27 |
27 |Milton Residence St. Paul, Maryland
Dean of St. Paul’s University, Gregory Milton, moaned as his wife, Sandra, dug her thumbs into the small of his back, his muscles a little tight today, though nothing like the old days, his wheelchair now relegated to the closet, his bedroom once again on the second floor. He was a new man, or at least a renewed one, fully recovered from being shot in the back a few years ago, though his stamina still hadn’t returned.
And his doctors were warning him it might never.
Though they were the same ones who had said he’d never walk again.
“Do you want to flip over and let me do your front?”
Milton grinned and flipped over, purposefully yanking the towel aside, someone wagging a hello.
“Huh, I think you were expecting something this entire time.”
“Can you blame a guy? His hot wife is rubbing him down with massage oils, what’s a man gonna do?”
“Ahh, remember that his daughter is coming home from school at any minute?”
Milton frowned. “Shit, I forgot.” He grinned at her. “Quickie?”
She chuckled. “How about we just make this all about you?”
“Steak sauce!”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” He tapped his watch. “Time’s a-wastin’, hon!”
She laughed and oiled up her hands some more when the phone rang.
“Leave it.”
“But I’m expecting a call from Judy.”
“Judy can wait. I can’t. You’ve got me so worked up, I could suffer permanent injury.”
“Yeah, I heard that one in high school.”
“You did this in high school?” He grinned. “I wish I had known you back then.”
Sandra wiped her hands quickly on a towel then looked at the phone. “Odd. I think it’s Tommy Granger.”
Milton’s eyes narrowed, Tommy and Mai in Germany while his best friends, Jim and Laura, were in Poland. “Better get it.”
She answered the phone as he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the massage table purchased for his rehabilitation, his wife even getting training on how to deliver the massages so essential to his recovery. “Hi, Tommy? Yes, just a second, he’s right here.” She gave him the phone and was about to turn away when he grabbed her hand and put it someplace safe. He grinned at her.
“Tommy? This is Dean Milton.”
“Hi, sir, I’m sorry to call, but, well, I’m here with Mai, and we’re concerned something might have happened to Professor Acton. And Professor Palmer.”
Milton tensed and Sandra recognized the change, stopping what she was doing. “What makes you think that?”
“We haven’t been able to reach them for over an hour, and it looks like there’s a dead zone around the site.”
“What does that mean?”
“I think there’s some sort of cellphone jammer in operation. There are no signals at all from the area surrounding the mine.”
“Couldn’t it just be a failure with the phone company?”
“No, I don’t think so. Their system is indicating everything is fine, but there are no signals at all in just this one area.” There was a pause. “Wait a minute, things just came back online. Just a sec.”
Milton breathed a sigh of relief as the over anxious students were apparently about to be proven wrong.
“Okay, I’ve got cellular activity in the area again, but the professors’ phones are still offline.”
“Maybe they’re dead? Low batteries?”
“Both of them? I doubt that.”
Milton agreed. “Could they be in the mine?”
“No, I’m picking up a cluster of signals that suggest they’re coming from a repeater. Do you have a number for anyone who should be with them?”
Milton stood. “I do. I have the number for their contact there, but I’ll have to look it up. I’ll call you back.” He turned to Sandra then stared at his waning member. “Funs over, big guy.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh, probably nothing, just some overactive imaginations, but I need to make a call.” He snapped the towel at her caboose. “Then I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”
“Our daughter will be home at any minute.”
“At which time you will set her up in front of the TV with a snack and a drink, and you and I can squeeze in a few minutes of adult playtime.”
She gave him a look. “What’s gotten into you today?”
“I think the better question is what’s going to be getting—”
She held up a finger, cutting him off while laughing. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence, mister.”
He grinned. “Save the dirty talk for the bedroom?”
“Exactly.” She smiled. “Or the back seat of the car.”
His eyes widened. “Ooh, it’s been awhile since we’ve done it there!”
The door downstairs opened, the alarm chiming.
“Mommy! Daddy! I’m home!”
Sandra turned toward the hallway. “Just a second, dear!” She gave junior a squeeze. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
Milton wrapped the towel around himself, then headed for his office with a smile of anticipation. He called the number for Professor Lisowski, and it rang several times before going to voicemail. He frowned, trying it again, sighing in relief as this time it was answered on the third ring.
“Halo?”
“Hi, can I talk to Aleksandra Lisowski? This is—“
“Oh, thank God! We thought the phones weren’t working! Aleksandra has been shot, and we’re trapped! We need help!”