A Pawn is Taken

"Oh, God, what a day!" Shelly groaned as she eased herself into her car. It had been rough; she had been doing spot checks for the health department's documentation, three patients had required new supplements to help them gain weight, and one of her workers had failed to bring food requested by a nurse to a patient with brittle diabetes. Result: the patient's blood glucose levels had plummeted to dangerous levels. The nursing staff was able to bring them up, basically saving the man's life, but Shelly had been livid and had given that particular member of the dietary staff a thorough reaming out. The result of that? The woman quit on the spot, and now... "Now we're going to be short-handed again," she muttered as she strapped herself in and started the car. "Chuck is not going to like that; not one bit."

She pulled out of the parking lot into the light afternoon traffic. It had begun to rain earlier in the day, a steady shower with occasional downpours and rumbles of thunder, and her mad dash to the car had further darkened her already sweat-soaked turquoise scrubs. As she drove, the rhythmic swish of the wipers clearing the windshield, her mind was half on the road, half on how she was going to rearrange the schedule to cover for the personnel gap. She knew that she herself would have to work overtime, and she would probably cycle through the other dietary crew members to make up for the missing manpower.

Suddenly, all of her attention was brought to the car, which seemed to have developed an inexplicable tendency to swerve sharply to the right. Hanging on tightly to the steering wheel, she attempted to regain control of the vehicle and was partially successful. The thumping she heard as she gradually pulled over onto the narrow shoulder sounded ominous, and she groaned. I bet I've got a flat. Just what I needed after the day I had, and in the pouring rain, too! She brought the car to a halt and put it in park, activating her four-way flashers. Rummaging around in her purse, she swore as she remembered that she didn't have her phone with her. What a day to forget it! she groused internally. Heaving a heavy sigh, she decided, Better go out and see what the damage is and if I can change the thing.

She turned off the ignition, but left the headlights on to help her see through the gloomy day. Shouldering on her heavy cardigan, she carefully got out of the car. A couple of vehicles whizzed past; no one seemed to want to be a good Samaritan on such a nasty day. Easing quickly to the rear of her car, she ducked around to check the passenger side wheel. Flat as a pancake, she groaned to herself, shaking her head. Well, I'll have to either walk, or wait for help. Better get back inside where it's dry and wait for a bit first. Maybe one of those cars that passed will call the highway patrol.

But as she was opening the door to slip back into her car, a sleek sedan pulled up in front of her, and its driver got out. She stood with the door slightly open and waited to see what this stranger had to say.

"I saw you stuck here, ma'am. Looks like you've got a flat. Is there anything I can do to help?" the dark-haired man asked, smiling as he walked up to her. He had his arms wrapped around himself as if trying to protect his body from the rain. They both flinched as a van shot by, spattering them both in water and sand from the road as it passed.

"Yes, there is," Shelly said, slightly uneasy about the man. There was something odd about his voice that puzzled her; she couldn't really tell if it were a woman's voice or a man's. "Do you have a phone so I could call my husband to come get me?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not, ma'am. But I'd be happy to take you to a pay phone, if that would help."

Shelly hesitated for a moment. She knew she was in a potentially dangerous situation. But the reality of it was that she was standing outside her car, getting drenched and far too tired to walk to the nearest gas station. The poor man who stopped was also getting soaked and it would be unfair to ask him to actually change the tire in this weather, especially since neither of them seemed to be prepared for it. In the end, her strong desire to get home as soon as possible overrode her caution, and she smiled at the man. "I would appreciate that very much, thank you. Just let me get my purse." She ducked inside, retrieved her bag and keys, turned off the headlights, leaving the flashers on, and locked up.

Approaching the sedan, she saw that the stranger had opened the passenger door for her in a very polite, gentlemanly way. She smiled again as she hustled into the shelter of his car, watching him scurry across the front to join her in getting out of the rain.

"Whew! That's some nasty weather today," he said with a grin. He offered his hand. "Derek Edwards."

She took it and shook it once. "Shelly Clarendon."

"So, Mrs. Clarendon? Where to?"

"There's a gas station a mile or two down the road here and a phone. If you could take me there?"

"Sure, Mrs. Clarendon. Not a problem."

She smiled at him as she fastened her seatbelt, and watched approvingly as he pulled out onto the road with care.

They chatted about the nasty weather, and a few minutes later, the gas station showed up on the right. "There it is," she said. "You can drop me off here... hey! Why didn't you stop?"

"I'm afraid I can't let you out, Mrs. Clarendon. Not until we reach my destination," Edwards said, his eyes looking straight ahead as he sped past the spot. He reached into his wet jacket with his gloved right hand and brought it back out holding a gun, which he pointed at her. She gasped and put a hand to her mouth, her face going very pale. "You see, Shelly... you don't mind if I call you that, do you? You see, Shelly, I'd like a word with your little sister, Lucinda, and I don't have time to search this very big country looking for her. So, I'm counting on you to bring her to me."

"I... I don't know where she is!" Shelly exclaimed in a near-whisper.

Edwards turned to her and smiled, his white teeth gleaming, his light blue eyes fixed on hers, suddenly looking all the more sinister for it. "I'm sure you have some way of contacting her," he said with a deceptive joviality. "After all, she is your sister."

Oh, God! How am I going to get out of this? Shelly thought in despair, shuddering as she remembered what she had in her purse: a bright pink piece of paper with her sister's name and phone number on it.

"Moofums! Yew were such a naughty kitty! Ah am sooo glad that yoah vet listened t' me an' put on th' heavy gloves," Cindy Lou scolded the fluffy feline as she opened the carrier. Moofums strutted out, her fluffy tail held majestically in the air, ignoring her mistress entirely. Spot had already been released from durance vile and had made a dash for her safe haven: the upstairs hall bathroom. The woman put Moofums's carrier away, then returned to Spot's container to wipe out the drool that had been smeared all over the interior. "Ah love 'em, but sometahmes theyah a lot o' work."

She returned Spot's carrier to the storage shelf above the dryer, and sighed with relief. The scratches that Moofums had given her still stung when she washed her hands, and she pulled a bandage and anti-bacterial/antiviral ointment out of the medicine cabinet in the half-bath on the first floor. Taking them with her to the office, she tended to her wounds in between clicks of her mouse.

Her first stop was the website she had been monitoring. Her eyes grew wide when something other than the home page came up. "This site is now undah new management," she read in a murmur, as four rows of miniature British bobbies, waving nightsticks, chased stereotypical burglars, dressed in striped shirts and masks, back and forth across the red screen. She laughed. "Whoevah did this is mah hero!" Sitting up, she pulled up the draft of the letter she had written to Interpol, copied and pasted the note from Tony Cho into the body of the email, then addressed it to the head of the Singapore offices, whose email address she had looked up in some of her old Interpol materials. She'll make sure it gets to the right people.

She had just clicked on the "send" command when her satellite phone rang.

"Edwards" escorted Shelly at gunpoint into the deserted house he had decided to use as his temporary base. Breaking into the place had been easy enough; the little gizmo he had used on Shelly's car was handy for opening remote-controlled household doors as well. He didn't even bother with the front door where the secure, fingerprint-coded lockbox was, instead, he had come in through the back, where he wouldn't have to deactivate the tiny alarm that protected the locked up keypad.

"Now, Shelly, please sit down here on the floor," he instructed, guiding her to a corner of the living room. She glared balefully at him. "Don't get any ideas about resisting or trying to hurt me, Shelly. If you don't cooperate, I'm sure your daughter will. Rachel, isn't that her name? She's in college, studying marine biology at that little place in Biddeford, am I right?" He smiled to see his victim's already pale face go even whiter, with almost a green tinge to it. "You see, I did my homework. You cooperate, and I'll leave little Rachel alone."

Looking as if she wanted to cry, and trying desperately not to do so, Shelly sat down as he instructed. He moved behind her, holstering his gun and grabbing one of her wrists, bending her arm back painfully. She leaned forward with a cry, and he held her in that position as he pulled out a pair of handcuffs from the side pocket of his jacket. He fastened that wrist with the cuffs, then grabbed the other wrist and imprisoned that one as well. Coming around to face her, he unholstered his gun again, then crouched down so they were just about at eye level. The gun was pointed down between his knees as he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out something shiny.

"Recognize this?" he asked, showing her the phone. "I lifted it from your car this morning." He let her take a good long look. "I've already been through your phone numbers; I'm surprised that you don't have Luci's in there."

"I don't have her number," Shelly said, a bit of defiant spirit showing. "She wouldn't give it to me."

"Such a pity," her captor said, shaking his head, tucking the phone back into his pocket. "You don't mind if I make certain of that?" He reached for her handbag, which he had carried in himself. With one swift motion, he had emptied its contents on the floor. "Hmm. Here's your PDA. That might prove useful." He opened her wallet, shook out her change purse, opened every slip of paper, every grocery list, receipt, and business card she had. "Hello! What's this?"

Shelly's heart sank as he held up the piece of bright pink paper. "Well, well, well. 'Call Lou'. And there's a phone number on it. I don't suppose you were going to tell me about this, were you, Shelly?" He raised his hand and she flinched, fully expecting him to slap her or something. Instead, he just grinned at her and pulled the phone out again. "Now, Shelly. I am going to place a call to your sister. You will say exactly what I tell you to and no more. Remember Rachel, hmm?" He began to dial the number on the slip of paper. "Now, this is what you're going to say..."

"Cindy Lou... Shelly!" Cindy Lou's accent disappeared as the sight of her sister, looking particularly miserable, appeared on her screen.

"Hello, Lou," Shelly said dully. "I have someone here who wants to talk to you."

The picture suddenly shifted in a blur of gray and brown, then settled on the face of a man. Lou felt the blood drain from her face as she recognized the shark-like smile and the odd voice as he spoke.

"Well, hello there, Lou! I see you dyed your hair, too. I like the red color, and the curls. And blue eyes! Very sexy. You could have refrained from that so-called beauty mark, though. Did I hear you call yourself 'Cindy Lou'? Very clever!"

Lou slowed her now rapid breathing and recovered her some of her composure. Her eyes narrowed in fury and she hissed, "Franks, you bastard! What have you done to my sister?"

He put on an expression of mock indignation. "Lou, you wound me! I haven't done anything to your sister... yet." His facial expression changed to one of serious, angry intent, and he held up his pistol so she could see it. "But I will, if you don't follow my instructions to the letter."

She regarded him with hate in her eyes. "What do you want?"

Franks proceeded to tell her.

She sat back, the tears she would not shed in front of him coming to her eyes and coursing down her cheeks. He knows it's impossible. I told him flat out I couldn't just charter a plane and why. What the hell am I going to do? There's no way I can get to Maine from here in just three hours! She huffed out a breath, staring unseeing at her computer screen as the little cops chased the robbers across it. Little by little, she became aware of the chase again, and she knew what she had to do, who she had to call.

Picking up her phone, she speed-dialed a number, hoping that the man on the other end would be able to deliver a miracle.

Morning on Tracy Island and Virgil was up early, trying to capture the glint of sun on sea that he had seen the other day. He became aware of a repetitive noise in the lounge behind him, and turned to hear it better. That sounds like the vidphone. Kyrano's probably busy with breakfast. I'd better go answer it.

He stepped into the lounge, palette still in hand, and strode quickly over to the desk. Putting the palette on the desk, he sat down in his father's chair and answered the phone.

"Hey, Aunt Lucinda!" he exclaimed with pleasure. "It's good to see you again!"

"And to see you, too, Virgil," she said with a tiny smile. "I'm afraid I can't exchange pleasantries though. I've got a... problem, an emergency, and I need to talk to your father right away."

"Uh, sure, Lucinda," Virgil said, taken back a bit by her straightforward speech. "I'll see if I can wake him. Hold on." He put her on hold, and hurried across the room, through the study, and into the hall where the bedrooms were situated. His father's room was on the far corner, the largest of the suites. Virgil pressed the button to open the door, grateful that his father hadn't locked it the night before. Passing through the sitting area, he entered the bedroom, and turned on the lights. "Dad! Dad! Wake up!"

Jeff stirred, groaning at the intrusion. He was still fully clothed from the day before, having stopped just long enough to kick off his shoes before he collapsed across the bed, . "Wha... What's the matter, Virgil? Is there an emergency? Turn out that damned light."

Virgil didn't obey. "Dad, it's Aunt Lucinda. She says she has an emergency and has to talk to you... now."

His father waved a hand in his general direction. "Okay, okay. Pipe it down here. I'll take it in my sitting room." He waved again, and Virgil left, hurrying back to the lounge.

Jeff levered himself out of bed and ran his hands through his hair, trying to push it back into place. The vidphone in the suite started buzzing for his attention and he stumbled out, rubbing his eyes as he did. He sat down in one of his favorite armchairs, then leaned forward to answer the call. "Jeff here."

"Jeff, I'm sorry for waking you, but something terrible has happened and I need your help right away," Lou said without preface.

Hearing the tension in her voice and seeing her serious expression, Jeff woke up a little more and got closer to the screen. "What's wrong, Lou? What can I do?"

Lou's shoulders slumped and she looked away for a moment. When she looked back, a tear was trailing down her cheek, and Jeff could see she was having trouble staying composed. She took a deep breath and said bitterly, "It's that bastard, Franks. Dammit, Jeff! He's got Shelly!"