A Bump in the Road -- Watty Awards 2011 --

Chapter 17: Desperation

“Eaaah”, Joseph swore and flipped over the metal folding chair he had been sitting on in the police conference rooms in Paris. “Sir we are working around the clock to try and locate your wife and Dominic Desantos” the officer from the Canadian embassy explained. “It’s not good enough he snarled”. He turned towards the window and tried to measure his breathing, “look” he said “I can put up the ransom – I don’t care about that worm Dominic I just want my wife back” he said voice breaking on the last syllable. He never thought Dominic would go this far, never in a million years would he have put Nicole into this kind of danger knowingly. Even if it had meant never meeting her.

He pulled out the picture he had carried in his pocket since the day it was taken. It was the family photoshoot they had done soon after their city hall nuptials. Black and white, Joseph was standing behind Nicole with one hand on her belly and one lifting her face to his. Likewise with her hand on her belly and the other on the side of Joseph’s face – they were both beaming ear to ear, they were so happy and so very much in love.

“John Wayne to Redbird-contact, do you copy?” the tinny voice of Jonathan Carmichael crackled, and Joseph picked up the airwave radio as he heard the voice of his old army pal come through the speaker.

“New information on China Doll, out” “I read you Wayne, count me in in 10” he spoke into the talkie as he clambered into one of the multitude of cars that lay in wait in his garage in Paris. The finely tuned engine of the Ducati he straddled roared to life at the touch of a button as restless as its rider.

“Satellite receivers are back up” Sergeant Arnolds informed him upon his arrival back at the base. The island where China Doll is being held has been found off grid and we’ve located it and its co-ordinates”. “Great” Joseph smiled for the first time in what seemed like years, but it faded quickly leaving a look of frustration and fear in its place as he looked around. “What are you waiting for? Why hasn’t a unit been mobilized for recovery? I’m so sick of all this bullshit and P.C.crap and ‘treading carefully’. Goddammit-you don’t even know if my wife or child are alive. I swear to you, the next fucking journalist who asks me how I’m feeling about Nicole’s kidnapping…How the hell should I be feeling?” he raged. “Pretty fucking frustrated” ‘John Wayne’ commiserated baldfacedly, coming up behind him and slapping him amiably on the back.

They walked out to the silent landing pad; “Joe, do you remember when the fire house we were training in burnt down with us still in it?” Joseph snorted at the memory of the two young men, so cocky and sure of themselves and their path back then. “Hell sure I do, idiots we were we decided to jump out the fucking window into the garden”. They both chuckled ruefully at the memories evoked before John swung around to face his old friend, whose face had lost the peacefulness of youth it had once had, but was worn and lined as if to highlight the dark bruised circles that had taken up permanent residence under his eyes. “Before that” John demanded.

Joseph glanced at him sharply, confused – his brow furrowing deeper as he thought. John tightened his grip on his friend’s shoulders as if to pull him back from the waves of despair that lapped hungrily at the remnants of his soul, threatening to swallow him whole in their depths; “we prayed Joe – and I sure as hell know it wasn’t our own skill that got us out of that mess that day”. Closing his eyes, Joe nodded. It seemed like that was the one thing he had neglected to do in this whole mess. So they prayed.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, both men stepped back. Joseph felt a greasiness coating his fingers. He looked down and saw the dark sheen of motor oil that must have leaked onto John’s bomber jacket from his helicopter. Joe frowned and rubbed the oil between his fingers thoughtfully; an idea came to him. It might be the only way to get Nicole back and he wasn’t going to wait for the fucking French police to spring into action. They were still about as useful as they were in World War II. He wiped his hands on his suit pants, the same ones he’d torn yesterday during the kidnapping and he grinned. “John, what do you say we take a little trip down the coast?” he asked leadingly.