no idea. I wiped the tears roughly away with the back of my hand. I was a big girl and big girls did not cry.

I went into the wash house and showered. I got out, dressed, and ate me a decent meal. Shortly, thereafter, I met my father along with Aziz, standing near a dark sedan. We got inside and headed due East. We pulled up in the middle of a crowd of angry people. I looked over at my father, quizzically. He nodded his head solemnly.

"Is this the place with the diamonds?" I asked, nonplussed.

He fixed me with a hard glare. "Does it look like a place for diamonds? Use your head, Amelia or you could be next in line for not using your head."

Next in line? For what, another tongue-lashing?

He exited the car, and I waited inside while he walked around to open my door for me, as if I was unable to do so myself. The moment my feet hit the ground, the putrid odor of decay found its way into my nose. I gagged, then pitched forward as vomit escape my interior barriers. I wiped my mouth and saw the disappointed look on my father's face. He walked onward and I struggled to keep pace. Soon we were shoving our way through the angry mob. As we moved on , the odor became stronger. I was beginning to have a bad feeling about this trip.

I tripped over something I took to be a big rock. But upon closer examination it was something far more prominent than a rock. There was blood oozing from the hole located at the root of the object. My eyes traced the line of blood and seen pale looking skin, followed by a mop of hair. That's when it hit me. I hadn't tripped over a rock. I'd tripped over a freaking human head!

I scurried away, and felt strong arms around my midsection. I looked back and saw my father's disappointed face yet again. He got me to my feet, dusting off the dirt from my clothes, he said, "You need to watch your step. Now let's keep moving."

My mind was in overdrive. I couldn't remove the image of a human head from my memory. What the heck was this place?

Finally, we'd made it through the mob and now had a front row seat at the spectacle that caused this chaos. I watched as a man was being roughly tied down to a makeshift guillotine. My eyes got wide as I made the connection. This poor man was having his head cut off! My God! Everything was in slow motion as the blade came down on the man's head, sending specks of blood everywhere. His head managed to find its way to my feet. I stared down, in horror, at the sight of it; completely perplexed at what I was gazing upon. And that's when everything went black.

# Chapter Forty-Eight

Me and Jeffrey were walking on the beach, laughing and enjoying one another's company. Not too long ago, we'd enjoyed some hot steaming sex; panting in each other's arms afterward. This was our honeymoon, and I was soaking it up til the last drop. We stood as a wave came crashing inland, tinkling my little toes. I was leaning against my lover, my best friend, my husband when he whispered in my ear, sweetly, "This has got to be the happiest moment of my life." He kissed my neck and nibbled on my ear. I yelped in protest.

I said, "This is what I've always dreamed of. Getting married to a wonderful man and having a bunches of children running about."

"Whoa," he began. "Slow down. We haven't gotten that far yet. Let's enjoy our marriage life before we look toward having children."

I pouted. All my life I'd wanted me some children. Even when I was living back in my little Iraqi village, where I took care of other mother's children. It hurt to hear my lover, shoot down my most valued dream ever. But I could live with it. I'd learned to assimilate to any situation that presents itself, courtesy of father.

The thought of my father, formed a guilty conscious somewhere in the depths of my cranium. I hadn't thought so much as a image of my father's existence, mainly because I knew that it would tarnish my integrity along with whatever dignity I'd have left. But truth be told, I was going to come clean about my father and my background as an Iraqi.

I said, "When am I going to meet Mrs. LeBlanc?"

"You already have," he joked.

"I meant your mother, Jeffery." I grinned.

"Oh, that Mrs. LeBlanc, well, it depends my love, are you truly ready to become family? My mother is all about family, and that's how she was raised."

I didn't hesitate at all. "I'm absolutely sure. I've never been so sure about anything like this in my life. So let's go see her."

"In due time, my love. We can't just drop everything and leave one of our best moments of marriage, especially our honeymoon."

"I didn't mean right now, honey. I meant whenever we get home. I still have a bunch of vacation hours left. So I don't have to be back at the high school until I'm ready."

He lifted me up in his strong arms and said, "Well, I'll tell you what I'm ready for. I'm ready to get under the shower head and make more love. How about you, my love?"

I could resist the urge myself. "Of course, what better way to rejuvenate the mind than sex in the shower?"

I bolted upright, startled by a terrifying shriek. For a second, I thought it was part of the dream I was having. But that's impossible, me and Jeffrey were getting ready to make love, not kill each other. I scanned the room and that's when I noticed that I was alone. The girls weren't here with me. And Kelly. Oh, my God Kelly!

I shot out of the bed and ran over toward the door and banged on it until my hands began to hurt. Then I banged some more. I wanted an explanation for the scream that I'd heard only moments ago.

Urgent footsteps hustled my way. I stood back, preparing for the impact of the door bursting opening and men in black fatigues, guns in hand, coming toward me. But as I waited, the urgent foot falls stopped abruptly outside my cellar door. Perhaps, they were contemplating a way to enter undetected, I kept thinking.

The door flung open and standing before me was a badly beaten man. Upon further examination, I'd noticed exactly who that beaten man was, it was Jeffrey LeBlanc, my ex husband.

I lost my equilibrium somewhere and fell to the ground. This couldn't be real, I was thinking, Jeffery was in Kansas, at Fort Leavenworth. What kind of sick, twisted game was my father playing now? The guards who were carrying Jeffrey, shoved him inside with me. My heart did a flip, but it was short lived, when my father walked in behind Jeffery, smiling mischievously.

He said, "Good evening, sweet daughter? Did you enjoy your cat nap? Have you notice anything out of the ordinary?"

I couldn't speak, literally I couldn't form any words. I tried desperately, but to no avail. I was defeated yet again by my father's sinister ways. I felt ashamed as I stood there in front of my ex husband, a man I still loved til this day.

In front of me, Jeffrey groan as he tried to roll over. He didn't look nothing like the man I had married some three and a half years ago. He was underweight, his eyes were sunken, his skin pale. To put it mildly, he looked like death. And it only made matters worse, that he'd been nearly beaten to death by my father's goons.

My father walked toward me, talking as he moved, "So what is it going to be, Amelia? Your lover or several more hundreds of thousands of innocent lives? I'm placing the ball in your court, as the Americans love to quote. So which one is more important to you?

"If you're anything like the daughter I know, you'd say neither of them holds any importance."

"What's the point? You've already beaten my ex husband to a pulp and killed a bunch of innocent people already. What's to say it won't happen again?"

His lips cracked into a tight grin. "You're a smart girl, my dear. Very smart indeed. That's why I know you'd make a good decision in due time, but for the time being me and your ex husband are going to get much more acquainted." He signaled to the guards. And they dragged my lover out of the room, slamming the door behind them.

I sat dickering over my subconscious mind. Should I leave with my father and watch as the very children I taught, become potential victims to my father's ruthless means of punishment? Or should I continue to defy him and be the continuous blame for the lives of those innocent people, who will likely be killed regardless? This was a hard decision. And I really didn't know what I wanted to do. It wasn't a win-win situation, that's for sure. And if he was cruel enough to beat my lover to a pulp, I could only imagine what he would do to poor little Kelly? The very thought made me sick to my stomach. My father knew how much I cared for that child; he'd even mention it in a form of utter disgust. But the question still remained: Was my father cruel enough to harm such an innocent little girl?

The answer: Yes he was.

I wanted to know to what was going on with the others. They were my sister, we've been through a lot together. We protected one another from day one.

But when I thought things would turn for the better, they ignored my optimism and made a beeline for the worse.

The door to my cellar opened and Jeffrey stumbled inside. I was about to meet him halfway. When a crack sounded and his body pitched forward, landing at my feet. I screamed in horror, as blood oozed from the gunshot wound in his back. They'd shot my lover, my best friend, my ex husband.

I dropped and cradled him in my arms. I was completely blown away by my father audacity. I heard a slight rustle, and looked up into my father's piercing eyes.

He said, shrugging his shoulders, "You took too long to make up your mind so I made the decision for you." He turned briskly before I could respond.

Bastard! I hope you rot in hell for what you've done I wanted to scream. But I knew it was a fruitless effort. The door opened yet again and my heart sunk at the thought of Kelly's body being shoved forward and shot in the back like my lover's. But to my much appreciation it was only my girls, who had finally been able to rejoin me in my time of need.

Ashley was the first through the door and she immediately come to my aide. Hugging me she said, "My God, what happened? Who is he?"

I felt like I was the one under interrogation. "This was my ex husband the one I mentioned before." I looked down at my lover's limp body and the tears came in abundance. I loved this man in spite of affair with Blake Highsmith, my heart was still taken by this man.

# Chapter Fourteen

"Oh my God, do you girls know who that was?" I asked, totally shocked myself.

Nobody so much as uttered a response. Not even Nikki, whose husband was a detective for the city of Asheville, for Christ's sake!

"Who is he?" Tatiana asked. She was hovered over Stella as Nicole attempted to stop her bleeding wound.

"He's the Asheville Chief of Police," I answered.

I started pacing the small room, like a cornered lioness.

"This whole time I've been working for a corrupted city. Makes me a whole lot safer knowing that the Chief of fucking Police, is a crooked bastard. What is he getting out of this?"

I was beginning to suspect the Chief had something to do with the abduction last summer that lead to a idiot getting killed over it. Perhaps Chief Gates is the killer who was never apprehended. Who in their right mind would accuse the Chief of police for murder, especially off mere suspicion?

Nobody would, I mused.

"Nikki did you recognize the man who kidnapped you and Kelly, last summer?"

"No not really, he or she wore some type of head covering. Like a ski mask of sorts, but I'm almost certain that it was a male intruder,"

Nikki began wringing her hands, a nervous gesture I noted.

"So if the Chief of Police is heading this corruption then who are his extra hands?" Nicole asked, she had miraculously stopped Stella's wound from bleeding.

"Yeah that's a good question," Tatiana chimed in, "who's to say they aren't working in the police department themselves?"

"To be frank, I've never seen them before in my life up until they abducted me from my house," I lied.

I did know one of the men, or at least I thought so. I had been having an ongoing affair with Blake Highsmith for two years. It was embarrassing just to think about it.

"How can we get out of this place?" Nikki asked, with a new boost of self-esteem.

"I tried it once before and ended up looking like a bruised up banana. But that was before you guys got here,"

I was thinking real hard and that's when it hit me: "I have an idea ladies that might work."

Back in the Hertz rental, Davenport and Harmon talked about how bizarre Geisler's death had been and the facts that didn't completely add up.

"I'm thinking someone followed us here, maybe to keep tabs on Geisler is my guess," said Davenport, as he turned into the parking lot filled with uniforms and Key West detectives.

The Silver Palms Inn, located on 830 Truman Avenue, in Key West, Florida, is a magnificent spectacle. It's not a five-star hotel, but it's at the very least a three star hotel.

Davenport and Harmon exited the rental, walked over to where the yellow police tape hung loosely near a receptionist desk. The two were stopped by an officer named Nunez, according to his lapels.

"Excuse me ma'am, sir. I'm afraid I cannot allow you to step any further," Officer Nunez said, holding his left arm out.

"Well I'm Detective Davenport and this here is Detective Harmon, APD, Homicide," Davenport flashed his credentials. "I'm here consulting on an investigation that ties to one of mines. If you'd like you can verify my story with Detective Carl Levin."

Officer Nunez looked hesitant at first but later decided, "What the hell" and lifted the police tape. Davenport and Harmon both murmured thank you as they went under the tape and entered the crime scene.

"Whoa seems like Mr Receptionist was a little too receptive," Detective Harmon joked good-heartedly, as she pointed to the young male. Davenport followed her finger as his eyes met the dead gaze.

"There you are," said a voice from behind them.

They turned in unison, hands on the butt of their service guns. It was Carl Levin, the detective leading the Timothy Geisler case. How the hell did he get here so fast, Davenport thought. It had taken them a better part of an hour.

"Officer Nunez paged me," said Detective Levin breathless. "I told him you had authorization to consult on these cases. So what is your take Detective?"

"Well," Davenport started, taking out a pair of latex gloves from his back pocket, "seems like the Vic had taken two to head and one to the chest, below the lapels to be precise."

He squatted down next to the DB, looking for any other wounds that could be hidden. He found none. Harmon stood up, asked, "Is the ME on her way?"

As if her hearing was exceptional, Dr Elise Martinez, walked briskly towards the victim. She was followed by a young redhead, who Davenport assumed was her Assistant. The two women together turn the body over, possibly looking for postmortem wounds, and the manner and time of death.

Martinez confirmed what Davenport already knew, there were no ligature marks. She announced that off the rigor mortis, the time of death was within the past two hours.

"He's fairly warm," Martinez spoke into a digital voice recorder." Estimated time of death between 5 p.m. and 7 p.m."

Levin pulled Davenport and Harmon over to a concealed area.

"CSI unit is on the way. Any chance that they can find something on this perpetrator?" Levin asked. He was probably catching a good chewing out over these homicides, Davenport thought.

"Frankly, its a low chance. I mean this guy is a professional. Who comes into a hotel in broad daylight and kills the receptionist without anyone seeing or hearing anything?" Davenport said.

"Makes me wonder what his main objective is here," said Harmon.

"Well listen to this," Levin began, "The dead guy we assumed was Timothy Geisler, was not him. DNA analysis confirmed that the DB, was a Miami resident named Austin Riviera. It seems that Riviera stood in as a decoy for the real Timothy Geisler."

"So in other words we need to find this Geisler fellow before he really ends up dead," said Harmon.

"Exactly, nice thinking Detective. Davenport, I want you to stay down here a little longer and see what's going on with Geisler,"

Levin waited for Davenport to acknowledge.

"Fine, I'll stay and consult, but I need to check in with my department. Will you excuse me?"

Davenport stepped away, pulled out his cell and punched Chief Gates's number. After three rings Chief Gates answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey Chief, its Davenport there's been a couple homicides down here, so I'm going to have to stay a bit longer than I intended."

"Very well, I appreciate you checking in Davenport, keep me posted, you hear?"

"Yes sir,"

They clicked off and Davenport tried Nikki's cell, but was answered by the answering machine instead.

"Hey you have reached the Davenport family, we're probably at Chuckie Cheese or Fun Depot, so call back," Kelly's prerecorded voice answered. Davenport couldn't help but smile at his daughter's voice. He missed her and Nikki.

"Hello honey, its me I'm, uh, I'm having to stay a bit longer than planned. But I promise I'll be home soon. I love you both, dearly. Bye bye." He closed his phone, placed it back in his pocket and rejoined Harmon and Levin.

"Everything alright, Blake?" Harmon asked, concern seeping through her.

"Yeah I'm fine, its just a little strange that neither Nikki nor Kelly had answered the phone when I called."

"I'm sure there's a perfect explanation to it, relax and let's focus,"

"You're right its probably nothing to worry about," he sighed, heavily. "So whats the plan Detective Levin?"

"You two get some rest, because tomorrow is going to be a long day for the three of us," replied Levin.

While the CSI unit was finishing up, Harmon and Davenport were allowed clearance to head to their suites. They told each other goodnight and to keep their eyes peeled on anything suspicious.

"Abbie this is a lot different dealing with a homicidal maniac, keep your gun on you at all times. And whatever you do don't try to be a hero in all of this, okay?"

"Blake, I'm a big girl I can take care of myself. But if it'll help you sleep at night along with satisfying your ego then I'll let you know if so much as a rat runs by,"

She laughed, it was a very mesmerizing laugh.

"Have a good night Abbie," Davenport turned on his heel and headed for his room.

"They're in for the night," said the gruff voice on the other end of the phone.

The Hitman had to admire Davenport's stupidity and naive manner, it was almost insulting to the entire male species. But soon enough Davenport wouldn't be a problem any longer.

"I appreciate you're services Carl, check your account I'm transferring the funds as we speak," said The Hitman. "And remember you've paid homage to a new beginning,"

He clicked off.

His plane was on time. His job in Key West was done with at least for now. He phoned The Operative to enlighten him on Davenport's future demise. He boarded the charter plane, found a plush seat and sat down for a much need nap. Soon he told himself, the Takeover will be with us at last.

# Chapter Twenty-Two

The rest of night went uneventful, I rose unwillingly, at six forty-five a.m. to a cold breakfast consisting of: dry oatmeal, teeth shattering wheat toast, runny grape jam, and a hard boiled egg. Breakfast for champions. I played around with the oatmeal, my mind on something totally irrelevant to my current predicament.

I was thinking contritely about what had happened to me yesterday. It was disquieting to know that I was attacked by a butch of a woman, and had no clear knowledge of the encounter.

Basically, I was pissed that the bitch had her way with me and I was helpless.Now I had a disgusting breakfast tray in my presence with no appetite to utter some enjoyment

Later that morning, a guard had announced that we were to be leaving soon, going on a "field trip" as he called it. But he probably had no idea what was going on between them and us girls. Or did he? Was he in on this sadistic plan?

I had no idea.

It seemed like every person I was surrounded by caused me trouble if not pain. I felt cursed, forsakened. Now I understood how Christ felt during his crucifixion.

Ashley, the girl from Reynolds High school, approached me from my left side. Sitting on the edge of the cot, she asked shyly, "Can I have your breakfast since it looks like you're not going to eat it?"

I'm almost positive this girl was starved, even before her abduction. I handed her my breakfast, and watched in amazement as she devoured the food, like a vulture would road kill.

I said, "Starving, huh?"

She just smiled gingerly like there wasn't a care in the world. This reminded me why I chose to become a teacher for a career path. I've always had a telepathic way with younger people. That was one thing my father despised the most.

But who gives a fuck what parents have to say? We all have opinions, its like assholes we all have them.

I promised myself that if I made it out of here alive, I would write an inspiring book about what I've learned. I know it sounds a bit boisterous to even conjure such a farce, being in the situation I'm in and how it would make international news.

And this would lead to endless book offers, which would lead to fortune. Stereotypical thinking. I actually could careless about getting rich off my misfortune. I have a story to tell of how I survived.

Frankly, women around the world would appreciate it. Would give them inner courage to gaze upon life in a different perspective.

Nicole said, "Is it true what that guard said earlier, about us leaving soon?"

"It's a possibility, I mean its bound to happen sooner or than later. Just relax, and don't show them that you're giving into their little scare tactic." I said.

Some of the girls haven't so much as uttered a word since coming here. Tatiana and Stella have been surprisingly quiet here of late.

My heart quickened when a female guard walked by our cell, keys jingling. I asked her for the time, and to my surprise she wasn't a wise-ass about it.

"It's eight o'clock." said the guard.

"Thank you."

Time was moving slow, court was suppose to start at eight thirty or so I'd been informed. I was hoping for Blake or Michael to come get us out of here.

Fat chance.

There was a bucket of books in a far corner, I decided to pass the time, and plucked out a novel by Dan Brown and began to read. At the very least I could get lost in the fantasy of words and codes.

As I lay on the cot, while the others were about, I swear I didn't notice that I had fallen asleep until I was woken by one of the girls. It must've been her turn to use the cot, because this was the first time we've encountered one another.

She told me her name was Tamara. She wasn't local, in fact she was from Clover, South Carolina. I'd never known of such a town.

I quickly shook off the groggy feeling that comes with deep sleep. I got up, picked a corner against a wall, and was fast asleep again.

At eleven sharp, lunch was served. I was hungry and the grilled cheese sandwiches looked more than appetizing. Stomach rumbling, I devoured my two sandwiches and waited for seconds.

When the guards came to pick up our lunch trays, they had shackles and handcuffs with them.

Finally the eleventh hour had come.

They called out a series of names, mine included: "Ashley, Tatiana, Kelly, Nicole, Stella, and Amelia," said the guard. "You six are to follow me."

The six of us were handcuffed and shackled. I felt sick as I discovered that Kelly, Nikki's four year old daughter, was being separated from her mother. It scared me to death to think of the things that could possibly go wrong. Looking over my shoulder, I could see the hurt in Nikki's hazel eyes.

I said, "Excuse me, I don't think it's fair to remove Kelly from her mother. She's only four years old."

The guard regarded at me vehemently. Like a Black Mamba would it's prey. I retreated internally. Cursing myself for running my mouth yet again.

The guard walked down to where I stood, and leaned forward.

He said, "I'll make sure that Mr Greene and Mr Highsmith know how concerning you were of little Miss Kelly. Perhaps, they can show you where compassion originated from."

His breath stank of onions and garlic. And I sensed a hint of sour sweat coming from his uniform.

Retreating back, he said, "Ladies this way."

He led us in through a different route than when we first arrived, perhaps to confuse us to lessen the chances of escape. We went through a series of elevators, that only worked when radioed in. Then we ended up in the basement, through a different route, and was herded into a different panel van.

I tried to keep an eye on Kelly, to ensure that she was being treated properly and not fondled with. Knowing these sick bastards, it was a possibility.

Inside the panel van, I was blessed to have Kelly sitting next to me. She had been crying for her mother. I tried to comfort the poor child as best I could. It worked for a little while, while she rested her head on my shoulder, but when another pair of women came inside the van she was back at it.

The women were both African-American, about mid- twenties, pretty, with sensational figures. They both resembled Serena Williams, the way they were built.

I asked, "Where is Nikki?"

They looked at me incredulously, completely perplexed.

"Who is Nikki?" The taller of the pair asked.

"She's this child's mother." I replied. " Child needs her mother look after her."

They gazed at Kelly resting her head against my shoulder. I could tell that they understood this child's situation.

They gazed at me, then her, then back, calculating. The shorter of the pair stepped forward.

"Hello, little girl, my name is Natasha. What's your's?" Natasha announced crouching in front Kelly.

Kelly shied away. Her mother must've taught her well. Never speak to strangers. Number one Golden rule as a child.

"I won't hurt you, honey." said Natasha extending a hand kindly.

Kelly said, "I want my mommy."

Kelly retreated further into my shoulder.

I said, "It'll take some time for her to come around. She'd done the same with me. But eventually she realize that I wasn't the bad guy and she will come around."

Natasha backed off. She seemed hurt by Kelly's disregard toward her.

But what did she expect from a traumatized child like her? Hugs and kisses?

Blake clambered inside and closed the door behind him. He sat where he sat on our way here, right across from me, knees touching mine.

The other girls were being left behind! Oh my...

"Where's the others?" I stuttered nervously.

"They're going to a different location," he looked at Kelly, who was bunched up against me,"and don't you worry Kelly you'll be taken good care of, I'll see to it...personally."

The way he said that last part, "personally" sent chills through my body. I would kill him if he made that child endure what I, myself had endured since being abducted. I couldn't help myself for what I said next. It was far than stupid, it was like writing my own death certificate and I knew it.

I said, "If you so much as lay a finger on her, I'll cut your worthless balls off and shove them up that ass of yours."

He said something that really hit home, in a mysterious way.

"You're just like your old man, Amelia," he grinned. "Or should I say Ms Muhammad."

I was taken aback. What the hell is going on here?

#

# 

# Chapter Forty-Seven

Detective Harmon had pulled into the driveway of her partner's house. She exited her car and scanned the area. She was almost certain that she had been followed by that dark sedan from earlier. She hovered over the rear car door, where Thomas LeBlanc, was stretched out on the back seat and spoke through the closed door, "I'll be right back, okay? Sit tight this'll only take a couple minutes."

She headed up the walk path, stood in front of a decorated wooden door, and rapped loudly. She stood back and waited.

After a couple minutes had went by, she pulled out of cell and called Detective Davenport. The phone rung ominously, for what felt like forever, then suddenly her called was forwarded to voicemail: "Hi, you've reached the voicemail of Detective Drake Davenport, Asheville Police Department, homicide division. Unfortunately I'm not able to take your call at the moment, so please leave a message and I'll return your call at my earliest convenience."

She closed her phone and hit redial. He had to have his phone with him, she thought. Why wasn't he freaking answering it?

She was beginning to have a gut-wrenching feel in the pit of her stomach. She unholstered her service weapon and proceeded with caution around the perimeter of the house. It was rather strange for Davenport to not answer his phone. He was on duty, for Christ's sake!

She heard a noise to her left, startled, she whipped around, gun held high.

"Hey, take it easy, Abbie, it's only me." said her remarkable looking partner.

She holstered her gun, leaning against the house she said, "Why didn't you answered your phone?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't hear it, I guess. I've been in detective mode and haven't been able to ebb the feeling."

"Drake, I think someone followed me here."

"I'm starting to come to the same conclusion. After you and I had gotten off the phone, I started hearing rustling sounds coming from back here," He started walking around the corner, toward his backyard.

"Over there," he continued, pointing across the backyard. "That's where it was coming from. I've lived here for several years and never heard such rustling. So I silenced my phone and checked out the area."

"And?"

"And," he began. "There wasn't no sign of the intruder."

Harmon stood back and mulled over the information. If there weren't any signs of disturbance, it wasn't worth pursuing. But, if the intruder or intruders, plural, were some military commandos, then leaving a trace behind was literally a disgrace. She knew that someone was tailing her. The way the sedan had brusquely jerked the steering wheel, to avoid being seen; it was too late the damage was already detected.

"On my way here, I spotted a tail. Some dark modern sedan and this is after going through two military checkpoints..."

"Military checkpoints? What're you talking about, Abbie? We don't have any military bases around here?"

"Well, to put it mildly, it was a form of the martial law in effect. They literally had combat-ready military grade tanks. Tanks! On every street corner."

Davenport was beginning to understand where Detective Harmon was going with this conversation. "Are you suggesting that the United States Army, is commencing its own form of Martial law?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. It only makes sense, Drake, why else would there be tanks taking up residence in a non war-zone?"

"If that is the case, this changes things dramatically. We got to get back to the chief and get him to tell us where my wife and daughter are at..."

"Drake...about the chief, I sort of shot him."

"You what?!" said Davenport, shock registering on his face.

"I shot him, in self defense, okay. I had no other choice, you gotta believe me." She was crying. She hadn't meant to mess things up and make things more difficulty for Detective Davenport to find his family.

"I believe you, Abbie," he stroked the side of her face, gingerly. "He was just my only lead to locating my family, is all." He sighed, heavily. "We'll figure something out, don't worry." He turned on his heel.

"So what now?" said Harmon chasing after him.

"To be honest, I really don't know. We have absolutely no lead whatsoever, and the longer it takes to find one, the higher chances that Nikki and Kelly are dead."

"Don't say that!" she said sternly, giving him a steely gaze.

"Let's go before..."

Suddenly, shot ricocheted off trees and neighboring houses. Davenport and Harmon hit the deck so hard, both had the breath knocked out of them. As bullets soared overhead Davenport yelled, "You were right about someone following you!"

She pointed at her car, "I have a civilian in there!"

Davenport looked ready to scorn her for making such a stupid decision but instead he asked, "Who is it?"

"His name is Thomas LeBlanc." She watched as recognition registered on his face.

"Thomas LeBlanc? Tall, medium build, blue eyes, and blond hair?"

"Yep, that's him to a 'T'."

He shook his head, "Do you have any idea who he is? That's the son of a bitch, who shot me a couple months ago, when I was having dinner with my family."

She stared in disbelief, stammering, she said, "Drake, I had no idea. I apologize for that. So what d'you want to want to do with him?"

"Kill him," he replied feigning a hard glare, then slowly grinning mischievously. "I'm just kidding, Abbie. Jeez, you'd think after knowing me since college you'd understand my humor. Fat chance, huh?"

She had indeed noticed the humor in his gaze, but what had taken her attention, so unwillingly, was the man hovering over her Kia. He was sporting a ski mask, cargo pants, and a bulletproof vest. Some sort of militia, she concluded.

She couldn't figure out what the man was doing to her car...then it hit her. He was going after Thomas LeBlanc! Holy shit!

Davenport had followed her gaze and quickly went into action. Despite his hatred for the man, Thomas LeBlanc, he was still a citizen that deserved to be protected.

He bellowed, "Freeze, don't move! Place your hands behind your head and drop your weapon. Drop it now!"

The militant hesitated a fraction of a second, before coming to his senses. He dropped the suppressed pistol and asked smugly, "Is this how you want the City of Asheville to remember the great Detective Davenport?"

Davenport ignored the slight. He moved in on the guy, frisked him, then slammed him against the hood of the car. "No, this is the how I want the City of Asheville to remember me. For arresting your idiotic ass for corruption, conspiracy, and murder."

"Murder?"

"Yeah, murder that will happen, in due time. But first, you're going to tell me where my wife and daughter is, and who else is behind their abduction." He turned him around and pulled him closer. "And I mean right this minute or else I'll spill your brains all over the place and claim you killed yourself."

"Is that the best you got? The greatest detective in Asheville, has nothing better to threaten me with? Who're you impersonating, Harvey Dent?" He laughed out loud.

During his six years in the Army, Davenport had seen numerous means that one could be tortured by. If this wanna-be soldier wanted to play hardball, then it was hardball he was going to play. He slammed the butt of his service weapon down on the man's head, knocking him unconscious. Then he and Detective Harmon dragged his limp body toward the trunk of her car, and deposited him inside.

Davenport walked around to the passenger's side and took a long venomous look at the man who'd shot him in the shoulder, only a couple of months ago. "How's it hanging asshole, remember me?"

Thomas LeBlanc had hid himself well, during the gun fight. Davenport was impressed by his awareness. Bravo.

Thomas LeBlanc said, "Yeah, you're the detective I shot at for not minding his own business." He smiled, showing rotted teeth, from his meth addiction.

Davenport turned to Harmon and said, "I should've let him kill him. Since I can't mind my own business."

They got into the car and that's when it happened.

# Epilogue

At Copestone, the psych ward attached to Saint Joseph Hospital, located just off Biltmore Avenue. Dr Anderson Michaels was reading his daily check in chart, when Nurse Susan came running into his office. She looked hysterical.

"Dr. Michaels you have to come quick!" she said.

Dr Michaels removed his glasses from his face and looked at her gravely, "What's going on?"

"It's your patient the one you call Ms. Fantasy, she going ballistic. She's holding a surgical knife to her throat, threatening to slit her throat."

"C'mon," said the doc in his haste.

They ran all the way down to the room where the patient was being kept. Dr Michaels barged into the room and saw that Nurse Susan had been right. Ms. Fantasy was yelling to the top of her lungs, "THEY'RE TRYING TO KILL ME! THEY'VE RAPED ME AND BEAT ME. THEY SAID THAT I HAVE TO GO BACK TO IRAQ. THEY EVEN KILLED MY HUSBAND!"

"You need to calm down Ms. Deese nobody's trying to kill you. Was it one of your hallucinations that caused you to believe that?" he asked trying to defuse the situation as best he could.

"Are you calling me crazy? I am a World History teacher with a degree to prove it!" she spat.

Amelia Deese had been residing at Broughton Hospital for the last 7 years. She'd suffered a head injury seven years ago in a car accident, and never recovered. She's been hallucinating and hear voices ever since being admitted to Broughton.

"Can you explain to me what happened in this dream?" asked Dr Anderson.

"It wasn't a dream it was real. But I remember that I had been having an affair with a man named Blake Highsmith. One night, after he'd left I was kidnapped and taken to an abandoned warehouse. There I was raped, beaten, and forced to clean up a woman's dead body after she was killed outside my cellar door."

She continued to tell her story of how she was tortured by a terrorists named Khalid Muhammad. Dr Anderson wrote all this down in her chart. He told Amelia that he was going to up her medication. And that he hoped that she doesn't have anymore of those horrifying dreams of rape, torture and terrorism.

As Dr. Michael turned to leave, Amelia called after him, "I will find out what is wrong with me. And I will find a way out of this place."

Dr. Michael smiled and said, "Let me know how that works out for you."

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine:

Epilogue

# Chapter Five

Michael Greene and Blake Highsmith, were downtown at a bar called the Arcade. Greene decided to order a couple of shots of Ciroc, to get the mood started off right. Out on the dance floor, there was a brunette dancing with another girl, presumably, a close friend, who by the looks appeared half wasted. Greene made a mental reminder to invite her to the "after party". He decided to break the ice and walked over to the brunette and her dance partner, with drinks in his hands.

"How's it going ladies?" he said which was more like a statement because he knew first hand 'how it was going'.

Sometimes you just had to play coy in order to get what you want.

"Those drinks for us?" The Brunette asked. She was an eager one he noted. She twisted her hair around her index finger, obvious flirtation. She was completely giddy without the extra drinks.

Greene took a step back to observe the immediate situation, he figured that these pieces of ass were going to be devastated after tonight's encore. Blake and the others will be thrilled to learn that there were new players being introduced to the game. The game of fun.

Across the other side of the bar, Highsmith was making moves himself, scoring another pair of hotties to take home tonight. But he executed a different tactic than Green had with his pair, he decided to court the ladies, simple flattery got you anything you wanted. A girl named Tatiana, from Romania, was a pure goddess. Her accent set her aside from the other girl. Her eyes were those of a caramel waterfall in a Willy Wonka commercial. And those legs, were something more stunning to gaze upon them her eyes. There was just something about exotic women that drove a guy like Blake Highsmith crazy. He couldn't help himself, but be a charmer in her presence, he sort of felt obligated in a sense.

The other hottie that accompanied the two, was Wu Chang, a exquisitely tasteful Korean native, she had the soft features of a doe, and skin as pale as snow. For her size she handled her liquor better than Tatiana did, Highsmith noted. And she could dance to just about any rhythm the DJ threw at her. Highsmith found himself in a dilemma: Killing these beautiful pieces of art or catering to these women. He knew he came here for one reason, to find his mark. Shaking his head of all the ridiculousness, he made up his mind to carry out his plan. He gazed over his left shoulder, through the crowd of dancers, and spotted Michael engaged in deep conversation with his marks. Greene gazed up, spontaneously, in time to catch Highsmith glowering, and signaled him over.

"This is Stella McCartney," Greene pointed to the brunette. "And this here is her roommate Nicole Asher," he motioned to an amazing looking blonde who was still a bit giddy. "Ladies this is my closest friend and colleague Tony Sosa."

Highsmith extended a hand, making the most out of the fictitious name, and shook both their hands and they smiled from ear to ear. Highsmith turned to his two dates and introduced them to the other trio.

"Sorry, where are my manners," he began motioning to his dates, "this here is Wu Chang, she's from Korea. And this is Tatiana and she's from Romania,"

"How do you do, mister?" Tatiana articulated every syllable as she spoke with a Romanian accent.

"It's nice to meet you too," Wu Chang had an air of elegance about her that was so daunting.

"Likewise my dears, my name is Robert Greene, I'm a filmmaker. You ladies interested in film?" It was a rhetorical question, but who cared?

"Ah, yes I forgot all about that part, " Highsmith chimed in almost on cue. "I was so caught up in your beauties, I failed to mention our upcoming movie starring Brad Pitt, "The Getaway".

The foursome seemed thrilled at having been picked to star in a blockbuster hit. They each thought of all millions of dollars they'll get if only it were a real movie that existed and movie producer too. But there wasn't, it was Greene being quick on his feet and coming up with something improvised. Luckily, for him Highsmith, had attended some acting classes as a teenager and knew how to improvise on cue.

Bravo.

"Where is the movie being filmed?" Tatiana asked, almost purring at the chance to shine.

"We're currently on break, an actress broke her leg and was deemed inactive for the rest of the shooting process. So we had to put our heads together and be proactive and find some replacements. But to answer your question its being filmed here in North Carolina, Charlotte, to be precise," said Highsmith.

"So if you ladies would like to save us some travelling and cast for our film we would greatly appreciate it," Greene said eagerly.

The four of them sat silent for what seemed a century, thinking, then rethinking, of such a great opportunity. As they mulled over the idea, Greene and Highsmith made eye contact briefly, grinning devilishly. They had their marks and all they had to do was get them back to the warehouse.

"Okay we're in," They almost said in unison.

"When do we start filming?" Wu Chang asked..

"What are we going to wear?" Tatiana asked.

"And what are going to eat?" Stella asked.

"Ladies, ladies take it easy you're going to be taking care of don't worry," said Greene, reassuringly. "But first we need to make a trip to get y'all prepped, you need to get assigned a makeup artist and a stylist. We have a studio about 15 minutes from here. You can ride with us.

And with that simple invitation they were going to have quite an enticing after party. As they pulled up to the abandoned warehouse in the River Art District that's when reality settled in on the girls. The expressions on their horrified faces was priceless. Greene and Highsmith had hit it big this go around. Only the twisted and deranged could live up to their standards.

"Welcome aboard," said Greene.

# Chapter Twenty-One

Davenport exited the shower with Harmon in tow. The shower had definitely intensified the sex. They got dressed, grabbed their cell phones from the charger and was out the door.

Davenport said, "You know if Nikki were to find out about our little tryst my marriage is over?"

"She won't find out if you can manage to keep your mouth shut."

She slapped his butt playfully.

They were in the lobby of the Silver Palms Inn, where only a couple of days ago the receptionist was shot at point blank range. Davenport flashed on the final expression on the young man's face: Defeated, puzzled.

Whoever the killer was he didn't kill that poor man for naught. The killer had to have a motive. Was it possible that the killer was the same person who killed Austin Riviera? Did he get wind that we were staying at this very hotel? Davenport thought.

Harmon stepped in front of Davenport, arm fully extended into his chest, said, "What's wrong with you Drake?"

Shaking his head, he fixed his gaze on her.

He said, "Nothing. I was just thinking about the person who killed that young receptionist is all." he shoved his hands in his pockets, sort of nervous habit. "Don't you find it odd that a person get killed at the very hotel we're staying at?"

Harmon mulled over the question, finding the question rather interesting.

She said, "Well now that you mentioned it it does seem a bit strange to say the least. Are you thinking that the person who killed that receptionist is connected to the Austin Riviera case?"

"That exactly what I'm thinking, Abbie?"

"Huh, I never looked at it from that angle."

"You haven't been a homicide detective as long as I have either." replied Davenport.

"So where to next?"

"We need to stop by and tell Chief Gomez that we need to be heading back to the Carolinas."

"Does our Chief know we're heading back?"

"He will in a second," Davenport replied, removing his cell phone from his pocket.

The Operative was preparing for some quality time with his wife. He was laying in his Joe Boxer briefs and a wife beater as his wife Sharon began kissing his neck. She was working her way down to his nether region. She yanked down his boxers, and gripped his cock. She got him hard, then commenced to giving him oral.

The Operative was reaching his climax, when his cell phone rang. He glanced toward the nightstand beside him. He groaned in annoyance, picked up the phone, and listened.

The person on the other end was his counterpart. He nodded, spoke briefly, only to be distracted by his wife's oral treatment. He told his counterpart that he will see him soon, and hung up.

His wife, Sharon, peeked up from under the covers and asked, "Who was that honey?"

"No one that you need to worry about, sweetpea." answered The Operative, before shoving her head back down on his cock.

"What did the Chief say?"

"It went straight to his voicemail, which is odd?" said Davenport aggravated.

He had just attempted to call the chief to let him know that they were heading home.

Harmon said, "Maybe he's in the middle of something important?"

"Could be, let's go talk to Chief Gomez. We can probably come back down after we see what's going on back home."

They went through the hotel's revolving doors, headed in the direction of their rented Ford Fusion. They stopped short, noticing that their car was gone.

"Where the hell is the car?" bellowed Davenport.

"Are you sure you parked it here last?"

"Yes, of course I'm sure Abbie. I parked it right here." He pointed to a vacant lot.

Davenport turned his heel, and was heading back inside the hotel when Harmon grabbed his arm.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to see why my rental isn't where I left it. That's where I'm going."

"I'm coming with you." said Harmon.

They walked up to the temporary reception area. A woman standing behind the makeshift desk, brightened up as they approached.

She began, "Welcome to the Silver Pa..."

"I know where I'm at," said Davenport, "I had a rental sitting in your parking lot. Where is it?"

The receptionist was taken aback. "I'm sorry that you must be having a rough day. I'll call the valet and see what's going on."

She disappeared through a door.

"You didn't have to be an asshole about it, Drake," said Harmon punching him in the arm.

"Hey," said Davenport. "What the hell Abbie? I was just doing my job for Christ's sake."

The receptionist returned with a young man, twenties, with a crispy uniform.

"This is Xavier, with our Valet service he can help you." said the receptionist.

"How's it going X? Lookit here, I'm Detective Davenport and this is Detective Harmon. I had a rented Ford Fusion, parked outside a few hours ago and now it's gone. Any idea where we could find it?"

"Perhaps it was stolen sir. Have you filed a report with the police?"

This guy is an idiot no wonder he's a valet driver, thought Davenport.

"How about I shut this whole entire hotel down for obstruction of justice and interfering with a police investigation?"

That got his attention.

"Sir, there's no need for that, what kind of car was it you say?"

"It's a Ford Fusion, black, with rental plates." snapped Davenport.

The valet driver went around the reception desk, tapped a few keys into the computer.

He announced, "Yes, a black Ford Fusion was taken into the valet garage. Sorry about the misunderstanding Officer's."

"Detectives." Davenport corrected.

"Can we have someone bring our car around please we're in a bit of a hurry." said Harmon impatiently.

"Yes, I'll have someone on it now. And again my apologies."

He picked up the phone, presumably, calling for assistance.

Outside, car tires halted in front of the hotel's revolving doors. Davenport looked over his shoulder, hand grazing the butt of his Glock.

Out front was a black Ford Fusion, their rental car. Davenport relaxed, turned to the valet guy, said, "Thanks that was fast."

Davenport fired up the engine, and took off heading towards North Roosevelt Boulevard, to the Key West Police department.

Lieutenant London Lauren, was sitting behind her desk, looking gorgeous in her uniform. Davenport bypassed her and headed up the stairs, to Chief Gomez's office. Without knocking, Davenport and Harmon barged in his office.

"Chief, something's come up back home we're being called back by our department. We'll be contacting you as soon as possible to let you know when we plan on returning." said Davenport, panting.

"A simple phone call could have solved that problem, Detective."

"I know that, sir, but I like to let people know things in person. Personal preference."

"Understandable, Detective, look if you have time let's meet for dinner and discuss somethings."

"We appreciate the offer, but we have to decline. We'll take a rain check if we may?"

"Sure, it's been a pleasure working with you and Detective Harmon. I hope to have the opportunity to continue forward. Have a safe trip." said Chief Gomez in departure.

Davenport and Harmon headed back down the stairs. Davenport had a gut feeling telling him that something wasn't right. But he needed to get home and check up on Nikki and Kelly. They still have not returned his calls, despite Chief Gates's reassurance that they were indeed at home safe.

They drove to the Key West International Airport, where they had to buy a one way ticket to Charlotte Douglas International Airport. They decided to fly coach instead of first class. It was the department paying for their expense and like all businesses they went with the cheapest route.

After they had settled in, Davenport leaned his seat back as far as it would go, put in his ear plugs, said, "Wake me when we land will you?"

Harmon smiled, nodded her head and booted up her laptop.

A

TERRORIST AT BAY

A THRILLER

Drake Casanova

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Copyright ©2014 by Donte Shine

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever without permission from the author.

First ebook edition: December 2014

For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact the author at drakeshine4@gmail.com.

For more information or to book an event contact the author via email at drakeshine@gmail.com

Manufactured in the United States of America

ISBN 978-1-312-79052-0

To Tamara Perez and Allison Bauer

For keeping me on my toes and keeping my mind and soul honed in. For the unconditional love and support. Thank you for all your words of wisdom.

# Chapter Forty-Nine

"Are you ready to talk, and tell me everything, Officer Sanchez?" said FBI Special Agent Beckham. He'd been interrogating the officer all night, he was exhausted. He was hoping against hope that Officer Sanchez would confess to his part in racketeering and money laundering. He'd placed him under every kind of interrogation method he could think of. And from the looks of things, he was making some progress.

"Yes, sir. I think I'm ready."

"Are you sure? You're sure you don't want to call me bureaucratic-idiotic asshole?"

"I'm sure."

"Good. Now for the record, who's responsible for Detective Davenport's strange disappearance?" He pulled out a digital voice recorder and commenced to recording.

"Chief Anthony Gates, and the officers working under him." Sanchez answered.

Special Agent Beckham scribbled something on a mini note pad and continued his questioning, "And who was behind the bombing downtown, that killed nearly a thousand innocent bystanders?"

Officer Sanchez hesitated momentarily but managed to answer the question, "A man by the name of The General."

"And what affiliation does this General take part of?"

"The United States Army?"

Beckham got up to stretch his legs and to relieve the numbness that had taken place around his buttocks. After he was stretched out he walked toward Officer Sanchez, glaring steely into his face and said, "And why would the United States become involved in treason against its own country, Officer?"

That was a trick question. There were numerous governments that have betrayed their own country. Because the wicked truth is this: no government has limits within its own region.

"He's working along side Khalid Muhammad, the very monster who's responsible for the Twin Towers demise. Word is that he made a deal with the military, the Army to be precise, granting them complete freedom to do as they will in his country."

"Okay, Officer, riddle me this: where is Chief Gates and this General fellow?"

"How am I suppose to know? To them I'm just a pawn in a Chess game. But if I had to guess, I'd say they're in their respective offices. One of those offices you and I have been in a time or two."

Special Agent Beckham advanced to the door and rapped three times, in concession. The door opened and in walked Agent Moore, looking devilishly beautiful. He walked over to her, leaned into her and whispered, "He's all yours have fun."

He walked over to the door but stopped short and threw a wink over his shoulder at Agent Moore. From the other side of the one-sided glass; he watched as Agent Moore stripped off her clothing until she was completely naked. She got down on her knees, yanked down Officer Sanchez's zipper, and began performing oral sex on him. It didn't take long for him to reach an erection. As she kept his focus on the task at hand, she reached behind her and withdrew an 8 inch glass rod. She rubbed some KY jelly lubricant over it and shoved it into Officer Sanchez's penis, unexpectedly. She watched as he writhed back and forth, trying desperately to get it out. She grabbed a canister of Pepper spray and pumped his urethra full of its lethal content. Then she gripped his penis at it's base with one hand and used the other to grip it's glans and broke the glass rod off inside.

This was a Russian form of torture that was first used on American spies. The Russians would capture the spies, bring in a prostitute the give the captive oral sex until he gained a full erection. Then a smooth glass rod, approximately 8 to 10 inches long was shoved down the male's urethra; broke in half, causing internal bleeding, followed by painful urination.

Agent Moore had perfected the torture tactic and was highly capable of making her captive's talk rather they were willing or not, they talked.

After the deed was done she slipped back into her clothes, rinsed her mouth out with a small travel sized bottle of Listerine. She opened the door and met with Special Agent Beckham.

He joked, "Need a Orbit to clean up that filthy little mouth?"

"Not funny, Caleb. Unlike you I get paid big bucks to do what I just did." she fired back.

"I wonder what else you do for big bucks?"

"Just go in there and make sure he isn't dead, okay?" She stormed off.

Beckham rapped on the door as if he were interrupting some private ceremony. He walked in and seen Officer Sanchez who looked more defeated than before. Any amount of dignity was instantly thrown out the window. The man looked ridiculous; with his pants hanging around his ankles and his hands tied behind and around the back of the chair.

Beckham snickered at the spectacle.

He said, "I'm going to cut you loose and when I do I want you to get dressed as quickly as you can. You understand?"

Sanchez nodded.

"Good,"

He went over to him and began cutting his restraints. When he had removed both restraints, Sanchez stood sort of hunched over, clearly in pain. Beckham walked over and said, "I hope you don't think I'm going to assist you in getting dressed? Sorry bro, but I don't swing that way. Fun time's over we have a very important meeting to attend. I strongly advise you to get a move on or else we'll go back to the drawing board."

Agent Beckham walked out while Officer Sanchez struggled to get his pants up. He knew that if he didn't hustle, he'd be subject to some more gruesome interrogation tactic. The simple thought of the tactics sent chills down his spine.

What the hell is with the chief?

Officer Tammy Owenby had been trying to get through to the chief. He hadn't been answering his phone nor was he answering any of his forwarded calls. She was starting to get worried; so she decided that she was going to go check on him, personally.

She rapped on his door several times before making a rash decision to just barge in. As she scanned the perimeter of the office, her eyes fell upon the body of ADA John Andrews, she instinctively placed her hands to her mouth.

John Andrews had been shot!

She looked around, frantically, for the chief. She spotted him slumped over behind his desk. Apparently, he'd taken a shot between the eyes; the impact causing him to fall out of his chair.

She ran out of his office, screaming, "The chief has been murdered! Chief Gates is dead!"

Everyone in the Department, went into hysterics. Officers in uniforms along with detectives in plain clothes were running into each other; sending paperwork and manila files in the air. It was clear that nobody knew how to keep order now that the Chief of Police had been murdered. The frenzy that was sure to come, once the media had gotten word was going to be big. And there was nothing no one could do to prevent it.

Special Agent Beckham escorted Officer Sanchez outside and folded him in the front seat of his sedan. He closed the door and went around the other side. He cranked up the A/C, blasted the radio, then he placed the car in gear. He was heading to meet Chief Gates and arrest him with federal charges. He was going to get a big promotion for solving this case.

# Chapter Forty-Three

"Quick grab that chair and placed it against the door," said Davenport frantically.

Harmon ran across the room, grabbed a chair, and ran back. She thrust it under the door knob, stood back and withdrew her Beretta. She was panting from pure adrenaline. She looked over at Davenport, who was still recovering from his captivity.

"You okay?" she asked. "You don't look too good."

He laughed. "I'm fine just a little shaken up. Hey, you wouldn't happen to have another one of those." He motioned to her Beretta.

"Didn't have time to pack an extra one. But I did manage to get this off one of the commandos" She removed a similar compact handgun and handed it to him.

"Thanks."

Suddenly, the barricaded door burst inward. And the remaining four commandos barged in, guns high. Both Davenport and Harmon fired at the same time taking out the first two commandos, leaving the others to retreat.

Davenport nodded to Harmon, then laid down a spray of bullets. He shouted, "Head for the door, I'll cover you!"

Harmon ran out the door, she retraced her steps from when she came in. She spotted a crate, and dashed head first behind just as a series of gunfire erupted. She slammed against it, knocking the wind from her chest. She scurried further behind it to ensure she was out of gun range.

Davenport was right behind her. He had no idea where the other commandos had made off to, but he continued onward. He spotted Harmon to his left ducked behind a crate. He seen a commando squatted down to his right. He wasn't sure how many bullet were left in the gun he held but he prayed that it was enough.

The commando had yet to spot him, his main focus was on Detective Harmon. Davenport took aim and fired. His shot missed entirely. Apparently, the commando had spotted him at the last second causing Davenport's shot to miss its mark. He cursed under his breath.

The commando yelled into his headset, "Bravo One, this is Bravo Zero, subject 1-87 has been reinstated."

Davenport tried desperately to locate the other commando, he didn't see him. He was suddenly brought into a gunfight with the soldier to his right, but before he could get off a returning shot, a gun went off. The soldier jerked, clutched his chest, and hit the deck.

This was his chance to get over to where Harmon was crouched down. He crab-walked to her side, "You alright?" he asked placing down his gun to examine her closely.

"You don't have to worry about me, Drake. I'm fine. Let's get the hell out of here and find your family."

"Good idea,"

They got up slowly, scanning the area for the other commando. Where the fuck did he go?

Davenport said, "Keep your eyes peeled I know he's around here somewhere."

Detective Harmon was talking to herself, counting.

"What're you doing, Abbie?"

"I'm trying to figure out how many soldiers are left. I remember killing two and severely injuring a third. You know, come to think of it I think we're in the clear. Let's get the hell out of here quick."

Outside, they got in Detective Harmon's Kia and sped off. They took a hard right on Beverly Road and headed toward Haywood Road. They were tense, scared. Davenport knew he had every law enforcement agency on his tail. He'd held a cop under his will. As far as he was concerned it was no longer serve and protect. It was kill or be killed.

"Where're we going?" asked Detective Harmon from the driver's seat. "I need to know where to head."

Davenport was thinking just that. Where could they go? They had no legitimate option at their disposal. He stared out the window as his mind wandered. His original plan was to find Nikki and Kelly...alive. He was beginning to doubt their safety and that was just not acceptable.

"Let's head to my house, I know its not a smart idea but as far as I'm concerned they still think I'm in the warehouse. I never got to asked, how were you able to find me?"

"Let's just say me and the chief had a little pow wow and he was forthwith. I had to shoot him though, son of a bitch had pressed the wrong button."

She explained how she had dressed up as an intern and walked straight into the chief's office. She went into detail as to how surprised he looked when she pulled a gun on him.

"You should've seen him, he looked like he was about to shit himself. It was priceless. And the way he tried to make a pass at me after all he'd done. And besides what makes him think I would like such a man?"

Davenport ignored the question. His mind was on his family and where they were at that moment. He needed to speak to the man responsible, Chief Anthony Gates, personally to ask, "Why?"

He'd worked with the man for the past three and a half years, known him to be a honest guy. That is, until he had his wife and daughter kidnapped from their Victorian home, in West Asheville. He also had reason to believe that the chief was also responsible for the first abduction on his family that occurred last summer.

That son of bitch, he thought. I trusted this animal with my life and this is how he repays me?

It was hard enough dealing with him running from every person he'd worked with, he couldn't take this madness any longer.

He said, "Change of plans, Abbie. Turn around, we're going to pay Chief Gates a little visit. He owes me some fucking answers regarding my wife and kid."

Detective Harmon slammed on the brakes, twisted the steering wheel hard to the right, and gunned the little Kia backup Haywood. She was an excellent driver and Davenport was beyond impressed. He smiled as she sped past the warehouse on Brownwood.

Ten minutes later, they turned on Eagle Street, advancing toward the Department. Harmon parked her Kia next to a blue and white, and exited the car. She and Davenport walked nervously toward the entrance, making sure they kept their heads down.

They went around the corner, rapped on Chief Gates's wooden door. The chief answered from inside, "Come in."

They walked in catching the chief talking on the phone. He looked up, stunned at their unannounced arrival. He stammered with whoever on the phone, repeating to them, "I'll call you right back."

He hung up, scratched his head nervously, "What can I do for you Detectives?"

Davenport advanced around the desk, grabbed him by the shirt collar and drew him within inches of his face, "You're going to tell me exactly where Nikki and Kelly are and why you kidnapped them." He said, shoving him back into his chair.

"Look, I, I, I had no choice Davenport. My hands were tied. You know I would never put your family or anyone's family at risk."

"Oh you had a choice alright. You decided that money was more important than people's lives, Anthony. You were elected to keep the City of Asheville safe, by all means necessary and you failed, miserably."

"Well if you expect to get you family back alive I advise you to quit wasting your time lecturing me about ethics. Khalid Muhammad has your wife and daughter both are in separate locations. As a matter of fact your wife is en route to Key West, Florida."

"Who the hell is Khalid Muhammad and what is he doing with my family?"

"You're wasting time still, but I'll help you out your wife is here in Asheville."

"Where?!" roared Davenport. He was sick of playing pointless games. He wanted his family back and whoever this Khaled Muhammad fellow was he sure as hell better not have laid a finger on his family.

"She's at home of course, probably finishing up dinner. I don't know why don't you go find out for yourself." He grinned.

Davenport pulled out his gun and shoved it under the chief's neck. "I'm not going to repeat myself so you listen up. If you're fucking with me again the last person you'll see before you die will be me. Do you hear me?"

"Loud and clear."

Davenport shoved his gun in his pants and made for the door, Harmon grabbed his arm from behind, "Wait Drake, what if this is some ploy to get you near your house to take you captive again? What if he's lying through his fucking teeth?"

She had a valid point there. The chief had proven untrustworthy beyond belief. He could very well have something else up his sleeve and just need Davenport to trap himself.

Davenport said, "I want you to stay here with him and make sure he doesn't leave this office. Can I trust you to do that?"

"Yes, you can trust me."

Davenport hurried out the door, he bumped into a man about thirty, carrying a manila folder, "Excuse me, sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it, Officer." said the young man. "By the way, I'm Special Agent Caleb Beckham, I'm working with Chief Gates on a couple of things. You wouldn't happen to know if he's in today, would you?"

Oh my God, they'd gotten the FBI in on the action? This was not good at all, he thought.

"Actually, you just missed him I believe he's in the restroom, you can wait for him in his office if you like."

Davenport brushed past him in an obvious haste. He knew once he opened the chief's door, he'll be sprinting after him with a whole posse. He'd signed out a car earlier that day and patted his pockets in search for the keys. He found it and pressed the Unlock button on the fob. The car made a "beep" sound and he hopped inside.

He didn't know rather to believe what the chief had said or not. At the moment, sitting in the car was a dummy mission altogether. He fired up the engine, turned on the radio and headed toward his house.

# Chapter Fifty-One

Agent Beckham, Detective Davenport and Detective Harmon all clambered inside the grey sedan, with the government plates. It was quite roomy; with its leather seats. As they drove toward Fairview, Beckham explained to them where they were going to conduct their phone analysis.

"The FBI, has a safe house out here. It's one of many, of course, but its where we can conduct a phone trace unmolested. Agent Moore, a field operative, is our 'house owner' so she'll be assisting us as well."

Davenport had been wanting to ask what had happened to Officer Sanchez since seeing his bruised face earlier and since Agent Beckham was so forthwith it took the opportunity.

"What did you do to Officer Sanchez, if you don't mind my asking?"

No he didn't mind Davenport asking. He was apart of the investigation so he had the right to know that Officer Sanchez was placed under a very intense counter-terrorism interrogation, for informational purposes only.

"Me and Agent Moore placed him under an interrogation that is primarily used for counter-terrorism purposes. But we deemed Mr Sanchez a terrorist to the city of Asheville along with the United States."

"So it's legal for the FBI to conduct such affairs?" asked Harmon from the backseat.

"Indeed it is on a federal level. I wouldn't advise any local authority to try such a thing. Cause it will sure backfire. Here we are." He said pulling into the driveway just off Concord Road.

Davenport and Harmon had roamed this entire city and never once noticed that there was a federal safe house in their neighborhood. The place was most definitely clandestine, that was for certain. It looked exactly like your everyday Victorian house on the market.

The three advanced onto the porch, Beckham rapping loudly on the elegant-looking wooden door. After a brief moment the door was opened by a rather attractive brunette, with a body to die for. She leaned, seductively against the door frame and said, "May help you?"

It was all an act but still a great performance.

"Yes, I'm Special Agent Beckham and these are my colleagues. We're working together on an investigation do you mind if we come inside for a few questions."

That was all it took. Feds, they were so clandestine about everything, Davenport mused.

They were escorted to a room, with INTERVIEW #2 stenciled on the door. They opened the door and took seat among various forms of technology: computers, fax machines, et cetera. Beckham placed a pair of headphones over his ears, then signaled to Agent Moore, who in turn signaled to Detective Davenport to make the call.

The phone rung for a few seconds before the same altered voice spoke into the mouthpiece, "Good evening detective? What gives me the pleasure to hear from you on such short notice?"

"I want to know where you have my wife and daughter stashed at. I want to know everything, no tricks or red herrings this time."

The man on the other end burst into a fit of laughter. It was a wheezy laugh that almost sounded forced. But seconds later he was all business. "Do you have what I want, detective?"

Beckham signaled that he needed a few more minutes to get a location on the kidnapper. Davenport nodded and continued, "And what is it that you want?"

"Well frankly, I have a few terms I want you to agree on. One, I want you to step down from your position and take on no more cases. Two, I want two million dollars, cash. Three, I want to keep your daughter as my own, a little payback you Americans deserve for taking my daughter from me. Do you agree to my terms, detective?"

"No."

He slammed the phone down on the cradle and stared angrily at Agent Beckham, "You got his location?"

"Yep, you won't believe where he's at. He's at the Asheville International Airport."

"He's about to leave the states!" Davenport and Harmon both coming to same conclusion.

All three of them rushed out of the safe house, hopped in the car, and sent the acrid aroma of burnt rubber into the air as they shot down Concord doing 60 mph.

"What's the quickest way to the airport?" asked Beckham looking left and right as he idled at a stop sign.

"Go right, its best if we hit the Interstate and get off on Exit 40, that'll take us right to it," replied Davenport, who was in the backseat this time.

Agent Beckham mashed the gas, passing cars that were sticking to the speed limit. As he was about to pass a Honda Rav4, he suddenly swerved back in his lane, as a semi truck was bearing down the opposite lane.

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed.

"Try not to get us killed along the way." Harmon joked.

He turned and smiled, "I'll try my hardest to pay more attention, detective."

They reached a four way intersection that was manned by four traffic lights, there was a corner store, Molly's, to their immediate right. Davenport had forgotten that he could possibly get there quicker if the continued toward downtown Fletcher.

He said, "Keep straight we can get there quicker if we go through Fletcher."

Khalid Muhammad hurried his men on the private plane that was awaiting their arrival in a secluded hangar. He had a feeling that he'd talked a bit too long with the detective, and that had cost him. He was almost certain that they had managed to pinpoint his location. He was about to embark the plane when he phone beeped informing him that he had an incoming message:

The General: I have the airport secured, my friend. You're good to go.

Khaled: Thank you, may Allah send you many blessings. I shall see you in the Keys. Godspeed.

The General: Godspeed.

He flipped his phone shut and embarked the plane. Moments later, he and his men were heading to Key West, Florida. Where he was to meet with the women that he'd sent earlier in the week. And if things went according to plan, his daughter would be on a plane and escorted to Key West as well.

He went into his private cabin, and poured himself a drink. Too much stuff was going on for him to think clearly. And a stiff shot of aged Scotch was exactly what the doctor ordered. He reached up and punched the intercom button, "Ahman, please send me an exquisite one, if you'll be so kind."

"Yes sir," the intercom blared back.

The door to his private cabin opened and an unscathed woman, with grace and elegance padded inside. She wore nothing but a see-through cloak, which she dropped to the floor as she closed the cabin door. Khaled had an erection the moment his eyes landed on her perky-like breasts. She padded closer, dropping to her knees and letting her fingers worked their way beneath his nether region.

Thirty minutes later, he and his concubine lay naked on the cabin's bed. Both were glistening with sweat, and breathing a little uncontrolled. It was a blissful moment, one that Khalid Muhammad, rarely, had the opportunity to enjoy.

"What should I do with you now? I've already spent myself inside you, what use are you to me?"

"I don't know," she replied meekly.

"I'll have you killed the moment we land, you are free to go now."

She turned a shade of white at his brutal comment and hurried off, slamming the door in her haste. He turned over and fell into a peaceful sleep. Thank Allah, for the pleasure of women.

# Chapter Thirty-Nine

The commotion that had caused my father to make a sudden dismissal was due to the others sticking to the initial plan. Attack all at once. Blake had fallen victim to the attack, according to Stella, he had attempted to get aggressive with Ashley. He paid the ultimate price; he was sitting somewhere with a bag of ice atop of his crotch.

I smiled inwardly as the news was relayed to me. None of the girls had suffered from their bold act. Now, sitting among me were my friends, my confidantes.

"You should've seen the shock that registered on his face, when he had all three of us on top of him." said Ashley grinning.

"I bet he wasn't expecting that kind of response." I said feeling confident that perhaps our plan of escape may actually work.

I hadn't heard from my father since the attack on Blake. I could only imagine how pissed he was at the moment. He was in the middle of reprimanding me for God knows what. Despite how cliched it might sound; I was saved by the bell.

Dinner was simple: wheat bread, dry meatloaf, half cooked green beans, and lukewarm tap water to wash it down with. I hadn't eaten anything since being abducted. I decided to take my chances with this oh so delicious meal.

The green beans not only looked under cooked they were crunchy, almost like chewing on ice. The meatloaf wasn't any better. I didn't even think about trying the wheat bread.

Across the room, Ashley, Tatiana, Kelly, and Stella were devouring their meals. I couldn't understand how they did it. The food here was horrible!

"Any idea what's going to happen to us?" asked Tatiana.

I wish I could answer that question but it was nearly impossible for me to know what tomorrow held.

"Only time will tell, honey." I replied.

Michael Greene appeared at our cellar door, timidly, awaiting our dinner trays. This was the first time I'd seen him since the day we transferred here. He looked a bit different, unkempt. He had a few days stubble hugging his jawline.

"Y'all done yet I need those trays ASAP." he said through the cellar door.

I giggled. It was strange to have the very men terrorized by the women they had terrorized. We were starting to gain the upper hand. Way to go girls!

We stacked our trays neatly at the door, and waited for the door to creep open. We were definitely savoring the moment of victory.

Michael opened the door boldly, bent down and retrieved the trays before making a parting remark. "It's about damn time you women got finished."

He slammed the door shut and whistled as he advanced further down the hall. I turned to the others. "Did you see how scared he was? I mean, he acted like we were going to gang up on him the moment he scooped up the dinner trays."

They were all just as surprised by his reaction as I had been. But our happiness was short lived. Twenty minutes later, my father burst back in the cellar, accompanied by the same soldier in black as before. I swallowed hard.

"I have an announcement to make: As you may not have known the city of Asheville has been bombed by yours truly. The total casualties was a whopping two-hundred civilians. Bravo Amelia, that's quite a start."

I was blindsided by the news. Two-hundred people had been killed at the hands of my father. But yet he congratulated me for it like he was playing some sort of game.

I asked, "What makes you think that I'm responsible for those innocent lives?"

He chuckled. "It's because of you that their lives were cut short. Until you come back home, people will continue to die. I must warn you the airport is next on my list. I wonder how many unaware civilians will drop dead?"

"Just go back home, Amelia," said Stella.

"Listen to your so-called friends, sweetheart for they care so much about you." chimed my father.

"I will never go back to Iraq with you," I hissed. "People will still be killed regardless if I come home or not."

"Arrogant bitch you are," he said. "Just like your pathetic mother."

"Go to hell!" I growled.

"You first my dear," said my father mouth breaking into a condescending grin.

"Why don't you let them go," I said gesturing to the others. "They have nothing to do with this."

"You do have a valid point there," he nodded to the soldier who'd been stand guard by the door. "See that these girls are freed."

The soldier herded up the others and escorting them out the door. Before exiting the door himself he turned to face my father and winked. I had no way of knowing what that winked interpreted. Once the door was close shut again my father laid his cold eyes on me.

"Happy now?" he asked.

"No I want to know what that wink was about? I know you didn't just let walk out of here with all they've witnessed."

"You're right," he said. "They'll be shot dead the moment they start to run. I never said how they were to be freed I just said they'll be free, meaning free from you."

He was toying with me I could tell. This was typical for him he got off on fucking with one's mind. Making you think one thing when he was thinking something totally different. He hadn't conquered cities without some kind of manipulation. It was his way of playing live chess.

"If you so much as kill one of them I'm definitely not come home with you."

"You attempted to manipulate the very man who taught you the art of manipulation? Not smart I'll call your bluff." he signaled to the soldier who had escorted the others out. "Matthew escort my daughter outside with the others."

"Yes sir." replied the soldier.

I found myself outside surrounded by my girls. My confidence was back, I didn't feel helpless when I was around these girls.

"Now let's see if your bluffing shall we?" said my father.

Two soldiers walked up to Nicole and let off an entire clip. I watched in horror as Nicole's body jerked with every bullet. I couldn't believe they had killed another innocent person.

Nicole's limp body lay mounted where it'd dropped. Blood began to pool beneath her body.The entire courtyard was disturbingly quiet. Everyone was obviously in shock. Shocked that a fellow friend was gunned down in cold blood by the hands of the world's notorious terrorist.

# Chapter Thirteen

The Hitman followed the woman down the hall. They stopped outside room 356.

"This is the room your friends are using," she said.

"Thank you ma'am, you've saved me a lot of time and money here,"

The woman walked back down the hall. Once in the clear, The Hitman removed a device from his pocket. It was some sort of gadget with a card attached to the end of it. He inserted device where the regular hotel key card would go. He dialed a series of numbers and waited. After hearing several beeps, the green light came on over the doors lock.

He stepped inside.

The room was immaculate, with it's mouth dropping view of the Atlantic ocean. The room had two queen size beds, a wet bar near a built in kitchenette, and a jacuzzi the size of a miniature kiddie pool. The Hitman mused at the two detectives taste for living quarters, knowing that the Department wasn't necessarily fronting this tab.

He walked quickly, to where the pipe lines ran its course into the jacuzzi.He separated them accordingly, then inserted a canister vacuum into the plumbing system. He did the same to the water tap on the opposite side of the room.

Once satisfied with his work, he exited the massive room, and headed for the downstairs lobby. There he was greeted by a swarm of uniform cops. Apparently they had found the dead receptionist slumped in the reception area.

He casually advanced through the lobby, ignoring every wide eyed guest. He got in his rental, reversed, and headed towards North Roosevelt Boulevard. He had a charter plane to catch. And he also had some unfinished business to attend back in the Carolinas. He stepped on the gas and into the horizon.

My week of horror had been getting worse by the day. After cleaning up the remains of a former "prisoner" another woman was brought in. She also had a child! This little girl looked no older than five years old.

I felt helpless for the pair, because they had no idea what lay ahead of them. After a moment, I decided to approach the terrified looking mother to ensure so comfort.

"Hi..." I stammered leading with my right hand.

This woman really looked pale. Her eyes looked vacant as if her soul was lifted upward and she'd died. Just the look of her terrified gaze made me queasy inside.

"My name is Amelia. Are you okay?" I cursed myself for being so stupid. Of course she wasn't okay! What the hell kind of question is that Amelia?!

The poor little girl drew back as I stepped forward, hiding under her mother's armpit.

By the look on her face, this hasn't been the first time she'd been traumatized.

"Where are we? Why are we here? Where is Blake?" said the child's mother with a mere look of shock registered on her face.

I had no way of answering those questions truthfully. But at least I can do whatever in my power to ensure their safety.

"Honey I have no idea where we..."

But before I could finish my sentence, she burst into screams of hysterics.

"WHERE IS MY HUSBAND?! WHY ISN'T HE HERE TO PROTECT ME?!"

She started crying and shaking uncontrollably. This woman certainly seemed on the verge of a meltdown. I search my deflated mind for any useful resources I could use. But none came to mind.

"What's your husband's name?" I found myself saying almost involuntarily. Hopefully she doesn't get the wrong impression.

She gazed at me with something more than mere curiosity, it was more like bewilderment!

Oh God what have stirred up in this poor woman.

"What is my husband of five years name, you ask?" She spat. "I'll tell you who is, he's the man, who once discovers my disappearance is going to go berserk."

She looked blank for a nanosecond before continuing, "And who are you to ask about my husband?"

Hanging my head down, I suddenly had a massive headache, figuratively speaking, this woman was more than a handful. But under these circumstances who wouldn't?

I looked up, said, "Look ma'am I'm in the same situation as well as you are. We need to help each other overcome this mess. I've endured a shit load of things no average History teacher would dream of enduring. I've been raped, beaten, made to clean up brain matter and fragments from a fellow hostage."

By now I had tears streaming down my filthy cheeks but I didn't care this woman had to know what happens in this God forsaken place.

"Do you understand that they killed a innocent girl, who was visiting from Korea. She didn't do nothing to deserve to be dragged by her hair and slaughtered like a pig."

I had to look away, to stay strong for that child. I couldn't let her see me this way, I don't know why, maybe it's a woman thing hell I don't know. She needed to feel safe in an unsafe environment, which is no walk in the park and also an oxymoron.

"Why are you crying, miss?" said the little girl.

That nearly sent the bank of tears crashing through the dam. I held my chin up high, took a deep and much needed breath, said, "Because I care about y'all. And I don't want nothing else to happen to innocent people by these..." I glanced nervously over my right shoulder. "I don't want anything to happen to you darling my these despicable monster!"

The girl looked from me to her mother, asked, "What's despicable mommy,"

It was a moment of pure adoration. Curiosity has never been known to kill a cat, I thought, only to kill the despicable.

"Sweetheart not right now, mommy is not in the mood for questions," she flashes her gaze my way, in a "thank you" sort of way.

I nodded back.

"I'm, uh, I apologize for being rude and obnoxious earlier. I just can't swallow this situation with a glass of water. This is the second time we've been victimized at the hands of monsters!"

She looked defeated, like a whipped puppy. "Can I tell something?" she asked.

I didn't know exactly what to say, so I went with my gut feeling: "Sure"

"Well for starters my name is Nikki Davenport and this here," she motioned to the little girl, "is my four year old daughter, Kelly.

"Last summer during a murder investigation lead by my husband Detective Davenport, me and Kelly were abducted from our home in West Asheville. It was an attempt for the killer to get to my husband emotionally in order to trap him and kill him. My husband nearly lost his job in an effort to hunt down this madman against direct orders from his superiors. Long story short, it ended in a shootout resulting in the killer, who was nothing but a catspaw shot dead."

I could not believe what I was hearing.

"The worse part of it all," she continued, "was that the real killer was never apprehended for the crimes. And he's still out there somewhere."

Nikki was shaking profusely again. I went over and offered some comfort, wrapping my arms around her as my left shoulder began to moisture. I murmured condolences.

"It's going to be okay, honey. They'll catch the bastard when its all said and done."

Nikki pushed back, wiped her nose with the back of her hand, straighten out her shirt, said, "Thank you for listening."

"My pleasure Nikki I..."

Bam!

Bam!

Bam!

The despicable monster was back. I dreaded this coming. The six of us bunched up in a corner, literally breathing down each other's neck.

The door swung open. Standing in the doorway was a familiar face to the city of Asheville. Chief Anthony Gates stood rigid. He pointed to one of the girls, Stella McCartney. Greene and Highsmith came in, yanked her up, and dragged her to Gates's feet.

He smiled down on her, charmingly.

"Good evening, young lady? Are you ready to meet your maker?" he asked acidly.

"No please I'll do anything you want, sir..." Stella pleaded.

Gates motioned to Greene, who disappeared for a moment then materialized a moment later carrying what looked like a gun. He handed it to Gates, who screwed on a suppressor to the tip of the gun, took aim, and fired.

The blow from the bullet sent Stella McCartney stumbling backwards. She was holding her shoulder where the bullet apparently hit, howling in complete agony. As she rolled around on the ground, like a flea infested dog, Gates made a very clear announcement.

"The next time I hear yelling coming from this room, the next person will be written off as dead. Do I make myself clear?"

He gazed around the entire room receiving blank stares.

"Yes," They said in unison.

"Good, now don't make me have to make a trip back down here from work,"

And with that he turned in his heel and was gone just as quickly as he appeared.

# Chapter Fifty-Six

Detective Drake Davenport disembarked his Delta flight and walked briskly toward the Hertz car rental building. He was in the middle of a battle between himself and his subconscious.

Maybe this wasn't such a bright idea, Drake. You're completely by yourself, and you're no Rambo.

He walked up to the front counter and spoke nicely to Nadine Fadul, according to her name tag. She was about twenty-five, dark brown hair, soft skin, and green eyes. She smiled as she looked up in his face and said, "How can I assist you sir?"

"I need to rent a mid-size car for the day."

"Alrighty, I just need to see two forms of ID and I'll get you to fill out some paperwork. Do you have insurance?"

"Look, ma'am I'm kind of in a rush. I'm a detective and I'm traveling to a potential crime scene. Here's my credentials if you need verification." He handed her his creds. She scrutinized it, satisfied, she smiled a charming smile.

She said, "I guess I can make an exception this time. Just be sure to return our car exactly how it is."

"No problem, and thank you for your understanding."

Davenport took the keys from her and dashed out the door. He hit the key fob and heard the "chirp-chirp" that followed. He spotted the car; a tan Ford Five Hundred. He got in the driver's seat and fired up the engine.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled into the Silver Palms Inn exclusive parking lot. He pulled out his phone and dialed Agent Beckham's personal number. Beckham answered on the third ring.

"Davenport, it's good to hear from you. What's going on? Where're you?"

Davenport ducked and dodged the questions expertly. "I'm in Key West, Florida. To be more precise, I'm sitting in a parking lot. How's Detective Harmon?"

"Furious, to put it mildly. She wants to know why you left her in the hands of a terrorist?"

"You were supposed to defuse the situation, Caleb. That's what we agreed on, remember?"

"I remember but it didn't work. She bypassed my concerns and went straight for the juggler. The woman is vicious." He chuckled. "But we did manage to apprehend the terrorist. Right now he's in FBI custody until further notice."

"That's good news I suppose. Good work on your part. Look I have to get going I got to get to the bottom of this investigation."

"Where..."

Davenport disconnected the call before Agent Beckham could respond. He opened the glove compartment and removed his Beretta M9. He shoved the gun down his pants and exited the car. He went up to the reception area, which had been completely remodeled since his last being here. He smiled at the reception lady and said, "I'm looking for a suspect to a terrorist attack. Middle Eastern, probably accompanied by a security detail of some kind. Can you help me out here?"

"I'm not at liberty to disclose such information to random people wanting to know."

"Ma'am this is a federal investigation. Do you realize the penalty for interfering with such an investigation? It carries a heavy prison sentence." He drummed his fingers on the desk, impatiently. "So what is it going to be lady? Information or a substantial amount of prison time?"

"Alright but if I get in trouble I'm holding you responsible for finding me another job, deal?"

"Deal,"

The woman started pecking away on her keyboard. She was fast as she typed away. Finally, her face lit up. She'd found something of interest. She turned her computer monitor around to face Detective Davenport. And began to relay the information, verbally.

"This here is our check in list. It records every one who has a room here, including check in time, payment method, you name it. The other day a man by the name Khalid Muhammad checked in, using an American Express credit card. Says he booked two separate room on the fifth floor."

"Has anyone else checked in before him, by chance?"

"Not that..."She leans in closer to the screen. "Okay I take that back. According to our records, a Samuel Edwards checked in and he too also booked two separate room."

Strange.

"Okay and what's the room number to the first room he checked into?"

"Let's See here, it's room 590, it's on the fifth floor. Would you like a master key card?"

Davenport smiled. "That would wonderful."

Davenport jogged to the elevator bank and punched the call button. He waited impatiently, for the elevator to come down. The doors open and he stood face to face with a Middle Eastern man. The man eyed him with disdain and brushed past him. Davenport's mind was spinning, his heart pounding in his chest as he started to connect the dots. That had to be Khalid Muhammad! Or perhaps, someone who knew him. He knew that running up on such a dangerous man, could prove deadly. So he just took the elevator and headed to the fifth floor. He disembarked the elevator and walked briskly down the hall, until he came upon room 590. He started to pretend like he was room service but thought better and inserted the master key card into the slot. The lock clicked and he slowly pushed opened the door.

Inside, the room was much more spacious than the room he'd been in only a week ago. He listened intently for any sounds that someone was inside. He heard nothing. He went into the bathroom and inspected it thoroughly. From there, he went back to the master bedroom. Nothing. He was getting ready to give to up when he heard a thunderous laugh.

Khalid Muhammad and Aziz were coming up the hallway, booze in hand. They were carrying on like a bunch of college students, instead of the ruthless individuals they were. They each had a pair of young women under each arm. They had plans to enjoy themselves. Khaled slide his key into the slot and threw open the door.

"How should we enjoy these lady's company?" asked Khaled.

"Same as before use them until their usefulness has run its course."

They shared a laugh. The four women commenced to disrobing; sashaying so elegantly that the two men were aroused at the very sight. Khalid was on the verge of passing out while Aziz commenced oral sex on two of them women. Neither man noticed Detective Davenport's presence. He managed to make it to the door and slip out undetected.

Outside, Detective Davenport slide his key card into the slot next door, hoping against hope that it may lead to his wife and daughter. But as the door opened it was only a couple watching television. He apologized and closed the door. He was almost certain that the lady downstairs had said that they had booked rooms next to one another. He decided to go back down and confront her about her mistake.

As the elevator doors opened to a chaotic scene it left Davenport scratching his head. What was going on?

He soon found out.

Apparently, the nice little receptionist had been killed; from a gunshot wound to the head. It made no sense, he thought. I was just talking with her 20 minutes ago.

He came to a stunning conclusion, perhaps the man that brushed passed him earlier was ordered to kill her for help him? If that was the case that meant that he was being watched. He decided it was time to face the man responsible for his family's abduction, once and for all. He was a lone wolf and it was time to stand up and fight.

# Chapter Twenty-Three

How the hell did he know my biological name?

For the whole entire ride to the warehouse, I kept asking myself that question. How? It was not only bizarre that he knew my biological name, but indeed disturbing. I had my name legally changed upon gaining citizenship here in the US.

Ashley stared in disbelief. "I thought you said your name was Amelia?"

"It is," I stammered trying to gain back control of the situation. "Don't pay him no mind. He's just trying to get into my mind, to break me in a sense."

I glared at Blake from where I sat. I hated him more and more as I got to know the real him.

Blake inquired, grinning, "Do you truly believe I would make up such a thing, sweet girl?"

"You're a sadistic bastard and I wouldn't put it past you to do so." Tatiana said. She was really beginning to gain some audacity throughout all she's been through since arriving.

Blake snapped his head in her direction, fuming.

He said, "What did you just call me?"

"I said you're a sad..." Tatiana began, but Blake silenced her when he whipped out his handgun, shoved it in her face.

"What's the matter? Cat's got your tongue?" He laughed, that sick demonic laugh. "That egotistical bullshit is what got your friend Wu Chang killed. So be advised of that mouth of yours, cunt, or else you'll receive the same treatment. Am I clear?"

Oh he was loving this control, dominance.

"Yes..." Tatiana replied nervously.

She looked paled, as if she'd pissed herself. I had to admit that Blake was a master at making us women, feel shitty about ourselves. I couldn't let him get away with this.

I said, "Does it make you feel manly, to degrade a woman, Blake? Do you get off on raping helpless women?" I tilted my headed, patronizing him. "What's the matter, your dick isn't big enough for the willing?"

That struck a nerve. His right eye twitched, followed by an involuntary jerk of the head. He wanted to say something, but didn't.

That's strange, I thought, any other time he'll have something to come back with. Perhaps, he was calculating again.

He said, "I'm going to let that one pass, Amelia. You'll get yours coming here very soon."

He put his gun away. His cell phone beeped, indicating that he had an incoming text message. He removed his phone, opened the text, and replied all in one motion.

After stuffing his phone back in his pocket, he looked up,said, "We'll be at the warehouse in five. So you ladies know what is expected of you, right?"

Four heads nodded in response.

"Good," he gazes at me," And you I'll have you to myself, teach you how to respect your elders."

"I'm looking forward to it," I spat, concocting a course of action.

Captain Galloway and Lieutenant Collins had their best Special Forces soldier gathered and ready for "Operation Genesis". Galloway had decided that only four soldiers were necessary for this mission. Sergeant Melvin Gross, First Lieutenant Bill Sanders, Captain Alfred Collinsworth, and Staff Sergeant William Hensley were the selected few chosen for the task.

All six men were en route to Asheville, North Carolina. In pursuit, to cause terror on the citizens.

"Get ready men, we're about an hour out." said Captain Galloway adrenaline flowing through his blood.

The Special Forces soldier bellowed phrases like: "Hell yeah"; "Hoorah".

Captain Galloway smiled as he watched and listened to his men hype themselves up for battle. He knew they needed the self praise. They were going to cause terror in the United States, and they would certainly end up in Leavenworth when it was all said and done.

The country they were sworn to protect would definitely cast them to the wolves, without any kind of remorse.

Galloway pushed those disquieting thoughts aside and tried to focus. It was futile but worth an attempt. He gazed at Lieutenant Collins, and nodded.

"Let's go out with a bang, brother. Let's show The General that he has not made a mistake by calling upon us." said Captain Galloway with pure conviction in his voice.

"Hoorah!" Roared Lieutenant Collins, the other four men chiming in.

"Hoorah!"

We were starting to slowly decelerate, rapidly. The other three noticed this change also. Kelly, grabbed my shirt tail from the side, trembling. I looked down at her dirt and grime covered face, smiled reassuringly.

"It's okay Kelly, we're here."

"Is my mommy coming here, too?" she asked.

"I don't believe so, darling. But mommy still loves you dearly and will be thinking about you all the time."

I was crying before I realized it. Kelly was heart-broken to discover that her mother wouldn't be joining us. I was heart-broken to be the one to convey this information.

I hugged her tightly, as she sobbed in my chest. I tried to shush her before Blake manage to hear her, through his ear buds.

"You have to keep quiet honey, so he doesn't hear you. I know its hard on you but there's nothing we can do right now." I said pointlessly.

We were ushered out the van, shackled to one another like prison inmates. I caught a glimpse of the warehouse's exterior. It was similar to the one prior all but a few exceptions: There wasn't a metal door, it wasn't creme colored, and it didn't stank of cow shit.

Instead, it was painted a vomit-yellow, had a side door to its left side where we were ushered inside. The smell inside was acrid, bitter.

We were shoved inside a fairly furnished room, carpeted nicely. Apparently the four star, had indeed kept his word about our new living quarters.

There were four comfortable looking beds, one for each of us. I picked a bed near the far wall, and made sure the one next to it was Kelly's. Michael walked in behind us.

"Amelia come with me, Blake wants to see you in his privy." said Greene

I followed him to a room closed off from the others. There weren't any light coming from within. I knew what to expect, caused it on myself. But I was going to walk in there fearlessly.

The moment I walked through the threshold, a fist slammed into my face, knocking some teeth loose in the process. I staggered back, grabbing my face, before finally toppling over.

Whoever hit me, surely had master the art of timing. I didn't expect that part of the ordeal to occur.

Leaning over me was none other than, Blake. He grinned that sickening grin, unfastened his pants and straddled me. He raped me over and over again. Once he satisfied with himself, he yanked me up by my hair.

I yelped in protest. He tossed me, slamming me against a nearby table, knocking off everything stacked on it.

He fetched his personal baton, courtesy of the Buncombe County Jail, and clubbed me with it. He was trying to make an example out of me, by sodomizing me while beating me senseless.

Once the beaten had concluded, I looked horrible. I had cuts above and below my eyes. My upper lip was split in half. And if I wasn't missing any teeth before, I sure as hell was now.

I glanced down and nether region was a bloody mess.

For kicks and giggles, he cocked the baton back, and whacked me against the face one last time.

Wham!

I instantly blacked out.

Blake and Michael worked together to drag her limp body back to her quarters with the others. Amelia was placed on display for all the girls to see, even Kelly.

"The next person who decides they want to get out of and come play with the big boys," he pointed to Amelia's body. "This is what will happen to you as a natural consequence." said Blake Highsmith.

He slammed the door shut, securing a heavy lock that followed. The three other girls sat in complete awe, not knowing what to do exactly about their newest dilemma.

# Chapter Twenty-Seven

"Hey Drake, wait up. Where are you going?" asked Harmon finally catching up the him, panting.

Davenport whipped his head her way, and glared. "I'm going to find my wife and daughter, Harmon." he spat.

"Drake, you don't know what this person is like. You can't just go in search for a guy you know nothing about, it ludicrous!"

"It doesn't matter, whoever this person is he/she made that decision for me the moment they'd kidnapped my family."

He walked off, opening the driver's door. Harmon caught the edge of the door before he managed to close it.

"Well then I'm tagging along." she said.

Davenport placed the car in Reverse, backed out the parking space, and floored it across a four way intersection, grille light flashing.

He said, "You didn't have to come along, Abbie. I'm not being held responsible for the actions that will be taken." he glanced over at her. "I'm serious, this asshole is a walking dead man."

Harmon looked over at him, eyes moistened, she said, "I'm your partner, Drake whatever happens to you it won't change."

He gunned the cruiser down Haywood Street, across the highway bridge-way, and into the Montford District. He passed the newly built elementary school on his left, followed by a traffic light. He made a right turn beside the Montford Corner store.

Beside him Harmon stared in utter disbelief.

"Where are we headed?" she asked.

"In order to figure out who kidnapped Nikki and Kelly, we have to start from square one, victim number one, Amelia Deese." he replied.

"You think her abduction has something to do with Nikki's?"

"Amelia's abduction, is the key element in this investigation, including the one down in Key West. I have a gut feeling that they all have a connection of some type, and we've been playing cat and mouse with the person of interest."

Harmon looked totally lost. "So if Amelia's not home what's the point?"

"Someone's watching her house, Abbie. And that someone is tied to the abductor somehow," he rounded a corner, passing the Montford Park, he continued, "last time I was here I got involved in a shootout with the one person responsible for watching her house."

Harmon vaguely recalled the affair, that Davenport had come in immediately contact with gunfire and had called her for backup. According to the Officer that had arrived on the scene, he said that Davenport had been outran by the perp, who had advanced beyond the neighborhood.

Harmon was starting to wonder if, perhaps, Drake had real good gut instincts, for this kind of thing.

"I remember you calling about that," she stated, "so what makes you think this won't be a case of Deja Vu, all over again, from the shooter?"

Davenport had to admit, she did have a valid point there. What if the shooter had returned to his assignment, only to encounter the very detective he attempted to gun down? He considered the possibilities of that recurring.

"I have an idea," he said, slowing the car down, parking in front of a red Victorian house, "you get behind the wheel and I'll walk around from the opposite direction. I'll call you once I'm in position."

He started for the door handle but froze as his cell phone began to rang. He looked at the caller ID. It was from a restricted caller.

He answered, "Davenport,"

The voice on the other end was some kind of voice alternator. "Good evening Detective? How's the family?"

Davenport froze.

This was the kidnapper, he had called my phone! Davenport gazed around the neighborhood, frantic.

Harmon looked on horrified at his paranoid behavior. "What's going on? Who is that?" she asked.

Davenport held up a finger, signaling her to keep quiet.

He spoke into the phone, firmly, "Who is this? And what do you want from me?"

There was an ominous silence that followed the inquiry. The kidnapper was attempting to take full control of the situation by building anticipation, Davenport thought. He cursed the kidnapper internally.

"You think I want anything from you?! I'm here to help you find your family, detective." said the kidnapper, eerily.

Harmon was growing more and more impatient with this covert conversation.

"Where is my wife and daughter?" demanded Davenport who too was growing tired of this conversation.

There was hysterical laughter coming from the other end of the phone.

The kidnapper said, "Let's see, your wife is located in an abandoned field in Leicester, while your daughter, mmm such a pretty little girl, is uh..."

"Hello! Where is my fucking daughter?!" bellowed Davenport as the realization hit home, the kidnapper had hung up on him.

He hurled his phone against the windshield, cracking the windshield in the process, and leaving only mere scratches on his phone. He placed his head on the steering wheel and wept like a baby.

Harmon had no idea who had called or why her partner had hurled his phone against the windshield. She cradled him in her arms as he let out all his frustration. Slowly lifted his head, he looked her dead in the eye.

"He's got my daughter somewhere," he wiped an oncoming tear from his cheek, "He told me that my wife was in Leicester, in some abandoned field."

Harmon couldn't believe what she was being told. The kidnapper had contacted Davenport, regarding his wife and daughter.

She asked, "So what do we do now?"

Davenport stared up ahead, regaining his composure, before saying, "We're heading to Leicester to get Nikki to safety."

He fired up the cruiser, peeled off, heading back in the general direction as they had come. He had one thing on his mind and one thing only: He was going to find this guy and kill him, end of story.

"I want you to notify the Chief and let him know that the kidnapper just gave word of Nikki's whereabouts." said Davenport as he raced through a red light. "And be sure to tell him that I'm not taking any other cases until my wife and daughter are found...alive."

Harmon nodded and made the call.

Back in his office, Chief Gates was having a chatty conversation with ADA John Andrews, when his cell rang. Placing down his cup of coffee, he excused himself and answered, "Chief of Police Anthony Gates."

"Chief," said Harmon over the blare of sirens and traffic. "Its Detective Harmon, sir, we just got word from the abductor regarding Drake's wife and daughter. He claims to have his wife somewhere in Leicester and we're heading that way now. Drake wanted me to inform you, sir, that he will no longer take any cases until his wife and daughter are found alive."

"Okay Harmon, I totally understand his intention, just ensure that he has a sane mindset with this whole thing." he paused, as if on second thought. "And Harmon, don't let this thing get out of hand. You understand? I expect great things from you." He hung up without another word.

Davenport glanced over as he masterly weaved in and out of traffic down Patton Avenue, "So how did he take the news?"

"As well as anyone would in his position. He just wants you to be in a clear mindset when and if you come in contact with the kidnapper." she checked to see if her silencer was in her pants pocket. It was there.

"Oh I'll have a clear mindset alright," said Davenport grinning like a mad scientist. "You just better stay out of my way, partner or not, he's mine."

Oh I'll stay out your way alright, she thought. I'll be right behind you buddy ol' pal.

Dr. Anderson Michael, hovered over his patient, that had just come into the psych unit, Copestone. She had been transferred from Broughton Hospital for further examination. According to the doctor and psychiatrist there, the patient had been dubbed, Ms Fantasy.

Apparently, Ms Fantasy, had been hallucinating about her surroundings. They placed her on various psych meds, hoping to cure the hallucinations, but failed at the latter.

Now laying on a examination table, Ms Fantasy, was unconscious, due to the unwillingness to cooperate with the transport team. She'd definitely put up a fight, Dr. Michael noted. She had defensive wound on her forearm, and dried blood along her neck, as if bitten by a vampire. Today, she was scheduled for a series of MRIs and X-rays, before being shipped potentially back to Broughton Hospital.

# Chapter Fifty-Nine:

# Chapter Six

I heard them before I saw them. They were back. Michael and Blake. They had been gone for nearly three hours doing whatever they called fun. I peered through a sliver between the door and seen...wait was that more women being dragged in this hellhole? I couldn't believe my eyes, there were one, two, three...four! They just brought four more girls here to use as sex slaves. I slowly backed away from the door, tripping over a metal tool box, I ended up in the floor. I knew once the others said what had happened while they were gone, it would only be a matter of time before they'd be coming to interrogate me.

I watched as the four, young women, were shuffled by me into the office. That's where they would get a full body once over from others for mere approval. I've been there done that, except I was raped in the process. I wondered how these women were tricked into coming here in the first place? Surely, they didn't fall for the old smooth criminal approach. I shook my head at the mere possibility of these barely legal girls falling for such a ploy.

As I sat feeling depressed about the situation at hand, I heard a yelp, a feminine, almost scared yelp coming from the office. I jumped to my feet, slamming my fist into the metal door, letting off string of expletives. It was pointless I know and would likely lead to a good beaten, but I had to acknowledge the fact that other girls were being punished. I heard a loud crack in the air, the kind that only comes from a hand hitting skin. And that skin was that of another person's. I slammed my fist against the door yet again, this time drawing a seam of crimson blood, which smeared on the door, and gathering some very unwarranted attention. Michael and Blake both burst through the door, one grabbing a fist full of hair, while the other back-slapped me. This was a new approach, I was so used to being thrown to the ground and painful raped. But a few hits to my face almost felt like a relief, given the circumstances. I couldn't hold back from laughing, which cost me more hits but I didn't give a damn. I was doing this for those innocent girls.

After they had beaten me to a pulp, face swollen beyond recognition I was sure. They stripped me of my clothing. Leaving me to shiver uncontrollably with nothing on but my undergarments. I sat on the cold concrete floor, my head swirling, on the verge of vomiting. I couldn't hear anything, and I started to wonder if they'd beaten me to deaf. Then I heard my door open and in came two girls: a brunette and an Asian. There faces had seen better days and there skirts were all shredded to hell. These girls were terrified. I decided to be a bit nosy, I had to know what happened to the other two.

"Hey...I'm Amelia and you are?" They looked defeated.

"My name is Stella, what is this place?!" The brunette replied.

"This is some warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Why did y'all come here?" It was a rhetorical question but I had to ask.

"They told us they were filming a movie with Brad Pitt," It was the Asian.

So that's how they done it. They pretended to be filmmakers. Wow. Talk about desperate measures.

"And you are?" I asked, turning my attention to the Asian girl.

""Wu Chang, I'm from Korea, here visiting friends. These guys were charming, they bought us drinks, then invited us to do a few scenes. Mostly sex scenes," she started crying , in hysterics. Poor girl must have been terrified once she found out the truth.

"Why are you here? Did they use the same line with you as well?" Stella asked, questioningly.

"No, I was dragged out of my house, forced to call out of work, and brought here to be gang raped by these monster!" My emotions were starting to seep through the barriers. The tears slamming against my eyelids, like an overloaded dam reaching its breaking point. "I thought I had an idea who it was but I was sadly mistaken and betrayed. The guy I made love to prior to these unfortunate events, turned out to be a lie. A phony. He was in on this the whole time," I took a deep breath, exhaled, "I felt as if a knife had pierced my heart."

The two of them sat motionless with blank expressions. They truly had no idea what awaited them. They were going to be turn into sex slaves, maybe even drug addicts. These men were capable of wonders, certainly sex and drugs wasn't out of their league.

"Do you know where the other two are, I seen four of y'all coming in."

"They said they had something special planned for them," said Chang. She was having a hard time believing her luck. Her eyes were bloodshot and her hair was disheveled. I felt for her, honestly.

"What are they going to do with us?" Asked Stella, she was just throwing questions at me like I've been through this kind of thing before. I cursed Hollywood for its promotion in this kind of shit.

"I don't know honey, I'm a school teacher I wasn't expecting such a change in schedule, if you know what I mean. But I'm sure it's not something we want to be thinking about," I reached for her hand, she hesitated at first but then took hold of it. "We have to be strong don't give them the satisfaction that they've gotten to us."

As we sat there bunched together, comforting one another, the door swung open. It all happened so fast, one of the girls were dragged out. The look on her face indicated that she was petrified. Wu Chang was a nice woman, I then realized this might be my last time seeing her.

"Where are they taking her," Stella whispered, scared.

"Nowhere good."

There was a scuffle outside the door, it ended as soon as it began. Something splashed against the door that sounded wet. I couldn't see what it was, but as I crept close to the door I smelled it. A metallic smell. My right foot stepped in something slippery, I looked down at the sliver under the door. Whatever it was they had thrown at the door was coming underneath the door. I knelt down and with my forefinger I grabbed a dab off the ground. Advancing my finger toward my nose, my heart went cold. It was blood. They had killed Wu Chang. Oh my God.

# Chapter Forty-Two

Detective Abigail Harmon was gathering her things of value together. She had a very eventful day head of her starting with a confrontation at Chief Gates's. It had been about two hours since she last spoke with him. It took that same amount of time for her to figure out a way to go about getting answers for Davenport's whereabouts. She came to a simple conclusion: hold him at gunpoint until he gave what she wanted.

She walked around her one bedroom apartment one last time taking in all the sweet memories made in this very house. It had been one blissful evening, she and Detective Davenport had started having an affair shortly after he had gotten married. This affair lasted for the better part of six months before he abruptly halted the entire affair. It left a hole in Harmon's heart making her feel at fault. Only days ago, she had had yet another blissful evening with him followed by a second round in the shower.

She shook herself from her reverie and commenced to finishing her walk through. After making a full circuit of the interior of her little apartment, she went back upstairs and continued her packing.

Upstairs, in her master bedroom, she threw open drawer after drawer dousing clothes and undergarments into a suitcase. Her bottom drawer entailed no clothing at all but all her personal items: a pink dildo, a pair of furry handcuffs, a service pistol, and a box of ammunition. She placed those items in a small dufflebag.

She went inside the bathroom, stripped herself of her clothing, and climbed under the shower head. She stepped out of the shower when her phone rang. She quickly wrapped a towel around her wet hair, and padded across her bedroom.

She answered, "Hello?"

"Have you left town yet?" said the voice on the other end.

"No sir, I have not. I was just taking a quick shower and..."

"Hurry up some people on en route to your house I'm giving you a heads up. Now get out of there."

"Okay thank you for the 'heads up'."

She disconnected the call. There were people heading to her house he had said. For what? She had a small idea why they were heading to her house, they were planning to ensure she was out of the picture. She hurried to get dressed, grabbed her suitcase and backtracked to retrieve her duffle bag. She was out the door and in the driver seat of her small Kia Optima.

As she headed up the street she spotted a black SUV with tinted window in front of her. She struggled to keep her eyes on the road as these were the very men she was sure she barely escaped. She let out a slow breath as the SUV drove pass, not taking a moment's notice of her appearance. She accelerated to the next traffic light, continuing toward downtown Asheville. She pulled into the familiar parking slot and exited her car.

She looked nothing like her usual self with her uniform and hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked like an intern or a cute receptionist. She walked up to the front desk, where Officer Tammy Owenby was taking calls, she hadn't recognized her either!

She asked, "How can I help you ma'am?"

"I need to see Chief Anthony Gates, I'm with Internal Affairs."

"Oh I'm so sorry Ms..."

"Allison, you can call me Ms. Allison please." said Harmon.

"Right," said Officer Owenby putting on her best professional act. "His office is just down the hall."

"Thank you,"

Harmon walked briskly down the hall before, she rapped on the door and barged inside. Chief Gates did a double take as he finally realized who had just barged in his office unattended.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he roared.

"Coming to see my favorite Chief in the whole world. You don't like what you see?" She did her best Runway pose.

"This is not professional conduct Detective Harmon."

"Really? Then allow me to make it as professional as possible," she locked the door and withdrew a compact Beretta Px4 Storm from her shoulder holster.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Chief Gates stammered. Beads of sweat prominent around his face.

"I'm making this a little more professional." she smiled, aiming her Beretta at the center of his chest.

He bellowed, "What do you want? I'll give you part of the money, it'll be millions! Just tell me what it is you want and you'll have it."

"I want to know where you have Drake stashed away at? I want a location and I want to know security details." She shoved the gun in his groin, "and I advise you not to fuck with me if you want to keep these."

Chief Gates swallowed hard. He was stuck between having his millions vanishing or his balls, he chose the latter.

He said, "You'll never get away with this I'll have your body floating down the French Broad river when this is over."

She whacked him across the face with the side of her pistol. Blood and spittle flying across the room. "I don't give a shit about what you think will happen to me I want answers or I swear to you I'll have your balls leaking all over the floor. Now where is he?!"

"He's in the River Art District, in a warehouse near the river. He's being watched by military personnel, commandos to say the least. They have orders to kill anyone on sight."

"Are there any surveillance cameras or motion detectors I need to know about?"

"It's the military, of course there's going to be some sort of motion detectors. Don't go out there, Abigail its for your own good. And frankly, I'd hate to see a beautiful species like yourself in a body bag."

She said, "Don't count on it buddy. I'd rather die than to let you get away with murdering a detective."

She shot him twice in the thigh, barely missing a main artery. He screamed in protest but she was out the officer door. She'd gotten what she came for, he should've been lucky he was still breathing. She walked past Officer Owenby who paid her no attention as she hustled through. Mission accomplished.

She fired up her Kia and headed due west, toward West Asheville. She pushed the pedal to the floor, reaching 80 mph in under sixty seconds. She could give two shits if she got pulled over.

Fifteen minutes later, she arrived at the warehouse described by the chief. It was definitely well guarded. There was men in black fatigues, walking in odd rotations, presumably, some military surveillance tactic, she thought. She counted the men; six total.

She checked her ammunition, took a deep breath and exited carefully. During her observation, she'd dressed in a more comfortable attire: black tights, a matching shirt, and black tactical gloves. She made sure the chamber was loaded. She screwed on her suppressor and advanced onward.

She crept around the left side of the building, where earlier she'd seen a door. The quietness was disquieting, and odd, she thought. She tightened her grip on her gun. She heard someone approaching from behind, she whipped around, gun high. The man had his back to her, talking on some handsfree walkie talkie.

She dropped to her knee, aimed at the back of his head, and fired. The bullet hit its mark, forcing the commando to the ground. She hurried over and removed his walkie talkie. She inserted the bluetooth-like gadget into her right ear and listened intently.

She knew that someone was heading her way, according to the voice coming from the walkie talkie. She didn't have time to drag the body out of the path, so she left it. She heard someone say, "Holy fuck, Jack, what happened?"

She peeked around the corner, saw another man in fatigues hovering over his comrade, he spoke into his mouth piece, "We've got a man down, I repeat man down."

She knew she had to find cover before all five men came looking for her. She checked the handle on the door beside her, it was unlocked. She went inside and waited for her eyes to adjust to the immediate darkness. She could hear footfalls outside the door she'd entered. They moved with a purpose.

She searched around in the darkness but froze when she heard a muffled scream. "Drake is that you?" she whispered.

Silence.

"Who goes there?" said a booming voice.

Harmon readied her weapon, in the darkness she could just about make out a vague figure walking toward her. She knew she'd been taking a big chance on hitting her target, but she tried it away. She fired, and watched as the figure jerked backward roaring, "The fuck!"

Just then gunshots filled the entire warehouse, forcing her to retreat. She couldn't pinpoint where the gunfire was coming from. She crawled on her elbows and knees until was behind a metal crate.

"There you are." said a voice from behind her.

She whipped around, horrified. She acted on instinct sending the heel of her foot into his knee. Causing a sickening "crack" then she shot him in the neck. She had been aiming for a headshot, but she was shaking from adrenaline that it caused her shot to go wide. But it still got the job done.

Her mind was boggled. For a moment she'd forgotten where she was and that moment's hesitation caused her to take a shot to the shoulder. She pitched forward, catching herself on the edge of a metal crate. She cradled her shoulder, making it hard to fire her weapon with accuracy.

The shooter was on her before she realized it. He wrapped his hand around her neck, and squeezed. She began losing oxygen; she struggled against his grip but it proved to be a fruitless task. She got off a lucky shot, that hit the commando in the top of the foot. He screamed in protest. He hopped around on one foot, letting off a string of expletives.

She took the moment to catch her breath then she finished him off. The muffled screams from earlier were more prominent, she searched around and found a door. She opened it and saw Detective Davenport tied to a chair with duct tape securing his mouth shut.

This was proving to be a fickle situation. She ran over and cut Davenport loose. He yelped when she ripped the duct tape from his mouth. As they headed for the door they heard angry voices. Davenport muttered, "Ah shit!"

# Chapter Fifty-Five

Detective Davenport parked the car, taking up two lanes. He and the two others hopped out and ran toward the terminal. Inside, the airport was teeming with eager passengers, ready to be on their way to their designated location. Davenport decided it was best if they all split up and meet back at the entrance in 15 minutes.

"Caleb you cover the west end, Abbie you the east and I'll take the north. We'll meet back here in 15 minutes. Are we good?"

"Yeah,"

"Most definitely."

They all took up their assigned positions. Detective Harmon was scanning the area when she thought she seen someone hurry off. She stormed after him, confident that she'd caught her target. As she got to the spot where she'd seen the man; she was starting to sense something foreign, something out of place. She remembered getting this same feeling yesterday before her car blew up. She had to notify Davenport and Beckham before it was too late.

She sent Davenport a text message:

Harmon: Drake, I think a bomb is about 2 go off inside the terminal. I spotted a man who looked suspect.

Davenport: Just relax, where r u? Have u notified Beckham yet?

Harmon: I'm near the Starbucks. And no I have not, I don't have his #.

Davenport: OK. Stay put I'll meet u in five.

She closed her phone and found a chair and waited. She knew first hand; that being a sitting duck was not the best solution. But Detective Davenport was her boss, and he had said to sit tight and so she did. Five minutes later, Davenport jogged up to her with concern plastered on his handsome face.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I will be when all this is over, Drake. And we can go back to our mantra: protect and serve."

"I understand how you feel. This is the final key to getting my wife and daughter back. Let's go find Beckham and tell him what's going on."

They headed off toward the east side of the terminal. And they spotted Agent Beckham easily enough. He was scanning the crowd, suspiciously. Davenport came along his right side, and startled him.

"Damn it, Davenport. I thought you were someone I didn't want to encounter. What's up? It hasn't even been five minutes yet?"

"Detective Harmon told me that she'd spotted a man who hurried away once he noticed her scanning."

"Any chance that the guy was able to identify you?" Beckham asked, looking at Harmon.

"I have no idea, maybe."

"Okay, then we need to stick together. We can't afford to cause havoc in this terminal. I need to see if I can have one of my guys to contact Department of Homeland Security and Transportation Security Administration. We need to lock this Airport down covertly.

"Okay the first thing we need to do is check out the restrooms, those are some of the covert location where bombs would be placed, mainly because the average human being doesn't necessarily think to look there. Second, we need to infiltrate the terrorist's primary target, which in this case is this terminal. And third, we need to evacuate the building covertly, so that we don't accidently tip them off."

Suddenly, a scream filled the terminal and everybody in the building turned toward the scream. There was a small group clustered together, obviously looking at something. Davenport, Harmon and Beckham raced over to investigate. There laying in the center of the crowd was a man's dead body. He'd been stabbed repeatedly and was left to bleed out. Mission accomplished. The man had indeed bled out in a matter of minutes. Davenport scanned the crowd intently, hoping that someone would have a guilty look on there face.

He noticed that one man was grinning covertly. Almost as if, the dead man lying in front of him, had uttered a joke that only he could hear. Davenport advanced on him, grabbed him by the elbow and guided him away from the group of people. The man jerked and protested. But Davenport slammed him against a nearby wall, shoving his forearm into his windpipe.

"I want to know what's so fucking funny about a dead man, laying in a pool of blood! Did you kill that man?"

The man threw up his hands in a I-don't-speak-English gesture. Davenport kneed him in the gut, sending the man crashing to the floor. He was fed up with these no leads. He needed to find his wife and daughter and he had no patience for this sort of petty bullshit. The man began laughing maniacally, like a madman. And that's when he withdrew a detonator and pressed the button.

There was a loud "crack" followed by a massive explosion. Bombs were going off from every entrance point, sending everyone into a frenzy. Davenport lifted his head to make sure Detective Harmon and Agent Beckham were okay. But he couldn't spot Detective Harmon. He rushed over to where Agent Beckham sat rubbing the back of his head and asked, "Have you seen Detective Harmon?"

Beckham shook his head. "No, last time..."

There was feminine screech that broke the conversation. Both Davenport and Beckham snapped their heads in the direction of the screech. It was Detective Harmon, she was alive! But she was being dragged through the heap of dead bodies by a familiar looking man, holding a gun to her head as he went. Davenport started after them, but Beckham grabbed his shirt tail and held him back.

Davenport roared, "What're you doing? We have to go after him, Caleb!"

"That's what he wants, is for us to go after him. It's a trap which will end deadly. He won't be able to get away, not with my guys en route. We'll get him. Here help me up." He reached out his hand. Davenport took it and pulled him to his feet.

Brushing off the debris from his pants, Beckham continued, "While you were man handling the guy I managed to place a call in to my counterparts and informed them of a potential terrorist attack."

"You work fast."

"I do my best."

They took in the whole scene and knew that this was major news. This meant that his wife and daughter may already be dead somewhere. It had been a week since his wife and daughter's abduction. He made a decision; he was going after this terrorist no matter how dangerous it may turn out. His phone rang and he answered without even checking the caller ID.

"This is Davenport speaking,"

"Oh thank goodness Detective. This is Officer Owenby I wanted to inform you that after going through the chief's personal files we stumbled across some disturbing information."

"Okay let's hear it," Davenport growled into the mouthpiece, impatiently.

"Your wife Nikki and you daughter Kelly are staying in a hotel in Florida called, Silver Palms Inn..."

"What? Are you sure that what it says?"

"Yes but..."

"Okay, Officer Owenby thank you for calling me."

He hung up before she could respond back. He had somewhere very important to be and it was looking like he'll have to drive two hours to Charlotte Douglas International Airport.

He pulled Agent Beckham to the side and said, "I just got a call from a fellow law enforcement officer saying that she found out where my wife and daughter are being kept. I've been there already and know exactly where its located. I need you to look after Detective Harmon, she's a close friend. I'll keep you posted as this is a federal investigation but it's also my family. So it's personal as well. I hope you can understand?"

Beckham clasped his hand on his shoulder and said, "Of course I understand I'd do the same if it were my family. Just keep me in the loop and I'll act as if I never started working this case with you."

Davenport smiled. "I might need to get a job over at the FBI, I've always enjoyed covert affairs of the extreme." He turned on his heel and found a the sedan they had drove here with and head for I-40.

# Chapter Thirty-Three

John Andrews was sitting in a meeting with his boss, Deputy District Attorney, Alvin Moore. The two were discussing an upcoming murder trial that was being reassigned to Andrews. John had only been involved in three trials his whole prosecuting career.

Moore told him about the defendant, Brittany Davis, who had shot and killed her ex boyfriend in front of his mother. Davis claimed that her ex boyfriend, Devin Braxton, was very abusive. And that she had went over to his mother's place to inform him that she was taking a warrant out on him.

According, to Mrs. Braxton, Brittany came over with a Smith and Wesson, locked and loaded, aimed it at her son, and fired. Upon further examination, a swab for GSR, was taking from the defendant, and confirmed that she had fired a gun.

Her defense attorney, David Young, was a well known trial lawyer, who had a good reputation for "never losing". Davis had used all of her savings, in order to hire Mr. Young.

"So basically, I'm going up against a gunslinger who never loses?" Andrews asked.

"Yes, but you'll have a second chair, Candice Johnson, she's great and has a lot of trial experience."

"Then why not assign her to the case?"

"Because you're my second in command, when I retire or lose an election you will be next in line for the big chair." replied Moore.

Andrews pondered on the opportunity. It would definitely be a shot of a life time. But first he had to deal with Detective Harmon, before she ruined him and his career.

"I guess I have no choice but to take the case." said Andrews.

"I guess not. Look, I've briefed Candice so that while you're working other cases she can be gathering all the DNA and evidence for the trial."

"And when is the trial set for?"

Moore rummaged about his desk, presumably, looking for a calendar. He pulled out a mini planner from beneath a stack of files.

He said, "It's set for August 2nd, which gives you plenty of time."

Andrews walked back to his office. He stopped by his assistant's desk to see if he had any messages. He asked her if his one o'clock had showed up yet. She said that it did and she had sent her inside.

"Thank you, Maria" he said walking off.

To his surprise, Detective Harmon was sitting comfortably in a chair, across from his desk. She looked at ease as he made his way around the desk, and sat behind it.

He stared at her for an ominous two minutes. Enjoying the way she seemed to get a bit nervous. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

Finally, Andrews spoke, "How are you this morning?"

"I...I'm quite lovely, and you?" she stammered.

He smiled, "I'm doing fine except for one little bitty problem."

"What's that?"

"You, Detective. You are the problem."

She was taken aback.

"Me? Why?"

Andrews interlaced his hands behind his head, leaned back in his seat and said, "Yesterday, when you were eating Subway with Mr. Davenport. What was it the two of you were discussing?"

She shifted in her seat again.

She said, "We were discussing ways to find his wife."

"Keep talking."

"And I told him what happened to him in that field, he was curious."

"So you didn't disclose any valuable information to him, then?"

"Absolutely not!"

Andrews opened a drawer and removed a Beretta M9. He sat in down on the desk.

He said, "You do know the consequences for disclosing any sort of information to Mr. Davenport, don't you?"

"Yes I do." she replied back, nervously.

"Good, because I would hate to have to use this fine piece of machinery on you. You're a very delicate woman, Ms. Harmon. And only the delicate deserves the best." He put the gun back inside his desk.

"Are we done here?" asked Harmon, ready to get the hell away from this guy.

"Sure, but just remember I know where you live and where you work. Good day Ms. Harmon."

Harmon wasted no time dismissing herself from John Andrews's office. She walked briskly past the assistant and made her way outside the courthouse. She called Davenport, to let him know that she needed to talk with him. He said that he would meet her in their shared office in five.

She hung up. And continued to walked even faster as she made her way across the street, looking over her shoulder frequently.

John Andrews watched from his window as Detective Harmon talked on the phone. His gut was telling him that she was calling her partner, Detective Davenport. He moved out of sight just as Harmon glanced back. He had to ensure that she kept her mouth closed.

He called The Operative and asked him if he could borrow Officer Sanchez to tail her until he knew for sure that their plan was secure.

"It's not that I don't trust her, Anthony, I'm just being careful is all."

"You worry too much, John, I can assure you she's isn't going to say anything."

"Really? Then how come the moment she got out of the courthouse, she made a phone call and kept looking over her shoulder, then?" asked Andrews.

"You do make a valid point there, John. I'll speak with Sanchez and see what I can do."

Harmon burst into her office that she shared with Davenport. She was breathless and apparently flustered. Davenport looked up from his paperwork, a worried look on his face.

He said, "Jeez, Abbie, if I didn't know any better I'd say someone was about to kill you. What's wrong?"

"We need to talk, Drake and we need to talk now."

"Okay let me go grab a coffee and we'll talk."

Davenport came back minutes later carrying two cups of coffee, one for him and one for her. He wanted to know what was bothering her. He took his seat across from her.

"Let's hear it."

She cleared her throat, "I just came from a meeting with a very powerful man. This meeting was to ensure that I kept my mouth shut about what's going on in this town."

Davenport looked confused, "I'm afraid I'm not following you Abbie, what's going on?"

"I can't say or I'll get killed."

"There isn't no one who's going to kill you Abbie, just tell me who it was and I'll take care of it. I promise."

She loved when he played Mr. Fix-it-all. It was so cute and comforting. But all Prince Charming's and Prince's aside, this was serious.

"I just can't Drake, you need to understand that. But I'll tell you when the time presents itself. But for now we really need to find Nikki."

Davenport couldn't believe that his friend for nearly a decade would not tell him what was going on. Something or someone had gotten to her deeply. And he had no idea who that person might be.

And she did have a point about finding Nikki, statistics showed that 95 percent of Missing Persons claims, turned up fatal. And he couldn't live with himself if that were to happen. But the only lead that he had was the phone call from the kidnapper. They were still stuck at square one.

# Chapter Forty-One

Nikki, Stacey, Paula, and Carla had all been transported to the Asheville International Airport, in Skyland, North Carolina. The four had been placed on a private plane, courtesy of the United States Army. They were set to head just outside Key West, Florida. Nikki finally realized that she wouldn't be reunited with her daughter, Kelly. She said a silent prayer; hoping that she was alive and well.

The General had stepped on the plane and made an announcement: "Good afternoon, ladies be advised that there isn't nothing for you to worry yourselves over. I have something planned for you all once we reach our destination. Until then, sit tight and enjoy the flight." He turned on his heel.

Nikki wondered if her husband would be able to locate her before it was too late. The plane they'd boarded was not your usual looking plane: there weren't any windows, no comfortable seats and the smell was acrid. She could only imagine what first class looked like.

She settled into her seat as the captain announced their lift off. She'd never been on a plane before and was nervous to experience her "first flight" attempt. Her and her husband had made numerous plans to go on special trips overseas, but failed to go through with such plans due to her fear of heights. Now she had absolutely no choice but to get over her fear of heights.

Their seating arrangements left them in a claustrophobic manner. They were literally seated like children on a field trip to the museum.

They hadn't eaten anything since earlier that morning and their stomachs were starting to show signs of hunger. Stacey said, "Gosh, I could eat a freakin cow right about now."

"Tell me about it." replied Paula. "I feel like I'm chewing on stomach reserves."

The two laughed a merry laugh despite their situation. Nikki was in much of a talking mood, instead she just listened to their ranting about starving. Once she'd heard enough, she said, "We need to be taking this serious, girls."

They all looked at her incredulously. So she elaborated, "These men are going to kill us eventually so instead of basking in our moment of captivity we need to find help."

"And how do you plan we do that?" asked Paula.

"I dunno, but sitting around here ranting about food and such isn't putting our best foot forward." she snapped back.

"She's right you guys," said Carla who had been quiet ever since transferring. "We need to stop arguing with each other and come up with a course of action. We don't even know what these people are after. So it's best to say that their objective is to kill us off."

Nikki had been thinking the exact same thing. She knew these men were mainly after money. She knew that there was some kind of corruption going on inside that courthouse. If not, then she of all people wouldn't be sitting on that plane. She'd thought her husband was in on the deal, but came to realize that wasn't the case. If these political figures were after her that meant they were after her husband as well.

She'd heard numerous rumors about the people in Congress and all the elected officials, how they all got their hands dirty in order to meet their objectives. Drake was on his way to a promotion to Sergeant, and what better way to impede that from happening then to cause havoc on the very city he protected.

The General came back to say good bye, and that he wouldn't able to come with them. He promised to meet them down there after he tied a few loose ends. After his departure, the plane took flight.

The General brushed off imaginary dirt from his shirt cuffs. He had a meeting to make in less than thirty minutes, with Captain Joseph Galloway and Lieutenant Gerry Collins and their selected men for Operation Genesis. His driver opened the back door to a black sedan, with government issued plates. He clambered inside and got comfortable as he addressed Chief Gates via conference call.

He said, "So tell me, is everything set to go?"

"Yes," Gates replied. "Davenport is out of commission for the time being along with his partner Detective Harmon."

"And Khalid Muhammad?"

"He's on standby at his daughter's location. According to Greene and Highsmith he's as ruthless as they say. Michael informed me that he took the girls outside like he was turning them loose then he took a M16 and gunned one of them down. Talk about messing with someone's freedom." He laughed.

"Okay I just wanted to check in and make sure Operation Genesis is still underway." He was about to end the conversation when he had a second thought, "and by the way tell Khaled what a great job he did with that bomb." He hung up.

He sat back in his seat, rapped on the divider, and signaled that he was ready to go. He was liking his job more and more each day. He was going to enjoy it a whole lot more once Galloway and his men commenced martial law. He was bringing the streets of Iraq to the U.S.

Once the car came to a stop, his door was opened and he met both Captain Galloway and Lieutenant Collins in an unmarked surveillance van. As they conferred he said, "I take it you have enough men ready to set in place martial law?"

"Oh we have more than just enough, sir, we've brought a select few to carry out the first stage." said Captain Galloway.

"Well according to my source, that won't be necessary, Detective Davenport has been marked as 'out of commission'. So we need to go forth with stage two."

"Yes sir, I'll have my men en route pronto."

"But do keep your men on stand by for stage one, you never know how things work when you're dealing with non-military people. They seem to have the proclivity to fuck up more than once." said The General as he exited from the van.

Outside, it had began to rain, just a drizzle at the moment. His father used to say that: rainy days will drive all the pain and misery away. He was feeling hopeful that his plan will indeed work to perfection. He had to ensure that both Davenport and his partner were out of the way. He placed a call to Chief Gates and told him he was to meet with him in an hour, no exceptions.

He got back in his car and waited for the car to jerk forward, when it did he decided to take a small cat nap.

In his office, Chief Anthony Gates sat talking on the phone with Detective Harmon. The conversation was starting to head downward. He said, "It's not your problem where Davenport is located. You decided you wanted no part in this so that means your left to the dogs for all I care. You're lucky to still be alive after backing out at the last minute. What?! You love him? You're full of it Harmon the man is married." His phone beeped indicating that he had an incoming call. "Abigail let me call you back, someone's calling."

He switched over, "This is Chief Gates speaking,"

"This is The General I want you to meet me in your office in one hour. Am I clear?"

"Crystal sir."

"Good,"

He hung up. He wondered what could cause The General to call for a meeting in person? He called Detective Harmon back.

"That was quick," she said upon answering.

"I guess it was look I have a meeting in less than an hour make sure your out of town by then. I can't believe I'm actually giving you a chance to get the hell out of dodge. And whatever you do, do not contact me or Davenport."

"I won't," she lied. Of course she was going to contact Davenport she was in love with him. She was that cruel to leaving him to the wolves

She thought back to his frantic phone call earlier today saying that he was sorry for acting irrational. He had told her that he needed her to pick him up blocks from the bombing. She had been busy in a meeting with ADA John Andrews when he'd called.

She'd answered, "Hello? Drake?"

"I need you to meet me at the top of Coxe Avenue. I'm in deep shit. I just held Sanchez hostage in order to make a run for it." He'd said.

She remembered thinking maybe he was joking about holding Sanchez at gunpoint. But after her meeting with John Andrews she'd went to meet him and he wasn't nowhere to be found. She'd called his phone and got nothing but his voicemail.

Now she owed him a favor, she knew he was in trouble and the only man who knew where he was, was Chief Gates. She was going after Gates and she was going to make him tell her where Davenport was being held.

# Chapter Fifty-Three

Me and Jeffrey were dining at Tupelo Honey, a local restaurant that catered mouth-watering southern cuisines, like fried chicken, sweet potatoes, catfish, et cetera. It was the first restaurant, that caused me to fall in love with southern style cooking. The food was delicious!

"I have a surprise for you, love." Jeffery said.

"Really! What is it? Let me see, let me see!"

He chuckled. "You have to close your eyes first, sweetheart," he replied

I pouted but close my eyes anyway. I could hear him rummaging about as if he'd lost something, maybe lost my surprise! I tried to sneak a peek, but he caught me; causing me to turn bright red.

"No peeking," said my lover.

"Ugh. Okay." I covered my face with my hands.

"Okay you can open your eyes now," he said, brimming.

My breath caught somewhere in my windpipe, because all of a sudden I was hyperventilating, like a cardiac patient. He reached over and placed his warm, tender hand on top of mine. Boy, he was such a charmer.

"Relax, honey you haven't even looked inside yet."

"I know," I replied shyly. I looked at the velvet covered case and knew instantly that my life was taking a turn for the better. I opened it timidly.

"Amelia Deese, will you marry me?"

It was like something out of a Woody Allen movie.

"I, I, I mean yes. Yes, I'll marry you."

He jumped out of his seat, as if I were a mouse and he a cat. I guess love really does conquers all. I felt the tears rushing down my face as he twirled me around. I've never been more happy in my life, especially taking into account where I came from. He sat me, gently, back in my seat and reclaimed his own. He stared at me from across the table, making my armpits perspire.

"Where is it you'd like to get married?" he asked.

That was a rhetorical question.

"A church, would be quite normal. Unless you're into the whole Viking age way of things." I joked.

"I mean where specifically, like on a beach or in the Bahamas?"

"Mmmm, let me think. Now I do like the idea of the Bahamas but the beach seems more adequate. We don't need no big fancy wedding, honey. We're simple people so we should do what simple people do."

"Like tying the knot in front of the courthouse?" He was being a wise-ass. I knew I didn't necessary leave that option out of the picture. But surely he could see that I'm much classier than that.

I said, "Of course not, I don't see any genuinity in it, to be honest. What I meant was let's just get married in a church like normal people do."

"Normal people get married in places other than a church. It's more romantic if you ask me."

"Why are we arguing about it honey, this is the most exciting day of our lives let's not spend it arguing about where to get married."

"You're right. Hey, I have another surprise for you also, something that will surely excite both of our evening."

"Please do tell more," I said, my body temperature beginning to boil over.

"How about we skedaddle and go get a hotel. Hop in the shower then run around naked. Maybe order room service therefore we can have a rejuvenating meal after a nice sex session. So what do you say? Interested?"

"Most definitely. Where do I sign up?"

We headed uptown toward the Renaissance Hotel, just off Woodfin Street. I've only stayed here once and was completely taken by it. The place was massive, covering over 20,000 square feet. The last time I was here, I was at a teacher's conference and I was blown away when I overheard that the place had more than 70 restaurants. It was almost like living in Hogwarts.

Apparently, my husband-to-be had already booked our room on the fifth floor. He must've had this pre-planned, I bet. We took the elevator bank to the fifth floor and once again, I was blown away by the hotel's exquisite taste for French decor. The walls on both sides, were plastered with photographs of famous French leaders and advocates. At the far end of the hall, a picture depicted Napoleon, posing for a presumed French painter. The photo looked strangely familiar, being that I, myself taught World History at Asheville High School.

We passed the photo of Napoleon and had finally made it to our suite. Jeffrey opened the door and the pleasant aroma of freshly washed French linen filled my nostrils, with an overwhelming force. I succumbed to the ever so sweet smell and dove onto the bed, caressing myself against the soft fabric. I was brought back to reality by Jeffrey quietly clearing his throat.

"I had planned on us making love. Not you and the bed."

I giggled. "I'm sorry I didn't get the memo saying you were the jealous type."

He rushed at me, tickling me non-stop until I let out a yelp that indicated that I surrendered. He hooked his thumbs inside my panties and resumed to pulling them downward. My body was on fire, his experienced hands groping my body only intensified the feeling. I was in heaven and I was loving every bit of it.

He started kissing my chest, working his mouth around my areola and nibbling on my nipples. I inhaled, aching my back as my nether region began to moisten. He worked his way down to my stomach, kissing ever so gently, and then out of nowhere he stuffed his face all through my mound. He played with my clitoris expertly, sending electrifying chills through my body. This tender loving care was just what I needed.

After our blissful tryst, we lay in each others arms, panting, completely spent. I didn't want the moment when I climaxed to end, but I enjoyed it dearly. My body was reacting to this encounter better than I'd imagined. My body was still quaking, when Jeffrey excused himself to the restroom. I watched excitedly, as he padded, completely naked, to the bathroom. The way the muscles in his bottom flexed was no wonder why ladies gave him a lingering look.

Just then, I heard the shower turn on. He padded back out and said, "Water's good care to take a swim?"

"How 'bout it," I got up, involuntarily covering my lady parts.

I entered the shower stall, timidly as the shower head rained water from the ceiling. Jeffrey smacked me on my ass and said, "Let's get it moving."

I shot him a death look. "Don't start something you can't finish mister." I said, indicating the ass slapping.

"Oh baby, I always finish whatever I start."

He pushed me against the glass stall, lifted me up by my legs and slide inside me as I wrapped my legs around his waist. This position had taken me by surprise, but after a minute I was on the road to mastering this position.

After washing up we stepped out and toweled ourselves. I was beginning to show signs of soreness within my nether region. I padded back into the main room and lay on the bed. I didn't think I could withstand another tryst.

Jeffery came in shortly after, his body pink from the hot shower, he said, "Now its time for some grub. I feel like I can eat a horse, hoofs and all."

I laughed. "Don't know if that'll be easy to digest properly."

"Thanks to whoever came up with figurative speaking." We laughed until room service rapped on the door. Jeffery said, "I'll get it."

"No way, you're going to answer that door as naked as you are."

"Don't worry I wasn't I actually had something else in mind. Uncover your breasts they'll just see boobies and perhaps get the picture."

I shrugged my shoulders. What the heck, right? Who cared if some random person got a good look at my boobies?

Jeffrey opened the door, giving the room service person a clear shot of my perky boobs. She nearly went into hysterics, like she'd never seen a set of boobs before. Jeffery was laughing uncontrollably as he rolled the food cart over to the bedside.

"Did you see the look on her face? It was priceless." He said still laughing as if the scene was on replay.

We enjoyed our dinner: steak, steamed carrots, baked potatoes, and a bottle of Pinot Noir. The rest of the night ended in a everlasting moment of blissfulness.

# Chapter Thirty-Eight

"Ms. Ortiz," Davenport began. "I have a few more question if I might."

"Oh, sure anything to help find the people responsible for my Emanuel's death. What is it you'd like to ask?"

Davenport cleared his throat. "The couple you mentioned before, could you give me a brief description?"

"The woman like I said wore a burka and she was of olive complexion. The man he had full beard with a darker complexion."

"Were they short or tall?" Davenport prompted.

"They both were short, but the woman was shorter."

"Okay any kind of distinguishing marks, cuts, tattoos, et cetera?"

"Not that I remember."

Davenport scribbled on his notepad. He was trying to figure out why Asheville had fallen victim to a terrorist attack. And if the chief of police was indeed behind this, he was dealing with something on a whole different level then a simple homicide.

He said, "Thank you Maria, you've been a big help." He turned and walked away.

All around the Transit, chaos was still unraveling. Davenport maneuvered around several DBs as he made his toward Officer Sanchez. His phone rang. He wanted to ignore it and focus on solving this case. But he remembered that he'd left Detective Abigail a message.

He checked the caller ID, and sure enough it was Abigail Harmon.

He answered, "This is Drake,"

Harmon seemed out of breath as she answered, "What's going on downtown? You said an explosion happened down there?"

"Slow down," said Davenport. "I need your help. Sanchez has me under watch while I survey the crime scene. According to him I'm to be shot if I try to make a run for it."

"So the chief got to you before you could find Nikki and Kelly?" she asked.

"Sadly, yes. I apologize for kicking you out of the car. You got to understand what I was feeling to truly know why I made such a rash decision. I still don't understand why you would lie to me and conspire against my family."

"Drake, we have a bigger issue to deal with right now. We'll have plenty of time to discuss why I did what I did. I'm going to go to the chief and get him to tell me what's going on."

"You be careful Abbie, you can't trust anyone on the force." Davenport reminded her solemnly.

They clicked off. Davenport wandered over to where Officer Sanchez was talking it up with a fellow officer securing the crime scene.

Sanchez turned as he approached. "Well, if it isn't the man of the hour. What do you got for us?"

"An eye-witness, a woman named Maria Ortiz, said that she'd seen a couple conferring near the information booth. They were both of Arabic descent, the woman sporting a hijab and the man a beard. This is some sort of act of terrorism."

Officer Sanchez and the fellow officer shared a laugh. "And it took you this long to figure out that we were hit by terrorist? I thought you were a fucking detective? The best of the best as they say?" said Sanchez.

Officer Sanchez was quite the jester. He continued to send japes his way. Davenport mulled over a way to make a run for it. He had to get a hold of a gun first and foremost before he made a get away.

He was plotting on taking an officer hostage, therefore creating the perfect diversion or illusion that he was going to kill a law enforcement officer. He acted off reflex, grabbing Officer Sanchez around the neck, while twisting his left arm behind his back. Sanchez's eyes went wide in amazement as his gun was unholstered and shove under his ear.

Sanchez muttered. "You'll pay for this, Davenport! You can count on it!"

"Shut up!" hissed Detective Davenport. "Now I want everyone to drop their weapons and raise your hands slowly."

Every first responding officer on the scene did as they were bid. They didn't want to be the hero and caused an officer his life.

Davenport backed away, dragging Officer Sanchez along kicking and screaming. Once Davenport was in the clear, he slammed the butt of his gun down on Sanchez's head, knocking him unconscious. He dragged his limp body behind a Dumpster behind the Downtown Inn.

He checked in all direction, ensuring that he hadn't been seen by any law enforcement. He placed a call to Detective Harmon hoping to God that she answered.

She answered on the fourth ring. "Hello? Drake?"

"I need you to meet me at the top of Coxe Avenue. I'm in deep shit. I just held Sanchez hostage in order to make a run for it."

"You did what?" Harmon asked completely thrown off by what she was hearing.

"I grabbed Sanchez from behind and shoved his own gun under his ear." Davenport repeated.

Harmon was in disbelief. All the years she'd known Davenport, he never once showed such audacity against law enforcement. She said, "So you want me to get involved in rescuing you, right?"

"Abbie, you're already involved what the hell are you talking about? You're part of the reason I'm in this shit in the first place. So its only fair that you start making things right for our friendship's sake."

"Okay," she said. "Give me a few minutes I'm a little preoccupied at the moment. John Andrews is quite the procrastinator if you didn't know."

"John Andrews? As in ADA John Andrews?" asked Davenport.

"Correct. Remember earlier today when I told you I had a meeting with a very powerful man? Well, John Andrews was that man."

"So you're telling me that he's involved in all this too?"

"You sound a little surprised, Drake. You're in the middle of a political showdown."

He asked, "And what does my family have to do with this 'political showdown'?"

"I don't know Drake, look I'll call you when I'm nearby. Just hang tight a few, okay?"

"Sure just hurry up. It's hard enough running around town with a broken wrist."

"I know I'll try to hurry."

They clicked off.

Davenport slowly closed his phone. It was all starting to make sense. John Andrews had put away the guy who took responsibility for kidnapping his family last summer. That guy could've been some innocent man who was forced to give up his freedom. But for what? What did he get in return if anything?

It was quite possible that ADA John Andrews had staged a trial, convicted an innocent man, and locked him away for life. Meaning that the real killer was still on the run. He thought back on to the LeBlanc's, one who had served in the Army while the younger of the two chose to selling drugs.

Jeffrey LeBlanc was serving a life sentence for having relations with a known terrorist. Davenport had read about it in the Citizen's Times about the alleged terrorist who had been residing somewhere in North Carolina. He wondered if perhaps she had sought revenge on the people responsible for taking away her lover.

There was a loud "bang" from the other end of the alley. Davenport trained his weapon in the direction of the noise. He called out, "This is the police come out with your hands high."

There was no response. Apparently whoever had caused the noise had a bullheaded personality. Davenport advanced forward, gripping his firearm tightly. He whipped around the corner and announced: "Freeze."

There was nothing there. Nothing but a couple pieces of garbage and rotten food. Maybe it was just a cat, he thought.

He put away his weapon and began to turn away.

Wham!

His face suddenly connected with some hard object. Instinctively, he grabbed at his face and dropped to his knees. He looked up through blurry eyes he couldn't see what he was looking at.

A voice said, "I told you not to make a run for it. Now look what you made me do, detective."

The man yanked him up by his shirt collar, sent a breathtaking uppercut to his abdomen. Davenport let out a pained breath as he fell back to his knees.

# Chapter Fifty-Two

The Boeing 777 plane, landed at Key West International Airport, at something to six o' clock. Khalid Muhammad disembarked the massive plane, accompanied by two of his trusted men. He was dressed in a casual attire: American denim jeans, a loose fitted shirt, specially crafted shoes. His security detail were dressed in pure black, from head to toe.

Muhammad was escorted to a waiting sedan, parked near the opposing traffic. He hustled over and climbed inside. He gave the driver some general directions and told him to step on it.

He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. He spoke firmly into the mouthpiece, "Have the girls settled in once I arrive. We have much to discuss. This operation is at its peak and by all means nothing will break its stride." He hung up.

The man on his right, named Aziz asked, "Can we trust this General, sir?"

Khaled nodded his understanding, "In my country, we trust no one unless they prove trustworthy. In any case, The General has proven himself trustworthy but not in Al Qaeda terms. We will watch him more closely, but from a distance. And if he chooses to betray our trust then he will be disposed of." He smiled and grabbed three tumblers, "Now let's drink to Allah."

Twenty minutes later, the sedan pulled to a stop at the entrance to the Silver Palms Inn. Aziz unfolded himself out from the rear, followed by Khaled and his other trusted man, Scar. The trio bypassed the smiling bellboy and headed for the elevator. Aziz punched the call button and waited for the elevator to descend four floors. They climbed into the elevator and was disembarking a few minutes later. Aziz placed a call to announce that they had arrived.

Aziz rapped on the door numbered: 590 and was greeted by a familiar face. Khaled stepped inside the threshold and was amazed at the American architecture and design. He had been in his share of hotels, but never had he been in one with such elegance.

He said, "This American culture is beginning to wear on me. It's a shame that such elegance will be shattered to bits under the circumstances." He eyed Samuel questioningly. "Where are the girls?

"They're in the room next door." Samuel replied.

"And why is that? When I specifically told you to have them settled in before I arrived?"

"I didn't quite understand your meaning, sir. My apologies."

"You're apologizing to me? Do you know who I am boy?"

"I've heard about you sir."

"That wasn't my question. But let me guess; you didn't quite understand my question, huh? Let me spell it out for you. I do not accept apologies for stupidity. Instead..."

He reached inside his jacket and withdrew a suppressed pistol. "Instead I resolve the problem." He aimed and fired. Samuel stunned faced was frozen in time as he dropped to the floor.

Khaled looked up at the other man leaning against the wall, a wet spot forming on the front of his pants. "And what is your name?"

"D-D-Derick," the man stammered.

"Well, Derick let's head over next door and get those girls. I came here for a meeting, not an inauguration."

Derick glanced at his partner's lifeless body and swallowed hard. "Let me just grab the key card from his pocket." He stooped down, searched his pockets until he found his the key card. "Okay we're all set."

They padded over to the adjoining room, flung open the door and were greeted by an angry group of women. The ladies in captive had managed to use the element of surprise on the men. They all stood, abreast in the foyer. Amelia stepped forward, defiance in her eyes. "We've had enough of your bullshit, father. You can either free us or kill us."

She didn't mean the last part literally, and hoped that her father wouldn't take her up on her spontaneous offer. She swallowed her anxiety and continued, "I've decided also that if you let these women go free, unmolested, then I will return home with you. If you so much as conjure any kind of bodily harm toward these girls I will kill myself, leaving you with nothing but a whim to go on."

Khaled shifted uncomfortably to his right foot, trying hard not to seem, the least bit flabbergasted by his daughter's bold approach. But he had to agree to her terms, or at least make it look as if he were, in order to make his trip to the States fruitful.

"Okay," he began. "Let's say that I do agree to your terms; what's to say you will keep your part of the deal?"

"One thing you should know about me, father, that if I say I'm a do something I do it. I never renegotiate something that's already been set in stone. In laymen terms, I'm not a double crosser. So do we have a deal?" She stuck out a slender hand.

Khaled scrutinized it acidly, obviously considering the magnitude of what he was agreeing to. After a moment, he clasped her hand with his, and yanked her violently toward him.

He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "If you think I'm going to allow you to make a fool out of me, you're sadly mistaken. I know you're not giving in that easily, Amelia, you're planning on double crossing me aren't you?"

She pulled away from him and said, "I don't need to explain anything to you. Do you agree or not? My patience is starting to wear thin, father."

"I agree...but under one condition: the child stays with me at all times."

Amelia's eyes got wide at the thought of her father and Kelly alone in the same room.

"That's not part of the deal. She's as innocuous as the rest of these girls."

"You made terms and so have I. And if you don't agree to mine terms, I'll just kill the child and be done with it. Your choice."

"But that's not..."

"Who cares if it's fair, Amelia? You're in the big leagues now and the rules are subject to change, quite frequently." He turned to his most trusted, Aziz. "Take the girl and place her in my room. And make sure to grab her some candy from the gift shop downstairs in the lobby."

Aziz grabbed Kelly, roughly around the elbow and steered her out the room. Once he was gone Khaled turned his attention back on the girls remaining.

He asked, "Do you girls understand what my daughter has asked of me? To let you all run free like the despicable creatures you are. And in her own words, verbatim, she is to come home with me." He walked over to an empty chair, leaving his trusted men and Derick standing sentry by the door.

"The only problem is, I don't believe my daughter so why should you, especially with your life on the line? My daughter may have told you how ruthless I am or how conniving I may be. But the truth is this: my daughter is the deceiver. Not me. The reason I'm here is to teach her the importance of tradition.

"The man I killed, who she claimed to be her husband was the very man who killed her mother, of course under my orders, but still the same. And yet she loved..."

"Liar!" Amelia lunged forward but was caught by a sickening crack to the head. She fell face first to the floor, groaning from the pain coming from the back of her head.

Khaled stood over her, grinning like a World Series MVP. He cocked his head to one side and said, "Liar? Tsk-tsk-tsk. You see how defensive you get over the truth? Not a good way to show these girls here, who the real liar is." He looked up. "I'll let you ladies ponder on what you've just witnessed and decide rather or not you want your life in the hands of my daughter. A woman who married the very man, who killed her mother. Consider this an extension to your agreement, Amelia. It won't last forever."

# Chapter Thirty-Five

"So tell me what's going on." asked Davenport, concerned.

Harmon looked out the passenger window. She couldn't tell him what was going on. That would be like admitting that she'd lied to him about his wife and daughter. She loved Davenport too much to admit such a thing.

She considered an appropriate response, concluding there weren't any, she said, "Drake what if I told that I wasn't being completely honest with you about certain things?"

"Well," Davenport began. "We would have to have a really drawn out conversation about honesty." He smiled his lady killer smile.

Harmon blushed at the thought. She wasn't in middle school anymore. So what's with the lectures?

"You're kidding, right?"

He fixed her with a stern look and said, "What do you think, Abbie?"

"I don't know where to begin, Drake."

"Out with it, I don't have all day."

"I know what happen to your family, Drake. And I feel terrible for lying to you about it. I'll totally understand if you'd never want to work with me again." said Harmon.

"Oh you don't get off that easy, little lady. You still have a case to close," he sat quite a spell. "You know I would like to know why you'd jeopardize your career for nothing?"

"I was pressured. The chief is behind this whole operation. He knew that using me could keep you preoccupied."

"So in other words, you've just been using me? This whole entire time we been working together, its been nothing but lies, lies, and more lies?" replied Davenport angrily.

"No I..." she began.

Davenport slammed on the brakes causing Harmon to hit her head on the dashboard. She cursed out loud.

Davenport said, "Get out of my car, detective. We no longer work together."

Harmon was taken aback by his harsh words, but she completely understood how he felt. She'd betrayed him. And she felt bad about it.

She got out of the car, Davenport peeled off leaving her in a thick cloud of dust. She cursed herself for even mentioning that she'd lied about his family.

But I love him, and you can't keep secrets from the ones you love, her subconscious reminded her. She gazed around trying to figure out where she was; she knew exactly where she was and headed towards Top Gun's house.

She stepped timidly onto the porch and rapped on the door. After a moment she heard footsteps coming toward the door. She tensed instinctively going for her firearm.

The door opened and ADA John Andrews stood in the doorway. He wearing his pajama bottoms with his shirt off. He looked different from his normal lawyer attire. He was very attractive with his salt and pepper hair.

He brushed his hand through his hair, seductively. Leaning against the door frame, he said, "What can I do for you detective?"

"We need to talk, may I come in?"

He looked over his shoulder somewhere in the background a girl's laughter rang out from within. Detective Harmon understood what was going on. The attorney was having a tryst with a hooker.

He said, "We can talk out here as you can see I'm a little preoccupied at the moment." He smiled.

Harmon got right to the point and said, "I want out completely. I don't want to be your little pet anymore. And I don't want to be the chief's catspaw either. You can shoot me dead right here if you don't like my decision. Frankly I could careless."

John Andrews mulled over the idea of killing the detective. Surely he could get away scott free, but she was a valuable asset to his operation. He came up with a solution and said, "Do one more job for us and I'll grant you your right to freedom. Deal?" He held out his hand.

Harmon grabbed his hand, shaking it, she said, "Deal."

Davenport had made it back to his hotel room; where he was staying due to the fact that he felt strange sleeping in the same house without his family there to comfort him. It was a rather disarming feeling but he dealt with it accordingly.

He had been contemplating on rather or not to threaten the Chief of Police's life. He came to a conclusion: he could careless if they locked him up. The chief was a crook causing havoc on the entire city of Asheville.

He called the chief and he answered on the first ring, "Hello?"

"You fucked up chief when you kidnapped my family, now your ass is mine."

Davenport hung up. He felt heroic as he savored the moment. But there was one problem that was sure to occur; the chief was going to try to take him out.

He checked his room, making sure everything was in place, in case he was ambushed. He didn't want to take any chances with the chief. The man had proven to very elusive.

He checked his side arm. Just then car doors slammed shut from outside. Davenport's heart quickened, he mused at the idea of armed policemen standing outside his hotel door. His phone rang in his pocket.

He quickly removed it from his back pocket. He looked at the caller ID, and wasn't surprise to see that it was Chief Anthony Gates calling.

He answered, "What do you want, Anthony?"

"We're on first name basis now? Cute. Look here, why don't you come outside unarmed and let's discuss this like adults. This could get real ugly for you Davenport. So just come out nice and slow."

"And what makes you think you'd get away with this?"

"I have very powerful politicians backing me up on this. So to answer your question, yes I do believe I'll get away. You could've had a share of the wealth."

"No thanks." said Davenport, hanging up.

He paced the perimeter of his room. He was trapped they had the entire hotel surrounded. He could be a madman and go out guns locked and loaded. He was a gambler by nature, so he opened the hotel's door and advanced outside.

"PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR AND SLOWLY TURN AROUND!" the PA system blared from somewhere to Davenport's left.

He raised his hands slowly making sure that he didn't make any sudden movements that would surely become deadly. He stood waiting patiently for the cold steel bracelets to snap on around my wrists.

They never touched his wrists. Instead a voice whispered in his ear and said, "You really are an idiot Davenport. I thought you would've tried the whole "Dirty Harry" tactic."

Davenport struggled to keep his in anger under control feeling his face flush under the pressure he was enduring. He managed to speak with much effort and said, "Why are you doing this? I trusted you, you bastard!"

Chief Gates chuckled, "Well perhaps, next time you should be more careful who you put your trust in."

"No shit."

Davenport was placed in the back of a cruiser. It was a odd feeling, mainly because he was used to being the one placing people in the back seats of police cars. He sat crumpled behind the driver's seat. His mind was racing as he struggled to figure out what was going to happen to him.

The officer that took up position behind the steering wheel, was none other than Officer Antonio Sanchez. The bastard, he thought. I knew something was fishy about this one.

"How's it going, detective? How's life on the other side?" said Officer Sanchez sardonically.

Davenport wanted nothing more than to slap that smug look off his face. He answered with his own smart remark and said, "That's a good question Sanchez, maybe you should explain your pathetic story to the judge come trial. You can count on me being in the front row when you get handed down your sentence."

Sanchez said, "Let's see how far that dream gets you. You know we tried our hardest to keep you out of this. We knew you were too bullheaded to ever make more money than you could possibly imagine. No, you wanted to play the James Bond of Asheville." he turned around, "Now look where that got you. It got you sitting in the back of a cop car."

Chief Anthony Gates made his way to the cruiser transporting Detective Davenport. He leaned forward into the window grinning at Davenport as he spoke briefly to Officer Sanchez.

He said, "Take Detective Davenport to the station and place him in Interview Room 3. I'll be there shortly." He tapped the top of the car indicating that they were good to go.

Officer Sanchez said, "Looks like the chief has something good planned for you."

"If it's not returning my family home safely then I could careless."

Officer Sanchez ignore his jab and turned up the volume on the radio.

# Chapter Forty

FBI Special Agent in Charge, Caleb Beckham, was sitting in Chief Anthony Gates's office. Beckham had been pulled from an assignment he was working on, and placed in charge of the terrorist case. He was about thirty, fit, and sporting a military buzz cut. He'd been with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, FBI, for 5 years, specializing in counter-terrorism.

As he conferred with the chief of police, he began to wonder if perhaps this case was a similar one he'd been working on prior to picking up this one. He listened intently as Gates relayed all the facts involving the spontaneous explosion. He was told that they had a potential suspect, a detective who's gone rogue.

The suspect in question, was a detective named Drake Davenport, who was seen running from a crime scene and who had also held an officer at gunpoint. Beckham nodded as he took in this stunning new development. He'd seen his share of rogue cops and knew that he was now faced with taking down one of his own; a law enforcement officer. After the chief finished his summation, Beckham took this opportunity to ask a few questions of his own.

He said, "So this detective, how long has he been with the force?"

"He's been with us for about ten years."

"Do you have a dossier on him?"

"Sure," said the chief, opening his file cabinet and removing a good sized personnel file. "This is all we have on him."

"Thanks," said Beckham taking the file.

He took some time to glance over the file. Learning that Davenport was ex military, serving two three year terms. He did a tour in Iraq in '02 and had a honorable discharge. He had no complaints throughout his ten year stint with the police department. He'd been married for four years, to Nikki Sexton.

Closing the file he said, "I need to talk to his wife, see if I can see if there were any signs of disturbance." He got up to leave.

Chief Gates shot to his feet, "I'm afraid that Mrs. Davenport is out of town, visiting family somewhere." He walked around his desk. "If you'd like I can have Officer Sanchez, the officer who'd been held at gunpoint meet with you somewhere."

Special Agent Beckham considered it for a moment and agreed to meet with Officer Sanchez, "Okay have him meet me downtown near the post office."

"We'll do sir. Is there anything else I can assist the FBI with today?"

"I think that's all for now, Chief Gates. We'll be in touch."

And with that FBI special agent Beckham exited the office. He was getting a strange vibe from the chief, as if he were trying to hide something vital to the investigation. The man just seemed a bit too earnest about helping the FBI. Beckham made a mental note to keep on close eye on that one.

He arrived at his car moments later, as he got inside his phone rang.

He answered, "Special Agent Beckham speaking?"

"Hello special agent, this is Officer Sanchez I'm waiting at the post office off Coxe Avenue."

"Okay I'll be there in a few."

He clicked off. That was fast, he thought, I figured he was securing the crime scene? Something just isn't right about this case. He set up his GPS, put the car in reverse and headed toward Coxe Avenue.

He made a right into the Post Office parking lot, spotted the blue and white cruiser, and made for it. As he pulled up, Officer Sanchez stepped out to meet him. They exchanged simple pleasantries: "Hey nice to meet you." "Likewise officer."

Beckham wasted no more time he asked, "Do you remember which way Detective Davenport went after he held you at gunpoint?"

Officer Sanchez showed Beckham where the explosions occurred earlier. Crime Scene techs were still sweeping for any kind of physical evidence while bomb squad units canvassed the surrounding area looking for more signs of explosives. "He ran through that alleyway in between that hotel." he said pointing.

Beckham followed his finger to where it was directed toward the Downtown Inn. He seen the sliver of an alley and wondered what was on the other side. "Did any of you officers go in pursuit?"

"No," he lied. Sanchez knew exactly where Davenport was he had chased after him, he managed to sneak up on him while he was talking on the phone. Then he whacked him in the back of the head and dragged his body behind a Dumpster. He arranged for a few uniforms to take him elsewhere until further notice.

"Were you ordered not to pursue the suspect?" asked Special Agent Beckham incredulous.

"No we didn't want to risk a fellow officer's life by going after a trained shooter."

Beckham wrote that answer down in his mini notepad. It was a strange way to answer for not following proper procedures. He also noticed that this officer had just lied to him when he asked his initial question. He could detect involuntary signs that are caused when under stress or pressure. And he was pretty sure he'd detect one of them right under Officer Sanchez eye. It was a small twitch barely noticeable to the naked eye.

He said, "I'm going to go check to see what's on the other end of that alley. I'll be right back." He hurried off, talking to himself as he went. "This whole thing sounds fishy it really does. A rogue detective? C'mon I've heard of a rogue officer but a detective?" he voiced out loud as he barely missed being mowed down by a wanna-be thug driving a Chevy Caprice, music blaring.

"Hey watch where you're going asshole!" yelled the wanna-be thug.

Beckham ignored the comment and kept walking, he was closing in on the alleyway, Officer Sanchez had indicated. He scanned the area, looking for signs of a struggle or disturbance. He didn't see none. Wait what was...He spotted some droplets of blood, he followed the droplets behind a Dumpster. His first guess was a cat had grabbed a rat and feasted on it behind the Dumpster. But if that was the case there should be a rotten corpse.

There wasn't one.

He came up with several different theories as to where the blood rooted from; a gunshot from behind by a pursuing officer; a blindsiding hit from behind by a blunt object.

He had to grill Officer Sanchez for more information about what really happened to Detective Davenport. Because he was starting to wonder if perhaps the detective was being set up for the fall guy. It made perfect sense for a man who had a career worth keeping versus someone who didn't.

He removed a Nikon camera from his breast pocket, took a few shots of the blood droplets and behind the Dumpster. Afterward he headed back to question Officer Sanchez. He was going to get the truth out of him one way or the other. He wasn't just going to threaten him with charges of obstruction, he was going to place him under intense interrogation; only he could get away with doing.

As he made his way across the street, Officer Sanchez was chatting it up with a couple of unis. Beckham put a pep in his step and yelled, "Sanchez let me talk to you for minute."

# Chapter Seventeen

On Peary Court, several minutes from Palm Avenue Causeway, Davenport and Harmon rapped on the door belonging to Timothy Geisler. The real Timothy Geisler. The townhouse was quite a spectacle, with it's greenery surrounding the 2 bedroom townhouse.

A figure darkened the peephole, seconds later the front door opened. Standing in the doorway, was a man with prominent features; a cleft chin, pointed nose, and high cheek bones. Based on a mug shot from the Key West PD archives, Davenport knew that they were gazing at Timothy Geisler.

Geisler eyed the two detectives, suspiciously, said, "May I help you?"

Davenport took the lead, said, "Yes, I'm Detective Davenport and this is my partner Detective Harmon, we're with the Asheville Police Department. Can we come inside?"

Geisler was hesitate, then stepped aside. Once into the foyer he said, "What is this about?"

"We just have a few questions Mr Geisler, won't take long." said Detective Harmon.

They went in the living area, where loveseats and the like were casted about. Davenport went for the luxurious white love seat, leaving Harmon to fend for herself. Davenport got right down to business.

"Where were you on April 9th?"

"I was at get together with a few potential clients, why?" said Geisler.

"Do you know anyone by the name of, Austin Riviera?"

"Yeah he's a former client of mine."

"Do you know that he was killed yesterday afternoon, shot between the eyes?"

Davenport stared at Geisler searching for any signs of guilt. He didn't see any.

"That's, that's unfortunate, me and Mr Rivera were close friends. Any suspects in custody?"

"No, not yet but we're looking for one person in particular," said Davenport with all the right insinuations pointing to Geisler. "We have reason to believe you're involved with his murder."

"Whoa! What are you talking about? I told you I was at get-together the day he was killed." snapped Geisler, flaring his hands as he talked.

"Explain to me this, why was Austin Riviera posing as you, in your house?"

"I don't know what your talking about. I have a lot of houses that I lease out. Last time I checked that wasn't illegal. You know what I'm calling my lawyer! This is absurd!"

"We'll be in touch, Mr Geisler." said Davenport as he and Harmon made for the front door.

"Don't count on it, pal!" Geisler slammed the door as they exited.

Outside in the rental, Davenport glared at Timothy Geisler's townhouse, fuming.

"He knows who killed Austin Riviera," said Davenport, firing up the engine.

"I wonder if Chief Gomez will get us a search warrant."

"There's only one way to find out. We're going back to his office."

The Operative pulled out his cell, saw that there was an incoming message from Top Gun.

The text message read:"Geisler came through as planned"

The Operative smiled. He was enjoying this game of Cat and Mouse. The Takeover was only days away. And things were on the right track for success.

He sent a reply:"Good work soldier keep me posted"

He sat back, hands interlaced behind his head. He was staring at the figure sitting across his desk. The man was a political addict. He'd do anything for a buck, even if it'd cost him everything.

The Operative said,"Are you sure you want to be apart of this? This could very well end badly for all of us."

The figure thought briefly, said,"Hell yeah. I live for this shit!"

The Operative let out a guffaw. This bastard would probably sell his soul for publicity.

"I'll be in touch, buddy." said The Operative.

"Hey, Lieutenant Lauren," said Davenport standing inside her office doorway. "Is the Chief available?"

"Hold on, let me see." She picked the phone, pressed a number and was transferred by an assistant, "Thanks, Sharon.

"Hey Chief Gomez, sorry to bother you...well thanks, but I have Detective Davenport and his partner here to speak with you. Mind if I send them up?" said Lieutenant Lauren holding the receiver between her ear and neck. She hung up.

"Are we good to go?" said Davenport impatiently.

Lauren gave him the thumbs up, said, "You're good to go."

Davenport took the stairs two at a time with Harmon on his heels. They walked into Chief Gomez's office without knocking. Chief Gomez looked up from his paperwork, confusion in his eyes.

He said,"What's the problem?"

"We need a search warrant for Timothy Geisler's place before he contacts his lawyer," said Detective Harmon.

They explained what happened in their interview with Geisler. How he responded to their questions. And his final rebuke ending their interview.

"I'll call ADA Tanner Williams, to see if he can secure a warrant before the judges leave their chambers," said Gomez.

He placed a call, presumably, to the District Attorney's Office located down the street, on Flagler Avenue. Gomez explained that he had probable cause to search Timothy Geisler's Key West townhouse for evidence tied to a murder. He nodded and acknowledged that he understood the consequences for if he was wrong. He hung up and looked at Davenport, approvingly.

He said,"It's being faxed over as we speak, good luck."

Davenport and Harmon thanked him for his help,

"No problem, we need to catch this bastard."

Sitting in the middle of the crowded Asheville Transit Station, in downtown Asheville, Adilah Muhammad waited for her bus to arrive. She was nervous, not knowing how the day was going to end. Was she going to be arrested? Was she going to be demoralized and defamed?

She watched as the station became deserted as bus riders left for their respective buses. Once sure she was in the clear, she got up, walked to the left side of the the Transit information booth to the ladies room.

Inside the bathroom, she immediately dug out her hand sanitizer, because the bathroom was disgusting. She drew a step back as her gaze swept across the toilet. She suffered from a severe case Obsessive Compulsive Disorder,OCD. And this bathroom was sending her into hysterics. She hurried as she removed C4 from her purse, dropping tampons concealed with C4 into the trash can and moving about.

She walked out the bathroom, nonchalantly. She said "hello" to a woman entering the bathroom. Looking at the clock hanging above the Information booth, she calculated that her bus would arrive in fifteen minutes. This was a lot easier than I expected, she thought.

Fifteen minutes on the dot, her bus arrived. An announcement of its arrival blared somewhere above over the PA system. She got up, and caught her bus.

"Open up Mr Geisler!," said Davenport, as he pounded on the front door. "We have a search warrant, now open up!"

Moments later the door flew open, standing in its doorway was an angry faced Timothy Geisler.

"I thought I told you two assholes to get lost. My lawyer is on his way and he told me you have no..."

Davenport shoved the search warrant in his face and a group of uniforms barreled pass Geisler, leaving him ranting on about his civil rights.

"Hey! Come get out of my house!" yelled Geisler. "I have rights you know? I swear I'm going to sue you personally."

"Tell it to a judge, pal." said Davenport slapping a clean pair of cuffs around his wrists.

# Chapter Thirty

Detective Harmon, arrived back at the Department to meet with Chief Gates. British was waiting in the car, clearly scared out of her mind. What are they going to do to me? She thought.

She'd heard stories about how ruthless the Americans were, she wanted no part in their torturous tactics. She watched as cop after cop filed out of the station that Detective Harmon had entered, only five minutes earlier.

Detective Harmon returned shortly after, followed by a man, British had never seen before. He was tall, graying at the temples, and seem a bit jittery. Perhaps, too much coffee, she thought. Before she knew it the two were upon her, opening her door.

"Good evening British," said the man. "How nice of you to join us."

He extended his hand, but British only glared at it, defiantly.

"Who the fuck are you?" she spat.

"Who am I? I'm the person who decides rather you live or die. That's who I am."

British looked confused, as she turned to Detective Harmon, "Why did you bring me here? You suppose to protect me."

She looked helpless, broken.

Harmon looked away. She didn't know how to respond to that question. She wasn't some guardian angel, her hands were just as dirty as the Chief's.

She gazed back at the woman, said, "You're doing America a good deed."

British was immediately taken aback. I'm doing America a good deed? How so?

British said, "I have rights you know, I'm a citizen of America and..."

Chief Gates grabbed her by the hair, dragged her around the other side of the car, and shoved her upright against the car.

He said, "In my town, you have no rights and you're not an American citizen. You are what I like to call an opportunist. When an opportunity presents itself, you know how to capitalize on it."

He looked at Detective Harmon, "Take her to Drake's house I'll have Officer Sanchez meet you there."

He turned and headed for the entrance to the Department. Harmon gazed over at British and couldn't believe she was going through with this. Her phone rang. She checked the caller ID. It was Drake!

She hesitated, then answered on the third ring.

"Harmon speaking," she said.

"Where the hell are you?" he yelled through the mouthpiece. "I've been waiting for you for an hour.

"I just had to handle a few things for the Chief. What's the hurry?"

"I'm being discharged. I'm refusing any ongoing treatment I want out of here." said Davenport.

Harmon checked her watch. It was 5:45 p.m. She still had to run the woman over to Drake's house in West Asheville. She let out a loud sigh.

"I'll be there in 15 minutes be ready." she said.

She knew she was pushing her luck by claiming to be there in 15 minutes. But she had to handle this current situation first. But what was she going to do about Drake? He wasn't suppose to be released for another 24 hours?

She knew she had to call Chief Gates and let him know that Drake was back in the picture, prematurely. He was not going to like this bit of news at all. Oh well, she thought, flipping open her phone to dial his number.

He answered on the first ring, "What is it Harmon?"

"It's Drake,"

"What about him?" replied the Chief, irritated.

"He's being released ahead of schedule."

"Not possible, Harmon. Now quit fooling around and get that girl over there, Sanchez is already en route."

"But..."

The chief had ended the call before she could protest. Shit! Now she had another dilemma to deal with: Chief Gates and her former partner to be, Detective Davenport. She was beginning to think she might've bitten off more than she could chew.

She walked over to British, who was still sitting against the car. Lifting her up by the elbow, she said, "Looks like you're going to a new place. I'm sorry about all of this, I really am."

She opened the rear door, folded her inside and closed the door. She felt poisoned. She was going against her morals. The same morals that got her to where she was today; integrity and pride.

She climbed into the driver's seat, and fired up the car. She headed due west, toward Patton Avenue. As she drove along, her mind seem to drift to the past.

"So what're you doing after you graduate, Drake?"

"I'm joining the force, Abbie."

"I figured you would've changed your mind by now. I mean, what are the chances of you making it as a detective?"

"I'm just a kid from Brooklyn, we always make ends meet somewhere along the line."

They laughed. It was a merry laugh.

Detective Harmon was brought out of her reverie; by the car behind her leaning on his horn. Asshole.

She accelerated, veering off Patton Avenue, onto Interstate 240. She got off on the Haywood exit and made her way to Davenport's two bedroom Victorian house off Vermont Avenue.

As she pulled up, Officer Sanchez was exiting his cruiser. He walked around to the passenger side, seeming to have a passenger. But Detective Harmon didn't see anyone at window level.

As she relaxed, she did a double take. Officer Sanchez was being accompanied by...a child. The chief never mentioned anything about a child!

She slowly stepped out of her car, completely blindsided by this chain of events. She didn't know rather to high tail it or call 911.

I am 911, she thought. Get it together Abigail, quit acting like a newbie.

She asked, "Who is this child?"

Officer Sanchez looked excited to make the introduction.

"This here is Alice. Alice this is Detective Harmon," he replied.

"Hello, Detective." said Alice.

This girl seemed a little too hype. She didn't shy away from Detective Harmon, in fact, she held out her little slender hand.

Harmon took the girl's hand, shaking it timidly and replied, "How are you?"

"I'm okay I guess."

Harmon peered up at Officer Sanchez, who was grinning like he'd just won the Nobel Prize. She detected something odd about his behavior, but couldn't pin it down.

"What is this girl doing here, Antonio?" she asked.

"Chief said she and the woman you're being were to pretend to be Detective Davenport's wife and kid. Don't ask me, I just follow orders like you."

"So now he's using innocent people as bait?"

"I guess you could call it that, but I'm sure he has good intentions."

Oh yeah, just like the kidnapping of Drake's family last summer?

"Look I got to run." She handed over British.

"You're suppose to stay with them!" he called after her, but she didn't hear him.

Harmon raced through the neighborhood. She decided to take a shortcut to Mission Hospital. She was running five minutes late, surely Davenport wouldn't let her forget how late she was; she cursed the thought.

Ten minutes later, she pulled into the Emergency entrance, the same one she entered only hours earlier. Davenport was leaning against the wall, aggravated, when he spotted her. His arm was in a sling and his wrist was in some sort of makeshift splint.

He climbed in the car, clasped on his seat belt before speaking.

He asked, "Why are you late Abbie? You said fifteen minutes and its been twenty-five."

"Like I said before I had to run some errands for the chief. Take it up with him."

Davenport stared forward as he gathered his thoughts. Finally, he asked, "Did you find my wife and my daughter?"

"We've located your daughter." She lied. "It seems like she was dropped off at your house by Nikki."

"Alone?"

"Yeah," said Harmon. "But don't worry she's okay, just worried about her mom. As a matter of fact, let me call Sanchez..."

She pulled out her cell phone and dialed his number.

"Hey, Sanchez, how's it going? Oh yeah. That's wonderful. Hey, let me speak to Kelly, for a second."

Davenport's eyes got wide. They found my daughter? He was puzzled and excited all at the same time.

He grabbed the phone, "Hey babygirl, are you okay?"

"I'm fine daddy, just worried about mommy." said the girl.

"I know honey, me too. Any idea where mommy was heading? Maybe she was going to Aunt Holly's?"

"No. She just dropped me off and said she was running to the store."

Davenport sensed that something wasn't right. This girl indeed sounded very similar to Kelly, but the girl sounded a bit odd. And Nikki, she would never leave her daughter by herself. Not even to use the bathroom. So why would she all of a sudden?

"Honey, I'll be there soon, just hang tight, okay?"

"Okay, daddy."

"I love you, baby girl."

"I love you too, daddy."

They clicked off. Davenport sat there in complete silence as he replayed the whole conversation in his mind. For some strange reason, that little girl was not his Kelly. But he decided to play along with whatever was going on.

# Chapter Fifteen

In his suite, Davenport was hunched over a cup of cheap coffee. He hadn't gotten a bit of sleep, after calling his wife earlier getting nothing but the answering machine. It was out of character for his wife, Nikki, to not answer.

Certainly, she seen his name and number appear on the caller ID, he thought. So why hadn't she answered? He was still dignifying the thought, when his cell rang. A bolt of excitement ran through his core, he was hoping it was Nikki.

Looking at the caller ID, it read: A. Gates.

What did he want now?

Answering on the second ring, he said, "It's Davenport," and listened.

Chief Gates had called to inform him that new developments, regarding the Deese case, has been brought forward. A reporter, received an anonymous tip from a caller using a pay phone.

The reporter, Alan Chipper, from Citizen Times, was told that Amelia Deese was being held in a deserted warehouse somewhere in Asheville. No location was disclosed in the phone call only that she was being kept there under guard.

"It's a long shot Blake, but I need you to wrap it up down there and come speak with Mr Chipper. Mayor Benedict is breathing down my back on shutting this case. So like I always tell you, if I'm being breathed upon so will you." He paused to gather his thoughts, continuing, said, "What's going on with this 'consulting' thing down there?"

"The same as before nothing new yet, but I'll let Detective Levin know that my assistance is needed elsewhere. And head back shortly." As if a second thought he asked, "Can you check on my wife, make sure she's alright? I called earlier and got no response, which is unusual."

Chief Gates promised that he would as soon as he had an opportunity to do so. And that after he did so, he would call him immediately with the details.

Davenport disconnected the call, refilled his cup, and flipped open the Austin Riviera case. Something wasn't adding up. Timothy Geisler, or his impersonator, had proven to be someone else entirely.

Austin Riviera, a Miami resident, was impersonating Timothy Geisler. But why? Was Geisler in some sort of trouble that required a look-a-like to step in? Or was Geisler involved in the kidnapping that occurred a few days ago, in Asheville? Regardless, of the facts, Davenport had to get down to the bottom of this before another innocent life is sacrificed.

He paged Detective Harmon's suite and got her on the third ring.

"Hey let's grab some coffee and get an early hold on this case. Meet me in the lobby in fifteen." He hung up without waiting on a reply.

He went into the adjoining room,stripped of his clothes, and entered the shower. He was rejuvenating; steaming hot water beating off his worn out body, cleansing himself. He lathered up, rinsed off the dirt and grime before shutting off the water and stepping out to towel off.

He grabbed his traveling kit from the other room, it was a small sleek bag, with the "Nike" logo embroidered on its side. He removed a Gillette series razor along with a can of Barbasol. As he shaved, he hummed a classic rock song "Dr Love" by Kiss.

He was feeling kind of boisterous maybe even hopeful that this case would crack wide open. He finished getting dressed, threw on his sport's jacket, and left the room.

As he approached the lobby, he tried to figure out a way to explain why he had woken Harmon up at three a.m. He decided that telling her that he needed someone to talk to would be a good enough explanation.

Harmon peeked up as he approached, she looked distraught, maybe because it was three a.m. and she was stirred from a deep slumber, he mused. Whatever it was bothering her internally, she looked like hell.

Harmon said,"This better be good, Blake, I was actually having a very pleasant dream. You know, the kinds of dreams that don't come very often for a girl like me. So what's the emergency?"

"There isn't any emergency I just couldn't sleep. I'm worried about Nikki and Kelly. Why haven't she called me back yet?", Glancing at his watch, "Geez, it's been over 5 hours!" He exclaimed.

"I'd seen a little diner on the way here. Let's go grab some breakfast and coffee, might make you feel better."

"Sure let's have at it. You want to drive?"

"I prefer the passenger's side, I'm still wore out from yesterday."

They got in their rental, fired up the engine, and made for the diner.

Inside the car, Davenport's skin began to flare up as he scratched profusely. He was assuming that it was an allergic reaction from the soap he'd used earlier, right before meeting with Abbie. But after a while he had to pull over and get out the car because it was becoming unbearable.

"What's wrong with you, Drake?"asked Harmon.

"I'm having a serious allergic reaction to that damned hotel soap. I can't stop itching for nothing."

"Here let me drive, there might be a pharmacy on the way."

"Thanks."

Harmon clambered over the console, her slender frame moving with ease.

She signaled, and got back on North Roosevelt Boulevard. Moments later she braked at an 24 hour corner store, with an adjoining pharmacy.

She hurried inside, found what she was looking for and was back inside the car. She handed the small brown paper bag over to Davenport, who looked bewildered.

He said,"Calamine lotion?"

"Stops the itching problem."

He took the lotion out of the bag, opened the top to smell it before he applied it on his skin.

"Doesn't smell enticing that's for sure."

He squeezed a quarter-sized amount into his left hand, rubbed his hands together, then applied the lotion all over his forearms. The Calamine lotion instantly soothed his skin, almost like a cooling effect.

He turned to Harmon, said, "This stuff works wonders, instantaneously. Thanks a lot."

They arrived at a diner called, Nine One Five, just off Duval Street, which was more than just "down the street". They ordered a simple meal and talked while they waited for their meal's arrival.

Harmon said, "So what's on your mind, big guy?"

"A lot. Starting with this God forsaken case. I mean why would Austin Riviera want to disguise himself as someone he's not. It doesn't make sense, even if he were getting paid to do it."

"Like you said earlier, maybe the real Timothy Geisler had gotten himself into a tie that couldn't be untied. And he and Austin were perhaps good friends from college. So as many good friends do, he offered to help out. But of course Mr Riviera would want some insurance money."

"So you think this Riviera guy was good friends with Geisler? Is that it, that's your theory, Abbie?"

"No not necessarily, I have another theory, say Riviera is in debt to Geisler and playing his double was the only alternative left for Riviera."

She massaged her temples in frustration. "I don't know what to think, Drake. It could go either way."

Their food finally arrived. They waited until the waiter refilled their coffee before continuing.

"I'm serious about finding the real Timothy Geisler. That's the only way we're going to get to the bottom of this thing." Davenport said.

Harmon was enjoying her delicious meal, she speared a nice size Strawberry from her fruit salad, said, "Have you checked in with Gates?"

"Yeah I called him before I called you. He informed me that there was some new developments, regarding that Missing Person claim, Amelia Deese. According to the Chief, a reporter claimed to have received an anonymous tip from a caller, who says that the missing Vic is secured in some abandoned warehouse.

"Could be a bunch of BS coming from a reporter who's looking for a damned story. But anyways, he wants us back as soon as possible."

"An anonymous tipster, huh?" Harmon said, taking a sip of her drink. "Who is this reporter?"

Davenport pulled a mini note pad from his jacket pocket, flipped to a folded section towards the back, said, "Alan Chipper".

"Quite the name, who does he work for?"

"The Citizen's Times."

"Well let's see where we can find Mr Geisler and put him under interrogation for a bit. He'll surely crack."

They each left a ten dollar bill on the table after they paid the tab. The service there was excellent and deserved a good tip. They got in the rental, Davenport at the wheel, and headed back to their rooms. Today they were going to have Detective Carl Levin hand over some information on the real Timothy Geisler.

Bottom line: Timothy Geisler was guilty of something or else he wouldn't need someone impersonating him. He was going down and there wasn't no question to it.

In Fort Bragg, North Carolina, home to the Special Forces Unit, Army Ranger, Captain Joseph Galloway sat in the barracks cleaning his military issued Beretta M9, when Lieutenant Gerry Collins summoned him the the Commanding Officer's office.

"What is this about, Collins?"

"I was told that The General would like a word with you,"

Hearing The General's name was breath taking. Galloway and others like him adored the man. He's the reason why America is a free country. He ran this country with an iron fist, he was a no nonsense kind of guy.

It was rumored that he had a whole platoon killed for unknown reasons. Some say it was because the platoon tried to manipulate him and others claim he was being conspired upon. Either way, no soldier after that incident with the platoon, tried to get over on The General.

And if he tried it was his ass that suffered.

The two soldier's entered the office, with C.O. Wilson, stenciled on a name plate. They knew Commanding Officer William Wilson, was not the one in the leather chair with its back to them. The leather chair swiveled and there in it was a man steel eyes, a buzz cut cropped perfectly, and wearing a uniform with razor sharp creases.

The General.

The General fixed his grey eyes on the two impeccable soldier's now standing in front of him. He nodded to a pair of chairs in front of his mahogany desk. The men took their seats immediately, after giving formal salutes.

The General spoke precisely. "I need a favor from you two, I need you to gather the best Ranger's you can find. We have a mission gentlemen and I mean to execute it with perfection."

"Anything for you, sir, would be a honor," said Galloway, nervously.

The General smiled, then said, "Very good, have your men ready for battle when I call."

Lieutenant Collins and Captain Galloway left the Commanding Officers office in high hopes of working with The General. They knew what men to pick and they arranged a meeting shortly thereafter. 

# Chapter Fifty-Eight

Detective Davenport burst through the door, catching everybody inside off guard. There was six people total in the room. He counted them a second time to make sure. He had his Beretta M9 aimed high at the two Middle Eastern men, sitting half naked on a leather couch. The other four people in the room were women, all of them were as naked as they're name's day. Two of them were frozen, their asses inches from the men's laps. There had been a party going on over here, he mused.

"Who the fuck are you?" said the short of the two men, desperately trying to cover himself.

"I'm the one that's letting you know the show's over. I'm want my wife and daughter back."

The little middle eastern man laughed joyously. "You think the show is over, my friend? The show's never over unless the host announces that it is." He reached between the couch.

"I wouldn't advise that if I were you. Put your hands where I can see them. Now!"

Both men did as they were told. As for the four naked women; they trembled nervously in a corner.

Davenport turned to them. "You ladies put some damn clothes on, for Christ's sake."

"You're making a grave mistake, my good friend. Do you have any idea who I am?" said Khalid Muhammad.

"And do you have any idea how much I don't give a shit? Save all your chivalrous talk for the federal judge, I hear she's a real stickler."

The man continued to find everything jovial. "Maybe I should give you an ultimatum."

"You giving me an ultimatum? Funny you would suggest that, being that I'm the one holding the gun."

"You may be holding a gun but I'm holding the Ace of Spade, if you get my meaning." He jerked his thumb back and in walked Detective Davenport's four year old daughter, Kelly. When he saw her his knees got weak and the room seemed to shift underneath him.

"Daddy!" she exclaimed and started after him.

"Uh, uh, uh. Not so fast young lady."said Khaled.

She stopped in her tracks, as tears streamed down her face.

"What do you want? What're you trying to prove by terrorizing my goddamn daughter?!" screamed Davenport, he too shedding a few tears.

"This isn't about your pathetic daughter, this is about my daughter. The one you Americans took from me. That's what this is about. Do you have any idea what I've gone through over the last 15 years? Do you?

"Of course not. You didn't have to wonder why your sweet daughter went astray. Why she turned her back on the very country that gave birth to her. Do you know how devastating it was to hear the grave news that your daughter was not laying in her bed when summoned her to your bedroom.

"Each and every night I've envied the American way of living. I promised myself, Allah, and every damned person who'd listen. That once I located my daughter I was going to bring havoc to that very city. I was going to awake a beast that had been lurking in the pit of my subconscious. And mister, you just happened to be the one to fulfill that promise. You and the City of Asheville."

"So you decided to kidnap my family because someone kidnapped your daughter?"

"Oh let me make it clear. Nobody specially kidnapped my daughter; America kidnapped my daughter with broken promises of a better life and education."

"Well it's over." said Davenport, raising his gun.

"Really?" He cocked his head to one side.

The room door opened from behind. Davenport spun around but froze when he saw his wife standing in the door frame.

"Nikki," he gasped.

She was shoved inside by a man following behind her. She looked at him with stark disappointment in her eyes. He had failed her once again. He held back the tears that were pounding against the back of his eye lids.

"Do you still think it's over now, detective?" The short man sneered.

Silence.

"I've told you this is my game and my rules. I'm the Alpha and the Omega. I hold the keys to your very heart, detective. Just as the Americans held the key to mine for 15 years. Now for your ultimatum who's more important to you? Your magnificent looking wife, despite the bumps and bruises or your sweet little innocuous daughter? Remember you can only choose one. The one you choose will live while the other killed."

"You're wanting me to choose between my wife and daughter? That's insane. How would you feel if you were given such a harsh ultimatum?"

"It's my rules so I don't have to deal with such foolish inquires. But to answer your question, I'd choose my wife. At least she can grow old with you."

"I'm sorry honey," Davenport said to his wife. "But I have to choose our daughter over you."

"I understand," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes.

"So you're choosing your daughter over your beloved wife? Very well then." And as quick a lightning he withdrew a small compact gun and shot Kelly in the leg. She cried out, falling to the floor, cradling her left leg. Davenport reacted off instinct aiming his gun high, only to come up short. When a bullet grazed his side, causing his intended shot to sail high.

"I want you to drop your weapon detective or else things are going to get real nasty."

We were all listening intently to the commotion occurring next door. Apparently my father had shot poor Kelly and shot her father as well. Whatever was transpiring over there wasn't looking all that great. I'd told him going over there would turn grave. But I guess the man in him, had an urge to go all Rambo. I was literally on the edge of my seat hoping against hope that my father would be taught a valuable lesson.

Downstairs, in the lobby, Detective Harmon and Agent Beckham were swapping theories about how Rebecca Cobb had been murdered in broad daylight; when gunshots rang out from somewhere in the building.

"Was that gunshots?" asked Detective Levin, not believing what he was hearing.

"I think it was." replied Harmon withdrawing her service weapon and proceeding toward the stairwell. "Agent Beckham get the other stairwell."

"You know one thing I like about you detectives? Your predictable. I knew you would come rushing here to save the day. You know why I picked your family to kidnap out of the thousands of families in your city?"

Davenport could barely breathe with the shots of pain that came at intervals. But he managed to grunt his acknowledgement.

"I heard how great you were at protecting the people you swore to serve and protect. And I thought to myself 'I wonder if this man could be as protecting toward his very own family.' And after doing a little digging, I discovered that well, you'd failed once already when a man kidnapped your family last Summer. I read about how you went all vigilante, bypassing all protocols. And I thought to myself yet again, 'If this man were to try that with a known terrorist; one responsible for hundreds of thousands of deaths on 9/11, he'd surely be a dead man.

"And now several months later, you lay on my hotel floor bleeding like a wounded dog. All for what, so you can meet your match? I must admit though once I had your chief throw you off the trail sending you here while all the fun and excitement was happening right in the city you swore to protect, it was exhilarating. And you know what the fun part was? Having everyone you ever trusted turn against you.

"Let me ask you, do you honestly think Detective Harmon being head over heels in love with you was actually genuine? I sure hope not. I'm sure she may have had a thing for you a long time ago, but not now. You should ask yourself can you trust your wife? I mean she's already went down on me once I'm sure she'll do it again if her bank account grew larger. In fact, why don't you ask your wife how her car note manage to magically get paid off? It sure as hell wasn't her doings with the income she makes."

There was a knock at the door. Both Davenport and Khalid Muhammad looked in the general direction.

Khaled said, "And now for the grand finale."

Detective Harmon had finally got away from Agent Beckham long enough to find room 590. She had searched every floor, room-to-room until her phone had rang, telling her that she had an incoming text message. She opened the text and smiled as she closed the phone. She'd headed to the fifth floor immediately and gazed at every door until her eyes came upon room; 590.

Now she prepared to knock on the door. She heard someone call out and she used her key card to gain access.

As she swung the door open, she scanned the room; spotting Davenport laying on the floor clutching his side; four naked women bunched in a corner; her best friend Aziz, and her childhood mentor Khalid Muhammad sitting on a couch.

"Ah, how good to see you again Aaliyah. You're still a darling girl as you once were as a child playing football with my Amelia."

Aaliyah sashayed provocatively across the room, giving Detective Davenport a seductive wink as she passed. Davenport starred in mere disbelief as he watched "Aaliyah" bypass him to sit next to Khalid Muhammad. Detective Harmon, better known as Aaliyah had betrayed him yet again.

"Remember when I said that's it never over? Well here's to me keeping my word, detective. Kelly come here." He placed a German Luger in Aaliyah's slender hand. "Kill her."

"No!" Davenport roared reaching for his daughter. But it was too late. Her brain matter exploded through her innocent face and landed on Davenport. Nikki, Kelly's mother stood in complete shock as the horrific scene unfolded before her. Aaliyah walked over to where Davenport sat sobbing like a child, pressed the Luger against his forehead, and fired. 

# Chapter Thirty-Seven

"Well, they didn't look Japanese if that's what you're implying. They looked more Arabic or Middle Eastern if anything. I do remember the woman wearing some sort head gear on her head."

"Hijab?"

"I guess or a burka of some sort."

"Thank you, Maria you've been a great help. I'll be back in a minute." He turned on his heel, pulling out his cell phone that had been forgotten by Officer Sanchez.

He tried to call Detective Harmon but only managed to get her voicemail. He left her a urgent message: "Hey, Ab, it's Drake. Listen you probably already heard about it, but an explosion happened downtown at the Transit Station. There's a lot a causalities out here. I spoke with a witness who claimed that a couple, possibly of Arabic descent, was conferring quietly in their native language. Look I need your help, give me a call."

He disconnected the call. He wondered where she had gotten off to. He looked up to see Officer Sanchez walking briskly toward him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Davenport?" asked Officer Sanchez.

"Placing a phone call, nothing illegal about that last time I checked."

"Don't be a wise-ass, Davenport. Who were you talking too?"

"A voicemail, if you must know." said Davenport sardonically.

"Don't make me shoot you right here," said Sanchez, his hand grazing the butt of his firearm.

"You wouldn't dare, not in front of hundreds of witnesses,"

"Try me asshole."

Detective Davenport walked away leaving Officer Sanchez standing with his hands on his hips. He had an eye-witness to question further. He looked around for Maria Ortiz, after a moment he'd found her. She was sitting in the same place he'd saw her at earlier cradling her son. He headed her direction.

# Chapter Four

Opening my eyes, I was immediate pain around my nether region. Once again I had been sexually assaulted by these bastard. As I gazed around I'd noticed that I was alone, and cold. It had to be at least 40 degrees in this place. I clambered to my feet in effort to gaze around a bit. I quickly noticed the blood plastered on my thighs. And Jesus Christ, it hurt like hell to walk. But I was desperate to find a way out of here.

On the far side of the building I could hear faint sounds coming from within the other side. I crept along close, just enough to satisfy my curiosity, and maybe to succumb to my ego; which by the way was not on any cloud nines at the moment. Careless as I am, I bumped into something to my immediate right, what it was? I couldn't tell you but it sure did make a loud bang when it hit the floor. My breath caught, heart hammering, sweat beads producing. I was scared shitless. I didn't hear any sudden movement when the object hit the floor, and then...

Out of my peripheral, a shadow appeared from the opposite end. I forgot all about there being a second door leading elsewhere. Shit. I slowly back myself into an alcove. Footsteps approached nearby, once they came within reach of where I stood, I nearly pissed myself. It was Blake, he was the one who they must've sent in search of the cause of commotion. Good tactic. Send my ex lover after me.

Blake Highsmith, was beginning to believe it was a rodent passing by blindly. He shook his head, in attempt to shake the anxiety. He failed. Something told him it was more than a friendly rodent in search of food. It was something else altogether. Michael Greene, materialized at the threshold, peered out, and spotted Blake, "What the hell's taking you so long? Did you find out what was making all that racking?"

"No. It might've been a rat or something," Highsmith walked over to the car that Michael had drove here, hovered over the hood, exhausted, "I need some caffeine, and a power nap. I'm drained."

Greene stepped to him, tenderly, "What you need my friend is a female companion. But someone different. How about you and I go have a bit of fun,huh? What do you say, some fun?"

Highsmith weighed the pros and cons of the outing, seeing nothing hazardous about the affair, he agreed but under one condition: he picked the marks.

"Sure, kid no problem," said Greene nonchalantly

Greene pulled out a set of keys, walked to the driver's side, and paused, "You coming or what?"

Greene stepped in the driver's seat, fired up the engine, and pulled out of the warehouse. The sounds of the engine fading as they made distance.

I came out of my hiding spot, Michael and Blake were out of the picture, meaning there were two left. I had to name an escape, this was frankly, my only chance to do so. I gave myself a little pep talk, the same way I did with my World History class when it was time for a pop quiz. But, today was no pop quiz, this was an example of a state exam, so to speak. An SAT. This was a moment of clarity, albeit my situation was clear enough; I was trapped in a warehouse with a bunch of psychopaths. Story of my life.

After a quick prayer, and a round of crossing myself, I grabbed the closest thing to a weapon I could and continued forward with the situation at hand. Sitting in a red plastic chair, feet propped up on a desk, fingers laced, watching "Jerry Springer" was the redhead who thought it funny to jam his hand down my panties. Ugh. I wanted to jam this lead pipe up his ass, see how he likes it.

My guess is, he won't find it comely. I concocted a course of action; I had to get behind him somehow in order to hit in the head with pure accuracy. The great bambino, Babe Ruth himself, stepping to the plate. As I took up position for a grand slam, I saw movement. I couldn't see what it was, but it wasn't good because the next thing I knew I was being tackled to the ground. My chin hit the concrete flooring, with a head shattering, crunch! Several teeth felt loose in my head once I gained consciousness. I peered back, just in time to see a balding middle aged man atop of me. He gazed at me fiercely.

"Call yourself getting some payback, woman?" The balding man said, grinning, he was missing at least four teeth. Definitely not attractive.

"You could call it that if you like," I was staring back with the same amount of vehemence.

He held his head back and let out a thunderous laugh. "Feisty, aren't we? Wasn't so tough earlier? No you were quite jovial, almost free spirited."

Red Head must've been totally into his Jerry Springer, because the guy just now acknowledged our presence. He got up, walked toward us. He yanked me by my hair and dragged me back to my living quarters. I struggled against his vise grip, but to no avail. He threw me back into the room and slammed the door. Leaving me to my thoughts and concoction.

They will all come back for me it was just a matter of time.

# Chapter Eight

Greene was sitting at his makeshift office desk, when his phone rang. He didn't have to look at the caller ID to see who it was, he knew exactly who it was. It was The Hitman. Greene and The Hitman had been doing business for awhile now, and worked well with each other, despite their difference in religious beliefs.

Greene was a Catholic, while The Hitman had been converted to Islam. The Hitman despised Americans and what they stood for. They were treacherous murderers, who God deemed unworthy. The Hitman had only one person to answer to, and that was Allah.

When he needed immediate wisdom and guidance he turned to his mistress, The Koran. As he waited for Greene to answer he recited a scripture from The Koran, and prayed silently.

"Speak,"

"Sir, there seems to be a slight problem that could quickly become problematic if not handled accordingly."

Greene was disgusted beyond belief. What could possibly be a problem, you incompetent buffoon?

"Proceed,"

"There seems to be a detective snooping around the residence of Miss Deese. I was surveying the premises when I spotted an unmarked navy Crown Victoria," he said, his accent heavy from his Iranian heritage. "So I investigated the problem and had to use my gun in order to compromise with the detective."

Greene was furious, he jumped out of his seat as if were set ablaze. "You what?! Tell me, you weren't foolish enough to kill a fucking cop?"

The Hitman replied with such elegance you'd thought he was one of Hollywood's most prominent actors.

"Relax my dear friend, I let him live to fight another day. But he won't be so lucky next time. What is it, you would like me to do now that our plan has been compromised?"

It was really a dumb question, because regardless of what Greene wanted The Hitman had his mind set on something else. But for now he just wanted to keep everything relatively kosher.

"I want you to take care of that first officer, the one that neatly shot my head off!" Greene bellowed.

"Where is he now, might I ask?"

"Not where he should've been, which is the city's morgue. Anyway, my source tells me he's been moved out of ICU, to the fifth floor in Saint Joseph's. Find him, and put a bullet in his head."

"You do know working in such crowded areas is not my specialty? I do covert operations but I'll make an exception for you, my friend. I shall call you when the deed is done."

He clicked off. Greene needed to find out which detective was snooping around. He knew just the right man for the job.

Meanwhile, over in the room across from the office, Amelia and the three remaining girls sat motionless. They were petrified, faces paled, body odor reeking of sweat. Tatiana, Nicole, and Stella had witnessed the murder of Wu Chang.

Tatiana was her only friend, albeit they met for the first time earlier that evening. She was a sweet girl. But now she was dead, slaughtered like a cow. Her remains were splattered all over the floor near the door. The putrid aroma of decayed flesh was nauseating. Stella and Nicole vomited twice already and looked on verge of vomiting some more.

They heard Greene ranting about some detective. They couldn't hear it all but enough to know that Greene was fuming. Which meant that he would be taking it out on one of them. They heard footsteps, brisk, determined, footsteps. The door swung open and disinfectants, towels and the like were toss inside.

"Amelia and Stella clean this shit up," Highsmith said. He loved giving orders, he was Greene's pet.

"I...I can't...I'm sick..."Stella stammered.

"Not my problem bitch. Now get on your knees and get rid of this filth!" He turned on his heel, slamming the door behind him.

"Don't worry about it I'll get it," I said trying to be friendly.

She looked at me timidly.

"There's a bucket over there in that corner if you need to puke."

"I can help if you like," Nicole, Stella's roommate said.

"Well that's nice of you,"I said totally surprised by her kindness. "If you'd like you can spray the disinfectants and I'll scrub."

The least I could do was handle the dirty work because from the looks of these three, they haven't had too many dirty experiences, unless it involved sexual encounters with random men at nightclubs.

"What was all the hooting and hollering about?" Highsmith asked, coming into the room.

Greene poured himself a stiff glass of Vodka, "I got a phone call from The Hitman , and seems he's gotten himself into a little tussle with Asheville's very own,"

Greene noticed that Highsmith wasn't catching on, he elaborated, "He got in some gun play with some nosy rent a cop. He got away clean, but the operation has be compromised."

Highsmith was astonished. "Compromised,"

"Affirmative, but don't worry The Hitman is a professional at this kind of stuff. He'll handle it accordingly. I sent him to take care of Officer Caldwell."

"Impossible. Isn't he still in ICU?"

Greene smiled. "No my sources tell me he's in a secure room on the fifth floor of Saint Joseph's."

"I guess that's reassuring. I want to go out tonight see if I can catch some more fresh meat. Cool with you boss?"

Greene mulled over the idea. He'd had fun the last time they went out and he'd struck it big; he managed to bring home four babes.

"Why not you deserve a bit of fun. Just makes sure you have your eyes peeled. There's sure to be a lot of cops out and about. Try not to draw any unwarranted attention," he held up the tumbler of Vodka. "But first let's celebrate."

The Hitman sat outside the hospital entrance mapping out his initial course of action. He hated working in crowds, because that's where the most accidents occur. His last job was in the heart of Miami, Florida, where a drug dealer had stolen some valuable merchandise. The Hitman was called immediately to dispose of the thief. But Miami was crowded with sophisticated looking beauties in racy bikinis, and voluptuous figures in G strings.

He did not kill women and kids no matter what. He was a killer with morals. But the thief had to be dealt with. It was his job. He disguised himself as an up and coming drug Lord, Diego, who was actually a known drug Lord in Miami. The trick worked and the alleged thief walked right into the hotel near South Beach, and was dead before he broke the threshold. That was the most difficult job he'd done. But today he would simply use a less expensive approach.

"How are you feeling Mr Caldwell," said Nurse Cindy. She was blonde, lithe and nice on the eyes.

"I'm feeling better, just a little sore from the bullet wound. Any idea when I can get the hell out of this sterilized nuthouse?"

Nurse Cindy stifled a giggle. "Well its good to see that you still have a sense of humor, Mr Caldwell. I'll ask Dr Jones when it'll be okay for you to leave."

She gave him some morphine to numb the soreness before heading out.

In the bathroom on the third floor, near the employee break room, The Hitman was dressing himself. He grabbed some fresh scrubs, threw on a long white doctor's coat, grabbed an unoccupied stethoscope and headed for the elevator.

On the fifth floor, he grabbed a blank clipboard, removed a pen from his breast pocket, and improvised a classical circa 90's version of Elliot Gould as Dr Howard Sheinfeld, from ER. He walked briskly towards room 516.

502...

506...

508...

512...

516, R. Caldwell.

He slipped on a pair of latex gloves, then grasped the handle.

Caldwell, was lying on his back, his upper body bandaged up. He was dozing off, probably from the morphine, The Hitman thought. He approached his bedside.

"Mr Caldwell, Dr Nikita Kozak, it says here that you were shot earlier today. Are you feeling any better?"

Caldwell was dazed, he was hearing the figure speak but couldn't recognize him. He moaned in acknowledgement.

While Caldwell was in a trance The Hitman screwed on his suppressor, placing his clipboard over the exposed Beretta M9. This was going to be a lot easier than he had anticipated. He was just getting ready to be done with the man, when the door burst open. The Hitman turned and saw a detective walking toward him. He managed to slyly conceal his Beretta.

"I'm Dr Kozak, what can I do for you, sir?" said The Hitman, extending his hand. But it was to no avail. The detective walked right past him as if he were invisible.

Rude pig, The Hitman thought, I'll kill him when the times right. "Officer Caldwell are you alright?" asked Davenport.

Again Caldwell replied with a simple moan, like a wounded gazelle in the open fields of Africa.

"I need to ask you some questions about the guy who shot you this morning. You said his name was Michael Greene and that he had a woman in the passenger seat. Were you able to get the passengers name."

Caldwell was going in and out of consciousness. The Hitman slipped out just as Davenport turned his attention on him.

"Dr..."he started, looking around for the doctor that was just here.

Turning back around he continued to question Caldwell on the events leading up to his shooting. "I think I might know who's behind this mess, but I need your help," he pulled out a white card. "This is my direct number call me when you come to."

Davenport stood, he couldn't stop thinking about that doctors strange behavior. What doctor leaves without notifying anyone. He shook his head and continued out the door. He'll try again tomorrow with some better luck.

The Hitman watched the detective leave, he counted to three before entering room 516 again. When he entered, Caldwell was sleeping. The morphine they were giving him was a sure knock out. The Hitman examined the dosage being administered, grunted, then induced the dosage beyond its limits. No wonder they called Morphine the silent killer. He'll be dead by they're next check in. He grinned at the irony. Officer Caldwell just now checked in the deathly hallows.

Outside in his car he dialed a single number.

The voice on the other end, said, "Speak,"

"It's done,"

He hung up the phone and fired up his rental, and headed downtown via Biltmore Avenue. He checked into his master suite, at Hotel Indigo, courtesy of Michael Greene. He relaxed for the remainder of the evening. He needed his rest because tomorrow lay the hard part. Disposing Detective Davenport once and for all.

# Chapter Forty-Four

Nikki, Stacy, Paula, and Carla disembarked the Boeing 777, courtesy of Delta Airlines. They were shuffled toward to gates, heading into the terminal of Key West International. It had been a long, exhausting flight and all of them were ready to crash. They had been accompanied by two out-of-shape goons who were assigned to keep a close eye on them.

As they embarked the waiting van, Nikki had to make an emergency bathroom break. "I really need to use the ladies room, if you don't mind."

The goon with the blond hair, whose name was Samuel, said, "We'll be at the hotel momentarily, I'm sure you can hold it until then."

Nikki couldn't hold something she'd been holding since mid-way through the flight, that was completely absurd. "I can't hold it, if you want to smell my urine on the way to the hotel be my guest, but..."

He yanked her by the arm and steered her back inside the terminal. "I advise you to be quick about it, I don't have all day."

He removed her cuffs then pointed in the direction of the bathroom. "Remember to be quick about it and don't make me have to come in after you. I assure you, it won't be pretty."

She hustled in the bathroom and did her business. The whole time she used that time to think of a way to get back home. Her husband would have no knowledge that she was in another state. Which in turn, would make her rescue all the more difficult.

Suddenly, the door to the bathroom opened and her heart caught in her throat as she thought it Samuel coming in to get her. A woman hummed sweetly as she took the adjoining stall next to her's. Nikki watched, as pink panties dangled from the woman's feet. She heard the noisy toilet paper dispenser; heard a small grunt followed by the toilet flushing. Moments later, she was alone again. Left with her thoughts of escape.

She knew she'd been in the bathroom way too long; she too followed a similar routine with the toilet paper and the flushing of the toilet. She washed her hands, dried them and swung open the door. To her surprise, Samuel, was standing right in front of the bathroom, presumably, awaiting her departure, she mused.

"What took you so long? It doesn't take that long to piss." He complained.

"For a woman it does."

""Yeah whatever, turn around," He handcuffed her and gave her a small shove in the back. "Let's move."

Once her and Samuel had reunited with the others, they clambered inside the van. There was no way for any of the girls to get a look at where they were going. The windows had apparently been professionally painted over with a thick coat of black paint. It was like the plane except, they weren't flying.

They had some privy time among themselves; with both goons up front the girls enjoyed a little mingle time.

Stacy asked, "So where do you think we'll be staying this time?"

"Probably another county jail or something similar." said Paula.

"Blondie said something about a hotel."

"Yeah with sewer rats and cockroaches? I don't think so, more like a motel is what he meant to say."

"Did he say anything else to you about it, Nikki?" asked Stacy questioningly.

"No just told me to hurry up and use the bathroom. You know guys, not to be rude I'm really not in a Q&A mood right now."

"Why what's wrong?"

"I'm worried about my daughter, Kelly. It's difficult for me...I never been more than an arms length from her and now...I'm several states away..." She started to cry.

Stacy and Carla comforted her from where they sat. It was sad to have your daughter stripped away from you with no knowledge of her safety.

Carla said, "I say I know how you feel, but seeing your reaction speaks volumes."

"Yes it really does," Stacy chimed in. "I'm sure she's glad to have a mother as caring as you are. If she has just a fraction of fight in her like you do, she'll be fine."

"Thanks guys, I really appreciate the support, really."

The van had began to decelerate. They must've made their destination, Nikki thought. That was rather a quick ride. It seemed as if they had only been riding for 10 minutes tops.

The doors to the back of the van flung open and each of them were escorted out. In front of them, stood a well built modern day hotel. A sign read: Silver Palms Inn. They were going to be staying here? Nikki was elated. She'd figured they'd be staying somewhere similar to what Paula had described as a motel; with sewer rats and cockroaches.

But this place was a level up, maybe two levels. They walked through the entrance and was immediately greeted by a handsome bellboy. "Greetings, welcome to the Silver Palms Inn, my name's George and I'll be carrying your bags."

"We ain't got any bags just these," said Samuel thrusting his thumb over his shoulder. "We just need a couple rooms for the night."

Apparently, Samuel was the boss, giving orders to not only the girls but the other goon that accompanied him. "You take two of them and I'll take the others." he said.

"Okay boss."

The girls were split up: Nikki and Paula with Samuel and Carla and Stacy with the other goon.

The rooms were enormous, almost the size of the Ritz or perhaps the Grand Plaza. Nikki stared in awe as she tried to take it all in. She was married to a handsome detective, but never had she been able to experience such elegance in this manner. Her husband is almost always too busy for any kind of vacation. That comes with the job of saving and protecting society.

Samuel came out of the bathroom half naked and brushing his teeth. "It'll be a good idea that you ladies get some rest," he mumbled incoherently. "I know its still early in the day but you have a long day ahead of you."

Some 945 miles away, Detective Davenport stood in the foyer of his Victorian home. He'd been lied to yet again, only this time he knew the chances of that happening was sure enough. He searched everywhere only to come up empty-handed. He was trying hard to think of what the chief had up his sleeve. He didn't send him all this way for naught, did he?

He pulled out his cell and dialed Detective Harmon. She answered on the first ring. "Harmon speaking?"

"Abbie, I want you to get the hell out of there now! I shouldn't have left you there by yourself."

"What...what're you talking about?"

"Get out now!The chief has something he isn't bringing to our attention. There isn't a soul here he sent me out here for other reasons unknown."

Detective Harmon was eyeing the chief as she listened intently. He was leering at her like the snake he was. He hadn't moved or even said a word since Davenport had left them more than twenty minutes ago.

The chief asked, "Is there something wrong? You look a bit shaken, like you're just now realizing something." He grinned.

She said into the phone, "I'll call you right back." Then closed her phone and focused on the chief. "Why'd you send Davenport all the way to his house knowing that his wife nor his daughter were home?"

"Quite the question, wouldn't you agree? You see I know Detective Davenport better than he knows himself. I knew that telling him that his family was sitting at home would strike a nerve, an emotional one.

"That was the only way to get him to walk into yet another trap. Your partner is becoming a real pest and so are you, Abigail. To be frank, you're suppose to be dead somewhere, making love with the grave worms. But stupid me, I let you live. Huge mistake on my part.

"But I must say, I'm quite impressed by how you managed to take out some highly trained commandos. You should pat yourself on the back. Bravo. But now you can't help him, because in about two minutes John Andrews is going to walk through that door and kill you dead."

"He better be a quicker shot than he'd been in that corn field. He nearly lost his life."

"Oh believe me, I'm counting on him to be more than a quick shot, because his life also depends on it."

"So you're going to kill him if he doesn't kill me? Is that it?"

"B-I-N-G-O, and bingo was his name-o."

The door crept open just a little, Harmon tensed gripping her gun tighter. She was cornered with nowhere to go. This could be her final moment of heroism. She raised her gun and waited for the intruder to advance through the door. 

# Chapter Forty-Six

After the horrific events that had transpired yesterday evening. We were still mourning over Nicole's death. Nobody had eaten anything since then and I didn't believe nobody will ever eat again. My father had assigned an inside guard to watch over us, kind of creepy if you ask me. But at least he was nice, by nice I mean he didn't gawk at us when we had to squat over the toilet to pee. Or when we took turns sharing the shower.

He was respectful, to say the least. And for that reason I respected him as a man.

I decided to read a children's book to Kelly, which was honestly the only age appropriate book for her. She enjoyed my recitation of "Green eggs and Ham" by Dr. Seuss. It was one of my all time favorites, along with "How the Grinch stole Christmas".

"I do not like green eggs and ham, I do not."

She giggled as I continued on, "I do not like green eggs in the morning."

I finished and closed the book. Kelly had fallen asleep on my shoulder. She'd been tried here as of late, so a cat nap was much needed. I gingerly, laid her down on my bed and took up residence on her bed. I had protected this child as if she were my own. I wouldn't dare let the likes of my father cause havoc on such an innocuous angel.

I looked over to where our in-house guard sat and asked, "What does my father plan to do with us? Keep us locked up until I go home with him?"

The guard looked up from his John Grisham novel and said, "I have no idea what that father of yours concocting up. Rumor has it, that he's planning something big with the U.S. military."

The military? That certainly piqued my interest, because my ex husband, Jeffrey LeBlanc, was in the military, the Army to be precise. I was beginning to wonder if, perhaps, my father was planning on using Jeffery, in order to get me to travel back home? It wouldn't work. I loved Jeffery, but one life for the sake of hundreds of thousands? That doesn't take a imbecile to foresee the difference.

I asked, "What is the military's involvement in all this?"

"Beats me," he replied. "But between you and I, I think your father is giving the U.S. clearance to do whatever they want in his country. And being that the United States has been trying to take control over the Iraqis for years, for simple purposes such as oil, I don't blame the U.S. for jumping on such an opportunity."

He had a valid point there. Ever since discovering that there was another country other than my own; the United States and my father's father have been at each other's throat since I could remember. And yes, it was all for the purpose of controlling the oil trade. But the question still remained: Did my father really agree to such terms, in order to have me captured, raped, and tortured? Or was this one of his infamous double crossing moves he'd perfected in his life?

I had to figure out what my father planned on doing with the military at his disposal.

I asked, "Could you radio my father and ask if I can have a word, please?"

"Sure,"

He radioed my father and I waited for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, the door to our cellar opened and in walked through was my father smiling like he'd won seven pounds of pure gold.

He asked, "You wanted to speak with me? In privy I presume?"

I nodded.

The guard who had been standing outside our door as backup, came in and gathered all the girls. I shot my eyes over to where Kelly, lay, thumb in her mouth, on my bed, I hissed, "No leave her be, she's asleep!"

My father held up his hand and the guard halted. Once the room was cleared my father said, venomously, "You've become quite fond of this creature, Amelia. I see no point in it. You're a Muhammad rather you want to admit or not. Now stop playing babysitter and commenced to doing what you were birthed to do."

"And what's that exactly father? Please elaborate." I snapped back. I was not going to acknowledge my heritage under no circumstances, whatsoever.

"Amelia, my dear, you were bred to cause havoc on innocent people. No discrimination. Every since you were a child, you had a ruthless side to you that I enjoyed, especially when it came to innocent little boys wanting to be your boyfriend.

"Oh the stuff I heard their mother's saying you said to their boy's. Tell me, what happened to that wicked side of you? It was really the only reason I considered to let you live."

That hurt me to hear my father say that the only reason I was alive today was because he show potential in me. Potential to be just like him: a ruthless bastard causing havoc on innocent people. I subdued my emotions, putting them under control as I prepared to get back to what this meeting was suppose to be about.

I said, "I wanted to know what you and the military are planning on. Honestly, I never known you to be a good concoction with someone else."

"Do you remember Jeffrey LeBlanc?"l

My insides had turned to liquid.

"Yes," I said, holding back to many tears that were breaking through my eyelids.

"I want to place him under my intense interrogation see if he can survive."

I felt as though my heart had just been ripped from my chest and was hanging on for dear life by the coronary artery. My father had opened up an old wound...on purpose. He turned on his heel and left, slamming the cellar door in his wake.

FBI Special Agent in Charge, Caleb Beckham had managed to find a safe house, in Fairview, North Carolina. He was driving in the inconsistent rainy weather. He had Officer Antonio Sanchez in custody, awaiting his interrogation. He had caught Officer Sanchez in a lie, in regards, to Detective Davenport. He planned on placing the officer under intense interrogation, the kind that was used on terrorists across the world.

He made a right turn, just as Sue, his GPS guide had said, on Concord Road. He was unmarried with no children, and hearing the soothing voice of Sue's feminine tone made his days as an FBI agent all the more easy going.

He pulled into the driveway, looking up at the massive house, said, "Damn Sue, they sure know how to make big in this town."

He exited the car, grabbed his duffel bag from the trunk and proceeded up the concrete stairs. He rang the doorbell. Moments later, the door was opened and he stepped into the foyer of the massive landmark.

Special Agent Brittany Moore greeted him with a wan smile. "Good evening, sir. Everything is ready. Subject 1AS1 is waiting for you down the hall." She began leading the way.

Caleb Beckham watched, as she sashayed provocatively down the hallway. The way she swayed her hips, reminded him of those models who walked the Runway. She side-stepped, caught him staring and purred, "I'll be happy to make your acquaintance later if you'd like." She smiled seductively.

"That would be rather refreshing for a man of my standards." He walked into the room and met Officer Sanchez's gaze with one just as fierce.

"You have no authority to interrogate me." Officer Sanchez spat.

"Welcome to the federal level of interrogation, Mr. Sanchez." He removed an instrument that had two prominent prongs attached to it. He turned toward the door, where Special Agent Moore stood.

"I'll be done shortly, please."

She nodded and closed the door behind her. As she walked further down the hall, she heard an ear-piercing scream. She smiled. She knew what the cause of that scream was.

# Chapter Twenty-Five

Detectives Davenport and Harmon arrived at the Charlotte Douglas International Airport, two hours later. They retrieved their carry ons and proceeded towards the Hertz car rental lot.

Davenport was still groggy from the flight, while his partner, Harmon, was fully rested. Harmon excused herself to the ladies room, with intentions of freshening up.

"I'll be back in a few. Go ahead with the paperwork." she nodded toward the elderly lady behind the receptionist desk.

Davenport made his way up to the counter, pulling out his credentials, he waved them at the elderly woman.

He said, "I'm Detective Drake Davenport, I'd called ahead before I boarded my flight, about having a rental standing by?"

The elderly woman punched a series of keys on her desktop, looked up. "And your name again, please?"

"Drake Davenport," he replied.

"Okay," said the elderly woman. "Mr Davenport, we've selected for you a mid size sedan, a Ford, if that suits your liking."

"Whatever's available will be just fine with me, ma'am."

He flashed his prominent pearly whites.

"Thank you, sir." She began pecking away at her computer.

She finished up the rental contract, printed it, and asked Davenport for his signature on several pieces of paper. Davenport, reluctantly, agreed to her request.

She handed him the rental key, along with a slip notifying him when the rental was due back. He thanked her, and waited outside for Detective Harmon. She arrived shortly thereafter.

"Hey, I was beginning to wonder if perhaps you'd fallen in." Davenport joked as she came outside. "I swear you women drive me insane, the way you spend all that time on john."

She punched him in the shoulder. "Quit your whining, Drake. I had to make a few phone calls and freshen up a bit."

"Right."

The Operative ended his phone call, hurried into his clothes and was out the door. He had just been notified by one of his counterparts, that Davenport was back in town. As he drove to meet with ADA John Andrews, he placed another phone call.

"Hey, John, it's me. We've got a problem."

"What kind of problem?" ADA John Andrews asked.

"The kind you and I both don't need. Look, a counterpart of mine just sent me word of his arrival. I told her to stall him as long as possible."

"And..."

"She told me that they'd already left."

The Operative, was beginning to get a massive headache, rubbing his temples, he continued, "I don't know what to do about Nikki. If he finds out about her abduction, that could turn this whole thing against us."

Pause.

"Calm down, my friend, I don't need you to be getting all worked up for nothing. The plan will continue, no worries. I've been informed in the past forty eight hours, that The General has found his men and they're hours from touching down here in town. So relax." said John Andrews, hung up.

The Operative held the phone out in front of him, gazing at it as if it were some bizarre object from Mars. He'd never been hung up on before and it bothered him gravely.

Up ahead, his turn was approaching. He made a left, onto South French Broad Avenue, saw that his main man was waiting for him, hands in his pockets.

The Operative slowed to a creep as he got closer to the drug dealer, rolling down his window, leaning across the armrest, he said, "You got the stuff?"

The drug dealer was the typical, African American, with his pants hanging off his ass and sporting a over-sized hoodie.

The drug dealer said, "Yeah man, I got your stuff. You got my money this time?"

"Are you being a wise ass kid?" asked The Operative.

"Naw. Just saying cause last time you didn't have your shit straight enough to do business."

"Just give me my shit so I can get out of here!"

The drug dealer produced a baggie filled with some sort of white powdery material. The Operative produced some cash and the exchange was made. The Operative wasted no time at all, he peeled out, tires screeching.

"How far away are we now," said Davenport from the passenger seat. "I'm starving."

Harmon looked around for any signs, indicating their current location. There weren't none.

"I don't know yet," replied Harmon, before spotting a sign later down the road that announced Asheville was 30 miles away.

She pointed, "According to that sign, we're about 30 miles out from Asheville. There's a McDonald's on this exit." She veered off on the ramp.

They pulled into a McDonald's parking lot, taking the drive thru option first. They were in Hendersonville, approximately 30 minutes from Asheville.

Davenport ordered a Big Mac, with extra sauce, and a large Vanilla milkshake. Harmon selected a 20 piece McNugget, which were her all time favorite.

They got back on the Interstate, and did 80 mph, all the way back to Asheville.

The Operative's mind was racing, as the last little bit of cocaine began to wear off. He had to admit, the kid always had the best coke, for the best prices. He was parked behind the United Way building, on North French Broad Avenue.

This was his "high spot" whenever he needed a fix. He'd become quite addicted to the instant rush that you get from cocaine. He'd tried to tone it down around his wife, Sharon, but once she found out she wanted in.

Her first "mountain" made her sexual wild side come out. She did things The Operative had yet to see her do throughout their marriage: She'd done anal, gave him rim jobs, even attempted to sodomize him once with a strap on dildo.

His phone rang, interrupting his moments of mere retrospect. Annoyed, he answered, "The Operative."

"Where the hell are you? I've got a case load of files to attend to."

It was ADA John Andrews. Fucking prick.

"I had to make a little pit stop, John. No worries."

"Still snorting shit up your nose for a buck I see." said John laughing at his own joke.

"Fuck you, John."

"I'm just kidding around, but seriously let's hurry so I can get back to what I do best."

The Operative clicked off. He sat there for moment, looking at the powder residue that decorated the front of his pants. He felt ashamed. Embarrassed that he snorted cocaine because it gave him the courage to do stuff he just wasn't cut out to do.

He fired up his car, crept out from behind the building, and made his way downtown to meet with ADA John Andrews.

Davenport and Harmon arrived downtown, at the Asheville Police Department about the same time Chief Anthony Gates, pulled up. Davenport noted that the Chief looked a bit on edge as he greeted the two of them. They headed inside, where Chief Gates informed them that he had plans elsewhere.

"I'll catch up with you guys some other time." said Chief Gates running back outside, hoping back in his car.

Davenport asked, "Did you notice how jittery the Chief was, Abbie?"

She was signaling to the Chief as he pulled away that she'd call him later.

"Did you hear me?"

"No, what did you say?" said Harmon.

"I was saying did you notice how jittery the Chief was just a minute ago?"

She said, "Drake, he always get's like that when he has too many cups of coffee."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, staring into his eyes, "Has anyone ever told you that you worry too much?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, my wife tells me that on the daily basis. And my answer is always the same 'its when you don't worry too much, is when it becomes a problem'."

"Let's go see if Sanchez has anything for us." said Harmon leading the way.

"And afterwards I need to go check in on Nikki and Kelly. Still haven't heard from them and yes I am starting to 'worry' about them."

They laughed at the inside joke.

# Chapter Eighteen

Inside Interrogation room 2, Timothy Geisler sat expressionless as he waited for his lawyer to arrive. Detective Davenport and Detective Harmon stood behind the one way glass, watching intently as Detective Carl Levin interrogated him.

"Mr Geisler, you said that on the day in question you were at a get together with a few "potential clients". What if I told you that a piece of you DNA, a hair follicle to be precise, was located on the victim?" Detective Levin lied.

"I would tell you that you're full of it, Detective. It's impossible for my DNA to be anywhere other than my house." He looked up toward the one way glass and gave whoever behind it the middle finger before turning back to Detective Levin, "Where the hell's my lawyer?"

The interview was technically over once a suspect "lawyer's up" but Davenport was old school. He brushed past Harmon, burst into Interrogation room 2. He walked over to Timothy Geisler, yanked him up by his shirt collar, and stared into his mouse eyes.

Davenport said, "Look you little prick I know you had Austin Riviera killed. He was living in your house that's in your name. He had a driver's license in your name. Come to think of it he even resembled you a little," he got even closer. "So why'd you kill him Geisler?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Davenport shot an angry look in Detective Levin's direction, said, "Please excuse us Detective."

Levin walked toward the door, looked back and shook his head, "Be careful Detective."

Davenport walked behind Geisler, slammed his head into the metal table. Geisler let out a string of execrations, grabbing his forehead in the process. He turned and glared at Davenport through the blinding fluorescent light above.

He said, "I'm going to sue your ass for police brutality, you fuck!"

Davenport stifled his laughter, said, "Good luck with that."

Davenport left the interrogation room, went to Detective Levin's side, said, "He's ready to talk."

The two stepped back inside, slamming the door which they knew would give Geisler an instant headache, then stood at his flank. They were waiting for some sort of cooperation.

Geisler got to the point; he wasn't leaving this room without shedding some light on the Austin Riviera murder case. He cleared his throat, shifted in his seat and commenced to speaking.

"He was in debt with the wrong people..."

"Who was in debt Mr Geisler?" said Davenport, wanting to have it repeated for the record.

Geisler glared at the detective. "Austin Riviera was in debt the the wrong people.

"Anyway, he came to me for help said he would pay double my rate. It was a good proposition by all means, but I'm not in the 'saving someone's ass' type of business. So I turned down the offer and told him to get lost. He didn't like that, even threatened to sell my house that he was renting from me."

"So you had him killed?"

"No I did not have him killed. Believe me I wanted to but I knew the consequences if I did. So I told him I'll make a few calls to see if anyone else who accept his offer. No one took the bait. I called Mr Riviera to inform him of such, then enjoyed my evening at a get together with a few promising clients."

Davenport didn't like his story but it indeed made sense on all angles.

"Okay Mr Geisler, let's say we did believe your story. Do you have any idea who these 'wrong people' were that Mr Rivera was in debt with? A name you may have overheard out of pure desperation.?"

"I have slightest idea on the matter. Look I really need to be getting home, so if you're going to make this arrest official I'd advise you to do so, otherwise this meeting is over detectives."

Geisler was such a cocky prick he couldn't resist smirking. Davenport warned him of the consequences of leaving town. After Geisler was cut loose, Harmon approached the two detectives, suggesting that Geisler be placed under surveillance until the investigation is over.

"Good idea detective," said Levin. "I'll have a cruiser head on over."

Turning to her partner, she said, "How about we go grab a bite to eat and catch some rest?"

"Great idea Abbie."

I was playing paper, rock, scissors with Kelly, when the door to the chamber opened. Michael Highsmith, my ex lover, was standing in the doorway. He had a blank expression on his face, like a looked of constipation.

"You girls get yourselves ready. There's someone here who wants to see you." he said

I wonder who it could be visiting us this time? Or maybe this is some sort of cruel joke? Who knows?

"Who's coming?" asked Kelly, adorably.

She was cute as a button. Innocent.

I said, "Its probably Santa Claus. You like Santa Claus, Kelly?"

She looked puzzled, confused. "Santa Claus? But Christmas time is not yet. Mommy is it new Christmas time?"

, "No honey it isn't a new Christmas time. Ms Amelia is just saying that Santa is coming to town a little early."

Kelly laid her soft innocent eyes on me. "Do you know Santa Claus?"

There were tears in my eyes, mainly because I felt sad that this innocent child had to experience such a tragedy. She was only four years old! I placed my emotions in check and brought myself back to the present.

"Well not necessarily I used to work with one of his elves from the North Pole."

She giggled at the thought.

"I was one of his little helpers," I glanced down at myself, "well one of his big helpers."

We shared a moment of laughter that was interrupted by my name being called through the chamber's door.

"Amelia," said the voice.

My heart rate must've climbed because I was hearing the Little Drummer boy from within.

The door opened, and a mature gentleman was dressed in the Army dress greens. He had various awards and ribbons hanging from his lapels. Telling from the 4 stars attached to the shoulders of his uniform, he was a four-star General.

A four star General! What the hell did he have to do with this?

The four star said, "Good afternoon ladies. I apologize for any discomfort you may have encountered, but know that you are doing something great for the United States of America. As head of the world's greatest Army, I thank you ladies for your contribution.

"I will be having you ladies transferred to a much better and more comfortable location. Some of you will be shipped overseas, other's different parts of the United States. There will be more girls coming shortly. Again I thank you ladies dearly."

The four star turned on his heel, the metal door closing behind him. I couldn't believe what I just heard. We were being conveyed around by the United States Army. Was the Army involved in some sort of corruption that involved human trafficking?

I looked over to where Kelly was sitting, Indian style and felt a moment of guilt. I had told her that Santa Claus was coming to town. That four star definitely didn't favor a jolly old man and Kelly surely knew the difference.

I felt a knot forming in the pit of my stomach. I think I'm going to be sick. Because if what that four star had just recited was indeed true, then that would mean Kelly could be separated from her mother. Not only that but her father would be completely devastated.

I could almost see his expression now; paled, starved, graying temples. It was a sad and tragic event.

"What's going to happen to us?" asked Nicole.

"I don't know. We have to stick together no matter what happens." I replied, attempting to neutralize the situation.

"Was that Santa?" asked Kelly.

I turned toward her slowly hating the fact that I literally put my foot in my mouth. I had lied to her, not intentionally but I lied. There wasn't no Santa Claus coming to town. I didn't know any elves and I definitely wasn't one of his 'big helpers'.

I said, solemnly, "No baby girl that wasn't Santa. Look how about we play another game, huh? How about hide and seek?"

Davenport was in his suite reading over his notes from the investigation, when someone rapped on his room door. Agitated, he placed his note pad and ball point pen on the table. He slid his chair back, walked over to the door, looked through the peephole, and opened the door for Detective Harmon.

"Abbie, uh, what are you doing here it's only been thirty minutes since we've been back. What's the matter?"

"You, Drake,"

"What are you talking about Abbie?"

"Can I come in?"

"Yes sure,"

Davenport stepped aside granting her enough room to squeeze through. He closed the door and took a deep breath.

"What is this about?" he asked.

Harmon kissed him deeply, grabbing his crotch.

"What?"

"Just go with it," she shoved him on the bed.

Davenport knew what he was doing was wrong but the temptation took over. He ripped off his shirt, while Harmon undid his pants. She straddled him, gripping his erection and thrusting it inside her. She moaned as she felt the first rush of ecstasy. The two climaxed, making the final moment one to remember.

They separated, exhausted and covered in sweat.

"That's was amazing Blake, you haven't lost your prowess in that department." said Harmon, panting.

"I feel so bad. We shouldn't have done this Abbie, I'm married."

"It'll be our little secret Blake. Don't act like you've never had a one night stand before. I remember when you and Jessica..."

"Enough! I get your point let's just avoid this from happening again."

"Well we should get dressed so and get back on track."

"I think that's a good idea," said Davenport throwing back the covers.

He padded over to the bathroom, turned on the shower head. His breath caught as Harmon walked in and grabbed his crotch, sending his erection rigid.

"Let's go for round two in the shower." she giggled as she caressed the tip of his erection.

Davenport couldn't resist the urge, they stepped inside the stall and made love under the steaming hot water. 

# Chapter Twenty-Six

Davenport left for his house, in West Asheville, leaving Detective Harmon and Officer Sanchez at the station. As he pulled away, he placed yet another call to Nikki, in hopes of her answering the phone. It went straight to voicemail.

Angrily, Davenport tossed his cell in the passenger seat, and floored the engine. He arrived at his Victorian house 10 minutes later, passing the Wells Fargo Bank, as they had a line of customers wrapped around the building. That's odd, he thought, never before has this bank been this busy.

He pulled into his recently paved driveway, instantly noticing that Nikki's red Honda Civic, was parked in the driveway. Along with that revelation, he also noticed that something wasn't right about this picture. Exiting his cruiser, hand on the butt of his Glock, he advanced to the front door, cautiously.

He tried the knob. It was unlocked.

That's even more odd, he thought, Nikki never left the front door unlocked after what happened to her last summer. Davenport, extending his Glock, advanced further on in hopes of an explanation to why his front door was unlocked.

At first glimpse, he didn't find anything out of the ordinary. But upon closer examination, he noticed that the kitchen had a strong aroma coming from it. Spoiled meat, perhaps, he thought.

Apparently, dinner was being cooked when things appeared to go astray somehow. Her mother probably invited her over for a little weekly get together. Or maybe she had a client who was in desperate need of help somewhere.

Davenport weighed all these possible options, for Nikki's and Kelly's abrupt disappearance. And neither option seemed logical, not for Nikki. He came to a breathtaking conclusion, Nikki and Kelly had been kidnapped!

And a much more disquieting conclusion he came up with, was that his boss, Chief Gates had been lying to him about his family's well being. But why?

Regardless, Davenport was going to find out why he'd been lied to. And he was going to stop at nothing in order to find his family along with his family's abductor. He prayed to God, that Chief Gates had no knowledge of this fiasco, or it would be all hell breaking loose around him.

He did one last circuit of the house, making sure he didn't miss anything, or anyone for that matter. Once satisfied that he did a good decent job, he headed for the front door, hopped in his cruiser, and took off back downtown.

He had a meeting to catch, and that meeting will determine the outcome of his actions in the near future.

Racing through traffic lights, sirens blaring, he called Detective Harmon to let her know what he'd discovered at his house.

"This is Harmon," she answered on the first ring.

"Abbie, there's no other way to explain what I'm about to say," he sighed deeply, then continued, "Nikki and Kelly are not at home. And I believe Chief Gates is responsible for their abduction, hence the fact that he'd lied to me repeatedly about their well being."

If Detective Harmon was shocked by the news, she didn't sound like it.

She said, "That's a very huge accusation you're making Drake. I mean, what if the Chief had no choice but to keep you at bay? What if the abductor threatened him or his family?"

Davenport was caught off guard by her, instant defensiveness on Chief Gates' behalf. "There's only one way to find out. I'm having a meeting with him when I get there and I want you to have front row seats when I get there." He hung up.

With ten years on the force, Davenport had seen all the wrong in the government and political offices. A few years back, a former Sheriff, William Medford, had stolen guns, drugs, and other things, amounting up to 10,000 dollars. He's currently serving a federal sentence, for embezzlement along with other charges, in Raleigh, North Carolina.

Davenport was starting to believe that Chief Gates, might very well be dirty. Thinking back to last summer, where his wife and daughter were kidnapped by a copycat killer, attempting to gain publicity through kidnapping a Homicide detective's wife and kid. It had truly shakened up both Nikki and Kelly, leaving them both having to visit a shrink every other week for PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Davenport wondered if the Chief had in fact, been involved in that attack against his family.

He pulled into a parking spot, killing the engine, he sat back in his seat and contemplated a course of action. He opened the driver's door, and began heading in the mere direction of Chief Anthony Gates' corner office.

"Who are you and why are you doing this?"

"Because I can. There is no one who can dictate me when I hold what's dear to their heart in the palm of my hand." said the faceless figure.

"But what has my husband done to you?"

The faceless figure thought about it. "He's interfering with the show," shaking his head, "and I can't have that. The people asked for a show, and voted me as their, honorable host." He smiled his slimy smile.

"You're sick, if you think you're going to get away with this."

"I already have," replied the faceless figure with conviction.

"Mark my word, when my husband finds who you are, you're dead." the woman spat.

"Let's hope you stick around long enough to find out."

Nikki Davenport, was awaken from a nightmare. She was still sitting in the basement of the jail. She was drenched in cold sweat, her clothes sticking to her slender body. A guard was stationed behind some makeshift reception desk. Nikki walked, timidly, to her cell door, knocked on the glass, and asked what time it was.

The guard put both hands in the air, to lazy to get up, and indicated with her fingers, that it was 3 o'clock. Nikki had thought that she'd be out of this place by now. She'd been there in the basement for two and a half hours. What the hell!?

About thirty minutes later, the guard got up, walked to her cell, and unlocked it. Stepping aside, said, "Nikki, you are to join the other women in a transport van outside."

She walked her through a maze of hallways, ending up outside in a garage like shed. There was a panel van waiting for her, already loaded with the other three women from her cell.

The guard gave her over to a blond haired guy she'd not yet seen. He roughly grabbed her arm, shoved her inside the cargo area of the van, and slammed the door shut.

Inside, the van was quite roomy. Despite the fact that the other women were handcuffed and shackled to one another, it was not that cramped inside. Nikki wondered why she too wasn't handcuffed and shackled like the rest of them. Maybe they figured out that Detective Davenport is indeed my husband, she thought as the van lurched forward, gaining speed as it left the underground garage.

Davenport burst into the department's glass entrance, just as a panel van sped past. He swirled around, glaring at the van as it deliberately ran a STOP sign. He shook his head, he had better things to attend to then a fucking traffic violation.

He advanced to his shared office, he was startled to find Detective Harmon sitting her desk, staring blankly into the computer.

"What're you still doing here, Abbie?"

"I could ask you the same question, but unfortunately, I already know the answer." replied Harmon. "Besides you offered me front row seats."

Davenport wasn't in a joking mood and Harmon seemed to think his situation was some big ploy, shooting the shit. He took a seat on the opposite side, his desk, and took a deep breath.

"What's up?" Harmon inquired.

"I have to find out if Chief is really involved. I want to honestly exclude him from the list of suspects, but I can't help but wonder why he'd lied to me."

"Do you want me to call him down here?" asked Harmon.

"No, let him keep his dignity for the moment. We'll just go to him."

They headed down the hall to Chief Anthony Gates' corner office. There wasn't any agenda to go by just mere improvisation. Knocking on the door, before entering, Davenport took the lead.

"Chief," he began painfully, "there's something I have to ask you. And I want you to be completely honest with me."

The Chief's left eye began twitching uncontrollably, Davenport noted.

"Shoot."

"Why did you lie to me when I asked about my wife and daughter?" asked Davenport

Davenport concluded that there wasn't no other way to say it, but to say it.

Harmon gasped loudly, obviously taken aback by Davenport bluntness.

The Chief on the other hand, sat emotionless, hardened, he said, "Frankly, I don't have to answer to you, Davenport, but since you're a man with great integrity, I'll dignify that inquiry." He interlaced his hands over his bulging gut. "There are things that are going on that you, yourself will not fully understand.

"You're wife was contacted by some stranger via phone. She claims that this person demanded to know of your whereabouts. She told him that she had no idea where you were, and in fact she honestly didn't. Anyway, she said the person hung up. She came to me, asking for help, protection so to speak. I granted it immediately.

"I wanted to keep you focused on the case at hand, and not get emotionally thrown off. You understand? I know that your wife, from what she went through last summer, was tragic for you and her. I went to check on her like you had requested, and she was not home. The red Honda Civic was parked in the driveway, but no one was home I was for certain.

"I took the initiative to sweep the house, finding only luke-warm food in the over and dinner plates for two on the table. I didn't want to inform you, so I had a private sector come in and work the case."

Davenport and Harmon both listened intently, of Chief Gates' failed attempt to check in on Nikki and Kelly. Davenport had heard enough, he got up and stormed out the door, leaving Chief Gates' behind yelling his name.

Chief Gates' stared across at the figure before him. "You know how to fix this situation that's why I picked you. See to it."

Harmon nodded in acknowledgement, got up, and went after Davenport screaming after him as she left.

# Chapter Ten

Back in West Asheville, Nikki was preparing to go to bed. She had just finished tucking her daughter in when she heard it. It was probably Drake arriving home. She headed downstairs to greet him. She didn't have time to surprise him with the news of her pregnancy. The two had been trying none stop for the past year. She had planned on telling him over dinner, but he had gotten a call informing him that his services were needed.

As she neared the bottom step, her heart caught in her throat. The person standing in her foyer was not her husband, but another man all the same. She tried to run back upstairs, but he grabbed her around the ankle with a vise grip. She fell chin first down the stairs.

The man stood over her, as if there were some sort of familiarity about her, cocking his head from side to side. He yanked her on her feet, slung in a nearby chair, and began duct taping her mouth, arms, and legs. Once he was confident that she was secure he began his interrogation.

"What is your name?" The man asked.

"Nikki, Nikki Davenport," she began sobbing.

It was like deja vu once again.

"Please don't hurt me."

"You won't get hurt if you answer my questions honestly. Now where is your husband, Mr Davenport?"

"He got called back into work, that's all I know honesty,"

"Are you alone?"

She hesitated, "No my daughter is upstairs asleep, she's four. Please don't hurt her."

The man headed for the stairs, yelling over his back, "Where?!"

"Please don't hurt my little girl, please..."

He started toward her, flared.

"I asked you a question, where is your four year old daughter?"

"First room on the left, please.."

He made his way back up the stairs.

"Shut up," he bellowed from the top stair.

The Operative found the little girl easily enough. She was tucked neatly under a Hello Kitty comforter, nestled between a bunch of stuffed animals. He yanked back the comforter, to reveal a sleeping four year old.

She was curled in a ball, her thumb in her mouth, while her index finger curled in a "C" around her nose. It was an adorable spectacle. He pushed aside his emotions, lifted the child in his arms and brought her downstairs.

He didn't tie the child up to a chair, he had morals and child abuse was not his MO. He removed his Beretta M9 from beneath his jacket. He pointed it at Nikki and asked, "Do you want to die?"

Nikki was petrified, she shook her head no.

"Then you'll come with me now,"

He cut away her restraints. She immediately went to her daughter's side. Examining her whole body for any signs of harm.

"Let's move,"

David Rogers, Human Resources, was of medium build, his blonde hair and blue eyes made him look younger than his thirty five years. Detective Harmon, was impressed by his immaculate appearance. He was dressed in a three piece suit, with manicured hands and baritone voice.

Rogers eyed the two detectives standing in front of him, suspiciously.

"To whom, do I owe the pleasure?" Rogers asked.

Davenport folded his arms together, "How long have you been working here, Mr Rogers?"

Rogers considered the the question, then answered.

"I've been here for almost five years, why?"

"Do you know of a doctor by name of Kozak?" Detective Harmon asked.

"No absolutely not,"replied Rogers with conviction.

"Well my partner here," she motioned towards Davenport, "was here yesterday and bumped into a Dr Nikita Kozak, who was working with a patient in room 516."

"Well Detective..." Rogers began, but couldn't recall being formally introduced.

"Harmon, Abigail Harmon," Harmon finished.

"Right, Detective Harmon, look I have a list of all the hospital's personnel files. And I'm certain that there has not been a Kozak, working here since I've been here."

Davenport stepped forward, "Do you mind if I take a peek at those personnel files?"

"Sure,"

He handed him a stack of files from beneath his desk, then handed another stack to Harmon.

"Thanks," said Davenport, retrieving the stack of files.

"I'm terribly sorry about your coworker, my department is beefing up the hospital's security. If there's anything else I can do just let me know." He got up and left the office perhaps leaving for the night.

Davenport and Harmon continued their search. Davenport finding all the doctors connected to both Mission and Saint Joseph's. And Harmon finding all the nursing assistants and the like.

"You ready to begin these interviews?"asked Davenport.

Harmon let out a heavy sigh, placed her hand on her brow, "I can't say its the most exciting part of my promotion. Let's be sure to grab a drink afterwards, you here?"

"No problem," he said laughing.

"Where are we?"

Nikki mused as she and her daughter Kelly, walked timidly towards the warehouse.

"This is your new residence for the time being," The Operative said, almost as if he had telepathic abilities.

They approached a metal door that looked like a garage door. The Operative rapped on the sheet metal twice in concession. Moments later the door opened and they were led inside.

The Operative gazed around the makeshift warehouse and was impressed with his comrades for creating a safe house with little to work with. Back when he was in the Army it was part of his job to be able to make a safe house when he was out in the field. But those days are over, he thought, I'm a different person now then I was then. He smiled at the irony. In fact he was indeed a different person. He even had a different name.

"Keep them here until I give word," said The Operative.

Greene nodded.

"I will need The General and his men in position to kill this detective. Call him and have him on stand by."

"We'll do sir," replied Greene

He motioned for Highsmith to lock up the new guest. When he turned back toward The Operative but the man had disappeared.

"I've interviewed 10 nurses and they all come up clean. I had Sanchez run their names through NCIC. He'll let me know something." Harmon dropped the stack she finished in front of Davenport.

"I got one doctor who is looking like our prime suspect. His name is Nicolas Kodak."

"What the hell are you waiting for let's bring him in for a little good cop, bad cop."

# Chapter Eleven

Timothy Geisler was sitting in his Key West condo sipping a glass Scotch. He was an investment banker, who worked discreetly with local drug lords. Geisler made a fortune off these useless scumbags. Useless would be an understatement, he thought, these bastards were highly productive in the illegal business venture.

His number one client was from Columbia, and went by the name Diego Rodriguez. The two met at a bar in Miami, last year and became acquainted with one another. They began doing business shortly thereafter, as Rodriguez commenced to trusting Geisler with his money.

Two years later, Rodriguez called for an urgent conference between the two of them, which it turned out to be more than the two. Rodriguez had his security detail at his disposal in case matters went awry. Geisler had no problem with the added protection on Rodriguez's behalf. And in that very meeting Geisler was introduced to how he was being paid so much for a simple job.

The look on his face when a kilo of cocaine was place in front of him, was priceless. He was stunned. These Columbian airheads were making twice his salary simply by pushing a few kilos over state lines. Just then, he noticed that he wasn't just dealing with a nickel and dime, penny licking dealer, he was fucking with the Colombian cartels.

"If you so much as whisper what you've just seen, I'll have your balls shoved down your throat," Rodriguez had said in broken English.

"Trust me, my friend my eyes are closed," replied Geisler.

"Better your mouth is the one that's closed, not your eye's. Understand this Mr Geisler, you work for me now. So I'll have an extra eye on you and your loved ones."

After Geisler left that meeting, he was not going to utter a word not even to the detective sitting in front of him now.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss Mr Kodak's financial affairs with you. And that's final."

"What about Michael Greene's, could you perhaps share some light on his finances?" Davenport asked.

Davenport and Harmon had caught the last plane out to Key West, Florida. They had gathered some valuable intel from Officer Sanchez that led to Timothy Geisler. The man was notorious for helping out the illegal to become legalized. Records proved that Geisler had some dealings with Dr Kodak, Michael Greene, and a guy named Blake Highsmith. They were here to get answers and answers they were going to get.

"Mr Geisler do you know what obstruction of justice is?"

Harmon was catching on quickly to the questioning tactics.

"Yes I do, why?"

"Do you know that if convicted you could face the maximum sentence of 5 years in prison?"

"No I did not know that,"

"Well, if you don't start answering our questions you'd soon find out what life behind bars would be like. And let me tell you its no paradise city," she said motioning about his lavishly decorated condominium.

"Perhaps, we can make a deal,"

"Nice try but the deal is you tell us who these fellas are and do a year or two in prison or we walk out of here, catch a plane, and have you stand trial facing 15 plus years for money laundering and racketeering. Your choice."

Geisler mulled over the likelihood of his conviction. Seeing that he had no other option but to comply he agreed to their terms.

"Okay I'll tell you who they are but first you have to promise to place me in Witness Protection. These guys are vicious killers."he pleaded.

"Look pal, be thankful you're getting any deal whatsoever. Let's get out of here Abbie, this jerk off isn't trying to cooperate."

Davenport stood and headed for the door, with Harmon in tow.

"Wait, wait I'm cooperating, just keep my name anonymous will ya?"

"Yeah sure, kid. Just tell us who these people are."

Geisler shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glancing over the dossier in front of him.

Clearing his throat, he said, "This man here,"he pointed to the picture of Michael Greene. "He's from Moscow been in America for 10 years."

He pointed to another picture. "This guy here is Blake Highsmith he's Michael's second in command, American. And the doc is a licensed plastic surgeon, who specializes in altered appearances."

"Do they all work individually or with someone else up the food chain?" Asked Davenport.

"They all work for Diego Rodriguez, they're in the trade industry. You see the Russians forks over the prostitutes, while a guy named The General is providing high powered firearms. And Diego forks him kilos of cocaine."

Davenport and Harmon sat there astonished. They had no idea that this was some sort of organized crime. Davenport hated working with the Feds, but this was a federal case, he had no jurisdiction. They thanked Geisler for his cooperation and handed him a card entailing they'll be in touch.

"So now what?" Harmon asked, standing outside Timothy's condo.

"I don't know Abbie, but I've put in too much work toward this God forsaken case, to have it trampled on by the Feds. That's not how Detective Davenport works."

"What are you suggesting, chief?"

"We continue to piece this case together, regardless of protocol," replied Davenport as he opened the driver's side door and jumped in. "This is a career climax and I plan on enjoying the last bit of it,"

He fired up the rental and headed for the hotel they had booked for this trip.

Across the street, a dark sedan was parked parallel. The driver was wearing a fedora and a trench coat. He place the phone to his ear, "Two cops just left his house,"

"Son of a bitch! I knew he was a cop. Get rid of that dirtbag and clean out his entire condo and Allen make it look like a freak nature accident."

"Yes sir, boss,"

They clicked off. The man in the fedora screwed on his suppressor, checked his magazine, and slid out the driver side.

He walked briskly up the walkway leading to Timothy Geisler fancy condominium. He rapped on the wooden door, waited for an answer. The door opened, Geisler attempted to scream, but the bullet hole between his eyes ceased all utterance. He dropped like a bag of potatoes, the fedora man kicked his body from the threshold and closed the door. He made to his car, fired it up, and drove away.

# Chapter Fifty

Smoke and debris were all about Detective Davenport and his partner. They were lying on their backs; coughing from the smoke that followed the explosion. To the right of them, Thomas LeBlanc's body was sprawled out, almost like a figure eight. Detective Harmon's Kia, was the victim to the main tragedy. Apparently, her car had had a micro bomb attached somewhere.

Harmon groaned as she got up on her elbows, "Fuck! Look at my car!"

"That could've been you, so be thankful, Abbie." Davenport responded. He'd gotten to his feet and walked over to LeBlanc's body, "Yeah I'd say this one is DOA, and that's official."

Harmon joined him, staring down, "Guess that'll cover our asses."

"Our? You mean your's. I wasn't the one riding a civilian around in my personal vehicle. And I wasn't the one who brought him into a hostile area, Abigail."

He was definitely upset. When he called her Abigail that was a sure sign. He stormed off, mumbling under his breath as he went. Harmon went over to the back of her car; the area where the most impact had came from, and scrutinized it. She rubbed her hand along the base of the trunk, then on the top. And that's where she found residue of a bomb.

It must've been when that soldier had hit the top of my trunk, she thought. That son of a bitch!

"I know how that bomb got attached to my car, Drake,"she said, storming over to where he stood, doing his own little investigation.

He whipped around causing her to stop in her tracks, "So who was it, then?"

She recited what she'd told him earlier on her way there: about the tanks and the military roadblocks. Then she elaborated further about how the soldier had walked pass, slapping the top of her trunk as he went. She said that she didn't think much of it, except that he was a complete asshole and should be kicked out of the military for following such orders. Once she had told him every detail she could remember, she was so high on adrenaline, she on the verge of cutting flips.

Davenport pondered on the news. He was certain that he had to find where his family was being held, and fast. He feared the worse; his family being killed by acts of terrorism. It was a hard pill to swallow, but he swallowed it. Out the corner of his eye he spotted a car, driving innocently down Vermont.

He said, "Let's move!" He ran out in the middle of the street with his badge held high calling out, "APD, I'm authorizing you to step out of your vehicle, now!"

The woman went pale as she slammed on her brakes. She jumped out the car and scurried out of his way, glancing nervously over her shoulder as she went.

Davenport took the wheel and Harmon assumed position in the passenger's seat. He stepped on the gas and hightailed it back up Vermont. He raced down Haywood Road, swerving pass bike rider and walking pedestrians. He ran a red light, forcing driver's with the right-a-way, to lean hard on their horns. He had no idea where he was going; he just wanted to get somewhere.

Once he'd gotten on Patton Avenue, he raced up Ann Street and parked in the parking lot of the Salvation Army. What a sweet little irony, he mused. He slide out of the driver's seat and briskly toward the Sheriff's Department. Somebody had to be on the good side corrupted around here.

"Drake, where are you going?"

He spun around, spotting Detective Harmon bustling her way toward him. "This has nothing to do with you, Abbie. Go back to the car."

"I'm your partner..."

"And I'm in charge of this investigation. And I'm saying go back to the car!" He turned on his heel and continued his trek. He needed to get someone to retrace that number the kidnapper had first made contact with. That was the only lead he had if that.

He busted through the glass-metal door, causing the Deputy manning the phone lines, to stop in mid sentence, "Sir, how can I help?"

"I'm here to see the Sheriff, is he in?"

"What is your name?"

"Jesse." he lied.

"Well, unfortunately the Sheriff is out on lunch. He's not to be expected back no time soon."

Davenport didn't have time to wait for this man to stuff his face. He had a family to rescue. And perhaps that Amelia girl, too. He stormed back outside, the sun starting to peek through the clouds. He decided that it was best to go back to the Department and wait for somewhere to walk out that he can trust. It was a high risk, with a bad outcome, but it was all he could do.

He spotted Detective Harmon leaning against the car they'd confiscated. She looked pissed and he couldn't blame her.

"What the hell, Drake? We're supposed to be partner here, why are you side lining me?" she asked.

"Its nothing personal, its just well, its hard to fully trust you. Since you were involved in all of this. I'm..."

"Are you serious? I saved your life and this is how you repay me? By sidelining me because you can't trust me? That's a load of crap and you know it. My hands were tied when I began working secretly for the chief. But apparently, you don't understand the length he was willing to go, if I stepped out."

She turned her head just as a tear began to run down her cheek. She couldn't let him see her like this, it was utterly unacceptable. But she still was shocked by his accusation. It was merely equivalent to being slapped across the face. She regained her composure and turned to face him again.

"So what do you want to do next?"

"I'm going to go back to the Department and wait for someone worthy of trusting to come out. Then I'm going to see if he or she would assist me in retracing the number that the kidnapper had called me from. That's what I'm going to do next." He climbed inside the car and fired it, rolling down the passenger's window he said, "You getting in or what?"

Harmon smiled and hopped in the passenger's seat and Davenport hit the gas. He arrived shortly, thereafter, in the parking lot of the Department. He killed the engine and waited.

Several people came in and out but none of them worthy to be his confidante. Moments later, a sedan, with government plates, pulled up beside them. Davenport nearly jumped in his seat, when his eyes landed on the back seat. He stared in amazement at Officer Sanchez hunched over. He looked a bit shaken, with minor cuts in various places among his face. To say it nicely; he looked as though he'd been in the middle of a Irish bar fight.

The driver of the sedan, unfolded his body out of the seat, and instantly recognition pinged Davenport's mind. It was the guy he'd ran into, FBI Special Agent Caleb Beckham. He was wearing an official government attire: tan slacks, a cream colored Oxford, and a tan blazer. He looked annoyed by something as he made his way inside. Davenport had no better person to trust. He exited out of the car and hailed for the Special Agent.

"Agent Beckham!"

Beckham turned in mid stride and glowered at him.

"Yes," he answered tersely.

"You remember me from earlier, right. I'm Detective Davenport."

"Detective Davenport, of course I remember. How can I help you?"

"I just want to get something straight here okay? I'm innocent. The chief is responsible for everything including the abduction of my family." He gazed around nervously. "Look, I need you help with retracing a phone number that was used by the person responsible for my family's disappearance. Can you help me?"

Agent Beckham had been waiting for a breakthrough in this case but hadn't expected it to come this easily. "I'll be glad to help you. And I believe you one hundred percent," he motioned toward his sedan. "Your friend there made a full confession, and I've got it here on tape."

Davenport looked over to where Officer Sanchez sat and grinned. The bastard had gotten exactly what he had coming for him.

"A confession, huh? Never knew he was so forthwith with such vital information."

"Oh it took a little interrogating but it got us a confession. I was just coming here to read Chief Gates his rights when you called after me."

Davenport felt a lump in his throat. Maybe it was guilt. Or depression. Either way the chief was dead. He'd been shot by Detective Harmon only hours ago. But he knew he had to come forth with this information, if not, he too could be faced federal charge of obstruction of justice.

"There's something you need to know about the chief," he finally said.

"What?"

"My partner, Detective Harmon shot and killed the chief in self-defense earlier today. According to her, she'd come here to inform him that she was backing out and that he could do whatever he wished to her or her family. In response, he threatened her, saying that he'll have ADA John Andrews to kill her.

"But, of course, it didn't go down like that. She said that John Andrews had come through the door; he had a disagreement with the chief and from there she took her only opportunity. She shot him from the side and that's when the chief had withdrew a gun of his own from under his desk with the intent to kill.

"She put one in his chest and another between his eyes. She left and came to rescue me."

Beckham listened to what Davenport had said. He understood perfectly well, and if the tables were turned against him was; he'd done the same thing.

He said, "Well, I suggest we get a move on. We have a phone number to track."

# Chapter Two

South of McDowell Street, just below Asheville High School, a white man sat uncomfortably as he held on to an unconscious Amelia Deese. The two had had a blissful evening. He enjoyed himself despite the willingness of the second party. He wanted to have a bit more edge to their adventure, but the little bitch bit him where the sun doesn't shine his way. After slapping her around the bedroom a time or two she quickly got the memo: I'm the captain of this ship and you're the skipper. This morning she awoke bitching about her head hurting. The man himself settled the matter with the back of his calloused hand. Deese went tumbling off the other side of the bed hitting the floor with a sickening thud. If it was a skull bursting she wanted, then it was a skull bursting she would get.

As she lay almost comatose in his arms, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd done a bit too much for the likes of her. He shook his violently. No this is pure revenge you little cunt, he thought. You made up fictitious lies about me who cares if you have severe brain damage. Not my problem baby.

He slapped her one last time, getting her to come too before jamming a Galaxy S 4 in her slender, bloodied hands. She met his gaze with defeat in her eyes. "What's this?," She stammered.

He shook his head, spoke sardonically, "It's a cell phone, you idiot! You know, a device used for telecommunication," he yanked a fist full of blonde hair, pulled her up close, "I want you to call that school and tell them you're sick and can't come in today," he pointed towards the school she taught World History.

Defeated, she gazed towards the school. He's going to kill, she thought. Shoving the phone in her ear, he demanded she call.

"Get the molasses out your ass, and get to it!" He roared.

She dialed quickly, with trembling fingers. She spoke to a person in charge, explaining her situation as best she could. "Hi, Ms Reems, this is Amelia Deese."

While she spoke to the woman named 'Reems', the man sat armed and ready to pounce on Amelia if she gave away any hints to her situation, luckily for her she didn't. That gave him the opportunity to relax for the time being, loosen up the tension.

She handed him the phone back after she clicked off. It was time for a little joy ride. Just the two of us, he thought. He was about to turn over the engine when flashing blue lights went off from behind

He was getting pulled over.

What for?

He looked around to see what if any laws were broken.

And there it was: a no parking zone.

Shit!

This could all be for naught, he thought, he looked over at Amelia. And an idea came into play.

The officer crept up on the car, hand hovering over his service weapon, which was unstrapped. He rapped on the driver's window, pantomiming a winding motion like he was a movie director.

The man did as he was bid, rolled down the window, he said, "Is there a problem Officer...Caldwell." Glancing at his lapels before refocusing his attention. The officer named Caldwell looked confused as if he'd never been referred to by his surname. Regrouping, Officer Caldwell looked inside the car as he asked for a license and registration.

"Here you go, Officer," he said handing him his altered driver's license he'd gotten from a good friend.

The Officer frowned at the license, obvious annoyance on his face. "And your registration please?" He asked sardonically.

"Sorry but I lost it awhile back, is that going to be a problem, sir?"

"Potentially, just give me a sec."

The Officer left to go sit in his cruiser. The man turned his gaze on Amelia. "You better not make a sound, you hear?"

Amelia nodded.

The Officer returned several moments later holding the man's altered driver's license, leaning down, "Sir, my dispatch tells me there's no record for a Michael Greene," The Officer looked at the lady sitting in the passenger seat, curiously, "ma'am is this here gentleman holding you against your will?"

The guy named Michael Greene sat motionless, stoned. He slowly reached for his Beretta M9, which was resting between his seat and her. Switching the safety off, he began to elevate the weapon slowly. He was about to kill a cop. A nosy cop at that. Simultaneously, the Officer did likewise, pulling his pistol out of its holster. Greene sensed the cops reaction, and reacted.

Firing his Beretta, with a well aimed double tap to the Officer's chest cavity, sending him reeling. The Officer fired back catching him in the shoulder as the car peeled off, leaving behind smoke laced with burnt rubber in its haste.

Greene was bleeding profusely, like a wounded soldier in Iraq after coming in contact with an IED. He was pissed, pissed at the fact that he was shot because the bitch hinted something. Oh he just couldn't wait to teach her a valuable lesson: don't fuck with a nervous man, especially one that's armed. He needed serious medical attention, but that was out of the question. For Christ's sake he'd just shot a cop!

Damn I just shot a police officer, fuck!

Up ahead, he spotted an ABC store. Vodka. There wasn't nothing better. He slammed the car into Park, got out, and walked into the place looking like a guy on the other end of Dick Cheney's rifle. The store clerk was some high school nobody with a look of constipation on his face. "Are you okay, sir?" The clerk asked, stupidly.

"Does it fucking look like it?!" Greene bellowed, "Where the fuck is the Vodka section?"

The clerk just pointed without saying another word. Greene followed his finger, found the Vodka he wanted, paid for it, and left.

In the car, he bit the top off, winced as he tossed Vodka all over the place barely getting any on the wound. He needed to get the bullet out fast. He looked over at Amelia, who sat horrified at the sight of another's blood. "The hell you looking at bitch, this is your fault. But don't worry you're going to pay, and you're going to pay good too."

He put the car in Reverse, backed out, turned on his left signal, and headed West. West. To a hidden warehouse near the River Arts District, in West Asheville. There he had a rendezvous with a friend. And boy did his friend like 'em blonde.

As they reached their destination, a weathered warehouse made of sheet metal. Greene got her attention by cupping her left breast with his right hand, then placing her left hand on his cock. "Tonight's going to be the most epic moment of your pathetic life baby. A couple of friends of mine want to get in on the action. So you behave yourself and be a good little slut, you hear?"

Up ahead, a metal door, big enough to house an eighteen-wheeler, opened up. Greene drove through. "Howdy, boys lookit here what I got." He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her out. On her hands and knees in the cold warehouse, Amelia stared up in the familiar eyes she never imagined seeing in this situation, "Blake," she whispered, heartbroken. She started crying. Tears welling up like a prolonged thunderstorm erupting. "How could you be so cruel? I thought you loved me?"

"Honey you was nothing more than a nice lay before I headed home to my wife." He answered, grinning.

She lost it. Before she knew it Amelia launched at him. But Blake settled her with a backhand that sent her reeling the opposite direction. She landed hard, sprawled, on the cold concrete floor. Smashing her elbow, with a sickening crack, as she landed. She cried out in agony, as she cradled her right elbow like an infant. Greene and three others cackling away at her fruitless ploy.

Leaning down, Greene said, "You ready for the grand finale, baby?" The others threw back their heads in laughter as Greene yanked her up on the hood of the car, and forced himself inside her.

# Chapter Nineteen

The following morning I woke up to the sounds of car engines. I had no full knowledge of what was occurring until it occurred. I must have fallen into a deep sleep because looking around I'd noticed that there were new people inside our chamber.

The four star hadn't been joking when he said there would be more girls coming into the picture. I just hadn't expected it to happen so soon.

Kelly, the adorable daughter of Nikki, was passed out in the fetal position, resting her head against her mother. The other three girls, Tatiana, Nicole, and Stella were also still very well asleep.

I got up, walked over to a sliver between the door frame and the actually door to see what was going on outside. As I made my way through the maze of sleeping bodies, a hand wrapped around my right ankle startling me half to death. I whipped my head in the direction of the gripping hand to notice an unfamiliar face I haven't seen here before.

She was olive skinned, petite, dark haired, and lithe. She looked like she was still in high school. She had a look of terror as her bottom lip trembled, uncontrollably.

She said, "Where am I? What is this place?"

Here we go again, I thought, as I concocted a way to deter the situation.

I said, "You're in a warehouse somewhere in West Asheville."

I'd been here so long my equilibrium levels were damaged. I didn't know for sure if we were still in West Asheville or East Asheville. Being caged up like a wild animal had that effect on one's mind.

A voice in my head, a disquieting voice spoke ever so softly, "What's going on? What's happened to me?"

Just then I'd noticed that it wasn't a voice coming from within, it was yet another lost young woman. She looked as if she had a bad make up spill or had a pair of black eyes. Probably the latter, I mused.

"What happened to your face sweetie?" I asked concerned.

"They..."She stammered. "They beat the living day light out of me!"

She was hysterical. Had they instantly traumatized this poor child? Beaten her till she did what they wanted?

I could only fathom the brutality she'd endured. I spoke softly, gingerly, "It will get better I promise you it will."

In all honesty, I had no way of knowing rather or not it would get better. I was merely speculating, hoping against the odds that she didn't endure anymore punishment.

I said, "How many women came in with you?"

She gazed down at the floor as if awaiting some form of reprimanding. I was disgusted at the thought of having such power of a human being.

My father was cruel man. He'd killed people, poisoned them, and tortured them. He would have loved this kind of attention but not me.

I had come to America for a different life all together. I'd changed my name, taken a job teaching at a local school after earning a bachelor's degree in History. My father was furious that I chose America over his tradition.

Now looking at this scared woman I thought back on the days where my father had had people feeling this same way. Defeated.

I said, "I'm not going to hurt you, child. What is your name?"

There was tears in my eyes. I was completely scared for her.

"My name's Ashley Sampson."

"Nice to meet you Ashley, my name's Amelia." I extended my hand and patted myself on the back internally for defusing the situation.

Michael and Blake came into the chamber carrying a very lengthy piece of rope. I knew what that rope was being used for I just needed confirmation.

I asked, "What's going on?"

That question cost me a backhand to the face.

"If you must know, cunt, you're all being transferred to a different location. Courtesy of The General." Greene spat.

We were tied together, then shoved out the door into the bright morning sun. A panel van, with Asheville's Dependable Handyman stenciled on the it's side, was waiting for us.

had a total of three windows: the driver's side, passenger's side, and the windshield. I felt claustrophobic before I even entered the panel van.

Inside, we sat uncomfortably, knee to knee to be precise. I was burning up, sweating and smelling like a caveman. I hadn't taking a shower in days, hadn't even been able to shave hairy legs.

Rubbing against the girl next to me, it felt as if I had bristles for hair. Very irritating.

Blake clambered in the back behind us. He was there to keep a close eye on the girls, in case of an attempted escape. I could tell he was enjoying this female attention. It wasn't everyday a guy had the opportunity to be surrounded by a group of once attractive women. He was sucking it all up.

He gazed over at me, feeling sorry that he had betrayed me like this I'm sure. I was after all an exceptional lover and he valued that about me. But I also had a very disquieting past that was an instant turn off.

The son of a bitch, Blake, was still gawking at me like I was a piece of sweet meat. I hate his fucking guts. If I had my way I would've gutted him right here and now.

He betrayed me, used me like I was some modern day concubine. I had to be honest with myself I knew the scum was married. But I had no idea he was a sadistic psychopath.

I sat there trying to keep my cool. But I had to open my mouth perhaps it was my ego taking over.

I said, "Blake why? Why did you betray me like you did? I shared my bed with you willingly."

Every head in the panel van turned in my direction, then in his direction and back. Obviously people wanted to be brought up to date. But I wouldn't give these girls the time of day.

"What the hell are you talking about, you delusional bitch?" said Blake feining confusion.

That only served to piss me off all the more.

I said, "You know exactly what I'm talking about. You slept with me, no, scratch that you had an affair with me for over two years. Don't act like you have no idea what I'm talking about, because you do!"

He was attempting to get in a pissing match.

And I was the Queen of all pissing matches.

He slapped me across the face, then followed with a back hand.

He shook me hard, said, "You listen to me woman, I don't know you so don't suggest otherwise." He sat back down in his chair.

Now I was really starting to second guess myself. Was I indeed delusional? Had I been dreaming up some fantasy between me and Blake Highsmith?

Certainly not, I know for sure that I made love with him on several occasions. Wait a minute, what is today's date? April...what? Damn it! What is today's date!

Seconds later, the van came to a sudden halt, slamming everybody into the person beside them. My mind was boggled. My claustrophobia was taking over my other fears.

The back of the van doors opened, Michael Greene was standing there, hands on his hips. He was pissed.

He called for Blake to come outside and speak with him, privately.

Outside the van, Greene explained to Highsmith what was happening.

He said, "The Operative has arranged for us to have the girls stay overnight in the old jail downtown. Reason being, is that the other warehouse isn't quite ready yet. They said something about a pipeline busted or something. Anyway, we have to wait around for downtown to clear out so we don't draw too much attention to ourselves."

Highsmith nodded.

Michael continued, "How are the girl's behaving back there? Any problems?"

Blake said, "Just one, Amelia brought up our little two year old affair. Made all the other's question our motive in a sense."

"What did you do in response?"

"I settled her with a one, two," said Highsmith demonstrating with his right hand.

"I can't wait till The General disposes of her. She becoming a pest. Okay I'll come get you when we get to the jail." Michael walked back around the van to the driver's door.

Blake clambered back into the cargo area, sweeping his eyes over the group of girls to check for any disturbances. Once satisfied that everything was still intact, he settled back in his sit and began to hum: "I can see clearly now, the rain is gone, do-do-do"

# Chapter Twenty-Nine

Arriving at Mission Hospital, Harmon maneuvered around EMS units on stand by and made her way the Emergency Room. She yelled at some nearby paramedics, poking around. Gave them her badge number, said that her partner had been shot and is suffering from a broken wrist.

The paramedics looked bewildered by the chain of events. They rushed Detective Davenport inside, Harmon in tow. Once Davenport was handed over to the the proceeding doctor, Harmon was told she could go no further.

Depressed, by her partner's shooting, she found a comfortable chair and plumped in it. She was feeling guilty. All sorts of thought found its way to the surface of her mind. She painfully pushed these thoughts aside, focusing on a way to counteract her actions.

She had to get away, the very thought of Drake dying at her hands, scared the living shit out of her. She got up and paced the linoleum floors of the waiting area, biting her nails.

The reception lady behind the desk, who was in the middle of take a patients vials, glanced her way with utter annoyance. Harmon paid her no mind, she had bigger fish the fry, and had little time for petty bullshit.

She made up her mind, she was going to call The Operative and tell him she couldn't keep this up. No, that would definitely get me killed, she thought. If he so much as thinks I'm getting cold feet...

Her thoughts were interrupted by a doctor bursting through the double doors; the same double doors Drake had entered, she thought.

The gazed around, aimlessly, until his gaze landed on her. He made his way towards her, almost skipping with urgency.

"What is it Doc? Is he going to be okay?" she asked, impatiently.

The doctor looked grim , but managed a strained smile.

He said, "We were able to remove the bullet from his shoulder. He lost a lot of blood and if you hadn't brought him when you did..." His face paled at the thought. "He would have not still been with us. His wrist is going to be more difficult because its going to require a specialist to look at it."

"Okay." said Harmon gloomily.

She was the one who should be seeing a specialist, a therapist to say the least.

The doctor turned and walked back through the double doors, in which, he emerged from moments prior, leaving Harmon with her guilty conscience. She had had enough, she concluded. She made for the Exit, not once looking back.

She drove to meet with The Operative about their next plan of action. She really wanted to let him know that he was on his own, but thought better of it. She placed a call to his cell phone as she waited for the traffic light to change.

"The Operative speaking,"

"Hey its Harmon, checking in sir. Drake is recouping from surgery but the doctor said that his wrist is going to need a specialist's examination."

"Well done, detective. Now that he's out of the picture for the time being I want you to go to the safe house in South Asheville. There you will encounter a group of men, let them know that I've sent you to pick up a package. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

She clicked off just as the light turned green, punched the address into her GPS, and headed toward South Asheville. The whole ride there, she kept wondering what this "package" was that she was sent to retrieve. I wonder if it's his wife or his daughter? I really shouldn't be doing this, she thought sadly.

She was going through the tunnel on Tunnel Road when her phone rang. It was Drake!

She wasn't expecting to receive a phone call from him. He should be resting for Christ's sake!

She hesitated, then decided it best to take the call.

"Hello?" she answered.

His voice was raspy, a result from lack of vocal use. "Hey, Abbie. Where are you at?"

She scrambled to find the right words but heard herself say, and managed to say, "I'm heading towards South Asheville to check up on a family member." she lied.

"Really? Okay I'm just trying to figure out what happened to me. I mean I was looking for Nikki and then next thing I know I'm sitting in a hospital bed, half naked with my shoulder wrapped up in bandages."

"You were shot Drake, I had to rush you to the hospital."

Shot!" Davenport exclaimed. "How the hell did I get shot in the middle of a fucking corn field!"

Harmon could hear his heart monitor beeping in the background as a result of Davenport's instant outburst. She tried to tell him to relax and take it easy.

"You're right," he said on the other end. "I'm just totally caught off guard with these chain of events. I've never been shot since joining the force ten years ago."

She knew being shot versus being shot at were two different thing entirely. Being shot causes a lot a mental stress, such as PTSD or depression. And she feared that one of these would affect him dearly. And the fault was only hers.

She cleared her throat, said, "Look I'm going to have to call you back when I'm done. I'm pulling in to my family's driveway." She hung up before he could protest.

She wasn't pulling into her family's driveway, in fact, her family lived in a whole different state for that matter. She had pulled into the driveway, where her "package" was suppose to be picked up at.

She grabbed her Glock, stuffed in the back of her pants, then advanced towards the front door. She rapped on the door several times before a stocky man, accompanied by a much stockier man answered the door.

She instantly told the men why she was indeed standing on the front porch in the middle of the day. She'd told them that a man by the name The Operative had sent her to pick up a package. The two men exchanged ominous looks at one another before jerking Harmon inside. They removed the Glock and placed it in makeshift basket.

"Wait here," said the stocky man.

He went around a corner and was back in three minutes, carrying a woman. Harmon knew for a fact that this woman was not Drake's wife, Nikki. This was a total strange from Harmon's standpoint, and she had no idea why The Operative would send her on such a drive for a woman.

"Thanks," she said.

She took the woman by the arm and placed her Glock in the front of her pants.

She hurried back to her car, opened the back door for the woman. She jumped in the driver's seat and took off the way she came. As she drove she couldn't help glancing in the rearview at the blond headed woman sitting behind her.

The girl looked no more than say, early twenties, and she looked gravely terrified. Harmon truly felt for her.

The thick silence that hung in the air, grew hard to breathe.

"What's your name kid?" Harmon asked, breaking the ice.

"British." the blond said with a thick European accent.

Harmon tried to place the accent, somewhere in Germany perhaps?

"Well I'm Detective Abigail Harmon. Any idea why you're being summoned by a man named The Operative?"

The girl just stared off in the distant as if Harmon was talking to no one in particular.

"Okay, then silence it is." said Harmon turning up the volume on the radio.

Ironically, Why Can't We Be Friends, was playing on the radio. Harmon looked in the rear view was last time and smiled. 

# Chapter Forty-Five

ADA John Andrews walked through the door of Chief Gates's office. He wasn't carrying any sort of weapon that Detective Harmon could see. She relaxed a bit but still held her gun out in front of her. Andrews seemed a little surprised by the way she was poised, gun in hand. He shook his head and walked over to the chief's desk.

He asked feigning confusion, "What's with the detective, here?"

"She calls herself being 'proactive'. Believes she's a better shot than you, I tell you." the chief responded, nonchalant.

John Andrews fixed his dark eyes on her, "Is that true, detective? Do you really believe you're a better shooter than I?" He leered.

"The only thing that's true is that two of us will leave out of here in body bags. And I'm going to make sure I'm not one of the lucky two." She tightened her grip on the butt of her gun.

"Well I guess we'll have to play this little game then." He slide his hand inside his jacket, presumably, for a gun in his shoulder holster.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, John. I'm not stupid, I know you have a gun attached to your shoulder holster. So leave your hands where I can see them," she ordered, taking careful aim at the center of his chest.

Andrews turned to Chief Gates and said, "Oh she's quite the performer, wouldn't you say?"

"Very much so, but allow me," he presented the gun that had been resting on his lap the whole time. "I'm sorry John, really I am, but I'm on the clock so someone had better make a move."

"You conniving bastard," said John. "I should've killed you a long time ago."

"Sucks to sucks, my friend. But no hard feelings right? This only rises the stakes."

Detective Harmon was planning her move while the two argued. She had a perfect shot at John, but risked being shot herself, if say, the chief let off a shot of his own. She mumbled, "Fuck it." And shot John Andrews in the shoulder, pitching him forward with a "crash" as he collapsed onto the floor.

And just as she'd suspected, Chief Gates turned his gun on her, but wasn't quick enough to pull the trigger, as a smoking hole formed just below his hairline. She rested herself on her knees, panting, trying desperately to catch her breath; as the adrenaline continued to pump through her bloodstream. She'd made it. She'd made it out alive and well. She patted herself on the back, internally, as she headed for the door.

If it hadn't been for the adrenaline cruising through her body at that moment, she would've noticed the strange glances that were thrown her way as she advanced out the Department's glass doors. She knew, of course, that she looked like she was on the other end of a professional boxer's 16 ounce glove, but she didn't care.

She hit the key fob for her Kia, climbed in, and headed back toward Detective Davenport's house, in West Asheville. She glanced in the rearview mirror to see how badly she looked. Not bad for your first rebellious rodeo, girl, a little voice said from some subterranean pit. She smiled and drove even faster.

Moments later, she came to a halt as a military grade combat tank, mowed past her. What the hell? Who the hell ordered an M1A2 Abrams, to cruise the streets freely?

She was just about to exit her car, when a soldier in full combat gear, M4 assault rifle in hand, came toward her. She quickly shut the door, locking all the car doors. The soldier rapped her the driver's window. She hesitated momentarily, but then buzzed down the window, "Yes," she answered.

The soldier looked all business. "Ma'am I'm going to need to see your driver's license."

"What? Are you serious? I'm a cop if anything I should be asking for your driver's license."

"Ma'am I'm just following orders."

"Orders? Orders from whom?" she asked quizzically.

"Sorry ma'am, but I'm afraid that that's classified information. And your security level is not high enough to obtain such information. Now, let me see your license, this is my last time asking."

She stared up at him. She was pissed. Why was an Army soldier taking orders to see people's driver's license? She opened her purse, withdrew from it her wallet, and produced her driver's license. "Here you are."

The soldier scrutinized her driver's license, radioed her name to someone unknown. Then handed it back to her, "Here you go ma'am."

He walked on, slapping the trunk of her car with an open palm. She paid it no mind and continued onward.

The soldier who'd just slapped the trunk of her car, spoke into his radio, "Tracking device is set, she should lead us right to him."

"Good work soldier." responded the voice through the staticky radio. It was Captain Joseph Galloway. The man himself was, figuratively, sitting on cloud nine.

"Thanks, sir."

Detective Harmon continued to spot several different combat tanks, on every corner she passed. She was beginning to wonder if the President had ordered the Martial Law into effect. But she quickly bypassed the thought, it was ridiculous, she thought, absolute absurd.

She was approaching a traffic light, when something caught her eye. It was only a glimpse, a flicker. But she could've sworn that she was being followed.

You're just being paranoid, Abigail, said that same little voice from earlier. Just relax and pay attention to the road before...

Suddenly, she ran into the back of a person, riding on a Moped. The rider tumbled off, letting off a series of profanity. The man was so irate, he hadn't noticed the blood that was running down his right forearm. He headed toward Detective Harmon's driver door.

She felt across the passenger seat for her gun as she kept her eye on the idiot, who was steamrolling her way. He gripped the door handle and flung it open, but she had already trained her weapon on the asshole, announcing, "Place your hands behind your back, mister. You're under arrest for assault on a government official."

He stepped back, completely surprised by her act of valor. He placed his hand behind his back and she cuffed him. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in court, you asshole."

She finished reading him his rights, followed by folding him in the back seat of her small Kia. This wasn't part of proper procedure but she had bigger fish to fry at the moment. She slammed the back door shut and hopped behind the wheel. She glanced at him in the rearview mirror and said, "Lay down and don't get up until I say. Understand?"

He nodded then struggled to get comfortable as he laid down.

She went around the guy's Moped, "Sorry about your bike, I've been having a bad day. What's your name?"

"Thomas LeBlanc."

"Unique name, sounds rather familiar, but a unique name all together. I'm Detective Harmon." She took a deep breath. "Listen, I know I'm suppose to take you straight downtown, but we're taking a brief detour, so sit tight and I might cut you loose. But I'm not making any promises."

Thomas LeBlanc grunted in response. He knew first hand how the law worked. He knew what his chances of being "cut loose" were. So what's the point in mentioning it? He rested his head on the seat and tried to "sit tight" as he was bumped around in the back seat.

Detective Harmon placed a call to Davenport to inform him that she was in the neighborhood and that she had company. "Hey, Drake...yeah I'm right around the corner. Oh okay well just to let you know we're going to be having a little of company." She glanced over her shoulder. "Just some guy I arrested on the way over. Don't worry he seems like an easy going fellow. Okay, I'll see you then. Bye-bye."

She disconnected the call. Up ahead she spotted the same dark sedan that had been the cause of her rear ending that Moped. Her stomach knotted up as she realized that she'd might've led some very bad people to Davenport's location. On top of all that, she had a civilian in her car.

Oh, my God.

Oh, my God.

# Chapter Three

Over at the Asheville Police Department, Detective Drake Davenport, received word that a fellow officer was shot earlier that morning. Of course, the Chief was in hysterics at the fact that one of his own was gunned down in a simple traffic stop. According to Officer Caldwell, the suspect in question was a white male, named Michael Greene, at least that's what his driver's license had displayed. But after Caldwell ran his name through the NCIC data bank ,the name came up as being red flagged. Caldwell, as protocol questioned the driver, who then withdrew a firearm, simultaneously at the exact time as Caldwell. Sadly, for Caldwell he wasn't quick enough. He took a bullet to the chest, and was currently in ICU at Mission Hospital.

Davenport sat motionless, as he read the report over and over again. He wanted nothing more than to catch this perpetrator and place him behind bars. Chief Anthony Gates, burst through the door bellowing like a mad dog with rabies. He closed the door behind him and awarded himself a moment of silence. He took a chair across from Davenport's desk, sipped his morning Joe, and began to scrutinize the man before him, Detective Davenport.

"What can you tell about this 'Greene' character?" said Gates, vehemently.

Davenport rubbed the bridge of his nose before replying. "I would say he's one spiteful son of a bitch. I mean why shoot a cop, who was just doing his job. And get this, Caldwell mentioned something about a woman in the car, who was as he put it 'scared shitless'. Sounds like kidnapping to me,". Chief Gates seemed to be taking this information all in. He took another sip of his coffee and continued to listen intently.

"This could some case of domestic violence or a sadistic act of terror, hence the scared woman in the report. I'm thinking of paying the victim a visit, if that's okay with you Chief?"

Chief Gates was in another place, lost in his thoughts, brought from his reverie, "I see nothing wrong with that detective, just remember not to try to be a hero this go around."

Chief Gates was referring to an incident, involving Davenport, where he was off duty, spending time with his family. There was an armed robbery occurring just a few blocks South of where he and his family were dining at a restaurant called Honey Tupelo.

Davenport, being his heroic self dashed to the scene only to find a bullet sailing into his shoulder, knocking him to the ground. Luckily, for him, there was an EMS, on its way along with other's and the like. The gunman was Thomas LeBlanc, from Atlanta, Georgia, a well known trouble maker.

LeBlanc was from Europe, London to be exactly, visiting family on his Green Card. He'd got himself mixed up with the wrong crowd, drug dealers and the like, and ended up catching his first drug charge, in Asheville. Thanks to well paid lawyer, he was given probation for the drug charge. But he wasn't so lucky after shooting a government official. He's currently doing a six year bid, at Central Prison, in Raleigh.

Davenport waved a dismissive hand at Chief Gates's remark, "I'll try my best to avoid a gunfight if that's what you're insinuating Chief, but, hey, no promises."

He shook his head. "Davenport, I don't know what I'm going to do with you and your hard head. It's liable to get you killed if you don't get a grip of yourself, son."

That was Chief Gates way of showing fatherly love, which he like to call "tough love" when the occasion called it.

"With all due respect Chief, but this here was one of ours who was shot this morning. I going to do what means necessary to bring this guy who's responsible to justice. I understand your concerns, but please leave that for the wife to tend to, she makes it a bit more enticing to listen to," he took out a piece of paper, "My old man used to tell me that when the going gets tough, meet it head on with fierce toughness. And Chief that's what I intend to do."

Davenport slid the piece of paper across the table, "If you need me today this is where you can find me otherwise stay out of my way on this one. I have everything under control," he made his way over to the door, holding the door ajar, "I believe we're through here, right? I have a lot of work to do."

Chief Gates, frustrated, insulted, got up and took his leave, but not before getting off his last bit of say so in the matter, "You just make sure that you're not making any decisions without my say so, understood?"

"Understood,"

Chief Gates, exited the office, leaving Davenport to his business at hand. Davenport quickly made a few phone calls, got a hold of his close friend, Abigail Harmon, from Ballistics, to see what she had on the found in Officer Caldwell's chest. There was nothing new developing at the moment, and she promised to let him know first thing.

"There isn't nothing to report on just yet, Drake, but when there is you'll be the first to know," said Harmon.

Abigail was a petite, blonde who transferred from the ATF Unit out Quantico, Virginia. She was ready for a less demanding career path and shortly found it with the Asheville Police Department. In the beginning, she and Davenport had dated for awhile. They were what some would say inseparable, so speak. But Davenport broke it off when he met his now wife of four years, Nikki Sexton. Ever since they parted ways they seem to still be dependent on the other's, work related issues.

"Okay, boss man, what else can I do for you, your majesty?" Harmon asked, sardonically.

"Well since you asked, how about a trip for two to the Bahamas?"

"I take it you're taking me right?"

"Oooh, sorry I'm married remember?" he held up his left hand for emphasis, "but hey aren't you dating, um, what's his name, Derek from Homicide?"

She rolled her eyes, "Yeah for like two days, the guy's a complete moron, Blake."

"Well I'd love to chat about it, but I got to run. I got a potential domestic violence victim to question. Hey maybe we can discuss your two day relationship over a cup of Joe later on. I want to know why the two of you broke up."

"Sure, what time?" asked Harmon excitedly.

"Depends,"

"On what?"

"When I can get off this phone and get back to work," said Davenport, laughing.

"Still the old wise ass from New York, huh?"

"What can I say Abbie, I'm just a kid from Brooklyn."

""That's so cliched, anyway get your work done, Mr Kid from Brooklyn, so I can have my cup of Joe."

They clicked off. Davenport grabbed his coat from the rack behind the door, and dashed out the door, on his way to make some sense of the day's events. He had no idea what lay ahead, and he was making no show of caring.

# Chapter Thirty-One

Davenport and Harmon drove in total silence until they were back at the Department. Davenport was shocked to discover that they were here instead of searching for his family. He was going to have a word with the chief about how "messed up" his priorities were.

"What the hell are we doing back here?" he bellowed.

"The chief wanted to see you. He has some good news."

"If he hasn't found my wife then I don't want to hear it, Abbie." said Davenport.

They walked inside, heading straight for the chief's corner office. They were being expected, so they bypassed the knocking process. The chief was sitting behind his mahogany desk reviewing some case files, presumably. He looked up as they entered, he stood, extending his hand toward Detective Davenport.

He asked, "How're you feeling Davenport?"

"Like crap. Let's cut to the chase, what's the good news?"

The chief hesitated, "Why don't you grab a chair and sit? The good news is that I'm promoting you to Sergeant, Davenport. We've been without one for a while and frankly, we need someone from homicide in charge of the detectives.So what do you say?"

"I'll have to discuss it with my wife whenever we find her. Until then the answer is no thanks." replied Davenport.

He got up and left, calling after Harmon, "Let's go Abbie."

"Where are we going now?" asked Harmon running up on his heels.

"To find my wife and to see if my daughter has really been found. I have a feeling that everyone is playing some sick game with me, including you Abigail."

He stopped short, turned to face Detective Harmon.

"Be honest with me, did y'all really find my daughter?"

Harmon didn't know what to say. She knew if she said "yes" she ran the risk of him wanting proof that his daughter had indeed been found. And that was just impossible. On the other hand, she knew if she said "no" that he would never trust her again. And this whole operation would blow up in the chief's face. She made a decision.

"Yes," she lied.

Davenport searched her face long and hard for any telltale signs that she was lying. He found none. He took a deep breath and continued out the door toward their cruiser. If she had lied to him he couldn't tell the difference. He had to get to the bottom of this.

He said, "Call Officer Sanchez and let me speak to Kelly. I have some questions that only the really Kelly would know the answers to."

He handed her his cell phone, and waited for her to make the call. She seemed surprised by his request, it was hard to conceal. Davenport msde note.

Harmon knew she had to think of something quick. She dialed Sanchez's number and spoke briefly. She knew that Davenport would probably want proof that his daughter was indeed his daughter. She had informed the chief earlier today of that possibility and the chief had debriefed Officer Sanchez with some basic information about the Davenport's.

`"Yeah he just wants to say hi to his kid," she looked over at him. "He really misses his little girl, put her on."

She handed him the phone.

"Hello, Kelly?"

"It's me daddy." she answered.

"I have a few questions I want to see if you remember, okay? It won't take long."

"Okay."

He sighed heavily. "Do you remember what happened to you when you was three?"

Silence.

"I was taken away from my house?" she said, not sure if that was the correct answer.

"Okay, do you remember what happened to you puppy, Gizmo?"

"I think he got ran over by the neighbor."

Davenport had to admit she was answering all the questions with ease. Not bad for a four year old, he thought.

"Okay, Kelly you remember who your best friend is?"

Silence.

"Kelly you still..."

"You don't believe it do you? You don't believe its me daddy?" she cried.

Davenport tried to calm her but she wasn't hearing it.

"I don't want to talk to you, you're not my daddy!"

Davenport wanted to shout, "And you're not my daughter either!"

Instead, he said, "Sweetheart I am your daddy. I just want to make sure you're okay..."

"Liar!" she hung up.

Davenport couldn't believe what had just happened. His daughter just hung up on him! That wasn't like his daughter to be so disrespectful. But perhaps, the chain of events has caused her to grow cold, his subconscious murmured.

He sat his phone down and tuned out Harmon, sitting in the passenger seat.

She asked, "So how did it go? What happened, Drake? Are you okay?"

What happened? My daughter just yelled at me and hung the phone up in my face. Do you think I'm okay?

"Drake, did you hear me?" she nudged his shoulder.

"Huh, what was that?"

"I said, are you okay? What happened on the phone?"

"She hates me, Abbie. She thinks I don't believe her."

She wrapped her arms around him. She loved this side of Davenport, he was so soft and open.

She said, "She doesn't hate you Drake, she's just scared is what it is. Give her some time to get herself together."

Davenport thought about it and said, "You know, you're right she has been through a lot as a kid. This has got to be one of the hardest thing she's had to deal with. Not too many kids her age have been taken from their homes and held hostage."

"There you go now you're getting it. How about we go grab some lunch then figure out a plausible way to find Nikki?"

"I guess, but to be honest I'm not really hungry."

"Oh you will be later on."

They drove downtown and parked across the street from Subway. Davenport ordered a five dollar sub, on Flatbread, while Abigail chose the meatball sub. They found a nice spot out front and talked about what they needed to do in order to find his wife.

Across the street, Top Gun was exiting a ice cream shop. He was enjoying a double scoop of cheesecake ice cream, when he spotted Detective Harmon and her partner entering the Subway.

He nearly dropped his ice cream cone as he thought back to earlier today; when he nearly lost his life to this man. He was beginning to suspect that Harmon was feeding him inside information. He would have to dispose of her as well, he thought.

He placed a call to her phone, he watched as she looked at the caller ID and excused herself.

She spoke from the other end, "What's going on?"

"Just seen you and your partner walking into Subway. I thought you took care of him?"

"It's complicated, John. You have to understand. I couldn't just kill him like that." she said snapping her finger.

"Does The Operative know about this?"

"Of course not he..."

Top Gun seen why she had stopped short. Davenport was making his way over to her.

"I have to go I'll call you back later."

She hung up.

Top Gun wondered why she hadn't mentioned any of this to the chief yet. Surely, she knew the consequences; if she were to messed this whole operation. He needed to let the chief know what had transpired in that corn field earlier today.

He dialed the chief's personal line and got him on the first ring.

"What is it John, I'm busy?" he answered.

"Davenport is out and about with Harmon."

"I know John, I was as surprised as you. She told me earlier that he was being release but I downplayed it until he walked into my office 20 minutes ago."

"I think she's giving him inside information."

"Nonsense, John she knows the penalty is death she isn't that stupid." replied the chief.

"No but she's a woman and women just aren't cut out for this kind of stuff."

"So what are you suggesting?"

"We get rid of her too."

The chief sat silent for a spell, finally, he spoke, "Very well then, proceed with caution."

# Chapter Thirty-Six

"Good afternoon, daughter. How's the American life treating you?" said my father as he advanced further into our cellar.

He had aged dramatically, his skin looking translucent. I could see the veins standing out against his bony figure. He had looked radiant the last time we'd seen each other. I took his immediate condition as a sign of depression taking his life.

He extended his long bony hand in a gesture of surrender. But I knew my father was a conniving monster who would trade his own daughter for gold, if given the chance.

I took a step back disgusted by his feign act of kindness.

I said, "I have nothing to say to you father. So what brings you to the very country you despised your whole life?"

"Why I came to take back what was taken from me, of course."

"If you didn't know, I wasn't taken I left on my own will. I was tired of your treacherous doings. You had mother killed for speaking with a family member."

I noticed a slight twitch in the corner on his mouth, as if my father heard something amusing. That pissed me off even more. It was like he was indirectly admitting to my mother's murder.

I asked, "Is there something funny, father?"

He burst into a fit of laughter. After he was done he said, "You were always too smart for your own good, Amelia. So what if I had that whore killed, she was sleeping with her brother, for Christ's sake!"

"Liar!" I hissed.

He gazed about the cellar at the other women in the room. He eyes stop short on Kelly, who instantly buried her face into my side. I looked up at him, angrily.

"Don't you dare!" I hissed, my voice cracking slightly.

My father lips broke into a hard line. He was planning something I could feel it. I just hoped to God that he wouldn't do anything to this little girl. But my father was notorious for hurting innocent people, even children. He would do anything to get what he wanted.

The ruthless bastard.

"Are you really letting yourself become attached to this creature? Someone you could give two damns rather she lives or dies?" He started walking my way, across the room I could hear Stella gasp as my father got closer. "Let's hear it, sweet daughter is it true that deep down you're nothing like these pissy Americans? You're just like your old man, its our nature and you know it, don't you?"

I couldn't take this anymore I didn't know how to answer these questions. As a child he often did this very interrogation tactic. He was a paranoid man, always looking over his shoulders and thinking people closest to him were plotting on him.

"What's the matter, darling," he continued in his patronizing tone, "do I sense tears somewhere. Are you going to cry for your father?"

He abruptly turned on his heel, shouting orders to someone outside our cellar. Moment later, soldiers in black burst in our cellar and grabbed Stella, Nicole, and the others. I needed to know where they were taking them. I couldn't be left alone with my father, he'd kill me!

"Where are they going!" I yelled.

I was surprised by the back of my father's hand. I tasted the familiar metallic taste as blood filled my mouth. I wiped it off roughly with the back of my hand. My father stood over me basking in the moment of dominance. I stared back defiantly.

"May I help you up?" he asked extending his right hand, gingerly.

""Go to hell!" I fired back clambering to my feet by myself.

He waited until I was upright and had my equilibrium balanced and said, "You can save your friends," he thrust his thumb over his shoulder, "all you have to do is come home with me."

"And if I don't?"

"Then all of America will suffer because of you. Thousands of innocent people will be killed because you let them die, Amelia. Is that what you want? Is that how you want that little girl to end up? In a body bag?"

I shouted, "You leave her out of this, you hear me? I'll kill you myself."

He clasped his bony hands together, sending a series of echoes bouncing about the empty cellar. He said, "Bravo, Amelia. I'm quite appalled to hear my daughter threaten me. Does that make you feel heroic? Or give you a sense of euphoria? Because that, my sweet daughter, has just cost you a life."

He turned on his heel, returning shortly after gripping Kelly and Nicole by the elbow. He shoved them to the ground, Kelly, instantly cried out in pain as she scraped her knee on the floor. I rushed to her aide, but froze as the "click" of a gun stopped me in mid stride. I turned to see one of the soldiers, carrying a M16.

"Why don't you go back over where you were, Amelia." said my father.

He took the assault rifle from the soldier, checked the mag, then aimed it at Kelly and Nicole and asked, "Now which life is it going to be? Kelly's or Nicole's?"

"Please don't..."

"Shut up!" he bellowed aiming the gun at me, finger hovering over the trigger.

I swallowed hard, fighting back my emotions as they were reaching a breaking point. Sadly, one of these girls was going to die and I couldn't let him know that I cared deeply for Kelly. One small gesture could be deadly for her. I had to keep myself in check, bottom line.

"Who's it going to be, Amelia?" my father was saying. But I wasn't hearing him I was trying to determine how I could save the both of them. It was bad enough I got both of them involved.

"Very well, then I'll make the decision for you!" he roared.

He took aim on Kelly, before I realized it my body was soaring in the air. I felt my body buck as I hit the ground.

Outside, there was sort of chaos going on. My father and the soldier scurried out. While they were gone I looked over Kelly, for any signs that she'd been hit by the bullet. I relaxed as I noticed that she was still breathing and wasn't bleeding from anywhere.

I clambered to my feet just to end up falling back down. I felt weak and dizzy for some reason. I turned to look at Kelly, her eyes went wide and her mouth shaped into an "O". She looked ready to scream, I tried to pinpoint what she was staring at. I looked down at myself, looking for a spider or a bug. Instead, I found that my shirt was matted down, with blood!

I tore open my shirt and seen where the bullet had grazed my side. It wasn't a fatal wound but it definitely bled like one. I rushed over to the sink, adrenaline cruising through my body. I had been shot!

I threw on the cold water, shoved a nearby washcloth underneath the rushing water. I shut off the water and commenced to clean my wound. Whatever was going on outside must've been bad, because neither my father or the soldier in black returned.

Nicole came over to assist with my cleaning. I had recalled her mentioning that she'd taking some nursing classes at Asheville-Buncombe Tech Community College. She knew enough, thank God, to fix up a flesh wound.

She tore off some thread from her blanket and sharpen her hair pin on the ground. She said, "This isn't real sanitary but it'll work to close up that wound. This'll hurt a bit, you might want to stuff your pillow case in your mouth."

I did as she advised. The moment she thrust the makeshift needle inside my wound, I had to bite back a yelp. The pain was excruciating. When she finished dressing my wound, the throbbing sensation felt weird. Eventually my side went completely numb.

# Chapter Thirty-Two

After being humiliated yesterday, I must admit today was shaping up to be pleasurable. Despite the fact that neither of the girls so much as glanced my way, they still made sure I was okay. I desperately wanted to ensure myself that they were still in my corner when I needed them most.

I was sitting on my bed, reading a children's book to Kelly, when Nicole and Stella shuffled over to me. They looked apologetic. I closed the book, and gazed up expecting some sort of an apology.

Stella sat next to Kelly, while Nicole decided to stand. They looked at each other as if signaling the other to take the lead. I beat them to it.

I said, "What is it girls?"

My initial question was all Stella needed to speak.

She said, "I just wanted to apologize about yesterday I..."

I cut her short. There was no need for her to feel sorry. She had no idea what was going on and frankly, if I was in her position I would've reacted just the same.

"Some of the things that was said carried some truth to it. My father is indeed one of the top terrorist this country has ever faced. He was definitely responsible for what happened to America on September 11th.

"But I can assure you that my involvement in the affairs of that day is invalid. I was in America when it went down, but I was completely unaware of it. I had just moved here from San Francisco, California to set up residence here in Asheville."

As I spoke I could see that I was making progress. They're stoned faces were beginning to fade. Replacing those stoned faces, was a look of surprise as I told them stuff I never shared with anyone. For whatever reason, I had a strange connection to these girls. It felt as if we were lost sister, reunited after years of fruitless plundering.

"I'm sorry that you girls are involved in my father's attempt to punish his daughter's rebellious acts. I now understand why everything is happening and who's behind it all. "

I looked over at Kelly, hating myself for having her involved in this treacherous affair. She was surely going to reap the consequences for all my disloyalty to my father.

I asked, "Do you have something you would like to say?"

She looked at me. And slowly shook her head, no.

I hugged her, as tears welled up in her sweet little eyes. She cried for the better part of an hour. Once done, she looked worn out, eyes completely puffy. This girl was a tough girl, no doubt she inherited that from her mother.

Oh Nikki.

I couldn't help but wonder what was going through Nikki's mind at the moment. Where was she? Was she alright? Did she miss her daughter?

Of course she was alright. And surely she missed her little girl. But where was she?

Nicole spoke up, "So what are we going to do?"

"What you mean?" I asked.

"I mean, what are we going to do about your situation?"

"Honey, there isn't much to do. We just have to stick together and keep these guys from hurting us."

"I have an idea," said Stella. "How about we find a way to defend ourselves.You know, like weapons."

"And where do you expect us to find those, girlfriend?" I asked.

"We can make them. I'm sure there's some loose metal around this room somewhere. If people in prison can find a way to shank someone, surely a group of girls can, c'mon."

She went in search for some sort of metal. I doubted a placed like this, ran by the United States Army, had any kind of loose metal laying around. I flashed back on Fort Leavenworth; the prison that my ex husband was locked up at. He'd been in the Army for four years, until he'd met me and we'd gotten married.

We were madly in love, there wasn't no doubt about it. But when word got out that he was potentially married to a terrorist, all hell broke loose.

We were making love in the shower, when the front door to our apartment was kicked in. Following the broken door, were men in black carrying M16s and M4s. They roughed him up a bit before carrying his limp body out front where they had roughed him up some more.

I was left naked, except for a towel pressed against my breasts. They never came back for me, not once. I acted fast, packing all my belongings in a duffle and storming out of the place. Never looking back.

Two weeks, had past and I went out to check my mail box. And to my surprise, there was a letter from him. I hurried inside, looking both nervous and shocked. I hadn't expected to be hearing anything from my husband.

I sat at the kitchen table, and torn open the letter.

It read:

Dear Amelia,

"I'm sorry about what happened two weeks ago. I know you weren't informed of my whereabouts, but I'm in Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. It's the Army's version of prison. I'm being charged with treachery. According to the United States General Attorney, 'I concocted against my country with the likes of a terrorist'. Apparently, you're being listed as a armed and dangerous terrorist, Amelia. What the hell are they talking about? Please write back and visit. And please tell my brother, Thomas that I'm okay."

With all my love,

Jeffery LeBlanc

After that letter, I had visited Jeff, three times. It was painful to watch him from the other side of the Plexiglass window. Knowing absolutely nothing about his situation. As I snapped back to the present, I realized that I now know what his situation had been like.

Stella came over, holding some sort of metal object. She was smiling from ear to ear. I could fathom what all the excitement was about.

I said, "What's with the smiling?"

She held the object up to eye level, "See this is what I meant by a weapon. All we have to do is sharpen the ends and, ta-dah, we have us a homemade shiv."

I was impressed that a girl who knew nothing about weapons, managed to come up with an idea on how to make a makeshift shiv. Wow, women of today's time.

I asked, "Where'd you find metal at?"

She pointed to the far end of the room, "Over there, it was just laying there."

Something about a piece of metal just "laying there" didn't seem to make all that much sense. I flashed on the one aspect of this whole system, it was military based. Meaning it was unlikely that a random piece of metal found its way in this room.

"And who do you plan on using this on, Stella?" I asked.

She just looked at me with the "you should already know" look. I took that as she was using it on Blake. I smiled internally, as I played the scene out in my mind's eye.

"That's not a good idea." I said.

I wasn't thinking of the consequence that was sure to follow her attack on him. She would get the same treatment I received yesterday, if not worse. I came up with a better idea.

I said, "How about we just attack as one. Meaning, if they come in after one girl they have to deal with all four of us."

# Chapter Twelve

Davenport and Harmon arrived at the crime scene of Timothy Geisler, who, was reported dead from a single GSW. Detective Carl Levin, KWPD, was in charge. He was forty-something, with a receding hairline, prominent chin, and few days worth of stubble.

In a word, he looked like hell.

Levin led both Davenport and Harmon throw the gruesome crime scene. He indicated that the shot was point blank range.

"Its apparent that when he opened the door, the killer was locked and loaded. The entry wound is more messy when a shot is taken from so close."

"Is there any witnesses?" Harmon asked.

"Nobody heard anything, which is to say, that's typical for this neighborhood."

Davenport eyed the multi-million dollar neighborhood and subsequently said, "I see your point people around here need not worry about such extremities."

"When's the last time a murder happened in this neighborhood?" asked Harmon, getting back to their initial matter.

Levin thought briefly before replying, obviously not sure himself.

"Its been a while. I've been with the KWPD for twelve years and haven't seen anything of this nature," he pointed to the DB on the floor.

There was an annoying honk of a horn, as a van pulled up to the curb.

"That's our ME, Dr. Elise Martinez," he said as he excused himself and walked over to her.

She was a petite woman, maybe five two, a buck ten soak and wet, but she was all business as she stumbled out the van.

"What do we have, Detective?" she asked tersely, meeting Levin's gaze.

"White male, business investor, 39 years of age. GSW to the head," Levin looked grim as he recanted the grisly shooting.

Dr. Martinez turned her stern eyes on Davenport and Harmon, who both took a retreating step back.

"And you are?"

"This is Detectives Drake Davenport and Abigail Harmon, APD. They're here consulting with us, there may be a possible connection between the two cases they're working." Levin intervened.

Davenport was scorned by the ME brute approach. Why was she so stand offish? We're on the same side here.

"Look if its not an issue, I would like to see the DB, up close."

"Is that okay with you, Elise?" asked Levin.

"And your reasoning?"

"Personal interest, nothing to worry about Dr. Mart..."

"Just let me get a few shots of the victim, so I can check for any post mortem ligature marks."

And with that she brushed past them, walking elegantly, almost graciously, as if scared to disturb the dead.

"What's her problem?"asked Davenport once the ME was gone. "She seems a bit uptight."

"Rumor has it, she and the DB knew each other. I don't know the details and all, maybe they dated or something who knows."

Levin shrugged, walked over to an officer who was standing at the perimeter of the crime scene. He introduced the two claiming that "Officer Hoyt" was a damned good cop. After some brief pleasantries, Levin fixed Hoyt with a stern look.

"Hoyt see that these two detectives are treated as your own. Any signs of trouble you come to me, got it?"

"Yes sir," he replied immediately, going rigid at the earnestness of Levin's request.

Davenport laughed, "They sure don't make em like they used too."

"Damned right they don't,"

"Tell me what's going on down there," said the voice on the other end, "I need to know everything that's occurring."

The Hitman was silent as he surveyed the events taking place where his counterpart, Top Gun, had taken out Timothy Geisler.

"What's going on?"

Silence.

"I know you're not ignoring me, you little prick,"

The voice on the other end, was anxious and his patience for The Hitman's nonchalance was was shredding. The son of a bitch worked for him, for Christ's sake!

"Relax, Timmy I have everything under control. That detective from North Carolina is down here. I thought he was out of the picture?"

"That part of the operation is still under way, trust me he's becoming a pest and the only thing to exterminate a pest is pesticide. See that Top Gun is on it. Davenport and the hottie with the nice ass are staying at the Silver Palms Inn, 830 Truman avenue. I'll e-mail you their hotel key card number."

And with that, Timmy clicked off.

The Hitman made the call to Top Gun, while he continued his surveillance on the scene up ahead. He informed him that "Timmy" was sending everything he needed to complete the assignment via e-mail.

He told him that he had plenty of time to set up the chemical canister. That Detective Davenport and Detective Harmon were preoccupied snooping around.

"Just have your phone on when I call," said The Hitman.

He was always serious when it came to killing someone discreetly. It's basically how he got the name Hitman, because once you were in his crosshairs you were dead before you knew it.

"Have you ever heard of the Silver Palms Inn, by chance?" asked The Hitman.

He was skeptical when it came to prying unfamiliar territory. Assassin code of conduct: Know your target in and out by all means necessary. Most of his killings were political leaders from foreign countries. He rarely got work in the States, for the simple fact that law enforcement here was fierce.

"No never heard of the place. Why what's up?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary, but supposedly, that's where the two detectives are staying at. Timmy wants you to check the place out, and plant a few canisters in their rooms."

He hung up.

He was irritated by Top Gun's incompetence. The man was damn good with any weapon you gave him, that being said he had no intelligence about him.

He watched as Davenport threw back his head, laughing, at something said by the cop with the receding hairline. What a bunch of imbeciles, The Hitman thought, cops are supposed to take all matters serious, especially when there's a dead body only yards away.

He fired up his car, pulled from the curb, and proceeded down Riviera Drive, on to Flagler Avenue, then onto North Roosevelt Boulevard. He was originally heading to the Key West International Airport, but he decided at the last minute to take a detour to the hotel Davenport and Harmon were staying at.

He made the drive in perfect time. He pulled into the nearly vacant lot, with only a few cars were in the lot to begin with; a Ford Mustang GT, a Camaro, and a 1969 Gran Torino.

The Hitman made his way to the reception desk. A high schooler, with a goofy smile greeted him, like he was Brad Pitt or George Clooney. The Hitman waved a dismissive gesture, and cut right to the chase.

"Look kid I'm looking for a man and a woman. The woman has blonde hair and a tight ass and she's hanging with some jerk off from the eighties, dark brown hair, and a lopsided smile. Seen anybody that matches that description?"

The high schooler looked at him as if he were coming out of a deep stupor, The Hitman reached inside his jacket, withdrew a Beretta Px4 Storm, he aimed it at the kid.

He said, "I don't have all damned day kid, speak up. Isn't that part of customer service, huh, ensuring that a customer's needs are met?"

He was toying with the boy now. Swinging his gun back and forth intentionally, amused as the kid's eyes darted nervously from side to side.

"Look mister, I haven't really been paying that much attention to what's been happening today," The Kid replied, sweating hard.

"Very well then I guess your usefulness has run its course,"

The Hitman raised his gun, pointed it at his center gravity, his chest, slowing pulling the trigger. Suddenly the high schooler had an instant moment of divine intervention. He started sputtering out useless words: Blonde haired woman...nice tight ass...

The Hitman walked away, but not after leaving a smoking hole in the middle of the kid's forehead. He wanted answers and the kid wasn't producing.

He holstered his Beretta Px4 Storm, advanced around the corner to the stairwell. Taking the steps two at a time, he reached the third floor, panting. He began searching for a housekeeper and the like.

He seen a chemical cart down the hall to his left. Across from it was an open room door. As he crept forward, he heard the sound of a vacuum cleaner. He peeped inside, saw a middle aged, Hispanic woman, was at work cleaning up after recent guest. He smiled at the irony of it, he too cleaned up after strangers only difference was the job description and pay grade.

He rapped on the door, startled the poor woman. She turned off the vacuum, said, "Can I help you, young man?"

She was wearing a cream colored apron, the kind most maids wore. She was an attractive middle aged woman.

"Yes, sorry to bother you. I'm looking for my friends," He leaned against the door frame, casually.

"You see I'm here shooting a movie and they invited me to their suite," he continued as he looked around, feigning confusion,"but apparently I'm lost."

He laughed good heartedly.

The woman appeared lost herself, she gingerly placed her vacuum neatly in a corner of the room.

"Any idea what they look like?" she asked.

Of course he knew what they looked like. He'd been watching them for the past two days. Their faces were ingrained on his mind.

"Yes, the woman is blonde and a nice back side, quite the athlete might I add, anyway the guy in my opinion is out of his league with his prominent chin and all," he pulled out a fake business card, handed it to the woman.

She took the card. The card read: Danny Arena, CEO of White Water Productions. She frowned. Looked up, smiled. "I think I can help you, follow me,"

# Chapter One

Its not everyday, I get the chance to relieve some stress, especially with the girls. This week has been more than hectic for an average high school teacher. Teaching World History, is not an auspicious career path. At thirty two, my profession as an actress took on a bizarre twist, and so did my love life. I started having an extramarital affair with a married man. Unfortunately, his wife of five years is completely clueless to the extramarital affair.We'd started seeing each other several months prior, and we hit it off tout de suite.

On average, we see each other twice a week, which makes me ache for him more than usual. Hey, a guy with his sex appeal can be quite captivating, trust me.

"Hello darling, how was the girl's night out?" I was startled to have 'Mr Hot Stuff' waiting in my living area, lights off, curtains drawn. Fortunately, Blake Highsmith, was that kind of person. He just thrives off one's "spunk".

"It was relaxing," I eased the door close to allow my eyes to conform to the darkness. I eased forward, groping desperately for a light switch. I found one shortly thereafter. "You remember Candice Tinker? Well she finally got married to some real estate attorney from Florida," I advanced over to the moon lit window beyond Blake's direction. "Poor thing waited nearly five years for the right man."

I swiveled on my heel just in time to run into Blake's outstretched arms. Feeling the warmth of his body, along with the scent of his cologne allowed me to bethink on the first time we'd embraced. I was abruptly brought out of my reverie when Blake buried his face into my bosom.

"Slow down, baby," I said between quick intervals of kisses. As I lowered myself on a nearby sofa, I murmured, "I had that dream again. Blake it's really beginning to freak me out.

As of late, I've been having this dream about a guy popping up at my job, unannounced. At first, I didn't think much of it, you know, just some silly dream. But then the dreams became more realistic; early morning hallucination, cold sweats, et cetera. I had a few coworkers who'd advised that I seek some counseling, maybe some medication. And what will that prove? That I was a nut job? That was beyond counseling, which would ensue humiliation.

And of course Blake's focal point was solely on getting my panties off. The cynosure of all male eyes. This was so trivial in the male population. Ugh.

Pushing upward, I flashed on him to ensure he understood the seriousness of this. "I'm serious Blake, what if it comes true, this dream?" I asked aghast, appalled. His eyes had the tenderness of a scared puppy knowing he's in trouble.

"Honey," he sighed, "It's just a nightmare that will soon vanish with time. I mean, maybe this guy in your dream is your 'It guy' looking for intrigue in a bizarre way. Look take it easy." He began showering me with kisses. Oh how I loved those soft, cotton-like kisses. Damn it Blake, why'd you have to go there, huh?

"Blake, stop it," I said jovially smacking his shoulder. He didn't budge one bit. So I resolved to call it truce and wiggled from underneath him.

That certainly got his ears attentive.

"Okay sweetheart," He said now that I had his full fledged attention, "what do you want me to do about it? Ask God to make the awful dreams stop?"

A wave of nausea surged through me causing me to grab my stomach. Blake grabbed my arm near my shoulder, forcing me upright, he asked, " Are you okay, honey?"

Hell no I wasn't okay! Was what I intended to yell at him but instead I managed a terse nod. "Yes, fine just don't know how to really answer that question."

He waited patiently as I mentally weighed the consequences, trying hard to compartmentalize such consequences, but failing miserably. After a moment I made my mind up, I flashed on Blake, "I want you to kill him Blake."

He just stared at me quizzically as if he were lost in the abyss. Damn those eyes of his can be damned disquieting, I thought. What happened to the puppy look?

Blake moved his gaze downward, staring at nothing in particular, just dazed thinking I was harebrained for conjuring such a farce. And to make matters worse I actually wanted the guy in my dreams dead. End of story.

Looking up, lost, "Honey, I can't just kill a man who doesn't exist, that's ludicrous. And besides a psychiatrist should be able to handle these matters," he paused, rubbed the bridge of his nose, squared my shoulders forward, said, "you weren't serious about what you just said, were you?"

There was an eerie silence that fell between us, frankly, because he was waiting for a response and I didn't know what to give him. But the silence was all the answer he needed. He grabbed his shirt from the sofa, and headed for the front, all in a single motion. I've done it again. Damn it, Amelia, why'd you have to go running your God forsaken mouth?

"Amelia," he said empathetic," don't take this the wrong way, but you need help. Psychological help. Asking me to murder somebody who doesn't truly exist is loony, and frankly I want no part of it. So do yourself a favor and go see a doctor."

And with that he was gone, leaving her to fend for herself.

He had no idea how disturbing these nightmares were. A dream with all sorts of sadistic affairs shouldn't be deemed humane to one's mind. Well, if Blake Highsmith doesn't want to cater to me in my time of need then I'll just have to find someone who will in due time.

I headed upstairs, turning off the lights. Something told me tonight was going to be a unforgettable. Nightmares. I knew was going to dream of him again. Touching, slapping, ripping, and thrusting. Rape. I definitely need to see a psychiatrist to talk me through these dreams...

Bang!

What the hell was that?

It sounded like it was coming from downstairs.

Downstairs!

My heart was racing.

Shit!

I forgot to lock the front door!

Oh God please!

I eased out of the bed, sheets entangled between my legs and arms. I grabbed my hair brush off the dresser. I peered out my bedroom door.

A shadow!

Someone is in my house with me still in it!

Shit, shit, shit, shit!

Wait do they know i'm home?

If not maybe whoever it is will take what they came for and leave.

I was sweating bullets when I seen the shadow begin moving around. My heart was pounding like a high school band.

My high school.

Abruptly, I heard the stairs creaking as the weight of an unwanted guest begin to ascend my stairs.

Oh shit whoever it was was coming for me.

Moments later, I was standing face to face with him. He was buff, and several inches taller. And I had no doubt who I was looking at.

# Chapter Fifty-Seven

Detective Harmon and Agent Beckham rushed through the doors of the Asheville Police Department. Harmon walked up to the front counter, which was being manned by one lone officer. And that officer happened to be Officer Owenby.

"Hi, detective where's your partner?" she asked.

"We were hoping you could shed some light on his whereabouts." She threw her head toward Beckham who was bring up her flank. "This is Agent Beckham, I'm sure you two have met already. We're looking for my partner. Agent Beckham here, said that Detective Davenport received a phone call from you saying something about the whereabouts of his wife and daughter."

"Oh yes. I called him as soon as I got the okay to inform him of the new developments we'd found in Chief Gates's office, regarding his family's abduction. God, I hope he didn't run down there alone with no kind of back up." She placed a hand over her mouth, obviously realizing what she'd ignited.

"Don't stress yourself about it. Just tell us where you told him his family was being held. That's about the only thing you can do as of right now." said Harmon.

"According, to the files confiscated from the chief's office. Detective Davenport's family is being held in the Key West, at a hotel called the Silver Palms Inn."

"I know where that's at!" Harmon exclaimed. "Me and Davenport were working another case that was connected to the one that occurred here." She grabbed Agent Beckham by the forearm, dragging him along. She hollered over her shoulder, "Thanks for your help!"

"Where is it you think we're going, Detective? I have been assigned to work a case which does not require me to skip town on a wild goose chase." said Beckham, once they were seated comfortably in the cruiser they'd taken from the airport.

"No one said you had to come. I just assumed you wanted to be a part of something big. But I guess I underestimated you in general." she fired up the engine. "If you'd like you can get out and find something else worth doing, but I'm going to keep these terrorist at bay, especially if the FBI can't."

"It's not that I don't want to help you, Harmon. But I have to know for sure that a real terrorist is where you and your department is saying he is."

"Just buckle your seat belt and you'll find out here shortly."

She placed the car in reverse and shot toward the Interstate, sirens blaring, grille lights flashing.

When I came back from my reverie, the girls were still going on about ways to escape my father's prison. I knew the very thought was futile, I just didn't want to ruin my girl's hopes of ever being free. The only way we were going to make it out of here alive and well; was if law enforcement knew what was going on and came looking for us. But from what I witnessed from the beginning, I knew that any law enforcement would completely bypass us, and be bribed into taking money in exchange for silence.

I was starting to hear some feminine voices coming from the adjoining room, presumably, it was my father and Aziz, his second-in-command, enjoying some female company. I wondered if they would have such luck, if say, those women discovered what my father really did to women?

I heard someone close the room door and shushed the girls, letting them know we were about to be having some company. I waited for our door to fling open, but it never did. Instead, I heard a man apologize for intruding, perhaps, the housekeeping guy or the room service guy got the rooms mixed up.

Bizarre.

"Can we talk now?" asked Tatiana, her Romanian accent laced with sarcasm.

"I don't know," I replied. "Maybe if you want my father to overhear your conversation, you can."

That set a sour look on her face. Hell yeah! Go Amelia, its your birthday. Suddenly, our door knob started to jiggle, as if someone forgot that it was key card activated. I held my breath. And I'm sure the rest of the girls did likewise. The seconds crept by, at an excruciating pace. It felt like an eternally.

Then, the door crept open and a burly-looking man stepped into the foyer. He flipped on the light switch, and all of us girls let out a gasp.

I'd never seen this man in my entire life and he seem the mirror the same expression. He stared at us in complete silence, not knowing what to make of us and our current situation.

Finally he spoke, "I'm Detective Davenport with the Asheville Police department. I'm looking for my wife and my little girl."

"I'm Amelia Deese, I think..."

"What did you say your name was again?"

I blushed for no apparent reason. "Amelia Deese, why?"

"The entire city of Asheville has been looking for you, especially after Officer Caldwell seen you in the passenger seat the day he was shot."

"Oh." I said. I was completely speechless.

"We thought perhaps you were dead, until I discovered that my wife, Nikki and my four year old daughter Kelly, had turned up missing as well. I've been trying to tracking the people down who's responsible. I take it you ladies know who's responsible?"

"How do we know this isn't some ploy to cause us more punishment?" asked Stella.

"Yeah, how're we supposed to trust you?" Ashley agreed.

I knew this man was who he said he was just by looking in his eyes. No man would have such a grief-stricken look about him if it weren't genuine. Well, maybe if he Denzel Washington, in the movie John Q.

I said, "Girls I think Mr. Davenport here, is indeed who he says he is."

"And what makes you so sure?" snapped Tatiana.

"It doesn't matter. The point is this; we've seen what my father is capable of if triggered. And we know that he'll shoot Kelly dead if he sensed that I've betrayed..."

"Wait a second. Did you just he'll shoot my daughter?" the detective asked, his voice rising a few octaves.

"Yes that's exactly what I..."

"Where's my daughter?!"

"My father took her earlier as part of an agreement between him and myself." I could see that this wasn't sitting too well with him. And how could you blame him? It wouldn't sit well with any parent.

Detective Davenport paced the perimeter of the room, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he brooded, intently. I was wondering what his next outburst would be like, when a knock broke through my thoughts and brought me back to reality. The fist pounding had gotten louder.

"What's all the yelling about? Is there someone else in there?" said the male voice, who I knew was Aziz's, from the other side of the door. I looked at the detective and put my finger to my lips.

"You have to tone it down or else you'll get us all killed."

"Someone better answer me or I'm coming in there!" Aziz continued to yell.

"It's nothing really. We were just playing charades. We'll keep it down." I yelled through the door.

"Charade? Good improvising skills." said the detective, more calmly now.

I smiled. "Comes from many years of deception."

He fixed me with a puzzled look.

"My father is notorious for deceiving people."

"Ah, that makes more sense I suppose."

"If you're looking for your wife, all I know is that she's somewhere in this hotel. We were brought here on separate planes and separate times. I haven't seen your wife since she arrived at the warehouse a week ago..."

"Warehouse? What warehouse are you talking about?"

"Some warehouse near the River Arts District in West Asheville. That's where all of us were stored in the beginning. Two girls have already been killed for no apparent reason at all." I hated to placed doubt in the poor guy's mind but I had to be honest with him to give him some insight.

He backpedaled to a nearby chair, and flopped down in it and placed his head in his hands. He was taking this too hard. He had to understand that there was definitely a possibility that his wife and little girl were just fine. I felt bad being the one to relay such horrifying news, real bad. I walked over to where he sat and placed my hand gently on his shoulder. "It's okay." I said.

He shot to his feet as if something that I said ignited the fire smoldering in the pit of his stomach. He looked me square in the eye. "How many bodyguards do your father have around him at one time?"

Okay that totally caught me off guard a bit. I was expecting something more explosive but instead this is what I got in turn. I had to think long and hard at the question because I didn't know for sure. I knew, if course, that he always had Aziz around him 24/7 and then he had that other guy I'd never seen. So that's two guards that I know of. But should I just say "my father only has two body guards" or should I say "I've only noticed two people guarding, but there could be more in the wake of things getting out of hand". I decided the latter would suffice, at least for the time being.

"To be honest," I said. "I've only noticed two people guarding my father, so with that being said I don't know for certain."

"I just wanted to know because I plan on confronting your father to get some answers."

I touched his arm and said, "I don't think that's a good idea. Not with your daughter at his disposal. Did you travel here by yourself?"

"Yes."

"Then I'd advise you to call your department or the FBI for backup. My father has no problem killing a cop, I'm just throwing it out there."

That seemed to grab and hold his attention.

"So what am I supposed to do? Sit back and enjoy a six-pack of Budweiser, while your father is playing cat and mouse with me? I don't think so. I'm taking your father down and that's all she wrote."

Detective Harmon and Agent Harmon were speeding down Interstate 26. Harmon was in the driver's seat after experiencing Agent Beckham's driving ability; she'd learned her lesson about the FBI way of driving. For the most part the highway was fairly clear, which was why she was able to keep the car at 100 mph without any interference.

They'd been on the road for 2 hours when finally they arrived at the Charlotte Douglas International Airport. They found a parking spot easily enough in the Departure section of the terminal. They exited out of the car and went to the ticket booth and purchased two $300 one way tickets to Key West International. They had barely made it, the flight was scheduled to depart at 5:45 p.m. It was 5:30 p.m. And two hours later, they were descending at Key West International Airport.

# Chapter Sixteen

It was ten a.m. when Davenport and Harmon walked into the glass doors of the Key West Police Department. Chief of Police, Albert Gomez, was waiting behind his desk in his office, when Officer Jesse McCaine escorted them to his office.

He was a bear of a man, with gray hair parted to the side, and a bulging stomach pressing against his cluttered desk. He stood, extending his right, and shaking both detectives' hand as they took up their seats.

"What can I help you detectives with this morning?" he asked.

"We're here consulting with your department on a homicide case, that's potentially connected somehow to a case were working on. Detective Harmon and I have been working alongside Detective Carl Levin, of your department."

"I see," he rubbed his chin, skeptically. "I'd heard what was discovered at the crime scene of Timothy Geisler's house. Pretty fucked up scene, if I may be blunt,"

He stood up and walked over to the ceiling-to-floor window, continuing, "Sick bastard, that Timothy Geisler. Did you know that the victim had a wife and three kids? Unbelievable."

"Actually, no, we didn't know that," said Davenport as he scribbled away in his note pad, "but thanks for bring me and my partner up to date."

"Chief Gomez, what can you tell us about Timothy Geisler?" asked Harmon.

"Well, isn't much to tell, really. Mr Geisler is an accountant of sorts, works mainly with the wealthy. He pays his taxes and traffic tickets. But..."

Gomez's voice trailed off, as Davenport pondered on what was said.

He pays his taxes and traffic tickets!

Normally if a person has traffic violations of any kind, was indication that that person was prone to breaking the law. Rather that person breaks the law on purpose or not it's still law breaking.

"Chief Gomez, you wouldn't happen to still have those traffic violations on file, would you?" asked Davenport, fishing.

"Yes, of course, its policy, no one breaks the law without it being public records. Give me a sec..." He picked the phone up from the cradle, pressed a series of numbers, and spoke into the phone.

He said, "Hey McCaine, have Lauren bring me the file on Timothy L. Geisler, please. Thank you."

He place the phone back in the cradle and looked up.

"Lauren, my Lieutenant will be joining us shortly." Chief said.

Back in Fort Bragg, Captain Galloway and Lieutenant Collins had assembled a meeting in the Mess hall. There were fifty soldiers in attendance. But only twenty-five soldiers were required for this mission.

Captain Galloway said,"Gentlemen, I've summoned you here to inform you that we have a very covert operation execute. There will be no failure with this mission. The one they call The General has asked for my assistance in this black operation." He nodded to Lieutenant Collins, who pulled down a projector screen and presented his presentation.

"Gentlemen, this," he pointed a yard ruler at the center of the screen. "this is Operation Genesis."

The soldiers were all in awe of what they were looking at. A covert operation was being conducted inside the United States. Not only did it shock them all that it was happening in the States, but that it was happening there in North Carolina.

"Auditions are in a few weeks, so be prepared. Meeting adjourned." said Galloway.

"Come in Lauren,"said Chief Gomez.

A moment later, a very attractive dark haired woman entered the office. She was five four, a buck thirty from the way her uniform shaped around her curves. She looked like Miss Florida, instead of a Lieutenant behind a desk. Davenport felt a warm sensation in his loins.

"Lieutenant, meet Detective's Davenport and Harmon, APD, Homicide."

Davenport stuck out his hand, it being met by a slender, baby soft hand.

Davenport said, "Nice to meet you Lieutenant."

"Likewise Detective," She blushed.

"Morning, Lieutenant?" Harmon said sticking out her slender hand.

"Alright now that all the pleasantries are out the way let's get down to business, shall we?" said Chief Gomez.

"It was nice meeting y'all." said Lieutenant Lauren as she closed the door behind her.

Sitting on the edge of of Chief Gomez's oversized desk, was a manila folder, with the name, Timothy L. Geisler, on it. Harmon waited patiently to find out what was inside that manilla folder.

"May I?" asked Davenport, motioning toward the folder.

"Sure."

Davenport huddled over the folder containing lots of everyday traffic violations, as Harmon peered from over his shoulder. According to the file, Geisler had 40 speeding tickets in the past six months. Along with a couple of parking zone violations, and two DUI's.

"What's your state laws on DUI's?" asked Davenport.

"Depends on how many times you break the law. In Geisler's case he had two, he got nine months in the county and slapped with a 2000 dollar fine."

"Did they suspend his license?"

"Judge Warren, deem it unnecessary being that he'd already served his time and paid his fine."

"Lucky bastard." Mumbled Davenport.

"Anything else I can assist you in?" asked Chief Gomez.

"Yes I want to know where Geisler is living." demanded Davenport.

Back at the Asheville International Airport, off Airport Road, Aziz Abdul-Nasser and his wife Aaliyah were picking up their bags at the claim booth. Aziz spotted a familiar face in the thick crowd of people. They made their subtle signals, that were pre-agreed upon. They had a plan to execute.

A plan that involve many other Allah driven people. Aziz kissed his wife, passionately as if for the last time. Perhaps this is the last time, he thought, this is what destiny was.

He grabbed his luggage, carefully, from the claim booth. Americans were so dumb to the creativity of the Middle East. Post 911, only showed how naive they were, with all the high security crap. Political bullshit. He smiled and thanked the Security Guard.

He walked briskly towards the men's bathroom. Leaving his wife to keep watch as he set forth the plan.

Inside the men's bathroom, Aziz, was at work placing C4 in various secluded areas; behind the Urinal, under the pipes leading to the toilets, in the Air Conditioning unit.

He knew no one would ever notice the C4, mainly because they resembled everyday products and whatnots. Who would think that a purple tampon would be attached to a detonator? It's nothing but a tampon that fell from some lady's purse and happened to appear inside the men's room. He laughed at irony.

He exited the bathroom, made his way back to his wife's side, and said, "It is done, my love."

He pulled out his Droid Maxx, and sent a text message: "Its your turn, my friend may God be upon you". He clasped his phone shut and slid it back into his pocket.

His wife looked up in his brown eyes, questioningly. "What's next?"

"We wait for our partner's to contact us, then we move forward."
