Zapwired, page 16
He was now in front of Sandra’s room. Yassin punched in the security code, opened the door, and rushed in.
He stopped short, in utter shock at his second major surprise of the day: the girl’s chair was empty, the straps hanging loose.
61
I fought like a man possessed to get free of the restraints holding me, desperate to get to my daughter, never once losing sight of her on the computer screen.
I expected Yassin to burst into the picture at any moment. I knew I’d have to shut my eyes when that happened and pray there was no audio feed.
I thought I heard one of the doors opening. Or am I imagining it?
“Blair?”
Did someone call my name?
“Blair! It’s me, Lisa.”
How can that be? Yet … there she was, standing in front of the computer screen and blocking my view.
The fear that I was hallucinating disappeared once she began untying my straps, starting with my ankles.
“Sandra!” I yelled.
“Don’t worry,” Lisa said calmly, “she’s okay.”
“N-No! Y-You d-don’t understand! There’s this m-man—Khalid Yassin! He … has my daughter!” I pointed to the screen with my free hand. “P-Please! He’s going to—”
“Shhh.” She put a finger to my lips. “Don’t believe everything you see. That image is from an hour ago. Sandra is long gone from here.”
I started to laugh and tear up at the same time. I had a million questions, starting with: “H-How did you find me?”
She smiled. “Remember exiting the elevator in your building earlier tonight and bumping into an old woman carrying a bag of groceries? That was me. I planted a chip on you. It’s not only a tracking device, it doubles as a mike. We now have all the self-incriminating evidence needed—Khalid Yassin’s confession—to put him away for a very long…”
The door burst open, just as Lisa was untying the last strap on my right arm.
Yassin stood in the doorway with the machete in hand. He jerked backwards when he saw Lisa, then winged the weapon at her.
Lisa instantly ducked low and used a sweeping karate kick to knock the spinning machete sideways, away from herself and me.
Yassin crouched, lifted up his cuff, extracted a handgun from an ankle holster, and came up shooting.
“Get down!” Lisa hollered and gave me a shove. I toppled onto the floor just as she drew her service weapon and fired back.
They exchanged gunfire. Yassin ducked in and out of the doorway and squeezed off more shots. Lisa and I were partially protected by the table. Lisa’s next bullet hit the doorframe mere inches from Yassin’s head. That did it. He took off running.
It was only when Lisa heard his footsteps disappearing that she finally lowered her weapon.
I stood on legs so weak it felt like they couldn’t support my weight. Lisa had said that Sandra was safe. All that mattered now was getting out alive. I turned to Lisa, told her that Yassin had a crew, any number of which could be waiting for us either in the house or outside.
She took the lead. We were bending low, while Lisa kept one hand on my shoulder, the other with the gun zigzagging left and right.
It was slow going as we made our way to the front of the house. So far, so good. Lisa opened the door. I could see her truck parked in the driveway and pointing toward the street.
“When I say move,” she said, “that means run like hell.”
I peered out, but couldn’t see anyone.
“Move!” Lisa said in a whisper-shout, and we took off.
We were three or four yards away from the truck when gunfire erupted from the far corner of the house. A bullet hit the driver-side door. Lisa fired back and led the way around to the passenger side of the vehicle. She handed me the keys and instructed me to crawl in and get into the driver’s seat, but to stay low until she told me to step on it.
Lisa fired three shots to give me cover. One shot was returned. As I ducked low and got into the cab, I heard her fire one more round. Then silence. Seconds later, she half-slid, half-crawled in and slammed her door shut.
“Drive!” she barked.
I straightened up in the driver’s seat and saw a body on the ground. It was “Agent Atkins,” the driver—probably dead.
I dropped the F-150 into gear and peeled out, making a hard right leaving the driveway, and another at the first intersection I came to.
“I think we’re clear,” I said. “I … don’t know what I would’ve done without you, Lisa. You saved me. Saved my daughter. I’m so sorry I didn’t trust you. But I’ll make it up to you. I swear I will. Disguising yourself and planting that chip on me was pure genius. How did you think of it? When did you think of it? I’m—”
She remained still. I was about to say something stupid, like: Cat got your tongue? when what looked like a SWAT team truck flashed past. I had no doubt it was en route to the house we’d just left.
“Lisa?”
Still nothing.
I glanced her way.
Her eyes were glazed over and there was blood oozing from her chest.
I reached a hand to her throat and could barely detect a pulse.
I sped up. The area we were approaching was familiar. I knew the location of a hospital and drove as fast as I dared.
“Don’t die on me, Lisa!” I pleaded. “Please…”
EPILOGUE
I didn’t make it to my condo until the light of day. Lisa had survived the three-hour operation, though she’d lost so much blood the doctors gave her chance of survival at fifty-fifty.
Jeremy had just arrived in town and was still at the hospital. He promised I’d be reunited with my daughter later this morning and sent me on ahead to shower, shave, and change into fresh clothes.
We’d briefly discussed the clue he left for me in the shipping document and how it saved me from doing something reckless. Then we’d talked about Lisa.
“She has to pull through,” I said.
Jeremy studied my face and I could tell he knew how deep my feelings ran; that I was in love with her.
It was now thirty minutes past the time I expected him to show up. I was just about ready to send a text to ask where he was, when he reached me through the intercom in the lobby and I buzzed him in.
“Well?” I asked the minute he walked through the door.
He looked as tired as I felt. “She’s still in a coma. Still on life support. Her primary doctor promised to call me as soon as anything changes.”
“And … my daughter?”
“Rena will be bringing her here…” he glanced at his watch, “any minute now.”
“Who?” I was sure I’d heard wrong.
He smiled. “Rena Olsen’s real name is Fatima Zaman. She’s the girlfriend of Nassar Camir, the leader of a rival faction to Yassin. It was his team that carried out surveillance on you in London and tried to off you in Tel Aviv and Montreal, all in order to foil Yassin’s mission. Long story. Anyway, Rena is a computer genius. She was able to steal the password to Sandra’s room and absconded with her while Yassin was monitoring the explosions that never happened. Rena also programmed Yassin’s computer to show a continuous loop of your daughter from an earlier time. No matter when he checked, he would see her tied up in the chair.”
I was astounded. Rena is a good guy? Who would-a thought?
“How did you pull it off?” I asked. “Discover that the Zapwireds were rigged, and find a way to disarm them?”
“Rena was keeping Camir informed whenever she could. She didn’t know what Yassin’s endgame was … at first. Yassin was paranoid—or maybe just smartly cautious—and informed his various team members on a need-to-know basis. By the time Rena found out about the rigged Zapwireds, most of them had already been armed. Camir and I had crossed paths before. We called a truce to achieve a common goal: to stop Yassin. Together, we raided the SI factory and took the workers into custody. I ironed out an immunity deal with Randy Altman, aka Rayan Amin. He would continue to make his regular reports to Yassin, assuring him that even though it was a tight schedule, everything was proceeding as planned. Meanwhile, Camir’s men began to carefully remove the NC-5 from the product.”
I shook my head. “I can’t believe you got terrorists to cooperate.”
Jeremy shot me a sly look. “Well, terrorists will always be terrorists. After the NC-5 was collected and put into an underground bunker for safekeeping, I discovered about five percent was unaccounted for. While doing an inventory, it was determined that the five percent had been replaced by a gel that resembled NC-5—but was just that: a harmless gel. So much for our truce. Now I have to worry about what Camir is going to do with it.”
We were about done with the coffee I’d made for both of us, when I asked Jeremy, “What about Yassin? Has he been arrested? Is he in jail?”
Jeremy turned sullen. “A few of Yassin’s accomplices, Abdul Masri, Yousef Fayed, and Omar Aziz—the actors who operated the drones—were taken into custody at JFK. Yassin, I’m sorry to say, is in the wind.”
“How did he escape?”
“There was a large storage shed about twenty yards behind the house with a door that opened to an alley. From the tire’s skid marks it looks like he kept a motorcycle in there. All he had to do was run to the shed, fire up the bike, and take off. Probably took him 30 seconds, tops. I’ll give him this—the guy planned for every eventuality.”
I asked the question that had been on my mind for quite some time. “So, who do you and Lisa work for?”
Jeremy shrugged. “You don’t give up, do you? Well, this is as much as I can tell you: There’s a clandestine agency within Mossad. Ironically, it’s similar to what Dalton… Yassin, that is, claimed BIS was. We work with the CIA, and occasionally the FBI, on matters between our two countries that must be kept out of the news.”
The apartment intercom sounded.
“That’ll be Rena and Sandra,” Jeremy said.
I buzzed them in, but instead of waiting, I stepped into the hallway, hardly able to stand still.
The elevator door no sooner opened when I heard my daughter scream, “Daddy!” and she came rushing toward me.
Her embrace nearly bowled me over.
I was on my knees, holding on to her for dear life. She started to cry and I couldn’t contain my tears either.
We were headed inside my condo, when Rena turned away. “I’ve got a plane to catch,” she said. “I’m—uh—sorry for the way I treated you, Blair. But, as you can appreciate, I had to be convincing.”
I watched her go, still finding it difficult to compartmentalize her involvement.
Before we sat down, I asked Sandra if she was hungry.
“Not really,” she said. “But can I have a glass of milk?’
It was a mundane thing, but for some reason it nearly brought me to tears again.
“You have a seat in the den,” I said. “Put on the TV. I’ll bring it in to you.”
Jeremy followed me into the kitchen and I thanked him profusely for helping save both mine and my daughter’s life. “But why didn’t you get to us sooner?” I asked. “If you had arrested Yassin, Lisa never would’ve been shot.”
He let out a deep sigh. “It was Lisa’s idea to wait. She argued that if we could get Yassin to confess his plan for mass homicide on tape, it would be solid evidence to convict him of terrorist insurgency against the US, and ensure he didn’t get off on some loophole.”
“And you went along with her?”
“Of course, I went along. As you know, my flight was delayed. But Lisa and I were communicating by text. She had no choice but to handle this on her own.”
“Despite the risk?”
“I tried to dissuade her. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. She knew Yassin would go ballistic once he found out his plan was thwarted.”
This made sense, but still I was upset. “Wasn’t there another way?”
“Think about it, Blair. When the Zapwired product arrived on American soil they were no longer armed, so no crime there.”
“Yassin murdered Mandy, Frank, and some poor runaway girl.”
“You and I know that. But the investigators ruled it an accident. Lisa gambled correctly that Yassin would not be able to resist bragging about his master plan to you. And now, thanks to her, and the chip she planted on you, we have his confession on tape.”
My voice rose. “But Yassin got away.”
“So far.”
Jeremy’s cell phone buzzed. He said hello and listened. Then his face became ashen.
I forced myself to ask, “L-Lisa?”
“Blair … we’ve got to get to the hospital right away.”
*
It was a blur, so I couldn’t honestly say how the three of us got there as fast as we did. Sandra, understandably, wanted to stay glued to my side. I did my best to reassure her that the trauma she went through was over, and there was nothing to worry about.
The head nurse, Emily Robinson, immediately arranged for a place where my daughter could wait for us—a semi-private room equipped with children’s story books and a television. Then, she assigned a cheerful young nurse to stay with her.
Nurse Robinson led Jeremy and me into her office, which was hardly bigger than a cubbyhole, with barely enough room for her desk and two metal bridge chairs opposite.
The woman looked like a sophisticated version of the prototypical grandmother: gray hair, with an abundance of wrinkles, but an erect posture and a manner so warm it would put anyone at ease.
Once Jeremy and I had settled into our seats, she didn’t waste any time: “Ms. Brandt was removed from a medically-induced coma a short time ago. This is why I called you here. There is always a risk as to how it will turn out. The next little while should tell us a lot more. She’s not able to talk yet. However, I can take you in to see her now, if you’d like. But I don’t want you drawing any conclusions. It’s still early.”
I stood quicker than I intended and had to steady myself. There could be no misinterpreting the cautionary tone in the head nurse’s voice. She led the way into the corridor and we followed.
But before we could get very far, a tall female orderly approached and asked to speak to Nurse Robinson alone.
It wasn’t long before a pallor came over the head nurse’s face. She reversed direction and led us back to her office, where we all remained standing. “We’ve run into a problem,” she said. “Ms. Brandt lost a lot of blood. There might be permanent brain damage. More tests will have to be run. I’m afraid I must ask you to come back tomorrow morning.”
Permanent brain damage? I wanted to rail against the injustice.
We said goodbye to Nurse Robinson, collected my daughter, and headed out.
Jeremy said something to me that I missed. He continued speaking but I ignored him.
“Blair?” he put a hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”
I couldn’t express how I felt and hoped my shoulder shrug would suffice.
We returned to my condo where I poured a stiff Scotch for myself, a Coke for Jeremy, and orange juice for Sandra. Jeremy and I didn’t want to eat but we ordered a pizza for my daughter that she seemed to enjoy. After I put Sandra to bed, I turned on the TV, then both Jeremy and I pretended to be interested in a Yankees ballgame.
My mind kept coming back to Lisa. Her bravery warranted recognition. She deserved to make a full recovery, to be able to accept every honor that could be bestowed upon her, not locked in a vegetative state for the rest of her life.
*
Jeremy made use of the spare bedroom, while I spent the night contemplating every possibility that would face us in the morning. I understood it was out of my hands but I willed my opinion to count, to force my desire to mean something and push the odds in Lisa’s favor.
At 8:00 a.m. I picked up the house phone and called my neighbor. Mila Harris was a sixty-two-year-old widow I’d befriended over the years. She’d babysat for my daughter in the past and I was hoping she could do so now. I apologized for calling so early and asked if she was available.
“Not early at all,” she said, “and I’m available but not cheap.”
I forced a chuckle to show I appreciated her sense of humor. “I’ll bring her over in about a half hour,” I said, “if that’s okay with you?”
“A half hour is fine.”
I hung up, quickly showered and shaved. When I came out of the bathroom, I found Jeremy had already served Sandra breakfast, so she was ready to go.
“Can I get you something?” my friend asked.
I declined, anxious to leave for the hospital.
*
We arrived at the reception desk and were told to wait. It was only a few minutes, but it felt like forever before Nurse Robinson finally came bounding up from her office and asked us to follow her. I hoped her upbeat mood was a good sign, but didn’t want to jinx it by asking if Lisa was okay.
She led the way along the corridor and into a front room in the ICU. The lights were dimmed, the monitoring machines had been turned off, and the bed was … empty.
I could read the surprise on the head nurse’s face and fear seized my gut. No, no, no! Lisa not being here could only mean one thing.
“Stay where you are,” Nurse Robinson instructed, then she hurried out of the room.
I glanced at Jeremy and could tell he was thinking the same thing.
It was difficult not to monitor the time, which was all I did, until I heard a familiar voice approaching, and my heart didn’t just skip a beat, it felt as if it might gallop out of my chest.
“H-Hello … b-boys,” a drowsy-looking Lisa managed in a frail whisper.
Nurse Robinson was beaming as she pushed the wheel chair into the room. “Sorry, no one told me, but she was off for more X-rays.”
Both Jeremy and I started talking at once.
“Easy,” Nurse Robinson cautioned as she helped Lisa out of the wheel chair and into the bed. “She’s still quite weak.”
I had an immediate question, but the head nurse answered before it could be asked. “Baring anything unforeseen,” she said, “Ms. Brandt should make a full recovery.” She paused. “Now… you have five minutes, then I want you both out of here. Our patient needs her rest.”
