Chapter Eleven

4247 Maplewood Dr.

Sunday, September 8, 2002

3:30 PM

As Christy made her way downstairs she could hear voices.

“But Mom I don’t need to iron it,” Jenna was saying. “I don’t see any point in ironed jeans—they’re stretch jeans anyway.”

“Sweetheart your jeans are one thing,” Amanda said. “ But these khaki pants have about a zillion wrinkles.”

“They’re supposed to look that way—it’s a style, right Dad?”

Lee sounded faintly amused. “Munchkin I have to agree with your Mom on this one—style or no style, those pants really need an iron.”

“Mom—”

“Jenna you are going to iron these—end of discussion.”

Jenna sighed audibly. "All right."

Normal family life. Christy thought of her mother, lying somewhere, hurt and in pain—probably dying—

“Remember that I love you.”

Christy clutched the banister, fighting a wave of dizziness and nausea as she slowly made her way downstairs.

--her life for your Mother’s –

--bright girl—you’ll think of something— the nausea grew and Christy's knees started to buckle.

She was only vaguely aware of hands supporting her—other voices—

“Take it easy, sweetheart,” a woman’s voice said. “We’ve got you—you won’t fall.” Her mother? Of course it wasn’t her mother. Tears pricked her eyes. Someone guided Christy to sit on something soft—a sofa? Easy chair? She wasn’t sure.

“Bend down and hold your head between your knees. ” the same woman instructed her. It was Jenna’s mother. “Nowake deep breaths—that’s it--”

“I’ll get her a glass of water, Mom.”

“That’s a good idea, Jenna.” Amanda said. “Keep breathing, Christy—in through your nose—out of your mouth.”

Christy did as she was told—gradually things began to clear and the nausea and dizziness faded.

“Here’s some ice water, Christy.” Jenna handed Christy a glass. Christy sat up and took the glass, sipping the liquid slowly.

“Feeling better?” A man’s voice asked. Jenna’s Dad.

“Yeah. Thanks.” A hand smoothed her hair, just like her own mother used to—tears filled Christy’s eyes for what seemed like the millionth time that day.

“Tell us what happened, sweetheart.” Amanda said.

“I got a—I mean –I got--” Christy struggled to get the words out.

“Take your time,” Lee said.

“It was my cell phone,” Christy said. “My dad—he called me—he knows where I am, and my Mom, he—” she sipped some more water, feeling the icy liquid trickling down her throat.

Amanda knelt beside Christy. “What did your Dad do?”

“He said he ‘persuaded’ her,” Christy felt her nausea rising again. “I don’t know what he did, exactly, but mom—she sounded pretty bad. He says he wants to make a trade—that if I give him something he’d let my Mother get some help.” She paused. “I’m sorry—he said not to tell anyone or he would--”

“You did the right thing in telling us, Christy,” Lee said. “Now we can help you. What does he want to trade for— is it for the information?”

Christy shook her head. “Not the information,” she said. “The person he wants me to trade for my Mom is Jenna.”

SMK SMK SMK SMK

“Billy, I’m not doing it.” Lee strode back and forth across the kitchen, the cordless clenched in his hand. “You hear me? I refuse to involve her. Dammit, you know yourself what she’s been through.”

“Of course I know, Lee, and I don’t like it any better than you do. But at this moment I don’t see that we have a choice.”

“What about a decoy? Give someone a wig— maybe some of Jenna’s clothes—they could pose as her long enough to let us get to him.”

“Firstly, we don’t have anyone in the field section who can successfully impersonate a 13 –year-old girl,” Billy said. “And secondly, even if we did have a ringer you know that it takes time to set up something like that. At this point you only have an hour.”

Lee ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve seen what Peter Blakeney has done to his own family. If that man gets his hands on Jenna—” Lee felt a shudder run through his body. “Billy, there’s no telling what he might do to her. I can’t let this happen again—there’s just no way.”

“But I want to do this.”

Lee turned around. Jenna stood at the foot of the stairs, a resolute expression on her face.

“Munchkin—” Lee began.

“I want to do this, Dad,” she repeated. “I want to help. Please let me.”

"Billy, I'm going to have to call you back." Lee hung up the phone and turned to his daughter.

“You can’t,” Lee told her. “I know you want to help, but your mother and I—”

“—if I don’t help, Christy’s mother could die.”

“Well you could die too. Have you thought of that?” Lee’s voice rose. “Peter Blakeney enjoys hurting people, Jenna— and he’d enjoy hurting you—he’d kill you in a split second if it suited his purposes. Is that really what you want?”

Jenna blanched. “No.” Her voice trembled. “It’s not what I want.”

“And what if you panic and freeze, huh? Or this triggers another flashback? Tell me what happens then, Jenna. I’ll tell you—you’ll be completely helpless.”

“There’s no choice.”

“Oh yes there is,” Lee countered. “My choice is not to endanger your life or put you through any more trauma.”

“Don’t I get a choice?” Jenna asked.

Lee shook his head. “Not this time you don’t. I refuse to bury my own child.”

“Sweetheart, your father’s not trying to scare you,” Amanda came in from the family room. “But I have to agree with him—this could be very dangerous.”

“I know that,” Jenna said. “You’ve been teaching me, though—how to take care of myself—and I’ve been practicing, too.”

“No, all you know are some very basic moves--that's it," Lee said. “And you only learned those a few days ago—I don’t care how much you’ve practiced. You’re still just a kid—”

“Don’t call me a kid.”

“Jenna you're only thirteen years old. You wouldn’t have a prayer against a professional. The answer is still no.”

“Fine,” Jenna said. “But if it’s not going to be me and I don’t do this—then who does? And what will happen to Christy’s mother? Just tell me.”

Lee looked at his daughter and then he turned—his gaze locking with Amanda’s. He knew she was thinking the same thing—coming to the same realization.

There was no choice.

SMK SMK SMK SMK

Courage.

Jenna sat on her bed, looking down at Emily’s drawing. ‘Something that Emily wanted me to have,’ she thought to herself. ‘Something I should have—’ But all the wanting in the world wouldn’t dissolve the knot that had settled somewhere in the pit of Jenna’s stomach. She looked at her hands.

‘How the hell am I supposed to have courage if I can’t stop shaking?’ she wondered.

“Munchkin?” The sound of Dad'svoice made Jenna jump. She looked up from the drawing to see him standing over her.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “I just need to give you this.”

Jenna put the paper aside as she rose from the bed. “What is it?”

“It’s a necklace with a miniature transmitter—just pull your hair out of the way so I can get it on—” Jenna did, and Dad fastened the clasp around her neck. “This way we’ll know where you are at all times—within a radius of at least twenty miles, that is.”

“Thanks.” Jenna fingered the tiny pendant on the necklace—it was funny—it didn’t look or feel different from any other piece of jewelry. “Will you be able to hear me with it?” she asked.

“No, it’s not that kind of transmitter,” Dad told her. “But we can use it to find you if we need to.”

Jenna nodded. “So what—” she cleared her throat. “What do I do? When I get there, I mean.”

Dad was quiet for a few moments, just looking at her. “The main thing you need to do is stay calm,” he said finally. “It never helps to panic, and don’t try to be a hero, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Also, don’t let him take you out of the house and to another location if you can help it. Because once he takes you somewhere else he has more control over you—don’t let him have that.”

“I understand,” Jenna said. Dad continued.

“Once Christy and her mother are out safely, a TAC Team will be sent in to arrest Peter and retrieve you.”

“A TAC Team?” Jenna repeated.

“It’s short for Tactical Team,” Dad said. “I don’t know if you remember, but they helped rescue you and your mother from Franco and Rudolpho Necci.”

Jenna had a vague memory of people wearing jumpsuits—smoke, gunfire and lots of shouting. “Will you and Mom be there too?”

“We’ll be there—you couldn’t keep us away if you tried.”

“But what if something goes wrong?” Jenna asked. “What if you aren’t there? What if—”

“Jenna, stop,” Dad said. “Weren’t you were the one who told me not to think about the what-if’s?”

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts." Dad put his hands on her shoulders. “There are always about half-a-million things that could go wrong with any operation, but if you let yourself think that way you’ve already lost. Understand?”

Jenna nodded. “I guess you’re more used to dealing with this.”

“I’m not used to putting my own child in danger.” As he spoke Jenna could see fear in his eyes. “You don’t have to do this—there’s still time to back out.”

“But this is the only way to save Christy’s mom—isn’t it?”

“Knowing that doesn’t make it any easier. I never wanted you in the line of fire.” His gaze fell on the bed. “What were you looking at, anyway?”

“That drawing Emily made for me,” Jenna said. “I just wish—I wish I had what she wanted me to have.” She lifted a shaking hand to wipe at her eyes.

“Hey.” Dad hugged her. “You do have that—and you know what?”

Jenna’s voice was muffled against her dad’s shirt. “No, what?”

“You always have.”

“Jenna, Christy’s waiting for you downstairs,” her mother said. Jenna broke from Dad’s embrace and walked over to where Mom stood in the doorway, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her mother’s face was pale—dark eyes puffy—the signs of recent tears all too visible.

“Oh Mom, I’m—” looking at her made Jenna want to start crying herself. But before she could do or say anything else, Mom pulled Jenna into a fierce hug.

“I love you, sweetheart,” Mom said. “Just be brave, and we will get you out—I promise.”

Jenna closed her eyes, tears escaping from beneath her lids.

“I know, Mom—I love you too.”

TBC