Rick Mofina - They Disappeared

“Noooooooooo!”

Nurses flew into the room to hold her, comfort her-one called for the on-duty resident, another soothed her.

“The number, call the number…718-555-768-”

“Easy, sweetheart, you’ve been in an accident. Easy.”

“She’s still in shock, delirious. Incoherent,” one of the nurses said.

But through her tears Aleena knew.

“Call the police! I need to tell them the number! Oh, please call the police! I need to tell them the emergency number….”

“Shh-shh, the police know about your accident, dear.”

“Everyone’s going to die if you don’t call the fucking police now!”

Purgatory Point, the Bronx, New York City

Jeff held his breath and waited.

Long after the vehicles had left, he remained fused to the wall, cursing himself for not knowing how many vehicles there were, or the makes, or the destination.

Where did they take Sarah and Cole? Their manifesto vowed imminent pain and suffering-but where, what are they planning to do? Oh, Jesus!

The questions tormented him as the building fell silent.

Was it safe to move now?

He swallowed, uncertain exactly how much time had passed, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to investigate for anything to lead him to his family. Jeff stood and hurried quietly along the wall until he came to its end and peered around it to the vast factory floor divided by decayed half walls, heaps of rotting lumber, wiring, piping and drums of trash.

It appeared deserted.

He made his way to a corner with two mattresses, chains, junk-food wrappers and a toilet.

This must be where they held them.

Battling his anger, he turned.

In the distance he saw the remains of offices, tables, workbenches, and headed toward them. The area had been cleared, little left but trash. He sifted through it until his cell phone’s red light started blinking with a text from Cordelli.

Safe to call you now?

Yes.

Jeff’s phone rang.

“What’s the situation in there?” Cordelli asked.

“They’re gone. They’ve taken Sarah and Cole!”

“We’re out here with ESU. Come out to the large open door to the west with your hands up palms out so they can clear the building and we can pursue them.”

Jeff trotted to the door and raised his hands as instructed.

Within minutes heavily armed ESU members wrapped in body armor swept into the building and scoured it. Cordelli and Brewer arrived after them, wearing Kevlar vests, weapons drawn. They took Jeff aside.

“Are you hurt?” Cordelli asked.

“No. What did you get from their demands on the call?”

“The task force is processing it with national security,” Cordelli said.

More investigators arrived from the NYPD, FBI, Homeland and other agencies. As they began processing the scene, radios crackled and the air thudded with an approaching helicopter. Brewer was sober-faced and anxious.

“How many people were there?” he asked Jeff.

“Maybe two dozen.”

“And they had vehicles?”

“Yes.”

“How many were there? What were the makes, colors? Did you get plates?”

“No, I got nothing. I only heard them rolling out.”

“You really didn’t see much.”

“No.”

“How did you get here?” Brewer asked.

“Luck.” Jeff found an empty take-out cup and held it up. “See, it was a V, not an L. It led me to the restaurant and I followed a guy here.”

“If you’d worked with us we could’ve set up on this place,” Brewer said.

“None of that matters now!” Jeff said. “They’ve got my wife and son. You heard their message. They want a lot of people to suffer. We have to find them before it’s too late!”

Manhattan, New York City

After crossing the Robert F. Kennedy Bridge, the white EMS ambulance moved southbound on FDR Drive.

A marked NYPD patrol car and a marked NYPD van followed a few car lengths away but close by.

All three vehicles maintained the posted limit. None were using sirens, or emergency lights. There was nothing out of the ordinary as they traveled deeper into Manhattan along the parkway that paralleled the East River.

Traffic was moderate to medium.

Inside the ambulance, the radio’s volume had been turned low as it chattered with dispatches. The two paramedics were clean shaven. Their uniforms were new, crisp blue with the six-pointed Star of Life patches. The coiled cord of the medical radio’s microphone knocked gently against its base. The shelf of trauma supplies holding the IV bags, gloves and defibrillator rattled softly as the vehicle swayed. The stretcher was secured to the antiskid floor and emitted low squeak-creaks from time to time.

The “patient,” Sarah Griffin, had been strapped firmly to the stretcher.

An oxygen mask, covering her face and mouth, was affixed tightly to her head. Tears rolled from her eyes, leaving tracks.

Sensing a terrible end was upon her, she prayed for Cole and Jeff.

If any authority needed to check the ambulance, something highly unlikely, they’d find nothing unusual with this patient transfer, unless they looked closely.

Unable to move, Sarah stared at the ceiling.

Expertly taped at strategic points, she saw rivers of braided colored wiring that flowed throughout the interior of the entire ambulance.

New York City

Across Manhattan at the NYPD’s Real Time Crime Center, Renee Abbott typed with incredible speed as she processed Jeff Griffin’s eavesdropped call.

He’d captured the suspect’s manifesto, which was clearly meant to be delivered after an attack. Renee alerted the Joint Terrorism Task Force, then sent them the message, which was shared instantly with national security agencies.

The Secret Service, Homeland, the CIA, NSA, Defense, FBI and other security experts moved quickly to study it. Taken with the known facts of the abductions, murders and microdetonator, deeper examination of the information was needed to reveal the target and the people behind the plot. The full message stated:

“Greetings from God’s slave to the United Nations. You did not start this tragic war but if you are people with courage, determination and humanity, you will acknowledge our action today as the final call to peacefully end our struggle for a free nation.

“To date, twenty thousand of our children have been murdered by the occupational forces, and the UN does nothing. You force us to avenge the atrocities committed by these criminals-everyone must be made to understand our pain.

“We offer a solution for peace. Withdraw the troops, dissolve the puppet regime and acknowledge a free and truly independent Mykrekistan. We will end our armed struggle and any further nation-liberating acts of self-protection. We offer peace. The choice to accept it is yours.”

In Washington, FBI counterintelligence examined the statement’s text, as did the Secret Service’s domestic and foreign intelligence branches.

In Langley, the CIA saw a link to the message and the most recent chatter captured by the NSA’s listening station in Darmstadt, Germany. “The game is going ahead as scheduled. Our team is favored to win.”

According to CIA intelligence, there were six different insurgent groups in the Caucasuses confirmed to have committed various acts of terrorism in support of the violent nationalist movement in Mykrekistan. The agency needed to do more analysis to determine which terror group had the money and ability to carry out an attack in the U.S.

Investigators had less than two hours before the president touched down in New York for his event with the British prime minister later in the day. Other world leaders continued to proceed with their scheduled engagements related to the United Nations General Assembly.