BYLINE FOR PERIL
By Chet
CHAPTER SIX
11:55.
The
darkened interior of Cowle Photography in Chicago’s Wicker Park neighborhood
was deathly quiet save for the muffled moans and whimpers of Amanda Walker and
Lauren Callahan. The pair was hidden in the back of the shop and well out of
sight of any passerby on Damen Avenue at the late hour of the evening. They lay
there on the floor, helplessly bound with yards of rope, thoroughly gagged with
thick strips of white cloth and blindfolded with soft swaths of the same
fabric. The two coeds from Great Northern University, brought to this place by
fate and mischance, had no idea that all of five minutes remained in their
young lives.
For
ten minutes after Marcus Cowle and his muscle-bound thug Sterner had left the
premises with their friend and roommate Samantha Grayson for a rendezvous out
at a cargo terminal at O’Hare with an Arab potentate who would buy their friend
like a piece of merchandise, Amanda had fought ceaselessly, yet ultimately in
vain, against the bonds imprisoning her. She groaned, strained and tugged at
the ropes binding her into a taut, and painful, hogtie. Only when she realized,
with sinking heart, that she couldn’t loosen the knots or squirm out of the
tight bands encircling her limbs like steel, did Amanda surrender to her fate
with a muted pitiful moan of despondent dismay.
Bastard must’ve learned his
knots in the Boy Scouts, Amanda grunted through her gag, felt a rivulet of perspiration
trickle down her forehead, the only reward for her exertions of the past hour.
Her arms and legs were numb from the confining wrapping of ropes biting deep
against her soft flesh. She flexed her fingers to try and get some sensation
back into the joints. Before they kicked
him out for tying up all the Girl Scouts.
The
gallows humor on the precipice of imminent death was of no comfort to Amanda.
By being brash and impetuous, when she should’ve been cautious and wary,
rushing headlong into a situation instead of retreating and finding help for
the captive Samantha, she had royally screwed up. Not the first time for that, Amanda thought sourly.
Though
this time she’d be paying for her mistake with her life. And one of her best
friends-innocent, kind, quiet Lauren-would pay the same price for her mistake.
You should have listened to
Lauren, she knew what we were getting into, Amanda continued to flay her guilt-ridden
conscience. But Amanda had to plunge headlong into the waiting danger, blind to
the implications of her actions. Now the outcome was crystal clear, at any
moment now the timer on the clock attached to the sticks of dynamite would
strike midnight and a thundering, fiery explosion would consume them and the
interior of Cowle Photography.
With
a grunt through the thick folds of the cloth gag, Amanda made one last,
tremendous effort to free herself of the ropes tied around her body. Her
fingers searched and groped for the knot to loosen, for the slack in the
bindings to loosen, yet all her efforts ultimately were to no avail. She was
trussed up like a goose for Christmas dinner and very soon she would be cooked.
Then
from across the room Amanda heard the muffled moan of her friend, tied up like
her, gagged and blindfolded, not knowing when the end would come. No longer did
she feel sorry for her own likely impending doom. Lauren’s going to die because of you. Her own stupidity, her
recklessness, had sentenced them to a lonely death in the throes of a flaming
conflagration.
While
Amanda had struggled and fought against her bondage, as a competitive runner
fighting until the end and not giving in was true to her nature, Lauren
Callahan lay on the floor and shook in her bondage, surrendering almost
immediately to the dire gravity of her predicament. She was slight and willowy,
no matter how hard she might try she could never free herself of the knots and
bindings the thug Sterner had wrapped around her. The urge of self-preservation
burned brightly in Lauren’s soul, but she understood the limitations of her own
strength.
Lauren
hoped when midnight did come-in five minutes, in a minute or in seconds- that
the end was mercifully quick, painless, and she didn’t feel a thing when the
dynamite on the floor beside her bound form detonated and blasted the interior
of the studios to shards.
In
these last moments she thought of her parents, back home in Denver absolutely
unaware of what horrible danger she was in. That she was a powerless
captive-bound and gagged-in a photography studio about to be blown to bits.
Unaware that minutes and seconds remained in her young life. She’d never see
them again, never hug them, never tell them how much she loved them and that
pain stabbed her soul like a knife. She wanted to be a doctor just like them,
they were so proud when she had been accepted into the prestigious pre-med
program at Great Northern University. Now all the dreams and goals set for her
future would forever remain unrealized, consumed in the fire soon to come.
She
thought of Albert “Fiji” Fautamala, Tyler McManaway’s roommate and friend,
the giant defensive end with the heart of
gold and gentle soul. They liked each other, and Lauren had wondered if the
naturally shy Samoan would ever ask her out. If they were the soulmates
destined to be together forever. Now she would never know if destiny had meant
them to be together. If he was the one true love for her life. If it had meant
to be, such would be a destiny forever unfulfilled.
It
was such a terrible thing to die alone. Then she thought of her friend Amanda
lying tied up beside her and swallowed hard. No, you won’t die alone. That was the worst thing about the entire
drastic situation.
Blindfolded,
the two coeds couldn’t see the executioner’s clock tick off another minute.
11:56.
Four
minutes remained in the lives of Amanda Walker and Lauren Callahan.
******************************************************************
“I
don’t like the looks of this, partner.” What Tyler McManaway saw parked on
Damen Avenue, in front of Cowle Photography, made his heart skip a beat.
“Tell
me about it,” Albert “Fiji” Fatuamala grunted, seeing the same thing.
“That’s
Samantha’s car.” The crystal blue Dodge Stratus he instantly recognized as the
car of his girlfriend, Samantha Grayson. A girlfriend who had gone off to
pursue a lead concerning a missing coed from Great Northern, had turned up
missing herself, and whom he now feared was in terrible danger. Samantha…what have you gotten yourself into?
He thought for what had to be the thousandth time.
Fiji
pointed down the street at the forest green Plymouth Neon. “And that’s Lauren’s
car.” His heart too skipped a beat as the implications started to become clear.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“You
and me both,” Tyler grunted, double-parking his silver Chevy Blazer beside
Samantha’s car.
“Oh
my God, they have to be in trouble,” Lisa Mahone, whose quest to find her
missing roommate Kristen Lawrence had lead Samantha to this address, moaned.
Now not only was her friend missing, but three other young women as well. “What
have I done?”
“Lisa,
stay here,” Tyler said as he and Fiji stepped out of the SUV. There was danger
about, and it should be them, a quarterback and defensive end for the Huskies
of Great Northern University, who faced such possible threats.
Tyler
stepped up to Samantha’s Dodge Stratus, noted it was empty. “Come on,” he motioned
to Fiji and the two ran up to the front door of the darkened studios of Cowle
Photography.
“See
anything?” Fiji asked as Tyler peered into the darkened interior.
“Nothing…,”
Tyler started to say. Then he noticed the dark lump beside the couch, a shape
that was quite familiar to Tyler McManaway. His heart began to race.
“It’s
Samantha’s handbag!” Tyler shouted, now tugging on the doorknob and banging on
the glass. “She has to be inside! Samantha!”
**********************************************************************
What is that? Amanda Walker squealed
through her gag, hearing the heavy banging on the front door. She lifted her
head at the sound, craned her head to listen. From across the room Lauren
mewled through her gag. She too heard the commotion from out front. They were
concealed in the back room, out of sight, no one could see their bound bodies
and the terrible fate which awaited them.
Amanda
strained to hear the voice calling out “Samantha!” and recognized the voice.
Tyler! He had to have found the
same message Samantha had left for them at the offices of The Daily Husky. There was hope yet, if only they had enough time.
As
they resumed their frantic fight against the ropes which bound them, both
Amanda and Lauren began screaming through their gags, making whatever noise
they could through the muffling fabric. anything to try and gain the attention
of Samantha’s boyfriend. Their lives depended upon that.
Amanda
and Lauren didn’t know the two minute warning had already passed.
*****************************************************************
“We have to get inside! Samantha could be in
danger!” Tyler panicked, reared back and was about to use his shoulder to break
down the door and barge headlong inside Cowle Photography.
“You
break your shoulder and our plans for Pasadena are finished.” Fiji gently
grasped Tyler by the arm and moved him aside. “Allow me.” With that Fiji balled
up his fist, picked a spot above the lock, and gently rapped the doorframe. He
turned the doorknob and the door opened easily.
Tyler
stared dumbfounded at Fiji. “Ancient Samoan secret,” Fiji explained.
The
pair ran into the deserted front room of the studio, calling out the names of
the three missing women. “Samantha! Lauren! Amanda!” The muffled screams from a
back room alerted them to danger, and they rushed towards the frightened,
frenetic sounds. Fiji found the light switch and flicked them on.
“Oh
God!” Tyler exclaimed, stopping right in his tracks at the horrifying sight
which greeted him. On the studio floor lay Amanda and Lauren, yards of white
nylon rope was tightly bound and knotted about their arms, legs and chests to
firmly immobilize them where they were. White strips of cloth was wound around
their heads to keep the brunette and redhead gagged and blindfolded.
Samantha
was nowhere to be found. But something else was there.
Resting
menacingly between the helpless coeds was bundle of dynamite.
The
red digital numbers on the clock read 11:59.
It
was time for the mother of all Hail Marys.
*******************************************************************
At
the cargo hanger out at O’Hare, Samantha Grayson stared numbly at the second
hand as it swept around the clock, counting off the final seconds before the
stroke of midnight and an imminent execution.
Thirty
seconds.
Samantha
tried not to picture the scene back at Cowle Photography as the final moments
in the lives of Amanda Walker and Lauren Callahan ticked away. Her friends
lying on the floor, Amanda hogtied and Lauren bound up in a tight ball with her
knees pulled up to her chest. The cloth gags silencing any cry for help them
might have made. The blindfolds, the condemned were always blindfolded,
preventing them from seeing when their final seconds were up.
Fifteen
seconds.
Soon
Samantha, herself bound and gagged and utterly helpless like a newborn, would
be handed over to a ruthless Arab sheik for cold, hard cash. A sheik who would
use her in horrible ways and dispose of her without a second thought or any
regret or remorse when he was tired of her and through abusing her.
Ten
seconds.
Samantha
looked over at Kristen Lawrence lying across from her on the bed, wrapped up
and silenced with duct tape. That was the fate for her and the other three
coeds tied up in the store room, waiting for a rendezvous between white slaver
and buyer resulting in their being bundled into a jet for a one-way trip to the
Middle East and a remaining life filled with pain and suffering. Samantha,
Kristen and the other three girls would never see their parents or loved ones
again. And those people who cared so much for them would never know what their
terrible fate had been.
Five
seconds.
But
Amanda and Lauren would die in an explosion and fire because Samantha had left
a note on her computer telling them where she had gone. They had come to the
address, unaware of the peril until it was too late and had been subdued. Since
they knew too much, Amanda and Lauren had to be eliminated and Marcus Cowle had
seen to that with utterly ruthless efficiency.
Midnight.
Samantha
wailed through her gag, tears streaming down her cheeks as guilt overwhelmed her
spirit. She tried not to imagine what their deaths were like, hoped it had been
quick and sudden and they had not suffered. You
killed them, Samantha agonized, you
got Amanda and Lauren killed.
For
Samantha it no longer mattered what Sheik Rahim planned to do with her.
******************************************************************
There
was a difference of twenty-six seconds between the clock where Samantha was
held hostage and the clock attached to the sticks of dynamite on the floor
between Amanda Walker and Lauren Callahan.
Tyler
McManaway knew something bad was going to happen when the clock hit midnight,
something KA-BOOM bad, of that he was certain. And both he, Fiji, Amanda and
Lauren were sitting at ground zero and would be sent sky-high to kingdom come
in a thousand pieces when that KA-BOOM happened
He
crouched down next to the device, Fiji Fatuamala right beside him. A blue wire
and a red wire lead from the clock to the detonator on the dynamite. Which wire
to pull? How much time did he have left to do something? A full minute? Only a
handful of seconds? Time was running out and Tyler hadn’t even begun to
consider his options. This wasn’t a football game where he could call a
time-out to consult with the coaches and diagram a play.
“What
do I do?” Tyler wondered out loud.
To
Amanda and Lauren this was the last thing either of them, lying bound, gagged
and blindfolded, wished to hear. What do
you do? Amanda swung her head about, long brunette tresses flying about as
she squealed through her gag. Do
something! Anything! Now!
Without
hesitation, and before Tyler could say a word or stop him, Fiji reached over
and snapped out the blue wire leading from the clock to the dynamite.
A
second later the clock changed to 12:00.
The
buzzer went off and that was it. No explosion. Tyler, Amanda and Lauren
startled at the whine as it echoed through the room. Fiji reached over and shut
the alarm off. Mortality had been that close. Tyler mentally had to tell his
heart to start beating again. Then he stared at his broad shouldered friend.
“It’s
always the blue wire,” Fiji told him matter-of-factly.
A
gasp escaped Tyler’s lips. “I always thought it was the red wire.”
Fiji
whistled. “Good thing you didn’t pull out the red wire.”
“Yeah,
goodbye Charlie.”
“More
like goodbye Albert.”
Amanda
groaned through her gag, pulled against the ropes around her wrists and arms. Guys…could you like…untie us? Tyler and
Fiji quickly moved over to free the pair of the ropes.
“What’s
going on in here?” Lisa Mahone peeked into the room timidly, saw Tyler and Fiji
releasing Amanda and Lauren, who had been tied up and gagged. Then she saw the
dynamite on the floor and her skin blanched white. “Where’s Kristen…?” She
moaned.
“We’re
getting to that,” Tyler said, pulling the blindfold away from Amanda’s eyes.
She blinked at the light, then glanced at the clock which now said 12:01. The
end had come far to near. That was way
too close for comfort…
“Where’s
Samantha?” Tyler asked the only question he wanted an answer for as he removed
the gag, Amanda spat out the cloth wadding which had filled her mouth for hours
and took a deep breath.
“This
Marcus Cowle and his big-muscled goon took her,” Amanda explained. “He’s some
kind of white slaver, I guess this modeling studio was his front to find
victims.”
“What?
White slaver?” Tyler halted in mid-movement as he untied her wrists. “As in
selling my girlfriend to someone?”
“Oh
no…Kristen,” Lisa Mahone moaned out loud.
“Oh
yeah, he wanted to sell us too, but
this guy he’s dealing with didn’t want us,” Tyler freed Amanda’s wrists and
arms, she pulled them from behind her back, wincing at the pain in her
shoulders, and began to massage the red, raw skin where the rope had rubbed
without mercy.
“Who
is he selling Samantha to?” Tyler asked, images of Samantha in terrible peril
flooded his mind, images of a terrorized Samantha. “And where did this Cowle
guy take her?”
“He’s
going to sell her to some Sheik Rahim,” Amanda explained, “and they took her
out to Hanger 18, at O’Hare, supposed to meet him there at two.”
“Where’s
Kristen?” Lisa wondered pitifully.
“I
would think out at Hanger 18 with Samantha.” In really, really deep trouble. Tyler checked his watch. They still
had time to save Samantha, or at least get the forces of the law to do the job
for them.
“You
okay?” Fiji gently asked Lauren as he undid the last ropes bound around her
slender, willowy frame. The adorable redhead, whom Fiji was always taken with but
too shy to ask out, shook in his arms. She stared for a moment at the clock
that had counted down the minutes of her life towards a final fatal deadline
which had been thankfully interrupted by the young man holding her tight in his
massive arms.
“I
think so…,” Lauren sniffed back the tears, rubbed her emerald eyes. “Because
this is tomorrow, right? And tomorrow is now today.” Fiji nodded, smiling down
at her. “And he didn’t want us to live to see tomorrow, which is now today. So
I’m still here, alive, so I guess that means I’m okay.”
“You’re
okay,” Fiji told her, brushing away the stray strands of red hair from her
forehead. Lauren leaned up and kissed Fiji lightly on the cheek. Despite his
dark skin the Samoan blushed and smiled widely, placing a hand over his heart
and swooning in delight.
“You
doing anything this weekend?” Fiji asked in a far-off voice as Lauren smiled
back at him.
“Hey,
she can warm up your bowl of poi later,” Tyler told his erstwhile friend. He
turned to Amanda, who was crawling over to hold Lauren as Fiji stood up. “Call
the police, tell them what’s going on and tell them to get out to O’Hare.
Amanda nodded, then turning her attention to comforting the friend she had
gotten into this mess they had been saved from at the last possible second.
Tyler
started for the door. “What are we going to do?” Fiji asked him.
“We’re going out to O’Hare, good buddy,” Tyler told him. “I’ve got a girlfriend to rescue.