Emily — Learjet 60, Inflight
When she heard the cockpit door open and close, Emily quickly lowered her eyelids to almost shut. The aircraft was descending quickly. A woman wearing a Venetian carnival mask walked over to Emily and placed a blindfold over her eyes and earphones over her ears. It was the same woman who’d brought lunch and drinks earlier, but hadn’t spoken a word.
A few minutes later, after the small jet had landed, Emily’s right arm was injected with something that made her feel groggy and lightheaded. She was untied, lifted out of her seat, and assisted into what seemed like a delivery truck. She gradually began to lose consciousness, but not before the vehicle carrying her had stopped and she was lifted off the hard bench and taken somewhere else. The only thing she knew for sure was that she wasn’t in another vehicle.
When Emily awoke several hours later, she was lying face up on a cot in a cold space. Her eyes were blindfolded, her ears covered with tight-fitting earphones that made a constant humming noise, her mouth taped, her arms and legs strapped down, and she was covered with a heavy blanket up to her neck. She could feel the forced air of a space heater on her face and there was a faint smell of oil or gasoline in the air. While she couldn’t be absolutely sure because of the injection she’d received, her sense was that the ride in the vehicle with the hard bench couldn’t have taken more than a few minutes, which meant she was probably in a warehouse or hangar near the airport where they’d landed. Now all she had to do was figure out which airport and how to let Wilson know.
Just then, a computerized woman’s voice spoke through the tight-fitting earphones telling Emily that she would be talking into a phone to her boyfriend in a few minutes. She was to only say, “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
Emily’s mind raced frantically to figure out how she was going to tell Wilson that she was at an airport, somewhere several hours away from Venice by jet-probably west. The more she thought about it, the more discouraged she became. She could be anywhere in the western hemisphere. Blurting out that she was at an airport would only get her moved. Besides, how many airports were there in the western hemisphere? She calmed herself down and focused. Any information would be better than none, if she could deliver it without raising suspicions. And just maybe, there would be more opportunities, not only to find out where she was, but to talk to Wilson. One step at a time. One piece of information at a time. Then it came to her. She knew exactly what she was going to say and how she was going to say it.
When the phone rang in Wilson’s apartment rang, Hap and his men were on their feet, out the door of their apartment, and into Wilson’s.
“I haven’t given this phone number to anyone except Emily,” Wilson said as Hap entered the living room. It was now on its fourth ring. Wilson was silently pleading for it to be Emily, while looking nervously at Hap for any last minute guidance.
“Go ahead and answer it. Everything’s set to record and trace the call as soon as you pick up,” Hap said.
Wilson picked up the phone. A male computerized voice said, “Wilson Fielder.”
“Yes.”
“We have your girlfriend,” the voice said. There was a click and brief pause before Wilson heard Emily’s voice.
“Don’t worry,” she said, her voice breaking as if she was about to cry. Wilson could hear her take a deep breath before she exhaled the words, “I’m j…” then he heard her whimper before she said, “…fine.”
There was another click and the computerized voice returned to the line. “If you want to keep her alive, you must completely remove yourself from our business affairs. When you do, she will be returned unharmed.”
“I want to hear her voice every day and the next time I want to talk to her,” Wilson demanded quickly.
“You’re in no position to be making demands, Mr. Fielder.”
The next thing Wilson heard was another click and the line went dead. Wilson stood motionless. Hap’s voice revived him. “Come listen to the replay.” In the kitchen, he and Driggs were hunched over a small digital recording device.
Grappling with what Emily had said and how she’d said it, Wilson walked into the kitchen. “Either they’ve hurt her or she was trying to tell me that she expects them to,” Wilson said, feeling like a pinned wrestler.
“Listen to this first. It might change your mind,” Hap said.
Driggs pushed the lever to replay Emily’s words at a slower speed. “Dooon’t woooorrry … (break in voice and deep breath) … I’mmm jet … (whimper) … fiiinne.”
“Play it again,” Wilson said anxiously, wanting to make sure he’d heard what he thought he had. After hearing it a second time, Wilson voiced what Driggs and Hap were now smiling about. “She said the word jet. It’s as plain as it could be at the slower speed, but I didn’t hear it when she was on the phone with me.”
“Emily’s more calm and lucid than we expected,” Hap said, leaning on the kitchen counter. “She added the crack in her voice and the whimper to hide the word. Even then, I’m not sure it’s enough to raise suspicions. Smart girl. She’s going to get us one small piece of information at a time.”
“She was flown somewhere,” Wilson said restlessly, looking at Hap for confirmation.
“Right. It could also mean she’s being held near where the jet landed,” Hap said, raising his eyebrows and returning Wilson’s stare. Then Hap called to Jones in the back bedroom, “Did we get anything on the trace?”
“They called from somewhere on the North American continent, but that’s all we got,” Taylor replied. “They were bouncing the signal.”
“Bingo. I wasn’t sure we’d get that much,” Hap said, smiling at Wilson. “Now we can get even more serious about pouring over the details on those 153 private jets.”
Wilson wasn’t sure how, but he believed Emily would find a way to give them more information each time she called. It was just enough hope to help him keep his torment at bay.