I took the low-slung Richmond-San Rafael Bridge across the San Francisco Bay. Below me, the small Red Rock Island, less than six acres around and only 135 feet below the bridge, had a huge wake off one side. It appeared to be steaming full speed ahead in the strong ebb tide. The port and Jack London Square in Oakland made sense. Mammoth container ships docked there. Vast marine terminals with locked doors and empty containers large enough to hide two men were easily obtained.
As I approached the port, the towering white cranes used for loading and unloading container ships came into view. Big, boxy warehouses lined the empty side streets. My hands tingled as I checked the phone. Burk had shifted from his initial location and was closer than I expected him to be, edging nearer with each passing second. When I arrived at Jack London Square, I found a parking garage and drove in. I sat there, in the dark, eyes glued to the screen on my phone, watching the blinking blue dot as it headed toward me. When it showed Burk’s car approaching the entrance to the garage, it suddenly made sense.
I wasn’t following him. He was following me.
My heart vaulted into overdrive. My mouth went dry. Heat bolted up to my cheeks. I’d fooled myself into thinking I was in control. But Burk had the upper hand. If I stayed in the garage, I’d be trapped. I climbed out of the car and ran toward a side entrance, turning into a dark staircase that led up to the street. Burk had to be using the same illegal location finder that I was or maybe he’d done something to my phone directly. It would explain all the “coincidental” meetings. But how was that possible? He never had … oh no! I remembered the night of the tech party at Oracle Park. Burk had my phone when I went off with my supervisor. He had more than enough time to download anything he wanted to my cell. That had to be it. However he’d done it, Burk had been following an electronic trail of breadcrumbs that led right to me. And I had been the one leaving them for him to find.
I wanted to find Burk, but on my own terms. Preferably out in the open, somewhere with people. Then I could set up a swap, the computer codes for Earl and Tyler. Time was ticking. How much longer would they hold on to them before deciding they were more trouble than they were worth?
When I pushed open the parking garage door, I found myself on a wooden boardwalk surrounded by restaurants that bordered the Alameda Channel. This would be a good place for my conversation with Burk. Plenty of people around. Constantly refreshing my phone, the app showed that Burk had turned before he reached Jack London Square.
A sense of relief rippled through my body. I had a few more minutes to go over my plan; maybe alert Inspector Burrell. I watched the phone to see which way he was heading. There was a chance I’d need to follow him. The little map indicated that he hadn’t moved. A wave of disappointment slipped over me.
If Burk didn’t show, my chances of finding Earl and Tyler would evaporate. I had no idea where to start hunting. I walked across the boardwalk into the adjacent marina and wandered along the piers past the large power boats with names like Tally Ho, Wanderer and My Retirement.
I glanced over to the entrance of the garage. Burk stood there, staring at me. His eyes never left mine.
This was it. My heart pounded in my ears. I walked deliberately toward him, then stopped in the middle of the boardwalk. He responded with a few purposeful steps in my direction, stopped for a moment, then continued until he was close enough to touch me.
“I want the original papers with the codes. Now,” he said.
I shook my head no and took a step back.
“First Tyler and Earl. No deal without them,” I ordered.
He reached out and tried to grab my arm. But I sidestepped and bumped into a couple strolling down the boardwalk.
“Hey, watch out,” exclaimed the man.
“Sorry,” I said. I inched closer to Burk. “Don’t ever touch me again.”
“Miss, is this guy bothering you?” questioned the man, his eyes blazing at Burk.
For a second, he paused. Did I have the upper hand?
“We’re all good here,” Burk said. “A misunderstanding. That’s all.”
The man and woman walked over to a bench on the edge of the boardwalk, sat down and continued to watch us. I had backup.
“I’ll give you what you want,” he said. “But even you aren’t that stupid. Those computer codes are useless now. They’ve all been changed.”
“Then what do you want them for?”
“We need the originals. Can’t leave anything behind. Next step is for you to follow me.”
“Where did Popolare go?” I asked. “I’m sure the city of San Francisco would be interested in his return to the States.”
“Do you want your friends or not?” asked Burk. “Get in your car and pull out of the garage. I’ll be in my car waiting for you.”
This is too easy. I jogged to the entrance of the garage. Way too easy. But I had to find my friends. I threw open the door that led to the steps and stumbled into the stairwell. Blackness surrounded me. I lost my bearings and almost lost my balance. I paused and listened. No one was following me. I spun around and almost tumbled down the first flight of stairs. A man waited at the bottom of the stairwell.
“Careful, lady. Slow down. You almost fell.”
He reached up to grab my arm. Then, the door opened behind me. At the top of the stairs appeared an imposing dark silhouette.
“Burk,” I said.
“Now,” he said.
Everything went black.
My head slammed against something hard and I began to open my eyes. I was trapped inside the trunk of a moving car. Pitch black. Dark. Too dark. I tried to reach out, but zip ties held my arms together at the wrists in front of me. I was lying on a rough carpet, my knees slammed up against my chest, the top of the trunk just inches above my body.
My head throbbed from where I’d been hit and each time we went over a bump, it bounced against the car, sending waves of pain through my skull. My whole body trembled uncontrollably as panic took hold. Need to get out of here. Need air. Can’t breathe. Muffled voices filtered through under the rumble of the engine.
“Hey,” I yelled. “Let me out.”
I kicked the back seat of the car again and again, but it didn’t move. The muted voices quieted for a second. I paused and listened, then screamed and pounded the seats again, striking as hard as possible. No response.
The trunk of the car began to shrink, the top and the sides inching closer as I struggled. Can’t die. Not here. I buried my head into the carpet and closed my eyes. Calm, I repeated to myself. Just stay calm. I focused on my breathing. Slow (in). Down (out). I repeated the little mantra until my mind and body began to unwind.
In the blackness, I rummaged around as best I could. No backpack. Bet it was upfront with Burk and friend. Underneath me, something small and metal jammed painfully into my back. Probably the fastener that opened the compartment to the spare tire. Inside would be a tire jack and maybe other tools I could use as weapons. But reaching them seemed impossible.
The car rattled and jolted, the speed steady and fast. We must be on a highway. The pitch of the engine soared up a notch as we passed other cars.
“Help me. Help me. Get me out,” I yelled. But the passing cars continued by. I was on my own.
I had no idea how long it had been since the parking garage. An hour? Two? I heard muffled laughter. The car swerved hard to the right and my head slammed against metal. I passed out. Again.
When I came to, the car’s speed had dropped. We must have exited the freeway. The car turned right and slowed down even more, the road switching from smooth to rocky and rough. Was it dirt? Gravel?
Think, Trisha. Think now! The trunk latch. There had to be a trunk latch. I struggled to turn over, hitting my head repeatedly and seeing bright streaks of light with each slam against the side of the trunk. Inch by inch, I twisted and flexed my body, pushing against the car until I’d rolled over and faced the rear of the vehicle. Sweat trickled down my forehead from the exertion and my tee shirt grew damp and rank. But there in front of me, glowing beautifully in the darkness, was the trunk lock release.
I reached up to pull it and stopped, hesitating. If the latch opened, a red light would pop up on the dashboard. If I jumped out, they would stop the car, grab me and just throw me back in. With escape now only a latch-pull away, I calmed down. Think it through. They had my backpack, but they didn’t have my phone. I’d tucked it into the waist of my jeans. Why did it have to be on the other side? I squirmed onto my back and pulled my knees against my chest, the uncomfortable bolt digging into my skin, then rammed my shoulders against the side of the trunk and violently jerked into a tight ball. The cell popped out of my belt.
The men stopped talking. Had they heard me? I started to yell and kick again. Over and over. My legs weighed more than bags of cement, but I kept at it while I moved the phone across the rough rug with my zip tied hands. As long as they thought I was protesting in general, they shouldn’t be too concerned about my movements. I held the phone in one hand and managed to unlock it with the other. I said quietly, “Text Lena.” The little black rectangle responded with, “What do you want to say?”
“Locked in trunk of car. Locate me through phone.”
“Ready to send?”
“Yes,” I whispered loudly.
“Sent.”
“Turn on GPS.”
“Location tracking enabled.”
I pushed the phone to a corner of the trunk and waited.
We drove along the bumpy road for maybe another ten minutes, and I didn’t move. The sound of other automobiles had disappeared altogether. About thirty minutes passed and the car came to a complete stop. I strained to hear what was happening. Two car doors opened and then slammed shut. If they came for me, I was prepared. My feet and very tired legs shook with fatigue, but I coiled into a tight ball, ready to strike. I turned back around and grasped the trunk release with my zip tied hands. My one and only card to play was surprise.
I never got a chance to play it. Their muted footsteps grew fainter, until they disappeared.
I waited a few more moments, then pulled the lever. The trunk popped open and I vaulted out, the blinding sun making it impossible to see anything. Then my knees buckled beneath me and I slammed into the ground. I boosted myself to a sitting position, leaned back against the car and closed my eyes for a minute. I opened them again and the landscape came into focus. I could make out a well-cared for vineyard bordering a winding road. Where was I? Napa? Sonoma? Maybe Livermore? Certainly, nowhere in the city.
The zip ties dug into my wrists. I suddenly remembered a video I’d seen while doing a search on women’s safety. Pushing myself to a standing position, I raised my hands over my head and slammed them down against my stomach, sticking my elbows out. Miraculously, the zip ties snapped apart. Freedom!
I lowered the top of the trunk quietly and pushed it so it would shut. The click of the lock sounded like an explosion to me, but not even the birds in the trees turned to locate the sound. I scanned my surroundings. The beautiful vineyard climbed over rolling golden hills pressed against the horizon. It seemed too pretty to be the site of something so criminal. I ducked around to the other side of the car. I had to find a secure spot to hide. A house and a few outbuildings skirted the edge of the vineyard. Two large containers, the kind normally used for storing furniture, sat on the other side.
My legs wobbled as I darted from the car toward the containers. I ducked behind the first and surveyed the backyard of the small home. Toys, the same toys I’d seen at the house over the hill, lay scattered on the front lawn. As if on cue, the same small boy came out with his mother trailing behind him. Burk poked his head through the doorway and said something to the woman. She nodded and went back inside, pulling her son in after her. A few mountain bikes, a late model BMW and a black SUV sat off to one side of the yard.
I reached for my phone. Then I remembered. I’d left it in the trunk of the car. To retrieve it, I’d have to run across the path again, completely exposed. Even that possibility vanished when the front door of the house opened and Burk and the man from the stairwell walked out.
After a brief discussion, the other man said something about “the girl in the trunk.” Then, they both climbed into the car and began to drive away. Where were they taking me? What did they plan to do with me? And what would happen when they realized I had escaped?
Pressing my back against the container, I slid down to the ground, grateful I had enough air to breathe. Suddenly very tired, I laid my head against the cool exterior of the pod and closed my eyes.
What was that?
I bolted up. Voices, coming from inside the pod. Then a shout.
“Let us out! We’ll do whatever you want.”
Tyler!
“Don’t say that,” Earl reprimanded. “I’m not going to do anything they want. And neither are you.”
“I want out of here. It’s so hot.”
A third weaker voice began to mumble.
I knocked on the side.
“Hello? Earl? Tyler?”
Dead silence.
“Who’s out there?” asked Earl.
“Me. It’s Trisha.”
“Trisha,” yelled Tyler. “Get us out of here! Hard to breathe. I’m so thirsty.”
“I’ll try. How long have you been locked in here?”
“A few days,” said Earl. “Bernard is here, too. Hurry, please. Bernie isn’t doing so well. Are the police here?”
“Not yet. But they will be.” Hopefully, I was right. “Hang on. I need to find some tools.”
Tyler yelled, “Don’t go. Don’t leave.”
“I’m not leaving. I promise.”
With Burk and buddy out of the picture, I took the chance to move across the path to the side of the house. I inched closer to a window. The sounds of a television and a child singing along to animated characters drifted outdoors, but I saw no one inside. I went to the next window and glanced in. No one. The woman and child remained out of sight, which meant I was, too. For the moment.
I darted over to the large tool shed by the pod and the vineyard. The pungent smell of manure hit me when I opened the door. The tools were perfectly organized, some hanging from pegboards, others lined up against the wall. I scanned them but didn’t see anything like a bolt cutter. But I did see a sledgehammer. It would have to do.
I picked up the heavy hammer with two hands and walked toward the pod.
“Stay away from the door. I’m going to break the lock with a hammer. I hope.”
The sound would surely alert the woman and child and anyone else inside. They would call for Burk. Burk would come back. Or would he? Either way, I had to hurry.
I slammed the hammer against the lock. The sound of metal-on-metal rang out in the quiet landscape. I swung again, but I kept missing the lock.
“Hurry,” cried Tyler. He banged on the inside of the door and the lock clanked against the metal frame on the outside.
I aimed for the lock and swung again. Another miss.
“I can’t breathe in here. Please, Trisha. It’s so hot. I can’t see,” said Tyler.
“Same here,” I said, as sweat dripped down my forehead, stinging my eyes.
“Ty, she’s trying her best,” I heard Earl say.
“Change of plans,” I said. “I’m going to hit the container directly.”
I started hammering on the door frame next to the lock. After three hits, it began to cave in.
The woman ran out of the house.
“Who are you? What are you doing?” she shrieked. She stopped in her tracks. The little boy had followed her into the front yard.
“Go back in the house and stay there,” I yelled. She scooped up the child.
“I’m calling the police,” she yelled as she darted back into the house.
“Do that,” I nodded. “Yes, please, call the police.”
I swung and banged a few more times. The metal crumpled again, but only slightly. There was just enough space for me to see Earl’s bright red face.
“Thank you, Trisha,” he said.
Ten minutes later, I heard the police sirens.