ONE
Thursday, July 17, 12:17a.m.
Officer Christina Calcasola picked up the hand mike mounted in her patrol car. “Osceola from 181. Checking in service. ID number 3451.”
“10-4, 181,” replied the dispatcher.
Christina was now officially in service and ready for calls. Unfortunately for her, there were none to be dispatched. She wasn’t surprised by that fact, but she was disappointed. She had been a police officer for just over a year, and it definitely wasn’t what she expected. She had always wanted to be a police officer, just like her dad and her eldest sibling, Sam, but she had thought it would be different.
She had grown up listening to Carmine Calcasola’s war stories about life in the New York City Police Department. All her father’s friends were cops, and all her childhood friends were cop’s kids. She had been inundated with the police since she could remember, and it always sounded so exciting and like so much fun. Carmine was always talking about car chases, foot pursuits, and wrestling bad guys to the ground. Christina knew from a very early age that she wanted a career in law enforcement. It was just that the job wasn’t what she expected.
After Carmine had retired as a detective sergeant, he and his wife, Christina’s mother, Marie, had moved to South Florida. Christina was the youngest of five children and only 13 at the time, so she moved also. Sam and the other three Calcasola kids stayed in New York because they were all adults, and either employed, in college, or married. Sam, the eldest, was already a rookie police office on the NYPD and following in Daddy’s footsteps.
Christina spent her teenage years in Florida. She graduated from high school and went to the University of South Florida, where she majored in criminal justice. After college, Christina went to the regional police academy in Tampa. Six months later, she was a certified law enforcement officer in the Sunshine State. She put in several applications, and was hired by the Osceola Police Department.
Osceola was a decent-sized beach town on the southern gulf coast, about an hour south of Sarasota. It wasn’t exactly on the coast, but it was close enough. The only thing separating Osceola from the Gulf of Mexico was the marshy intracoastal waterway. People would have to drive 10 miles along State Road 167 to get to the beach, and at low tide, 167 smelled like rotting fish. The population was about 50,000, but it swelled to over 75,000 during the winter months, due to the snowbirds escaping the harsh northern weather. Hence, many people considered Osceola a retirement community. That’s not to say there were only old folks there. There was one elementary, one middle school and one high school in town, but they were not suffering from overcrowding like other Florida schools.
Christina accepted the job without knowing a whole lot about the town or the department. In the year that she had been there, she learned a lot. She learned that Osceola was boring and she learned that she didn’t want to stay there. She had already placed applications with the Tampa Police Department, the Hillsborough County Sheriff’s Office, and with the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office. These agencies would offer Christina much more money and a lot more excitement.
Sam had tried to convince Christina to move back to New York City and get hired on the NYPD, but Christina loved Florida and didn’t want to leave. She adored the Sunshine State, but she had come to loath Osceola. The crime rate was non existent and veteran officers were always telling Christina that she would miss the calmness of Osceola if she left for the “big city.” She explained to them that she grew up in Queens, New York, and that Tampa or Jacksonville definitely wasn’t “the big city.” The thing that kept Christina going was that the recruiter for the Tampa PD had called her recently and informed her that she would most likely be hired within a few weeks.
Christina pulled out of the police station parking lot and turned onto Fifth Avenue, Osceola’s main drag. The street was pretty much deserted since it was a few minutes past midnight, but even if it were noon, it wouldn’t be much different. There would be a bunch of boat-sized cars, with Illinois or Michigan tags, being driven by half-blind old ladies on their way to have their hair done. Christina knew that once Osceola was in her rearview mirror, she would never look back.
She turned into the parking lot of the S&S Cafeteria. The restaurant catered to the senior citizens and it closed at 8 p.m. Christina had received a complaint that someone had spray-painted some graffiti on the back of the business several nights ago, and she was instructed to give the place some extra patrol. The back of the restaurant was as deserted as the front, and there was no more graffiti. She stopped her patrol car and made a log entry that she conducted a property check between the hours of 0015 and 0020.
She shook her head in disbelief as she completed her entry. She just couldn’t picture Sammy, or Carmine back in his day, doing what she was doing right now – making sure the “Feed-a-Geezer” was graffiti free during the midnight tour.
Christina pulled out of the parking lot and back onto Fifth Avenue. She continued patrolling the area, checking all the closed businesses, when she found herself yawning. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was just past 1 a.m. She was sleepy, or bored, or both with seven hours left in the shift. She continued down Fifth, and pulled into the 24-hour 7 Eleven.
She exited her patrol car and walked up to the front doors. She could see her reflection in the large windows that covered the front of the convenience store. She liked the navy blue uniform that she wore and she knew she looked good in it. Carmine had always told her that she was much too pretty to be a police officer. Christina knew that she was good looking, but she tried not to be stuck-up or girly. Most of the officers in the 50-man department had asked her out, including some married ones, but she politely turned them all down. Carmine had warned her about dating guys “on the job,” and she promised herself that she would never do it.
Christina Calcasola was 5’6” and 125 pounds, with green eyes and a thick head of black Italian hair, which she kept in a French braid while in uniform. She had an athletic frame, from hours spent in the gym, and she ran religiously. She had a gorgeous figure, which she couldn’t understand because her diet stunk. When she wanted a Big Mac, she ate a Big Mac, and when she craved chocolate, she ate some of that, too. She inherited her mother’s metabolism. Marie Calcasola was almost 70, and she was still a Size 5.
Christina adjusted her gun belt and entered the business.
“Hey, Christina,” said the young girl from behind the counter.
Christina smiled. “How ya’ doing, Annette?”
Annette Bowen was an 18-year-old who had her priorities in order, as far as Christina was concerned. Annette had just graduated high school and she was planning on going to the University of Florida in the fall. She was working as a lifeguard at the beach during the day, and she worked the graveyard shift at the 7 Eleven three times a week. She was a beautiful girl with her blond hair and deep tan, but she had a brain and common sense to boot. Her parents divorced when she was five, and she rarely saw her father. Her mother, Tracy Bowen, was one of the dispatchers for the police department, and that’s how Christina met Annette.
When Annette took the 7 Eleven job to make extra money for college, Tracy Bowen approached Christina and asked her to keep an eye on the store while Annette was working. Christina wasn’t worried because she couldn’t ever remember an armed robbery occurring in Osceola, but she promised that she would always stay close.
“You busy?” asked Christina.
Annette shook her head as she waved her hands towards the empty store. “Never. I can’t believe this place is open past 10.”
“If they want to pay you to watch an empty store,” Christina said, “then by all means let them.”
“I’m not complaining,” said Annette. “It’s an easy $200 a week. I just have to stay awake.”
Yawning again, Christina said, “I know the feeling.”
“If you’d like some coffee, I just put on a fresh pot,” Annette said.
“You’re not only smart,” Christina said, “but you’re a mind reader, too.”
Annette shook her head and laughed. “I can’t read minds, but I do know you pretty well, and you have that ‘I need caffeine, NOW’ look on your face.”
“And sugar, too,” Christina added.
Christina poured herself a large coffee and added two creamers and six packets of sugar. She stirred it and placed a cover on top. As she walked to the counter, she stopped at the candy shelf to get a bag of peanut M&M’s, and dropped them on the counter in front of Annette.
“What’s the damage?”
Annette rolled her eyes and said, “The same as last night. Nothing.”
Christina Calcasola did like the few fringe benefits of the job, and one of them was the free drinks and “Scooby Snacks” at local convenience stores. Of course, Carmine liked to brag that he would get free meals, groceries, and booze when he worked the streets.
“Thanks, Annette,” Christina said.
“Don’t sweat it. Any word from Tampa?”
Christina shook her head. “Nothing since last week. I can’t wait to move back there.”
“You went to school there, didn’t you?” Annette asked.
“Yeah. USF. That was a great four years. I lost my innocence, virginity, and several brain cells.”
“Sounds like a great time. I can’t wait to start college.”
“Only a few more weeks,” Christina said.
“Months,” corrected Annette.
“It’ll go by quickly. It’s halfway through July now, and September will be here before you know it.”
Before Annette could respond, they were interrupted by a loud whirling sound from the door behind the counter that led to a tiny office.
“What the hell was that?” asked Christina.
Turning and walking toward the office, Annette replied, “That was the VCR spitting out the surveillance tape and wanting another.”
“It didn’t sound too healthy,” Christina said. “Why is it so loud?”
“Because it was probably one of the first VCR’s ever built,” Annette said as she entered the office. After she pulled out the tape and popped in a new one, the machine made more noises and began to record again. Annette left the office shaking her head and said, “That thing’s remote control is actually attached by a wire.”
Christina laughed and then said, “It’s got to be at least 20 years old.”
“Closer to 25,” corrected Annette.
Christina giggled as she made her way to the door. She said, “Call me if you need me.”
“I will,” said Annette. “Be careful tonight.”
“Thanks,” replied Christina as she walked out the front door with her coffee and candy. She had given Annette her cell phone number just in case she needed it. Annette had only called once, and that was because a car had pulled into the parking lot and no one got out. She became a little spooked and called Christina to come check it out. It turned out to be two 17-year-old kids, a boy and a girl, and they were working up the courage to go in the store and buy condoms and beer. Christina had told them that there was no way they were going to get beer, and if they were too embarrassed to buy condoms, then they were not ready to have sex. Both teenagers were given an earful by the attractive young patrol officer and then sent on their way home.
Christina walked to her patrol car and placed the large coffee and M&M’s on the roof while she unlocked the door. A large Winnebago drove into the parking lot and pulled up to the gas pumps. Christina didn’t pay it much attention as she got her goodies off the roof and slid in behind the steering wheel. She placed the cup of coffee between her legs and started the car. She ripped open the M&M’s and poured several of the multicolored treats into her mouth. Then she adjusted the air conditioning to make it a little cooler, and backed out of the parking space. She drove by the Winnebago as she pulled out of the parking lot and turned down Fifth Avenue once again.
The night was typical for Osceola, Florida in the middle of July. It was hot and humid, with a light breeze coming off the Gulf of Mexico. It amazed her that it could be so hot and uncomfortable at night, and the body armor she wore under the uniform shirt didn’t help. She often thought about taking it off, but she had made a promise to her father that she would never work without her vest, even though the most dangerous things in Osceola were the seagulls when they didn’t get enough food.
Christina continued to patrol her assigned beat, and when she checked all the businesses on 5th, she turned onto State Road 167 and drove toward the beach. She hoped that she would be able to find some teenagers drinking or smoking weed, not because she wanted to bust some juveniles, but because it would give her something to do other than check property.
State Road 167 ran east/west across the intracoastal waterway and where it reached the beach, it T-intersected into State Road 130 that ran north and south along the coast. SR 167 was a two-lane, 10-mile stretch of road that barely had an emergency shoulder. There were no streetlights until you were within spitting distance of the gulf. During high tide, the water level was just short of the road, and the area near the road became a marshland during low tide. It was a boring and lonely piece of real estate that fit in perfectly with Osceola’s way of life.
Christina Calcasola was halfway between Fifth Avenue and SR 130 when she saw the headlights quickly approaching her vehicle from the rear. She looked at her speedometer and saw that she was traveling 50 miles per hour. The posted speed limit on 167 was 40, and the vehicle behind her was rapidly closing the gap. Christina couldn’t believe that the approaching vehicle couldn’t see the reflective decals on the trunk of her patrol car that announced that it was a police vehicle.
When the approaching vehicle got about 25 yards behind Christina’s police car, it began flicking its high beams on and off. Christina could tell the motorist was driving a larger vehicle and was in obvious need of some kind of help. Christina assumed that it was probably a severely lost motorist, because this was, after all, Osceola.
Since there was no shoulder, Christina slowly decreased speed until she saw that the vehicle behind her was also slowing. Christina stopped the patrol car and exited onto the dark state road. She could smell the odor of low tide. It wasn’t too offensive, but she preferred high tide and the smell of salt water instead. The vehicle behind her still had its high beams on, but she could see through the glare slightly, and it appeared to be a recreational vehicle of some kind. She walked slowly towards the RV, with her left hand shielding the lights from her eyes, and her right hand on the butt of her Smith & Wesson .357 revolver. This was more out of habit than out of concern, because bad guys didn’t normally flag down the police and surrender themselves.
Christina yelled, “Can you please cut off your high beams?”
There was no response from the RV and the high beams didn’t dim. Christina could see the vehicle better as she got closer. It appeared to be the Winnebago that she had seen pulling into the 7 Eleven parking lot about a half hour earlier. It was big, somewhat new, and obviously expensive. She was now pretty sure that the motorist needed directions. Most likely, Annette had given the driver directions, and he or she, most likely a he, couldn’t figure out how to get back to Interstate 75.
A door in the center of the driver’s side opened and a figure emerged. At first, Christina couldn’t make out the figure too well, but as he walked toward her, she knew it was a man. She smirked to herself, because it was always a man who got lost and needed directions. She didn’t know why men even asked directions, because they would hardly listen and forgot as soon as they drove off.
As the man got closer, Christina was pleasantly surprised at what she saw. She had assumed that it would be either a middle-aged or an older gentleman, possibly a retiree. But this guy was neither old nor middle aged. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties and in good shape. He was only a few inches taller than Officer Calcasola, but he was very muscular. He was wearing a black long-sleeved pullover and black slacks. He had a smile that was contagious and his eyes were ice blue.
“What can I do for you, sir?” Christina asked, “Are you lost?”
“I am not lost, deputy,” he said in a deep voice.
“It’s officer. Not deputy. I work for a municipal police department, not a sheriff’s office,” Christina corrected.
Ignoring the correction, he said, “I was only able to catch a glimpse of you when you were leaving the convenience store, and I had to see if you were as beautiful as I thought you were.”
Christina was taken completely off guard by the comment. She had always heard stories about how women would throw themselves at police officers. She had obviously never experienced that, and the only people to throw themselves at her were other cops. She had absolutely no idea how to respond to the man’s statement, but she was flattered and found herself smiling unknowingly.
“You’re perfect,” he continued. “What time do you get off?”
Perfect? Christina thought, I’m attractive, yes, but perfect?
She replied, “Eight in the morning.” She was going to inform him that as flattered as she was, there was no way she was going to take off early to go socialize with a complete stranger, no matter how handsome he was.
“That will not do. That will not do at all,” he said as he reached his right hand behind his back.
Christina was starting to get a bad vibe, but she didn’t notice his hand moving until he had brought it back around to his front. She saw that he was holding some type of device in his right hand and he was extending it toward her.
A weapon! Christina’s mind screamed as she stepped back and started to draw her service revolver.
The man depressed something on the device, and two darts flew from it and caught onto her uniform shirt. He activated the Taser, and 50,000 volts shot through her body. Her .357 clattered to the pavement as she collapsed. She ordered her body to retrieve the weapon, but it refused to comply. She found herself lying on her side and unmoving, except for the unconscious twitches of her limbs.
The man rolled her over onto her belly and she heard one of the buttons on her gun belt snap open and then the rattle of her handcuffs as they were removed from their carrying case. He pulled her right arm behind her back and snapped the steel restraint around her wrist. He then pulled her limp left arm behind her back and applied the other cuff around her left wrist.
She opened her eyes and saw him walking back toward the Winnebago. She had two handcuff keys. One was on her key ring that was still in the ignition of the patrol car, and the other was in her right front shirt packet. She knew it would be difficult, at best, to get the key from her shirt pocket with her hands secured behind her back, but she still couldn’t move from the electrical shock she received from the Taser. Her limbs were convulsing slightly and she couldn’t even sit up.
The RV’s engine shut off, and then the man exited the Winnebago again and walked toward Christina. She could see something dangling from his right hand, but the high beams were still obscuring her vision. He walked past her and went to the patrol car. He reached in and turned the key. The patrol car went silent and the only noise that could be heard were the tinks and pings of the Ford’s motor as it started to cool. He walked back to Christina and dropped whatever he was carrying next to her and began a systematic search of her person.
He carefully searched her boots, and then he felt her legs, through her pants, all the way up to her crotch. His touch was business-like and not perverted in any way. Once he was certain that there were no weapons or other items hidden in her boots or her pants, he placed her ankles together and grabbed the item he had dropped next to her. It was a 10-foot piece of rope and he tied her feet together tightly over her boots just above the ankles.
After he completed that task, he continued the search. He went through all her pants pockets, finding a foldout knife in her front left pocket. He placed it next to her fallen handgun.
He removed her gunbelt and placed it next to the weapon as well. He carefully checked her waistband, and then moved on to her shirt. He found and removed the handcuff key and placed it next to the other items he had taken from her. He never said a word, but methodically searched her body. He found everything. The key, her knife, and the small, five- shot revolver that she kept in a holster secured to one of the straps on her body armor. He removed everything from her pockets, including pens and notepads. The search was quick and professionally done.
Christina was starting to recover from the shock of the Taser. She said, “Why are you doing this?”
He looked directly into her eyes and said, “All in good time, Officer…” He looked at the name plate on her uniform shirt and finished, “Calcasola.”
She knew that she was in serious trouble. The road they were on was pretty much deserted this time of the morning and the odds of another patrol car happening by were astronomical. She was one of only four units working the midnight shift and they were all on their assigned beats. She was completely at the mercy of an obvious madman.
“Listen,” she said, “I don’t know what your problem is, but we can work this out. But first, you need to release me. Do you understand?”
He flashed an attractive smile at her and replied, “It is you who does not understand, Officer Calcasola, but no matter. You will be less ignorant in a few hours.”
He stood up and walked back to the Winnebago. When he disappeared into the open door, Christina pulled furiously at her bonds. The rope around her ankles was tied tightly, and it didn’t budge. He had tightened the handcuffs to where they were loose enough around her wrist to not be painful, but tight enough so she could not slip her hands out.
She bent her tied feet back toward her secured hands, and tried to reach the knot, but it was tied on the front side of her ankles. She rolled onto her back and tried to reach it again, but she inadvertently placed her weight on the handcuffs and they tightened considerably. Pain shot through her wrists as the steel restraints clamped down on the skin and bone beneath. She yelped in pain and rolled over onto her belly.
Through the discomfort, she could tell that the rope on her feet hadn’t loosened a bit. She didn’t even notice that the man was standing next to her again.
“Ouch,” he said, startling Christina. “That looks painful.”
She looked up at the man and noticed that he had a cardboard box in his hands. He placed the box next to Christina, took off the box cover, and began placing all her items into the box. The only thing he kept out of the box was the handcuff key that he took from her shirt pocket. He loosened the cuff that had clamped down on her right wrist. He placed it back to its original position. Once complete, he double-locked the cuff to prevent it from tightening back down. He then moved to her left wrist and began to loosen it, too.
When he had loosened the first cuff, she was taken by surprise, but she was ready for this one. The cuff loosened its painful grip around her left wrist, and she yanked her hand quickly and forcibly. Her left hand pulled out of the cuff, and she tried to lunge toward the box, which contained her two handguns.
The man never jumped in surprise or panicked. He calmly grabbed her left wrist and brought it back behind her back. She tried to fight back but he had an iron grip, and he moved her arm as easily as a person would move an infant’s limb. It was like she wasn’t even resisting. He closed the cuff around her wrist again and tightened it to where it was secured but not uncomfortable. He then double-locked it, and dropped the key back into the box. He put the top back on the box and carried it back into the Winnebago.
Christina Calcasola was in a state of shock. She knew that this guy was muscular, but he wasn’t that big. She had seen a lot of men bigger than he was, but he was incredibly strong. She realized that she was just a 125-pound female, but she wasn’t a pushover. She lifted weights and ran almost every day, just so she would be ready if she ever had to fight a suspect. This guy wasn’t even exerting himself when he put her free and struggling hand back into the cuff. She also realized that she had pulled away with her right hand, but it didn’t move an inch. He must have held the cuff in one hand and retrieved her left hand with the other. She knew from experience that when you held someone’s cuffed wrist by the handcuff itself, you pretty much had control of that arm, but even in training she was always able to move that cuffed wrist a little bit. She figured that this guy must be on PCP or something but he didn’t appear to be under the influence of any drugs. She was as curious as she was frightened.
The man reemerged from the side door of the RV and walked back to Christina. He squatted next to her and said, “I do not want to hurt you, but I will if you force me to. If you resist me, it will only make this more difficult than it has to be, Officer Calcasola.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked again.
“Science,” he said.
He stood up and walked to her patrol car. He reached inside, turned off the headlights, and started the engine. He put the car in drive and turned the steering wheel to the right. The vehicle slowly rolled off the side of the road and became stuck in the marsh about 20 feet off the side of the asphalt.
He returned to Christina and squatted next to her again. He held up a syringe and said, “This will not hurt you. It will only calm you down a bit, and make you less likely to do something impractical.”
She yelled, “You keep that God damn thing away from me,” as she tried to roll away from him.
He easily reached out and stopped her. She found herself being dragged toward him and before she could react she felt the prick in her left shoulder. Christina immediately felt the burning sensation as the contents of the plastic syringe were injected into her body. The burning was not too painful, more of an annoyance, and then she felt a little dizzy. Her ears began ringing and she could feel a pins-and-needles sensation climbing up the inside of her head. It was a very pleasurable feeling and if her current predicament wasn’t foremost in her mind, she might have enjoyed the buzz.
Christina Calcasola closed her eyes, but she began to feel like her body was spinning in circles. It reminded her of the time she had drank too much at her academy graduation party. That night she suffered from the bed spins, and she ended up vomiting profusely in her bathroom most of the night and the following morning.
She was beginning to get that queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, when her nausea was interrupted by the man saying, “It will pass, Officer Calcasola. You will feel a little better if you open your eyes.”
She opened her eyes and the sick feeling began to lessen. After several moments, her head cleared somewhat, but her limbs still felt weighted. She felt him picking her up in his arms. She wanted to fight, maybe head-butt him, or try a kick, but she couldn’t make her body do as she commanded. He carried her like a groom carrying his blushing bride across the threshold, right into the open door of the Winnebago.
He gently placed her into a comfortable chair directly across from the open door. He turned around and closed the door, then walked to the rear of the RV, where he disappeared into an open door. She followed him with her eyes and noticed the cardboard box lying on the floor next to the chair she was sitting in. She knew that even though she was handcuffed behind the back, and her feet were tied together, she could still manipulate herself into a shooting position. She thought that she could lie on her stomach and fire one of her pistols straight back. She told her body to lean toward the box, but it didn’t move. She concentrated on moving, but she found herself unable to comply with her mind’s wishes.
The man entered the room from the back area again. He stopped directly in front of Christina, smiled a very friendly smile, and asked, “How are we doing?”
She blinked slowly, sighed, and replied in a slow, but not slurred, voice, “I can’t move.”
His smile widened and he said, “That will wear off soon. Within a few hours you will not feel any ill effects of the injection. Now, we are running out of time. We need to get moving, so I hope you will excuse me for being such an ungrateful host.”
He picked her up again and carried her to the back room. He said to her, as they walked through the open door, “At least you will have company.”
He placed her on a very comfortable king-sized bed. He rolled her onto her right side, facing the other side of the bed. When he rolled her over, Christina saw that there was someone else on the other side of the bed, facing her. It was Annette Bowen.
Annette appeared to have been crying and she looked terrified. Christina tried to take it all in. She looked Annette up and down. Her legs were also tied together with rope, and her arms were pulled behind her back. Christina figured that her wrists were either handcuffed, like hers, or bound. Either way, she knew that the pretty 18-year-old would not be able to help her.
“Are you all right, Annette?” asked Christina.
Her frightened eyes welled up with tears as she nodded her head. Annette bit her lower lip and closed her eyes.
The man said, “The paralysis will wear off shortly, but you will feel weak and listless for a while. Feel free to talk all you want, but do not try and free yourselves,” he pointed toward the corner of the ceiling closest to the door and added, “I will see everything you two do.”
Christina tried to look where he was pointing, but she couldn’t move her head or body enough to see what he was pointing at. He smiled and strolled out of the room, closing the door as he left. Several seconds later, the engine cranked to life and the Winnebago began to move.
Christina saw that Annette was weeping silently with her eyes closed. She turned her head slightly toward the mattress and hid her face from Christina. Christina figured that since Annette was able to move around a bit, then what the man had said about the paralysis being temporary must have been true. That was if Annette had also been given a shot. She decided to worry about Annette’s psyche later and to concentrate on escaping.
She tried to move her arms and legs. At first all her efforts were in vain but then her joints began to flex, minutely at first, but after a while she gained more mobility. Though she was now able to move she felt listless. Her body seemed devoid of energy. It was almost as if she had been awake for days without sleep, but she wasn’t tired, just incredibly weak.
She could see that Annette still had her eyes closed, but she appeared to be awake as well. Christina said, “Annette, can you hear me?”
She nodded her head slightly without opening her eyes.
“Annette, look at me,” Christina said.
Annette slowly opened her eyes but she did not look at Christina. Instead, she looked toward the mattress.
“Annette,” said Christina in a comforting voice, “you need to try and calm yourself so we can get out of this.”
“I’m so sorry, Christina,” Annette mumbled. “It’s all my fault.”
“Nothing’s your fault,” Christina replied. “Did he give you a shot? Can you move around?”
Annette Bowen either didn’t hear the question or she ignored it. She finally looked Christina in the eyes and said, “You don’t understand. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be here right now.”
“What are you talking about?”
Annette closed her eyes again and was silent. Christina thought that she was going to get quiet again, when she said, “He came into the store a few minutes after you pulled out of the parking lot.” She opened her eyes again.
Christina didn’t interrupt.
“He got gas and then came into the store. I thought he was going to pay, you know? He was so good looking. I never was the least bit nervous,” Annette said. “He smiled and told me I was very pretty and then asked about you. Asked if you were as pretty as you seemed from a distance. I told him that you were even prettier than that.”
“It’s not your fault,” Christina said. “He’s psychotic.”
“He asked if anyone else was working and what time I got off. I told him the truth. I thought he was trying to pick me up and I wanted him to. He was so good looking. Then he told me that I was perfect, but he couldn’t wait until 6 a.m. when I got off. The next thing I know he kind of slapped me on the side of my neck, real hard, and my whole side went numb.”
Christina figured that he had used a brachial stun on Annette. It was a defensive tactic that she learned in the police academy. She was taught that if it was applied properly it could actually numb a person’s side for several minutes. She had learned to strike a person on the brachial nerve, which runs down the side of a person’s neck, with her forearm. She had heard stories of it being used from several officers but had never used it herself except in training. If this guy used it with that much success, then he was either very strong, an expert or both. Escaping was looking more and more futile.
Annette said, “I could barely move, and the next thing I know, he was kneeling next to me. He rolled me over and tied my hands behind my back. He must have had the rope on him, but I never saw it. He tied my feet, too. He walked into the office and got the surveillance tape and then gave me a shot of something that paralyzed me. He carried me outside and told me that he was going to get you, too.”
Christina said, “It’s not your fault. He saw me when he pulled into the parking lot and he had his mind made up then.”
Annette shook her head. “He told me if I made a sound that he would kill you. I wanted to yell or something but I was scared.”
“It’s okay,” Christina said. “Don’t sweat it. Let’s try and figure out how we can get out of here. Did you say that he tied your hands together?”
She nodded. “Yes. It’s really tight. I can’t loosen them at all.”
“Maybe I can,” Christina said. “Roll over, and let me see your back.”
Annette clumsily rolled over and faced the other way. Christina could see that her arms were bound at the wrists with white rope. Her wrists were crossed with her palms facing up. The rope was neatly applied and appeared very tight.
“Annette,” Christina said, “I’m going to try and untie your hands. Don’t move.”
Christina Calcasola rolled away from Annette until they were back to back. She inched back to where her shackled hands could touch Annette’s secured wrists. Christina began to fumble blindly at the knot, when she felt the RV slowing. She had no idea how long they had been traveling but knew it hadn’t been more than an hour. The vehicle stopped and several seconds later, the door to the bedroom opened, and he entered again.
He had a friendly smirk on his face when he said, “I told you that I would be watching,” and he motioned toward the corner by the door again. Christina could see what he was pointing at this time. It was a small camera mounted on the wall, aimed toward the bed.
He walked to the small closet near the bed and opened the door. He reached in and came out with a pair of handcuffs.
“I should have saved myself the trouble and put these on to begin with,” he commented. “I could tell that you would not go without a fight. You are both almost too perfect.”
He walked around to the other side of the bed and rolled Annette onto her belly. He quickly snapped the handcuffs around each of her wrists just below the rope and double locked them. He walked toward the door and said, “We still have a few hours before we get there, so you girls try and behave.”
He closed the door on his way out. Less than a minute later the Winnebago was moving again.
Christina couldn’t see a way out. She thought about Carmine and Sam, and tried to think what they would do. She tried to wiggle her feet and loosen the rope, but her legs felt weighted and the knot didn’t give in the least. She looked over at Annette but she was either sleeping or unconscious. Christina closed her eyes because there was nothing else to do and then she fell asleep.
She awakened some time later when the Winnebago turned off a paved road onto a rougher surface. Christina had no idea how long she had been sleeping. Her feet were almost completely numb from the tight rope, and her right arm was asleep. She started to move around to get her blood flowing. The pins and needles feeling in her arm went away quickly and her feet started to feel somewhat better.
Annette was awakened at the same time. She said, “Christina, I’m so scared.”
Christina replied, “Me, too,” and after a pause, she said, “When we get back to Osceola, your mom is going to beat the shit out of me.”
The comment had the desired effect. Annette actually emitted a strained laugh.
After a few moments Annette asked, “What do you think he’s going to do with us?”
“I wish I knew,” Christina answered, “but we’ll know soon enough.”
The RV traveled over the rough surface for a long time and finally began to slow down after it made a left turn and continued for several more miles. It seemed to coast to a stop and the engine turned off. They could hear the man walking around the cabin, and then he opened the door to the bedroom.
He looked refreshed and as handsome as ever when he said, “I’m sorry it took so long, ladies. I hope you were not too uncomfortable.”
“What are you going to do with us?” Christina asked.
“Officer Calcasola, I am not going to do anything to you,” he said happily, “but you will understand better very soon.”
He went around to the far side of the bed and picked up Annette. He carried her in his arms out the door and Christina heard the side door of the RV open. After a minute or so of silence, she heard footsteps inside the RV and he appeared again but without Annette in his arms.
“Where’s Annette?”
“She is waiting on you,” he replied.
“Let her go,” she pleaded, “She’s just a kid.”
“She is much more than a kid, Officer Calcasola,” he said, “She is a beautiful young woman about to embark on a great adventure, and so are you.”
“Listen here, pal,” she said, trying to suppress her fear, “you are looking at two counts of kidnapping, one of a law enforcement officer, and it’s only going to get worse. Your best bet is to release us, and we can work it out. I promise, I won’t let the authorities harm you.”
He laughed the type of laugh an adult does when a small child says something humorous. He put his hands on his hips and said, “You are a piece of work, Officer Calcasola. I wish we had met under different circumstances, but I cannot change that. Are you ready?”
Not waiting for her to answer, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her from the bedroom and through the open door to the outside. Christina’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the inky darkness, but she soon realized that they were in a wooded area. She could hear the sounds of insects buzzing in the distance, and there was movement in front of them. He carried her to the front of the Winnebago, where she saw three pickup trucks lined up side-by-side, and several people milling about.
The people were all casually dressed and she saw one of them toting a rifle. They seemed to be watching her and the man, as they approached the middle truck. He gingerly placed her in the bed of the truck, and then backed away. She saw that Annette was in the bed of the truck parked to her left and she was staring at her with terror in her eyes.
“Only two?” a woman asked from the crowd.
The man said, “That should do.”
“What if it doesn’t?” asked someone else.
“Do not worry yourselves,” he said. “We will cross that bridge if we come to it, but I am sure we will not.”
“I hope you’re right, Doc,” another man said.
Christina was blinded when someone shined a flashlight in her face. She turned her head and closed her eyes. She heard a woman saying, “A marshal? You took a marshal?”
The man who had kidnapped them, the man someone had referred to as Doc, said, “The correct title is police officer, Annie, and yes, I took a police officer.”
“That may cause a problem, Doc,” someone said.
Doc replied, “My trail is untraceable. We have nothing to fear.”
As they began talking among themselves, Christina noticed that one of the group had broken away and moved next to the trucks that she and Annette were in. He was young, maybe 15 or 16, and he stared at Annette. Every so often, he would glance at Christina, but his attention was focused on the younger girl. She looked at the boy, but most of his features were hidden by the darkness. Christina turned her attention from the boy and looked at the crowd.
There were 15 to 20 people and almost half were women. They all seemed to be dressed in a manner typical for the environment – jeans or overalls, T-shirts, and either sneakers or work boots. Christina was straining to hear what they were debating when she heard Annette say, “Please, don’t…”
Christina looked over at Annette. She saw that the boy had climbed into the flatbed of the truck with her and was in the process of pulling her shirt up. Annette seemed either too frightened to resist or was still suffering effects from the shot because she just sat there and didn’t move.
“Leave her alone!” Christina yelled.
The boy ignored her demands and pulled Annette’s bra up, exposing her breasts. He began to clumsily grope them in his hand, as he began to push her down in the bed of the truck.
As Christina tried to move off the truck, she yelled, “I said leave her alone, God damn it!”
Someone slapped Christina hard across her face. She was caught off guard, and fell over onto her side. Her head hit hard against the metal side of the bed. She was dazed, but she was still conscious, when she felt herself being roughly pulled toward the open tailgate. She knew several pairs of hands had a hold of her, but she couldn’t tell what they were doing. Her mouth was forced open and something was jammed inside. It tasted oily and dirty, and it was definitely some type of cloth. Christina’s head was starting to clear, when she felt someone place something over her mouth. She tried to spit out the nasty rag, but something was preventing her from expelling it. Once again, someone shined a light in her face.
“That should keep her quiet,” someone said.
The light angled away from her face, and she saw that one of the people near her was holding a roll of duct tape. She realized that they had put tape over her mouth.
She looked away from them and toward the bed of the truck that Annette was in. She couldn’t see the girl, but she could see the boy over the bed’s side. He was humping like a dog on his master’s leg, and several people were laughing. Christina tried to yell again, but the tape over her lips and the rag inside her mouth suppressed most of the sound.
Finally the man called Doc said, “That is enough. Get him off of her before he soils her up too much.”
One of the men stepped forward and pulled the boy off Annette. “Okay, Brian. You’ve had enough fun.”
The boy got down off the truck and disappeared into the crowd. The man who had pulled the boy off Annette reached into the flatbed and sat her back up. Christina could see that her shirt was pulled up under her armpits and so was her bra. She couldn’t see her pants, and part of Christina didn’t want to.
Christina looked over at her, but Annette would not meet her gaze. She just stared down into her lap.
Doc said, “We need to get this over with. Who wants what?”
“I want that badge,” a man said as he grabbed Christina’s shirt and took her silver badge.
“Those boots are mine,” someone squealed, “I called it first!”
Christina was forced down and the rope around her ankles was removed. Someone then unlaced her boots and pulled them off of her feet. Her legs were then placed back together, and the rope was reapplied. While that was being done, her shirt was ripped open, and someone removed her body armor. She was pulled back and placed into a sitting position against the cab of the truck.
Annette was dealing with the same thievery that Christina experienced. The people had taken her Nike hightops first, and then they untied her ankles. The relief she felt about finally having the tight rope off her legs was quickly replaced with more fright, as several pairs of hands forcibly removed her Tommy Hilfiger jeans. Once they were off, Annette heard a woman say something about her matching panties and bra. They were Annette’s favorite pair that she bought at Frederick’s of Hollywood at the University Mall in Gainesville when she was visiting the University of Florida campus earlier in the year. More hands grabbed her and pulled off her underwear. Then she was rolled over, and the handcuffs and rope were removed from her wrists. She was stripped naked, but someone was kind enough to put her T-shirt back on. Before she knew what was happening, Annette found herself pinned face down, while someone secured her hands behind her back with the cuffs again. While that was being done, someone else was retying the rope around her ankles. She was too frightened to resist or even move. When the restraints were secured, she was picked up and placed in the same truck as Christina. They were both side by side and surrounded by several people. Christina saw that Annette was pretty much naked, and she assumed that she would have suffered the same indignation if she wasn’t wearing the hideous polyester uniform.
All of the people climbed aboard the pickups and the trucks roared to life. Soon they were bouncing down a dirt road deeper into the woods. There were six people in the flatbed with Christina and Annette, and one was armed. One of the unarmed was the boy who had assaulted Annette. He was sitting next to Christina and staring at her. Christina stared right back with hatred and contempt in her eyes. The lights from the truck behind them lit them up somewhat, and she was able to see the boy rather well.
He didn’t look right. Not retarded or anything like that, but he didn’t look quite right. It was his eyes. He had old man eyes and he looked through Christina with lust and wanting. He reached forward and put his hand into her open uniform shirt and grabbed her breast roughly. She tried to yell at him but the gag didn’t allow much sound. The boy climbed on top of Christina and began to rub his pelvis against her hip. His clothes were still on and he didn’t try and take her pants off. She remembered doing something like this when she was a young teenager experimenting with sex. She had heard women tell their stories of rape before but she never heard one where the suspect dry humped them.
“Please,” Annette said, “just leave us alone.”
Before she could say anything else one of the unarmed men quickly applied a thick strip of duct tape over her mouth. As he sat back down, he commented, “Just in case. We don’t need her screaming or anything.”
The other men, except the boy, nodded in agreement. The boy was too busy to hear the exchange. He was grunting and grinding, and Christina could feel his erection through his pants. Finally, he stopped on his own and sat back down.
The trucks traveled over the rough terrain for a while before they finally stopped. The people jumped from the trucks and conferred at the rear of the truck in which the captives were being transported. After several minutes of hushed debate, Christina and Annette were pulled from the flatbed and carried into the woods. The people walked for a good distance when Doc said the first words any of them had uttered since they left the vehicles.
“This is it,” he said in a loud whisper.
Christina was placed down on the ground, next to Annette. She noticed that they were in a small clearing surrounded by tall, thick trees.
“Over here, Doc,” a woman said, “I found them.”
Christina saw a middle-aged woman walk up to Doc with several pairs of handcuffs and pieces of rope in her hands. He took them with a pleasant “thank you” and the group started to walk back toward the trucks. No one said anything to the two secured woman sitting on the ground until Doc kneeled down next to Christina.
“I truly envy the both of you and I wish circumstances could be different between you and me, Officer Calcasola,” he whispered kindly. “Goodbye, lovely ladies.”
He stood up and walked after the group. They could hear the handcuffs he was carrying clinking together as he walked away. After a few minutes there was no noise except for the insects and other creatures in the woods and the breathing of the two women. Christina was sure that they were alone. She began wiggling her feet and could tell that whoever had retied her ankles was not as good as Doc. The rope was tight but was beginning to loosen slightly.
Christina lay down on the spongy ground and rolled onto her belly. She bent her legs back toward her body and began to work on the knot. After several minutes of struggling, Christina realized that the rope was beginning to loosen up. She began kicking her legs and the rope got even slacker.
Suddenly the quiet was broken by the sound of a car horn. Two others quickly joined it. The horns sounded for a few minutes without interruption, then went suddenly silent. The sound of the trucks driving off could be heard in the distance, gradually fading away. Now Christina was positive that they were alone. She went to work on the rope around her ankles again, as she thought about their situation. She was trying to figure out why they were kidnapped and then left in the woods. That little pervert assaulted them both but neither she or Annette were really violated. It made no sense to Christina. She figured that there had to be more to this than she knew but she didn’t want to stay around and find out what it was.
She almost had her feet free when she heard Annette make a noise. It was a sharp intake of breath through her nose and Christina could tell that something had startled the girl. Her first thought was that some of the people must have returned. She looked up at Annette and saw that her face was visible because of some light in the distance.
Christina rolled over and looked at where the light was coming from. There were several globs of illumination approaching from the direction opposite of where they had entered the small clearing. The light got brighter until both women could see what was approaching.
Annette screamed but the duct tape suppressed most of the noise. Christina wanted to scream, too, but she was too shocked at what she saw.
Annette was roughly dragged by her bound feet into the woods. Her muffled screams stopped when she passed out. Christina was grabbed under her arms and hoisted up. She found herself being carried deep into the marshy wetlands. Her mind was racing as she tried to comprehend what was happening to her. She thought about Sam and Carmine and how they would have reacted. But she couldn’t see them in this type of situation. She couldn’t believe that she or any other person for that matter was in this predicament.
Then she realized, for the first time since she was hired, that she actually missed boring Osceola.
TWO
Monday, March 8, 1:22 p.m.
Jack was going over the briefing in his head. He was sure that he didn’t leave out any information but he liked to double-check himself. Odds were that this search warrant would go off without a hitch, but if someone got hurt because of an oversight on his part, he would never forgive himself.
He was in the trail car of the four-vehicle convoy. All of the vehicles in front of his were marked police cars of the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office and there were four uniformed officers in each car. Jack was driving his government-issued Ford Crown Victoria. He liked the additional room of a car without all the bells and whistles that a police car has, but he still missed driving around in a blue light unit. Technically, Jack was a law enforcement officer but he would never be issued a car with decals, blue lights on the roof, and a siren. He was a special agent in the Federal Bureau of Investigation and assigned to the Jacksonville, Florida field office. He may have been a federal agent, but in his heart he would always be a street cop.
Jack Fitzgerald Patrick was born in Southern California and attended the Naval Academy at Annapolis. After the academy, he served as a Marine officer for four years but after two combat tours – the invasion of Iraq and, after that, hunting el Qaeda in the mountains of Afghanistan – he decided that a military career wasn’t for him. He returned home and applied to the LAPD. He was hired three months to the day after he left the service. He worked in patrol in the Foothills Division but later transferred to the division’s anti-gang unit where his team was tasked with combating Los Angeles’ widespread gang violence. Jack loved the work and realized that he had made the correct decision about leaving the Corps. He wanted to make law enforcement a career but thought he could do better than what he had become. He started sending applications to federal agencies and found himself sitting in Quantico, Virginia at the FBI Academy within six months.
Jack graduated at the top of his class and was assigned to the New York City field office. He was one of a thousand agents but quickly made a name for himself. NYPD and the FBI had a notorious disliking for each other, mostly because of the federal agency’s pompous attitude toward the street cops. Jack loved street cops, and after they figured out he wasn’t just another empty suit with a gold badge, they began to work with him. Jack opened up his files to his contacts in the department. They in turn kept him up to speed and passed along his information. The result was that four bank robberies were stopped, either before they went down or right after, all within a month of each other.