My Novel: Chapter 58

Chapter 58

This cute little guy is my grandson. In this photo he's about 5 months older than Katie would be during this story. I've used him and my other grand kids as models to remind me what an 18-month old is like: their abilities, speech patterns and language skills, demands, sleep habits, likes and dislikes, attention span, etc. Curious, this little cutie jumped in a hole other kids had dug and abandoned. He thought it was more fun than feeding ducks during our expedition. To  me it was a water-filled hole. To him it was exciting play time, a personal pond, and a way to safely explore possibilities.

Secrets at Midnight

Leona Palmer Haag

Chapter 59

Muffled noises filtered into the break room. The door creaked open and footsteps entered. Jenn pulled her thoughts away from leaving Nick as she strained to listen. She picked out familiar voices: Nick, Matt and Kevin Curtis—jumbled among others. Curtis’ voice boomed, stringing curses. If Katie’s subconscious recorded them and she repeated any, he’d have to answer to her!

“You promised me Monica,” Kevin said. “Where is she?”

“She'll arrive soon,” Nick said, a somber edge to his voice.

Curtis cussed. “Waiting isn’t my specialty.”

“Relax,” Matt said.

Jenn pinched her eyes closed despite the darkness. She felt like she’d crawled under a seat in a theater and was forced to listen to a script without seeing the action. What were the characters doing? Without eyes, she couldn’t read body language or facial expressions. She wished she could punch a hole in the box—and spy.

Chair feet scraped against the floor near the box.

“What about me?” Nick asked. “Will you receive a bonus for bringing me in?”

Jenn’s heart thudded. She tried to separate individual voices and sort the conversations and sounds. Was Kevin handcuffing Nick? Snatches of words—gamble, traitor, pay—were clear. The rest—muffled. Horrible visions played through her mind and panic rose. Would she be framed too for the crime taking place inches away? She’d spend the rest of her life in prison for something she never committed, and what would become of Katie?

More chairs scooted, drowning words. The voices tapered off and stopped. Someone moved and coins dropped into a vending machine. A bottle tumbled down a chute. More coins jingled and cans and treats dropped. Even doped up, Katie might not have slept through the racket if her ear had been only inches away.

“How is Monica?”

Nick answered. “Cold. In a body bag.”

Jenn shuddered. She wasn’t fond of her, but death was harsh and final.

Kevin swore. “Intelligence said she escaped.”

“Intelligence got it wrong,” Nick replied.

“Let's hope they packed her on ice. This heat is murderous,” someone said. Murmuring agreement followed.

“Thank you for recovering her body,” Kevin said with what sounded like a tinge of resentment for stating gratitude. Jenn wished she could see Nick’s face because his reply was too indistinct to catch.

A plane engine whirred overhead, feet and chairs moved. “That's not our delivery,” Nick said at the engine roared louder.

“They’ve got poor timing,” Matt growled.

The break room door creaked open and footsteps retreated, leaving the room silent. Jenn listened intently, but no one stirred. After several deep breaths she readjusted her cramped legs. Then the door creaked open and shut. Soft footsteps of a lone individual entered the break room and halted—probably a pilot.

Holding her breath, Jenn waited. She pinched her eyes shut as if it would prevent the person from seeing the cardboard box and her inside. The footsteps moved to a vending machine. Money jingled, a motor whirred and a soft thump preceded a package ripping open. Crunching followed. Jenn had never listened to anyone eat chips before. It was annoying, interesting and alarming.

A chair scrapped on the floor followed by rustling fabric and a thump she could only image as boots landing on a tabletop. Someone relaxed while she nervously listened—unnerving! Please hurry, Mr. Pilot, please hurry and go, she silently  begged.

The chair moved, feet thudded to the floor and munching and footsteps moved toward the restroom. The door opened with a creak, then shut. Realizing she was holding her breath, Jenn slowly exhaled. With the pilot taking a rest stop she grabbed a moment to adjust the position of her spine. She pulled one shoulder up slightly and circled it in the tight quarters to release tension. The Styrofoam cups above her whispered. She froze. A new sound took over—a toilet stall door squeaked open and shut, and then a second one did the same. There had been no soiled or plugged toilets—so what was the pilot doing? Was he more of a neat-freak than her, checking for the most sanitary fixture?

The restroom door opened with a whoosh and footsteps entered the break room. They marched across the vinyl tiles with purpose. The second restroom door opened with a whine and the footsteps canvassed the space. Stall doors opened and shut. The springy hinge on the cleaning closet door squeaked. Was he looking for disinfectant?

Her heart froze. No—he was looking for something else. Someone. Her!

Footsteps returned to the break room. They crossed the floor in evenly spaced thumps. The table between the vending machines creaked. Jenn held her breath, imagining the man’s backside leaning against it as he surveyed the room. He’d see the box she and Katie had sought refuge in and would look inside.

Her mind raced, whispering commands: Don’t look. Please don’t look! She longed to stroke Katie’s cheek and whisper peace and security to her baby, but kept her fingers tightly clinched in her fists until her palms screamed in pain.

The table creaked as the person moved away. Footsteps approached the lockers. Doors creaked open and banged shut one after another, each sounding like an explosion. Jenn’s hands uncurled and inched to cover her ears. The banging stopped, but her breath drew inward in irregular gasps devoid of sound and oxygen.

The footsteps moved, coins jingled and a bottle fell. The person slurped and sat at a table and drummed fingertips.

The break room door opened. “Are you okay, Adams? Is it cool enough in here for you?” Kevin asked.

“Yeah. I’m starting to feel better,” the man said. “This heat is a killer. How do people survive out here?”

More money clinked and another drink tumbled. “Exactly my thoughts,” Kevin said. “Cool off, Adams, but keep an eye on things. Something isn't adding up. I’m sure we’ll flush out the rat.”

“I tell you it’s Jensen and Washington. I've got your back, Curtis.”

Adams. Trying to match a face to the name, Jenn’s memory flashed through everyone she knew, and included all the photos she’d seen in Matt’s line up of good and bad guys on his computer. She came up empty—no Adams—although he’d probably been there.

Kevin’s footsteps retreated and the break room door swung shut. Adams stood. His feet circled the room. Cupboards creaked open, contents shifted, doors creaked shut. Inches away he muttered, “Cups, cups and more cups. Do they have enough cups in this stinking place?”

Jenn shivered. Adams snooped, talked to himself and hated Nick and Matt.

A drawer yanked open. “Spoons. Ten thousand and counting.” The drawer slammed shut and more opened. Jenn had seen the same things Adam’s eyes were viewing.

Katie twitched, and a tiny fingernail nicked the cardboard box. It thundered inside their refuge, and surly broke the silence beyond.

“A mouse?” Adam's voice whispered. He perversely chuckled.

Jenn’s stomach churned. She and Katie were caught—trapped like two blind mice.

Boxes jerked and scraped against the floor. A foot repeatedly stomped and Adams laughed. “Take that, you scrawny varmint!”

Jenn melted into a perspiring puddle. There really had been a mouse—its life forfeited because Katie twitched. She released the breath she'd been holding and begged herself to not think about what had transpired near her hideout. She couldn’t vomit quietly or huddle in the mess if she did. 

Adams’ voice rose. “Where is your filthy nest?” His footsteps drew closer. Jenn’s box shuddered as the top yanked open. “More cups? Who but the devil could drink so much coffee in this place?” His foot kicked Jenn’s unseen shoulder. The cups above her shifted. A second kick landed on her hip. The lid shut with a whoosh and the packages shivered.

A distinct men's cologne—musky with an edge of spice—filtered in, burning Jenn’s nose. It resembled the scent flowers emit before wilting. It was much stronger than she liked Nick wearing. The essence was too obvious, and only a few notches above cheap. Adams apparently drenched himself in it—a habit that sickened her.

He smelled like death, evil, and everything dark, loathsome and hateful. She wished she could extract the gun from her pocket, take careful aim and drive him and his foul odor away. She ached to shift a shoulder and inch her fingers down her side to get her gun.

The break room door swung open with a creak. Kevin Curtis’ voice boomed, “Adams, someone dropped off a package. They're bringing it in here. Check it out for us.”

He chuckled. “Discretely?”

“Choose your method. I’d help, but our delivery was dropped off at the end of the runway. Washington is trying to locate a forklift to haul it into the hanger. I’ve got to keep my eye on him.”

“Use your gun,” Adams said.

Jenn bristled. If someone pointed their gun at Nick she’d…. Her fingers started inching, and continued their stealthy course toward cold metal.

“I’ll be back ASAP. Give me ten minutes. Keep this area secure.”

“Will do,” Adams replied. “I’ll help them bring their load in. Take care yourself. Washington's sly.”

“Yeah, I hear you. Call me if there's a problem.”

The voices and footsteps faded as the door shut.

Jenn was in a terrible situation—except she had successfully remained hidden. Her fingers darted to the gun and yanked it free. Before she could formulate a plan the break room door opened. “Right there is fine,” Adams said amidst grunts. Feet shuffled as if hauling something heavy. “Steady. Steady. It’s marked fragile. This end up. Steady, there.” The load landed with a thud.

“This ought to be signed for,” a man said.

“I’ll do that,” Adams cheerfully replied. A moment later several sets of footsteps left the break room and the door shut. Almost instantly a new sound started—a horrendous creaking noise like ripping metal.

Jenn inched her fingers to Katie’s chin, prepared to clamp her hand over her mouth if she awoke. Her daughter didn’t stir.

The sounds stopped, and Adams chuckled.

Behind her corrugated cardboard prison walls, Jenn listened for clues on what might be happening in the break room as soft rustling and popping noises errupted. She assumed Adams had pried off the top of a wooden crate and now plundered the contents.

“How are you, Holtz?” Adams softly murmured. A sharp slap sounded like a palm striking skin. The slap repeated, harder. “Natalie, sweetheart, wake up and face the firing squad. You’re done playing Sleeping Beauty.” Sarcasm dripped from Adams’ voice and Jenn could only imagine what was taking place beyond her sight, and it was chilling.

“Sit up, Holtz,” Adams said. Pops filled the room. “You can sit up, can’t you?” A moan preceded another slap, and a louder moan followed.

Despite herself, Jenn gasped. Was Kathleen—Natalie Holtz—really in the break room—in a packing box—and being abused?

“Take this, Ms. Holtz. Hold it steady now and point it at my chest like a good girl. When the fireworks start, pull the trigger. You'll find it's empty, and a split second later you'll discover you're standing on God's doorstep begging to get in.” Adams chuckled. “Not that he’d open the door to someone like you.”

Adams was the most vile, evil man Jenn could envision. She pictured his eyes bloodshot, his lip curled in a sneer, skin oozing venom from red blotches on his chin, and his eyebrows thick and veiling. No demon infesting a nightmare could match him.

“If you were a better spy, you'd catch the Red Devil himself, Holtz, but you failed,” he sneered. “Now hold this gun and help me gain my glory—and a tidy mountain of cash.” The man named Adams—who should have been called Satan—smirked.

Jenn endured a vile string of words, more slaps, and then a woman's weak moan. Holtz and the devil were inches away, as if she and Katie had front row seats in hell.

Adam's voice changed. His intimidating snarling stopped, replaced with surprise. “Holtz! Natalie! How did you get in this crate?”

A woman moaned. “Adams? Thank heavens you’re here, but where am I?”

“Texas.” His voice lowered. “Washington and Jensen are here. They've set up an ambush, but we were alerted. Mueller, Curtis and I are securing the area and will lure them in. Can you hold a gun? We need your killer instincts. I pray to God you can help me.”

“I—I'm not sure. I feel awful. My head....”

“You look woozy—probably drugged. I wish I had some antidote, but that only happens in the movies.” Adams chuckled and Natalie laughed faintly in agreement.

The memory of Kathleen Worthins filled Jenn’s mind. Even though the woman’s words were weak, halted and slurred, the voice sounded the same as she remembered.

“Hold my gun. Hold it steadier or you'll blow a hole clean through me! You okay with it?”

Natalie moaned. “Yes, I’m okay with it. Adams, I received vital intelligence. I’m sure Curtis turned, not Washington as everyone thinks. The rat’s been in the office, not the field.”

“Curtis is clean,” Adams hissed. “I’ve covered the office like a blanket. Washington has orchestrated everything from the field. He’s good. Very good.”

“Yes, but he’s not a traitor.”

“Don’t be deceived, Holtz. It could cost you your life. Two Blackhawks went down on the border this morning. Guns are pouring in. Washington didn't stop the avalanche the Red Devil set in motion, but aided him. Jensen kept his back. Everyone’s here now. Washington needs to be stopped, and we’ll do it.”

“What about Pete?” the woman whispered.

Adams groaned. “I'm sorry, but we learned he’s gone. He was a good man, a great agent. Washington put a bullet in his back. We received a message—the Red Devil claimed responsibility, but we tagged it to Washington. We’ll all miss Pete, and we’ll make Washington pay.”

Jenn wanted to kick out of her box and grab the creep by his filthy collar and scream, “Liar! All lies! My husband has never killed anyone!” But that morning she had overheard Nick and Matt talking about helicopters going down and a diversion. The secrets, lies and cover-ups were nauseating.

Adams said, “Drink some water.”

Popping and rustling movements followed. “Thank you,” Natalie croaked.

“Holtz, I'm counting on you to watch my back. Are you up to it? You took an oath, but can you keep it?” Adams paused. “I could try to hide you from Washington and Jensen if you’d prefer.”

“I’ll help.”

“It’s not really necessary. Maybe I can hide you under that table. If you're not up to the fight, I'll make sure you’re in a safe place.”

“I don’t run and I never hide. I’ll help you get Washington. If he killed Pete, putting a bullet through his back and into his heart will improve my day.”

Adams laughed and Jenn bristled as they plotted her husband’s murder. Then Adams released a long sigh. “I desperately need you, Holtz. The whole country needs you. Don’t fail us.”

She coughed a reply.

“You can’t hold a water bottle,” Adams whined.

“That won’t stop me from holding a gun.”

Adams’ feet began pacing. “Washington and Jensen should have returned already.” He stopped. “I’ll find them and lure them back. Are you sure you can help?”

Jenn strained to hear Natalie’s answer. There was no voice, only slight rustles and pops. She must have signaled with her hand because Adams’ footsteps left the break room. 

End Chapter 58 

Comments are welcomed.