Germantown, Maryland
Near the end of the first campaign strategy session, eighteen months before the day of
Kelly finished putting on her obligatory deep-red lipstick. That was the only makeup-related vanity she allowed herself, at least when going out during the day. She sometimes got a bit more aggressive for a special occasion in the evening.
David and Mia had been gone for most of the week, but they would return home later in the afternoon. Kelly was planning a special dinner to celebrate David’s arrival. She missed him terribly when he was away for any length of time. Despite having been married for nearly five years, she still liked to surprise him with little gifts or his favorite food.
And sometimes a trip to Victoria’s Secret was in order.
Tonight she would focus mostly on food and wine. The dessert course would depend on how tired David was when he got home. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t be at the top of her game in the looks department. So before going to Safeway, Kelly would make her Barbie rounds for a manicure and pedicure and to freshen up the lowlights in her hair.
Kelly did some mental gymnastics and calculated that she could drive downtown, get her hair and nails done, and then swing by Sabai Simply Thai for a bowl of their red-curry noodle soup.
Eating the stuff was like taking a swig of molten steel, but, damn, it was good. Then off to the market for bone-in pork chops and sweet potatoes. If things went as planned, she should be home in plenty of time to brine the chops, get the potatoes in the oven, and have a drink ready for David when he walked through the door. It sure beat working. She took her car keys off their designated hook and headed for the side entrance to the garage.
…
Arturo grew increasingly impatient as he sat for the third day in a row in the white cargo van he had purchased in Atlanta. He had paid cash for the Ford Econoline, to a dubious dealer who was the associate of an acquaintance from Mexico, creating a sufficiently convoluted transaction trail.
Hector sat behind the wheel, drumming his fingers impatiently, ready to roll at a moment’s notice.
That evening, they drove north along the east coast on I-95. On the way, Hector stole a license plate from a delivery truck parked at South of the Border, the garish rest stop near Dillon, South Carolina. The stolen plate and two new magnetic signs bearing the name “BBB Accredited Construction” now adorned the van.
Following a near-disastrous snatch that resulted in scars on his face and a kick to his groin that still ached, Arturo decided to trade the stun gun for a less hazardous means of subduing his victims. It wasn’t as much fun—his victims didn’t squirm, they just went limp—but it was more efficient.
After some fairly intense research, layered on top of his veterinary and chemistry laboratory experience, Arturo decided to use trichloromethane, aka chloroform, as the base for an incapacitating formula. Even in small doses, chloroform alone could daze or knock out land animals. Arturo determined that the effects of this mixture would be dramatically enhanced if administered as an aerosol. He was at a loss as to how this could be done until one afternoon, while shopping for ibuprofen in the farmacia of the Cancún Walmart, the solution literally fell off the shelf and into his cart: Vicks nasal spray. Not the medicine itself, the bottle.
This morning, as he sat in the passenger seat, scanning every vehicle that passed the innocuous-looking van, Arturo absentmindedly fingered the Vicks bottle tucked inside his shirt pocket.
“Heads up, ke-mo sah-bee!” Hector screeched. “The chicken’s flown the coop.”
Where did Hector come up with that shit? Arturo shook his head and zeroed in on the Stakley chick’s Prius as she drove past the parked van.
Hector started the van, allowed another car to pass, and then pulled onto the street, maintaining a distance of about fifty meters behind the Prius. Arturo admired Hector’s skill. He had to keep the vehicle he was following in view while trying not to be conspicuous. Stoplights and traffic circles were always problematic. He had to continually adjust his speed to avoid being stopped or cut off by other vehicles. But he had become something of an expert at tailing his prey.
Hector chuckled. “Mrs. Stakley’s obliviously a safe driver. That makes following her almost easy.”
…
Kelly drove down Clopper Road, turned left onto Kingsview Village Avenue, and then right into the parking lot in front of Four Seasons Nail and Spa.
In an attempt to avoid getting dings on her new Prius if someone should carelessly open the door of his car, she pulled into a parking spot on the outskirts of the lot, the back end of her car facing the spa. She didn’t mind walking a little farther, especially in such beautiful weather. The extra steps added to her goal of twelve thousand a day and went a long way toward keeping her fit and trim. Besides, she was a few minutes early for her ten o’clock appointment.
She unconsciously checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, fluffed her hair, got out of her car, and headed for the spa’s entrance, remotely locking the car door as she walked.
…
“It’s almost like she wants to get snatched,” Hector said as he parked the van in an empty space on the driver’s side of the Prius.
“Well, my Cro-Magnon friend, our first lucky break in three days,” Arturo noted with a toothy grin. “I suspect it’ll be a while before she comes out of there, but I’m going to go ahead and open the side door and get in place, just to be on the safe side.”
Arturo got out of the van and slid open the passenger-side cargo door. He then walked to the back of the truck, opened the left rear door, and turned on a laptop mounted on a portable table. With the laptop’s camera set to selfie mode, he was able to view everything behind him while pretending to work on some imaginary BBB Accredited Construction task.
As he proceeded with this charade, he reviewed his plans for the snatch for the hundredth time. When Mrs. Stakley left the spa and started walking back to her car, he would pretend to complete his work. He would close the rear door, being careful to do so as she slipped between the van and the Prius to get to her driver’s-side door. He would fall in behind her, and just as she drew even with the cargo door, he would call out her name.
That was a funny thing about human nature. Even in a strange or threatening situation, Arturo knew he could get someone to drop her guard, if only for a second or two, simply by calling her name. Mrs. Stakely would turn to see who had recognized her, and then Arturo would strike. He would have his Vicks bottle of sleepy juice ready, and the instant she turned, he would give her a full-on facial. And just like with his test animals, she would be startled and inhale involuntarily.
For the next hour and a half, Arturo kept his eyes glued to the laptop’s monitor. As he waited, Arturo reflected on his encounter with the gringo from DC. He and Hector would receive $500,000 for the snatch, $100,000 up front and the balance when they were instructed to release the Stakley woman. The man gave precise details on how they were to conduct her abduction, what they were to do and, more specifically, what they were not to do.
They were instructed to subdue the woman, remove the tip of her ring finger—their signature terror tactic—and then place her digit and wedding ring into a Ziploc bag provided by the gringo. They would then enclose this ghoulish package in a manila envelope. The packet, which contained a sealed letter, was addressed to David Stakley in Germantown, Maryland.
Arturo had no earthly idea of how the gringo, or the people he worked for, knew their tactics, but they damn sure knew. That scared Arturo. But his fright paled in comparison to the warning the man provided about what would happen to him, Hector, and their closest relatives if any additional harm came to the Stakley woman.
The people the gringo worked for wanted Stakley to drop out of the presidential campaign, but they didn’t wish to bring about a groundswell of public sentiment about his poor kidnapped wife, which might end up helping him get elected.
Arturo and Hector were to hold her until Stakley publicly announced his withdrawal. Then they would release her, without additional harm, in some podunk town in West Virginia. Hector would be castrated if he touched her as he had done with their previous victims. And Arturo would have both of his legs amputated at the knees by a twelve-gauge shotgun.
Arturo had zero doubt that the man and his employers would follow through with their threat. This scared the coon dog shit out of him.
Finally, Mrs. Stakely came out of the spa. She smiled as she checked herself out in the reflection of a storefront mirror, touched the back of her hair, and started walking toward her Prius.
“Game on, tonto,” Arturo called to Hector. He chuckled. Payback for Hector’s “ke-mo sah-bee” crack since tonto was Spanish for “fool.” Arturo knew Hector would never catch the humor from that double entendre, but he thought it was hilarious.
“Watch my six. Here she comes.”
Kelly walked at the brisk pace of someone who had a lot more to do before heading home. As she passed the Hispanic man at the rear of some business vehicle, she pressed a button on her car key, unlocking the Prius.
…
Arturo eased the rear door closed, then reached inside his shirt pocket for the Vicks inhaler. He unscrewed the already-loosened tip, dropped it back into his pocket, and held the bottle in his right hand.
When the lady was parallel to his shoulders, and he was out of her peripheral vision, Arturo stepped behind and to her right. One more step and she would be in position.
Arturo pointed the inhaler at the back of her head and called, “Kelly Stakley!”
The woman hesitated for a split second and then turned toward the voice.
A blinding flash of light and searing pain shot through Arturo’s head when the leather-wrapped blackjack smashed into his skull just behind his right ear.
Then, nothing.
…
Charles Crum wrapped a muscled arm around Arturo’s neck, catching him not so gently as his knees buckled and he crumpled toward the ground, a trickle of blood leaking from inside his ear.
“Good morning, Mrs. Stakley,” Charles said as he dragged Arturo’s limp body toward the van’s cargo door.
From the driver’s seat, Hector saw the split-second scene unfold in the rearview mirror. Knowing in a heartbeat that things had gone horribly wrong, he bolted out of the van to go to Arturo’s aid.
Small holes appeared between Hector’s thick black eyebrows as two subsonic twenty-two-caliber bullets punched their way through bone and into his brainstem, causing flaccid paralysis and instant death.
The pops from the pistol in Lawrence’s hand were barely audible. That is precisely why those who have to perform close-up wet work—on either side of the law—favor subsonic ammunition.
“Mrs. Stakley, please turn around and walk to your car,” Charles said in an even but commanding voice. “Don’t look back. The less you see, the better. Get in your car, lock the doors, and start the engine. Wait five minutes, then pull out as you usually would and go about your business. Mr. Smith and I have a little cleanup to do, but we’ll be finished and have you covered by the time you leave. Don’t say anything to anyone about what you’ve seen. Except for Mr. Stakely, of course. He will get a full report by the end of the day.”
A slightly delayed fight-or-flight reaction sent wave after wave of nauseating fear washing over Kelly as she realized what had just happened. Her hand shook violently as she struggled to open her car door. Once inside, she grabbed the steering wheel, trying to regain self-control. The physical reaction lasted only a few seconds before another, more cerebral fear kicked in.
“He can’t tell David,” Kelly murmured to herself. “That’ll derail everything.” Kelly opened the car door and scurried back to the van.
Charles was just sliding the side door closed when he saw her. “Mrs. Stakley, please get back in your car. We have to get out of here.”
Although visibly shaken, Kelly was rapidly regaining her composure, focusing on another objective.
“Mr. Crum, you can’t say anything to David! Not now! I know him better than anyone alive, and I know exactly what his reaction will be. If he thinks for a second that someone tried to hurt me, he’ll renounce his candidacy.”
Charles reached forward, gingerly grasped Kelly’s shoulders, and started steering her back toward her Prius. “Please, Mrs. Stakley, we’ve got to leave and leave now. I hear what you’re saying, but I have to make a report.”
Quickly scanning the parking lot and assuming a casual air, Charles kept talking as he ushered Kelly back to her car. “Get in and plug the secure phone I gave you into the USB port. Start the engine. This will launch a modified version of Apple CarPlay. Then leave, driving slow and safe, like nothing happened. As soon as I get back to our vehicle, I’ll call Mr. Ballard, explain what happened, pass along your request, and ask him to call you ASAP. That’s the best I can do, Mrs. Stakley. Now, we’ve got to go.”
Gaining some degree of composure, Kelly slid into the driver’s seat and fumbled with her purse before dragging out the Blackwater phone. “I’m sorry I lost it, Mr. Crum. I’m OK now,” she said firmly as she connected the phone to one of the Prius’s USB ports and started the engine. “Let’s go.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Charles replied as he closed the car door and started toward the Tahoe, which Lawrence was pulling out of its parking space.
Minutes later, as Kelly maneuvered down Clopper Road, the phone rang through the car’s speaker system. Pressing a button on the steering wheel, Kelly blurted, “Judson, is that you?”
“Yes, Kelly, it’s me. I just got off the phone with your security team leader. He explained what happened and your request not to tell David, or at least to keep a lid on it for the time being.”
“Judson, we have to. Like I told Mr. Crum, if David hears what happened, he’ll drop out of the race. When it comes to himself, he’s the bravest person I have ever known. But if he thinks for one second that I am in any real danger, he’ll flip out. Besides, it doesn’t matter. It’s over. Nothing happened. Well, not to me anyway. It will serve no purpose to tell him anything. At least not now. After the election, I’ll confess.” Kelly clenched the steering wheel, consciously trying to control her post-traumatic jitters.
“I agree with you, Kelly,” Judson unexpectedly concurred. “What neither you nor David knew was that over the last few days, our sources picked up some underground chatter that had us spooked. Nothing specific as it relates to how or when, but more than enough for us to up our game. I’m sure you didn’t pick up on it, but we actually doubled the number of spooks on your security team.
“We also have reason to believe that Jim Phillips is somehow involved. Again, nothing in concrete, just some troubling correlations.”
Kelly smacked the steering wheel with her right hand. “Shit! David can’t stand the guy, but it never occurred to me that he would sink to this level.”
“Well, like I said, we don’t have anything we can build a case on. Just rumblings. But still . . . OK, back to your suggestion. Let’s do this. I will send you today’s security report via encrypted email. You hold on to it until you are comfortable sharing it with David. Just give me a heads-up before you do. I don’t want to be blindsided if he doesn’t like the fact that we hid it from him.”
“Thank you, Judson. I’ll tell him the day following the election, as soon as the results are in, one way or the other. Oh, and don’t worry about how he’ll take it. He would do the same thing if he were in your shoes. Now that I have that worry behind me, I need to get to the market. Thank you again, Judson. We’re doing what’s best for David. And for the cause.”