Page 57 of Intoxicating Pursuit

The Hangar

T he tiny, cramped room was hot and airless.

Scarcely bigger than a closet, it was bare except for yellowing walls and a hard concrete floor.

Its small grimy window was just clear enough to provide a view of the tattered, overgrown runway and to let in hot streaks of sunlight that were slowly turning the room into an oven.

When we first arrived, Meghan and I stood by the window, watching for our rescue while I struggled to keep my hand elevated.

As the heat built up, however, and hours seemingly passed without any relief or water, nausea and dizziness forced us to take refuge on the filthy concrete floor.

It provided thin respite from the heat but at least a shorter distance to fall if we lost consciousness.

No clocks in the room meant no way of knowing how long we’d been held captive or if Bobby’s deadline drew near.

A yellow jacket pawed at the corner of the window outside, an omen of the uncontrollable.

“How’s your hand?” Meghan’s voice sounded fatigued and distant.

The pain from my purple, mangled fingers throbbed like a living thing. I had been trying to disembody myself from it. “Better if I don’t think about it.” My voice sounded as meager as hers. “How are you holding up?”

“Scared. Hot. Thirsty.” She started to work herself up. “I feel like I'm gonna puke.”

“Put your head between your knees, it should help.”

We lolled forward and grew quiet, the heat an unrelenting pressure on our bodies, the zip ties cutting into our swollen skin. I tried to meditate away the pulsing pain in my hand.

After a while, Meghan finally broke the silence, her voice full of emotion.

“Mom, I’m sorry I’ve been so nasty to you.

” She lifted her face and wiped away tears with her bound hands.

“I felt like you were taking my future away, but I was so wrong. I just want any future at all. I’ll take anything.

” She sobbed weakly, burying her head between her knees again.

“You’ll have a future, Meghan. Hang in there.”

She tilted her face to me. “But, what if Gabe doesn’t show up . . . I’m so scared.” Her breaths came in erratic stutters.

“He’ll come. . . I know it.”

I paid for every word with renewed shocks of pain. It took every ounce of effort to ignore it, to not react. Meghan needed distraction, though. “Did you text Connor last night?” My voice was so weak I didn’t recognize it.

Meghan huffed a breath of relief. “Yeah. Pepperdine starts this weekend. He’s all packed up.” She started crying again. “Mom, I just can’t talk. I’m so overwhelmed.”

“It’s okay. Shh.”

We sat in the heat, trying to survive, praying for rescue before it was too late.

***

A key clicked and twisted in the locked door, and Bobby wrenched it open.

“Alright, princess, up you go. Loverboy’s a no-show.”

Meghan looked over at me, mortal fear and panic on her face.

“Please, I’m sure he’ll be here any minute,” I begged weakly. “We’re so hot and sick. We need water. Please, help us.”

“I don’t give a shit what you need.” His voice oozed cruelty. “Now, get the hell up!” He kicked Meghan in the ribs.

She doubled over, breathing hard, and struggled to compose herself. Getting to her feet was almost impossible with her hands tied in front of her, and Bobby grew impatient. He pointed the gun at her head.

“I’m trying, I swear,” she sobbed. She squirmed frantically, scooting her feet under her thighs, then finally staggering her way upright.

Bobby grabbed her arm, stabilizing her as she wobbled before flipping her around and shoving her back against the wall. Her eyes went wild with terror.

“Should we let Mommy watch?” He reached a hand out to her hip, and slid it under her t-shirt, wrapping his grip around her waist.

“Please, stop,” I pleaded with all the strength I had remaining. “Please, leave her alone. She’s just a kid.”

I was dying inside, but I didn’t know if I should keep begging for mercy or if that would just make it worse. He seemed to truly enjoy inflicting pain.

“Mmmm. . . so soft.” His hand rose up her rib cage, and he watched the fear on her face with pleasure. Meghan’s tears were falling everywhere.

A sense of hopelessness was descending when the distant buzzing of engines became audible.

“That’s him,” I called weakly. “I hear a plane. That has to be him. Please, stop.”

Bobby froze to listen. He finally took his hands off Meghan. He glanced in the direction of the grimy window, then back at us. “Don’t fucking move!” He rushed back into the hangar, locking the door behind him.

Meghan helped me to my feet, tears still streaming down her face.

It killed me not to wrap her in a hug, but my bound, wounded hands made it impossible.

We both staggered to the window as the whining engines grew louder.

A roaring sound shook the glass as Gabe’s jet streaked across the broken runway, straining to stay level as it braked hard on the patchwork blacktop.

Bobby tugged the door open again. “Playtime’s over. Get out here.”

He hustled us out of the hanger through a gargantuan door, granting us our first taste of fresh air in hours. While it was cooler outside than where we’d been trapped, it was still a torrid August day in North Carolina, offering no real relief for our overheated bodies.

The jet taxied in our direction and came to a stop a short distance away. Bobby urged us forward with the butt of the gun. “Move! I want you in front of me, Sammy. You make a nice shield.”

The door to the plane yawned open, revealing a built-in staircase that stretched to the tarmac. Gabe emerged and descended the stairs slowly, his hands up. Oscar followed a few paces behind, toting a briefcase in one hand and holding the other over his head.

“You fucking brought the cops? I’ll blow her away, you asshole!” Bobby grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. He pointed the gun at my temple.

“He’s not a cop!” Gabe shouted. “Put down the gun! Please!”

Bobby continued to shove me forward by my hair, the gun a hard knot against my temple, my mangled hand jostling with every step. “You better explain quick! This is not what we agreed to!”

“Everything is arranged,” Gabe promised. “Can I open this briefcase and show you something?”

“Slowly. And no weapons, or she’s done.”

“Oscar has a weapon, but it stays holstered as long as you don’t hurt anyone.”

“Fine. Open the briefcase, but my finger stays on this trigger.”

I tried to keep my breath calm, to focus on the clouds, to think about anything other than the bullet cocked millimeters from my brain.

Gabe took the briefcase from Oscar and opened it, revealing thick stacks of cash.

“I like the look of that money, but that’s sure as hell not the millions I demanded. You’re running out of time!” Bobby yanked my head back further, moved the gun to my neck, and pressed it into the soft flesh under my jaw. My nausea and lightheadedness grew, and I fought to stay upright.

Gabe’s voice remained calm. “It's as much as we could gather without ringing alarm bells at the Treasury Department. It’s more than enough to tide you over ’til the digital transaction goes through.”

Bobby lashed the barrel of the gun against my broken hand, sending an agonizing flood of pain up my arm, and I cried in anguish. He pressed the gun to my neck again. “Not! Fast! Enough! I need to get fucking paid, and I need to get on that plane!”

Barely controlled fury rippled under Gabe’s expression, and he swallowed hard. “I’ve looked you up, Bobby. Your fraud conviction, your website, those were sophisticated setups, so I’m trusting you’ll understand this. We’ve initiated a blockchain contract. You know what that is, right?”

Bobby stared at him with hard eyes. “I know what it is.”

“Good. Then you know it’s a guaranteed thing if the conditions are satisfied.

Five million dollars arrives in a private account in the Virgin Islands after two events take place.

First, Sammy, Meghan, Oscar, and I have to board a flight at the Charlotte airport before midnight, and second, my pilot has to reenter the U.S.

and get through customs by tomorrow night.

If those things take place, you start a new life and never have to work again.

If any of that falls through, you get nothing except the few thousand dollars in this briefcase, and—I’m guessing—a lifetime in prison. ”

“How do I know any of that’s fucking true!” Bobby spat, prodding the gun deeper into my flesh.

“Check your email, Bobby. We sent a copy of the contract a few minutes ago. Same email where we sent the Commerce Tour invite.”

Bobby kept the gun drilled into my neck while he pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through the screen. “And what if this is bullshit? Maybe there’s a contract, but what if there’s fucking police on that plane behind you? Where’s my insurance!”

“Bobby, the only thing we want is for this to end safely. That’s all we care about. There’s no one on the plane but my pilot, and he can take you anywhere.”

“Well, then you won’t mind joining me, Loverboy. Let’s go check it out.”

“Hey!” Oscar stepped out in front of Gabe. “He’s not going anywhere with you!”

Bobby pointed the gun at Oscar’s head. “You don’t get a fucking say in it. I will drop you, you piece of shit!”

Gabe intervened. “Remember, if he’s hurt, the contract fails. Please put your weapon down.”

Bobby looked back and forth between us. He finally released my hair and walked toward Gabe with his gun still trained on Oscar.

“He comes or there’s no deal!” He grabbed Gabe’s shoulder.

“Let’s go, asshole. You face your bodyguard, so he’s clear who gets hit if he shoots.

” He held the gun to the nape of Gabe's neck. “Nice and easy, you prick.”

They walked backwards, making slow, clumsy progress toward the plane. Gabe kept his free hand in the air, the other tight on the briefcase. As they climbed the jet stairs, Bobby crouched behind Gabe, eliminating any line of sight for Oscar to get a shot off.

But Oscar’s hands remained in the air, trying to keep the peace.

At the top of the steps Bobby pivoted, pointing the gun into the plane. He pulled Gabe into the cabin, out of sight.

It felt like a lifetime, but maybe it was only a few seconds before shots clapped out from the plane. Three haltering staccato pops, punctuated by the sound of breaking glass. Fresh red blood splashed the jet windows.

A man in pilot’s gear stuck his head out of the doorway, looking around frantically. “ He’s down! He’s down! ”

Oscar took off at a sprint, headed for the jet stairs.

The breath left my lungs, and I fell hard to my knees on the broken blacktop, sobbing and out of options. Meghan came running to my side, wailing in grief.

Sirens shrieked in the distance, and we huddled in shock as the tarmac became a blue and red cyclone of strobing lights and screaming vehicles.

Police and FBI agents descended onto the property, and ambulances pulled up in front of us, lights flashing and motors rumbling.

Uniformed men and women swarmed Meghan and me, cutting the zip ties from our wrists, loading us onto stretchers, and taking our vitals.

I tried desperately to look back at the plane, praying for any sign of life, but the scene was bedlam. Uniformed officers mobbed the area, shouting beneath a chaos of flashing lights.

Finally, one of the vehicles moved, and I caught a glimpse of the jet. Gabe walked down the stairs in a daze, wiping blood from his face. He looked around when he reached the tarmac, saw us getting loaded into the transports, and jogged our way. “Wait!” he called, speeding up. “Wait, Sammy!”

They continued to load me into the ambulance, and he ran the last few yards to me, tears streaming down his face. He hopped into the crowded vehicle, already packed with people and equipment. Hugging my legs—the only part of me he could reach—he collapsed forward on the bottom of the stretcher.

“Sir, we have to go. She needs care.”

Adrenaline drained from my system. “Thank you, Gabe.” It was all I could get out.

Pinpricks of stars bloomed in the darkness.

Then everything was gone.