8. 8

The coffee machine is working overtime. It’s early in the morning, and I’ve just spent a couple of hours sleeping uncomfortably in my desk chair. I hear fresh coffee beans in the grinder and the smell alone wakes me up a little.

Ches and his team have been working all night, trying to figure out what the photos mean. I informed Remy on the way over of what’s going on and why we’re all stressing the fuck out, and he took it like a champ. He tagged along, made sure Chester had all his energy drinks, and just sat there and waited with me all night. He tapped out a few hours before dawn, falling asleep on the couch in the main area, not even responding to all of Chester’s noisy team.

Chester quickly determined the Polaroids were pictures of pages out of photobooks, not actual photos of the constellations in the sky. He tried to take that as a starting point to find some common ground, but quickly ran into a wall.

Everything went into overdrive yesterday when Chester flashed a blacklight on the Polaroids, making the words ‘sierra’, ‘delta’, ‘kilo’ and ‘india’ appear. After rearranging the words, when we realized it spelled ‘kids’, everyone went on a rampage to figure out what the hell this meant. Is the killer also involved with the kids? Are we looking for the same perpetrator? Somehow it doesn’t make sense.

I take my coffee to my computer and wrap my hands around it, trying to warm myself up. If I’m here, I might as well make myself useful. I’m not of any help with the damn photos. Shooting at it probably won’t solve the puzzle.

I squint my eyes when I see an email from one B. Sanders of the FBI in my inbox. It’s titled ‘Names of victims’ and I’m surprised it’s there. It’s been almost a week since we saw Special Agents Sanders and Luta, and when I didn’t receive them right away, I assumed I wouldn’t be getting them at all.

I open the email that asks if I want to notify the sender that I’ve received it and click yes. A list of names appears, and I let my eyes glide over it. Something inside me tightens. These are not just names in a list but black letters on a white screen. These were women, people. Suddenly it’s hard to swallow, and I step away from my computer again.

Remy is still passed out on the couch, his head fallen back and I pull a blanket over his legs when I walk past him. Chester is spinning circles on his desk chair.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to get a new perspective,” he says when he plants his feet on the ground and comes to a standstill. He stopped himself right in front of his screens. It would be impressive if he didn’t have six screens and they’re literally almost all around.

“By getting dizzy?”

“Hm, guess, don’t know.” He grabs an open can of energy drink and starts chugging it. When he looks out the window, the golden pink glow of the rising sun lights up his face. “Guess I’ll change to coffee in a bit. Maybe that’ll change my perspective.”

I snort. “Yeah, I think you’re immune to caffeine nowadays.”

“Sounds like it’s time to try the harder stuff. You think you can get me some amphetamines?”

“Fuck no, you’d tear down the building before anyone can say ignite.”

He gives me a toothy grin.

“So,” I continue, “I got an email from Special Agent Sanders with the names of the victims.”

“Yeah? He finally came through? Good for Becky.”

“Becky?” I laugh.

“Has a better ring to it than Special Agent Sanders.”

I decide not to take the bait and look at what’s happening on his screens. There are various sites open from libraries, and I don’t get it. My eyes roam all over, trying to see the connection, but I fail. Chester studies me. Perhaps he’s hoping I’m his new perspective.

“What’s this?” I finally cave.

“These are the exact editions of the photo books he took the Polaroids of.”

Yeah, that doesn’t explain it one bit. I sigh.

“Please catch me up on what I missed when I fell asleep. And just try to tell me in a way so I can follow.”

He bites the side of his lip and starts spinning his thumb ring with his middle finger.

“The pictures are of constellations. They have absolutely nothing in common. They’re on opposite sides of the galaxies. Their names have nothing in common. Their coordinates have nothing in common. I can’t even use the numbers from their names or coordinates and mathematically make them mean anything.”

He sighs.

“So then I thought maybe the constellations aren’t the clue, but the pictures themselves. So I’ve been backtracking from which books the pictures are taken. Found the books. They were taken from several books, not just one. They, once again, have nothing in common. This picture?” He points at one of his screens. “Taken from a book published in the eighties.” He points at another screen. “This one? Taken from a book published only three months ago.” He puts his elbows on his desk and lets his head fall on it. “I even looked at the sales records of the books, to see if one person bought all four of the books, but I came up empty, because a fuckton of these books have been sold and that’s not even taking sales paid in cash or yard sales into account.”

Behind us, Remy is waking up. He rubs his neck, which is bound to be sore because of the position he’s been sleeping in. Once he’s stretched his drool-worthy body out, he gets up and joins us.

“And what does that train have to do with it? Constellations and trains don’t match. There’s no railroad to the stars. There’s the A-Train. A constellation of satellites, but guess what? They. Have. Nothing. In. Common.”

Remy slaps a hand on Chester’s shoulder and squeezes it.

“Did your team find anything?” he asks. He’s taken surprisingly well to how everything works around here.

“They’re checking my work, to see if I’ve missed anything.”

“Did you miss anything?”

“Fuck no.”

“So now what?” Remy asks while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“So now I need a new perspective.” He starts spinning his chair again. It’s best to just let him be when he’s in a mood like this. He does need to eat something though. Having him hangry on top of being frustrated isn’t going to end well, for anyone. I grab Remy and take him to the little kitchen, where I show him where the mugs are so he can make himself some coffee. I grab everything I need to make a stack of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Halfway through my stack, the door to the office slams open. Surprised, I watch as a very angry Special Agent Sanders comes barging in, walking to Chester’s desk.

“You are crossing the line, kid! You’re fucking lucky I can’t prove it was you, or I’ll arrest you!” He’s towering over Chester, having grabbed his shirt in one fist. My friend is unimpressed and smiles at the agent.

“Becky! Good morning! What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? You hacked my email and sent Miss Wilder the classified list with all the names of the victims using my email account!” The grip on Chester’s shirt tightens. “And don’t ever call me Becky again!”

“You mean the email Special Agent Luta told you to send? I’d have thought you would have done that already.”

I stand there, watching their exchange, unsure how I should feel about this. So Beckett didn’t send me the names after all. Chester did hack the FBI again, while I told him not to. And he made me send a confirmation I’d received the email, making sure Beckett was brought up to speed that I’d received the email he never sent. I just sigh. There’s no space for childish behavior like this.

Beckett falls quiet. I guess he didn’t think the part through where he was told to send the email and then didn’t. Why didn’t he anyway? Before I can get a chance to think it through, Beckett looks at Chester’s screens and squints his eyes.

“What are you doing? I thought you search for kids, not look at stars.”

“It’s a clue to search for the kids. It’s constellations. Fucking useless constellations, but constellations nonetheless.”

Beckett cocks his head. “Looks like a P to me.”

“A pee?” Chester asks in question.

“Yeah, you know, when you connect the dots.” He points at the various stars on one of the screens. “See, looks like a P.”

Chester follows his finger, mumbling something about connecting the dots and a P. He then perks up and starts watching the other screens.

“P, R, C and T. Does that mean anything to anyone?”

It doesn’t ring any bells with me, and according to the looks on everyone else’s faces, they don’t have a clue as well. My heart is pounding. For the first time since receiving the package last night, it feels like we’re getting somewhere. I have no idea where that somewhere is, but it’s better than being stuck.

“Rearrange the photos so they spell kids?” Remy suggests. Chester doesn’t even look up before he listens and swaps the screens.

“PTRC. Still means nothing. What else have we got? A model train. Train. Think train. PTRC. Portland Terminal Railroad? That’s got to be it, right? That’s got to be it!”

He jumps out of his chair, grabs Beckett by the ears with both hands and presses a kiss on his lips. “That’s got to be it, Becky! Now turn around!”

Beckett looks both angry and confused as hell. “Don’t kiss me! And why do I have to turn around?”

“Because I’m about to break at least five laws in hacking into the PTRC’s security feed and I don’t need an FBI agent watching me do it. I’ve got kids to find, so we can save them and get them the fuck home. Today.”

My heart starts pounding unbelievably hard. This is it, we’re going to find them, bring them home. I hug Chester from behind and squeeze him so hard he can’t breathe, but I can feel him smiling where our cheeks touch.

“You got them Ches, they didn’t win. Now let’s bring them home.”

I’m riding shotgun with Scott, who’s driving us to the PRTC at full speed. On the backseat, a very stern-looking Beckett is sitting there, judging us. He insisted on coming along, even though he’s not part of FIX Foundation and doesn’t approve of our methods. I don’t really understand his motives, but I didn’t have any time to argue with him.

Remy stayed with Chester, who was going through all the security feeds of the last couple of days with his team to find the kids.

“ETA in ten,” Scott says as he turns a corner.

“You got any directions for us yet, Ches?” I say through my earpiece. He’s currently only connected to my earpiece, the other members of our team not able to hear him. A second car is following us, Alex and Dylan in it. I deliberately asked the same people to tag along, all three men are as desperate as I am to get these kids back and want a shot at redemption.

“Almost, think I’ve got them. Just checking to see if the wagon has been moved since they got there. Take the North entrance of the terrain. If they’re still there, they’re at Row J, number 35. It’s almost at the end of the row near the entrance you’re going in through.”

“Okay. Make sure everyone hears it once you’re sure,” I tell him. Then, getting Scott’s attention, I tell him to take the North entrance. We drive in silence for a while as I try to focus on the task at hand. Once I’m in the field I go into a state where Abby disappears to the background and I’m just a vessel that is used to do whatever it is that needs to be done to make sure everything goes the way it’s supposed to. There’s no room for emotion. I breathe in for four, hold for four, breathe out for four and hold for four again.

“Got them!” Ches yells through the earpiece. I see Scott reacting too, so he’s talking to everyone. “Row J, number 35. It’s a dark blue container. Seems to be locked with a chain and a lock, so take the bolt cutters or the angle grinder with you.”

“Don’t have those with us,” I say. “Got my lock picking kit though. Will that work?”

Beckett perks up at those words. He doesn’t hear anything Chester tells us, he’s just annoyingly tagging along. But he seems to be judging me already. I don’t have time for his feelings about what’s right and what’s wrong. All I need to do is get these kids home safely, it’s long overdue.

We arrive at the entrance of the PRTC and Scott parks the car right behind it. We get out and meet up with Dylan and Alex. Beckett also joins our little huddle. He looks severely out of place, seeing as me and my team are all dressed in our tactical gear and Beckett is dressed in his jeans and a white button-down. At least he’s carrying. I don’t think I would’ve let him come along otherwise. Then again, I don’t think I really have a say in what Special Agent Sanders does, him barging in that morning being proof of that.

“So, easy in and out?” I say to the guys. “Let me go first, I’ll pick the lock. Watch my back. Secure the container and get these kids out of here as fast as we can. We don’t hang around here waiting for authorities, we get these kids away and will deal with the fallout back at the hospital where we’ll be heading. We’re going to Portland Providence Medical Center. We’ll meet there if we get split up.”

They all nod before I turn to face Beckett.

“You,” I say while poking in his chest, “make sure you’re not in the way.”

He raises one eyebrow as he gives me a crooked grin. “Sure, I’ll stay back and I’ll call for backup when this all goes to shit and let the professionals do their work.”

This man is fucking infuriating.

We head out and make our way to Row J. I’m scanning everything I can see for movement, the place looks deserted. We seem to be the only ones there. When I see the dark blue container that’s standing on spot thirty-five, I walk forward as my guys flank me. I crouch down and get my lockpicking gear out. The container is silent, and I don’t know what that means. This little voice in the back of my mind tells me we’re too late again. That they’re already gone. Or dead. I inhale sharply and focus on what I’m doing. Beckett stands next to me, his eyes scanning all around, just like Scott, Dylan and Alex are doing.

I hear the sound of a gun before I fall forward, a sharp pain in my arm. Screaming comes from the inside of the container, and all I feel is relief. Besides me, Beckett pulls his gun and shoots twice, aiming at a target I can’t even see because I’ve got my back to it.

“He’s down!” Scott yells.

“No other movement. All clear for all I can see. Keep looking guys,” Alex snaps.

Beckett is watching everyone like a hawk, as Dylan crouches beside me. “What’s the damage?”

“Arm, graze, I think. Haven’t looked. Stings like a bitch. Did you hear them screaming? They’re in there.” My breath is ragged, and my left hand is slippery from where I touched the wound on my arm, all making it hard to pick the lock. I push through it. We’re so close.

“I think you’re right it’s just a scrape,” Dylan assesses my arm. I should be glad to hear that, but I don’t give a crap right now. All I care about is getting these kids out.

“Careful, Abs,” I hear Chester say in my ear. I’d forgotten he could hear everything that was going on. Perhaps Dylan’s assessment was more for him than for me. My adrenaline spikes when I feel the last little click inside of the lock and it finally pops open. Not wasting any time, I pull the chain out of the handles of the container and open the doors.

They start screaming. Four dirty kids crawl into the corner of the container, some of them holding their hands up to keep the light out. Beckett wants to step in, but I hold him back with my good arm. He looks down to where my fingers curl around his forearm.

“You’re huge,” I whisper, “and your shirt is covered in my blood spatter. They’ve been through a lot of trauma at the hands of men. Let me go first.”

He grunts, but holds back.

“Heya kids,” I say as I crouch down in the container. “My name is Abby. I get that you guys are scared, but we’re here to help. We’re here to take you home. I’m going to grab a little flashlight and shine around some, okay?”

Doing exactly as I’ve told, I see two little boys and two girls. They’re all huddled together at the end of the container. They’re dirty and scared, but they’re there and they’re so, so, alive. If I wasn’t running on adrenaline I’d be so relieved, but I’ve got a job to do right now. When I look around, I see that the container is mostly empty. There’s a bucket halfway in the container, and the whole place reeks, making me believe that they’ve been in here for a while. My heart cries for them.

I can’t find anything that raises my suspicion inside the container, leading me to believe that there’s nobody inside here besides the kids. Now that I’ve cleared the place, I can fully focus on them again.

“Shayla, Jamie, Ryan and Vicky, right? We’ve been looking for you all over. I’m so sorry it took us so long to find you guys.” One of the little girls is crying her eyes out, but she doesn’t make a peep. I guess they’ve trained that out of her already. “I’ve got four big guys out here with me. Now, they look real tough and scary, but they’re nothing like the people who took you. I swear.”

One of the boys tries to look around me suspiciously and startles when he sees Dylan next to me.

“It’s okay, he’s actually really nice. He’s got three dogs at home, and they all love him,” I try to reassure him.

“My mommy says I can’t go with people who want to show me their dogs,” the biggest girl says, her voice cracking. But the defiant look she’s giving me tells me getting kidnapped hasn’t put out her spark. Good.

“That’s real good advice from your mom, and she’s right. We don’t want to show you dogs. We want to get you out of here, and bring you to your moms and dads.”

She stares at me, but gives me a curt nod in the end.

“But in order to do that, you have to get out of this container and we need to get in some cars. Can we try that?”

The brave girl stands up, resolution on her face. She holds out a hand for the shivering little girl, helping her get up. She’s so unsteady on her legs, she almost falls over. The boys also help the girl get up, and all together, they walk to the doors of the container to get out. They all seem blinded by the bright morning sunlight, and my heart breaks to see the state they’re in. I don’t think it’s anything life-threatening, but they’re at least dehydrated and underfed. We need to get them checked out.

I crouch in front of the kids, getting eye-level with them.

“You know what’s the best about having these four big dudes with me?” I say conspiratorially. The smallest boy shakes his head. “They’re very, very strong. Do you think they can carry you to the cars? So we can get out of here as quickly as possible?”

They all nod, and without another word, the men all pick up a kid while we make our way back to the cars. Once we’re all in the cars, I can finally breathe again. We’ve got them, we’re going to bring them home. Thank the fucking stars.

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