John Locke - Saving Rachel

My Lucite container is attached to one … only, in this case, I’m the cargo.

I turn my attention to the area inside my cage and find a camper toilet, an insulated cooler, a blanket, and a pillow. There’s one more item, located on top of the cooler: a laptop computer.

I appear to be alone in this giant underground parking lot. I’m assuming “underground,” because there are no windows and no natural light, and moments ago, the room was so dark it seems impossible it could be located above ground.

My inner voice says, How long have we been stuck here, Sam? I look at my watch: April 22, 2009. That doesn’t make sense. It was April 12 a few hours ago. There’s no way I’ve been here ten days!

But what if you have? My inner voice says. Not in this cage, maybe, but what if they put you in a room somewhere to monitor you?

“Monitor me for what?” I ask myself.

What if they were waiting for you to shit out the monitoring device you swallowed? Maybe they kept you sedated somewhere all this time, and when you finally gave up the device, they brought you here.

“No,” I tell myself. “Wherever they would have put me, Creed would have found me in less than ten days. I’m still holding the device. He’s coming for me. He’ll get us out of here.”

I look at my watch again. Three hours have passed, and it’s now April 2, 2008. I watch the hours, minutes, and calendar going forward and backward randomly through time. Every few seconds, my watch resets to a different date and time, none of which hold any significance that I can determine.

I shout, “You people are nuts! Just tell me what you want and let us go!”

Across the parking lot, I see a huge garage-type door start to rise. When it gets to full height, the cab of a large truck enters. As it continues through the door, I can see that the bed of the truck is made of Lucite and has the same dimensions as my cage, which confirms everything I suspect about what’s beneath my cage.

I’m trapped in a Lucite container attached to a flatbed truck.

The other truck pulls up alongside mine and stops maybe twelve feet away. The windows and windshield of the truck’s cab are mirrored, so there’s no way to tell who’s driving it. I concentrate on the part I can see. I’m staring at a Lucite cage just like mine, equipped just like mine, except that it has no laptop that I can see. In the cage across from me, the blanket is covering what appears to be a body. I bang my fist against the transparent wall that holds me captive and shout, “Rachel!”

I bang the Lucite wall again and continue to shout her name, but I already know these units are completely soundproofed because the huge truck across from me entered the room and stopped a few feet away from me and I never heard the slightest sound as it did so.

I scream my wife’s name again and again. I kick the wall in frustration. I pick up the cooler and smash it against the wall, but it rebounds like a rubber hammer hitting a concrete wall. Several water bottles and wrapped sandwiches fly out and scatter across the floor of my cage. I stand with my palms pressed against the Lucite wall and stare at the motionless form under the blanket for what seems like an hour.

Could they have killed her? Beaten her to death? Have I lost the love of my life because of a stupid computer program?

Then I think I see the slightest movement. Are my eyes playing a trick on me? No—there it is again. She’s alive! Thank God! It’s destroying me to think about seeing Rachel like this, but I need to see her, need to reassure her, need to let her know how sorry I am to have caused all this to happen. The blanket finally pushes away, and I can see it’s not Rachel who’s trapped in the cage twelve feet away from me. My heart sinks. It’s Donovan Creed.

Chapter 20

Avoice comes through a hidden speaker in the floor of my cubicle.

“Mr. Case, I believe you already know the man in the unit before you. His name is Donovan Creed. Mr. Creed is a former CIA assassin and currently works for the Department of Homeland Security as a clandestine terrorist assassin. He tests crowd control weapons for the United States Army and performs freelance contract killing for various people, including a regional underworld crime boss.”

The voice goes silent. I look at Creed hopefully, but he’s offering no expression to encourage me. I wonder if his cubical is getting the sound. I turn my palms upward in the universal gesture, “What’s going on?”

Creed shrugs.

“That’s it?” I scream. “You promised me! I was counting on you! You were my only hope!”

Creed appears disinterested. He looks away, walks over to his toilet, and starts peeing.

The voice in my cubicle says, “Mr. Case—may I call you, Sam?” The voice pauses a moment and then continues, “There will be no rescue, Sam, not until you give us the codes. You do this by powering up your laptop and entering them. You can start with Mr. Creed’s.” The voice pauses again and then says, “Don’t waste your time trying to access the Internet to attempt a rescue. Your computer is not equipped for online access.”

When Creed finishes peeing, I start pounding my hands on the wall of my cell to get his attention. I hurl a number of curses at him for good measure, but he appears completely oblivious to the commotion I’m making. Instead, he goes to the far corner of his cell and presses his hands against the Lucite edges. He works his hands up and down the clear material, staring intently at the intersections of Lucite, as if trying to see what he’s gotten himself into and how he might possibly get out.

“It’s useless!” I shout.

The voice comes back on. “You’re right, Sam; it is useless. But don’t fault Mr. Creed. He’s not accustomed to being helpless. Nor is he likely to accept his plight quickly. You, on the other hand, are fortunate. You have something we want. Creed’s going to die in his cell eventually, but you can leave whenever you wish. All you have to do is enter the codes.” “So … you can hear me?” I say. “We can hear you.” “Where’s Rachel?” “Somewhere safe,” the voice says. “And she’ll continue to be safe as long as you cooperate.” “I want to see her.”

“You’re in no position to make demands, Sam. However, if you’re willing to give us Mr. Creed’s code, we’ll arrange for you to see her briefly.” “I don’t know Creed’s code or any of the others.” “You told our associate you had them memorized.” “I lied. But if you can get me my personal computer, I might be able to access the data files—” “Not going to happen, Sam.” “I might be able to reproduce them,” I say, “but I’m going to need some time.”

“Take all the time you need, Sam. If you ration properly, you’ve got several days worth of food and water. But be advised, when your provisions run out, they won’t be replenished.”

“You’d let me starve?”

“Your health, like Rachel’s, is in your hands. You are free to go as soon as you provide all eighteen access codes.”

“You are aware,” I say, “that the access codes only begin the process, correct? My clients are the only ones who can access the funds by entering a second code, known only to them.”

“That being the case,” the voice says, “it’s not such a big deal for you to reveal them. And when you do so, we’ll set you free.” “If I give you the codes, you’ll kill me,” I say. “Not true.” “Prove it.” He pauses. “We’ll do that, Sam. All in good time.”

I glance at Creed. He’s still inspecting his enclosure, moving his hands across the surfaces, slowly but surely, inch by inch. I notice he hasn’t pushed or hit or kicked the walls or thrown anything against them, as I did. Perhaps when he gets to that point, he’ll realize there’s no way out. Then maybe he’ll give me some sort of signal or at least attempt to communicate.