The Cure Page 21

  The Suburban’s wheels squealed, the burning rubber smoked, lurching the vehicle forward.

  Bic dropped the mailbox and sprinted towards the vehicle.

  Mack fired shots at the tires. Sparks flew beneath the car.

  Both were too late. The vehicle was gone within seconds.

  79

  Bic retreated back to the smashed Bronco to recover his phone.

  Mack ran up, still jacked up from the gun fight. “I thought we had them.”

  Bic called Parelli and put the call on speaker, unconcerned with the people starting to look out windows now that the action seemed to have died down. This was not a nice part of Chicago, and he had at least 10 more minutes before police would arrive.

  “Did you get Gracie?” Parelli asked.

  “No.”

  “Not good, my friend. Word on the street is she is being sold to the Chinese. Good news is they want her alive, bad news…” Parelli hesitated.

  “What is it?” Bic asked.

  “If they get her out of the country, they’ll keep her locked up as a work slave for the rest of her life. It will be somewhere none of us could find in a thousand lifetimes.”

  Bic could tell Mack was holding his tongue, and Bic nodded to him.

  “How’s Caroline?” Mack asked.

  “She’s hanging in there. One tough lady you got there.”

  “How’s she look?”

  “She looks surprisingly well, considering.”

  “Okay, so what’s our next move?” asked Mack.

  “Rumor has it,” said Parelli, “Zhou is making the deal for China. If so, he likes to do things by boat. And when I say boat I mean big boat.”

  “We’re gonna need a Ouija board to find him,” said Mack. “There’re tons of marinas on Lake Michigan.”

  “Just look for a big ol’ yacht, something big enough to go across the ocean,” said Parelli. “He always names it something flashy and Japany sounding, like teeth of the dragon.”

  A loud noise came through the phone.

  “Was that a car horn?” said Mack. “I thought you were with Caroline.”

  “I am. It’s a medical bus of sorts. Don’t worry, kid, this is a hospital on wheels.”

  “A medical bus?”

  “We’re coming to Chicago,” Parelli said. “I’ve kept my word, kept her safe, but now you need to save Gracie so she can do her thing.”

  About the time Parelli finished speaking, a black car pulled up. It was just like the one that had picked them up from the library, except a different driver.

  “Your ride has arrived,” Parelli said. “Make sure you don’t underestimate Zhou—he’s a dangerous man.” The call disconnected.

  Bic retrieved his bag from the Bronco, making one more call to Mack didn’t know who, though he heard him talking about finding a boat as the two men entered the back of the limo.

  “Your buddy Tony there is pretty amazing,” said Mack.

  “He is, but just know that when the time comes, he expects you to be just as amazing back.”

  “Listen, if that’s the price to save Caroline’s life, it’s worth it.”

  80

  “Put a bullet in this John’s head then throw his FBI corpse into the dumpster,” Jaco said.

  Gracie looked around. No one was in sight in the dark, narrow alley down behind the shadows of a couple of tall buildings where they were parked. She had the awful sense that this was one of those types of places where bad things could happen and no one would be coming to your rescue, no matter how loud you screamed.

  She looked over at Quinn. They had duct-taped his mouth. He breathed heavily through his nose. Her eyes welled up at the sight of him.

  The driver of the vehicle slowly twisted a silencer onto his gun. With each turn, the sound of metal against metal made what was about to happen seem more and more real.

  The man hopped out of the car, then pulled Quinn out. Placing the dark piece of steel on the hood of the Suburban, he lifted Quinn up and rolled his body into the dumpster.

  Gracie watched Quinn, laying there in a sea of garbage, in the mouth of a green metal monster, tied up and gagged with his head perfectly poised to receive the bullet this evil man was about to put into his skull. Then, with the shuffle of one trash bag, Quinn would disappear from the earth. The only music at his funeral would be the hydraulics of a dump truck spilling him into a landfill under thousands of pounds of garbage.

  She turned away, not wanting to watch. When she turned back the man had his arm extended, the silencer tip not more than twelve inches away from Quinn’s head.

  “No,” Gracie screamed. “Some of the formula is in my head, I’ll write it down if he lives! Please, don’t…!”

  Jaco grinned, then said, “Deal.”

  They hauled Quinn out and placed him back into the car.

  “Put his window down, will you, he smells like a rhinoceros!” Jaco barked.

  “I couldn’t let them kill you. I hope being trapped somewhere in a prison in China with me is a better fate,” Gracie whispered to Quinn.

  There was a smile of appreciation in his eyes.

  “Congratulations,” said Jaco. “You’re the proud winner of a first-class ticket on a cruise to China… you’re welcome!”

  81

  Mack and Bic entered the Chicago Yacht Club harbor off Monroe Street. Walking along the concrete sidewalk built as a pier, it ran hundreds of yards on the edge of Lake Michigan. Most of the boats were sailboats and they were not parked against the pier, but attached to a buoy anchor system in the harbor, neatly stacked in rows as if they were in some type of invisible parking lot in the water.

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think we were at the ocean,” Mack said staring into the deep blue vastness that was Lake Michigan.

  “When I was a kid,” said Bic, “my mom would take me to 57th Street beach every Saturday after she got home from her shift. She and I used to pretend we were on some type of expensive vacation. It was an awesome escape that both of us needed from reality.” Bic pointed out to all the boats. “I remember whenever a boat sailed or cruised by we would get into the water and act like our yacht had finally arrived to pick us up to take us off to the Bahamas or Europe.”

  “Sounds great,” Mack said.

  “It was, until the bus ride home. I hated the look in my mother’s eyes, the disappointment she had knowing where she was taking me back to—the jungle, our building was called.”

  “Your mom sounds like she was a great lady.”

  “I wish those trips to the beach would have never stopped. If Mom hadn’t been taken… killed… things would have definitely turned out different. It’s no excuse for what I’ve done, but things would have been different.” Bic’s scan stopped on a boat that was larger than all the rest. “There.” He pointed to an 80-foot yacht, an ocean cruiser with multiple levels and decks. “That, as Tony would say, is a big boat.”

  “It definitely sticks out from the others. Should we stake it out?”

  “No time. If we’re wrong, they’ll be gone before we know it.” Bic pulled out a pair of binoculars and took a look. “There are several harbors here on the lake, and they could be in any one of these. But, I figured the ones closest to downtown will have the water depth deep enough for the bigger yachts. Yeah. She matches the info I got. The Jade Katana.”

  “Anyone aboard?” Mack wondered again who the mysterious short call after Tony had been to.

  “Not sure. The decks are empty, so no one’s been at this boat recently or they are intentionally making it look that way.”

  Mack and Bic walked down the dock sidewalk. The boat was parked next to a floating dock off on its own, in a special area to accommodate its size.

  “Do we need to get wet?” Mack asked as he stared at the thirty yards of water between them and the boat.

  Bic looked at Mack, but didn’t answer.

  “I’ll take that as a no.”


  A couple strode toward them. The man held a bottle of champagne in one hand and a picnic basket in the other.

  Mack approached them. “Excuse me.”

  “Yes?” said the man.

  Mack pointed. “That beautiful boat over there. You don’t know if it’s for rent by any chance, do you?”

  The man chuckled derisively. “God no. That’s Winston Biesterfield’s boat. He doesn’t even use it but twice a year. The rest of the season it just sits there empty like a big eye sore to remind everyone who’s got the biggest boat in the club.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “Mm,” The man said, nodding in agreement. And having had enough of the small talk, the couple started walking away.

  Mack watched them for a moment, then called out, “You a religious man?”

  The man turned back with a raised eyebrow. “Pardon me?”

  “Are you religious?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was given something a couple of months ago when I got some really bad news about my wife, a friend of ours said that the secret to having it all is knowing the Lord has already given it to you. Just thought I’d pass it on. Hope you both have a great day.”

  “We will.” The man raised his bottle of wine and the couple walked off.

  “Nice work,” Bic said.

  “Thanks, I thought they could use a little perspective. That guy really seemed to be worried about the bigger boat when he should be proud that he actually has a boat of his own in the harbor.”

  “I meant finding out that yacht isn’t the one we are looking for.”

  82

  Having ditched the Suburban, Gracie and Quinn were transferred into the cubed cargo box of a 12-foot U-Haul moving truck. Jaco had joined them as well. He sat on a wooden, rectangular crate with a small camping lantern at his feet, leering at Gracie. A crowbar steadily grasped in his right hand.

  Quinn, still tied up, lay on the floor facing the wall. Jaco had instructed his driver to anchor him in a way so he wouldn’t have to see Quinn’s face. Gracie knew a little about psychology, but she wasn’t sure if he even considered Quinn a threat at this point or if Jaco just didn’t like a reminder that his plan of execution had changed. He was supposed to deliver her and the formulas. But her negotiating the “plus a boyfriend” deal was not what he’d had in his mind.

  “Don’t worry, your boyfriend is going to live. The Chinese think he’ll be a nice tool to get what they want from you.”

  Swaying from left to right, the truck made a turn. They were weaving in and out of traffic, but Gracie had no idea exactly where to. From the number of starts and stops, Gracie could infer their general location from her internal map of downtown Chicago.

  The truck had been stopped for more than the typical 30 to 40 seconds. Jaco looked at his phone, read a quick text, then stood and opened the crate with the crowbar. From inside, he pulled out a high-end, slick-looking black plastic case. It was the length of a rifle case, only five times as thick. He carefully laid the case on the truck floor. Painted in white block letters on it was the word “MANPAD.”

  Jaco walked over to Quinn and pulled him to his feet. Not really trying to be too gentle about it, he dragged him to the wooden crate, then put him inside of it.

  Jaco took the top panel and with the back side of his crowbar pounded the case shut.

  He looked to Gracie. “He’s the full package, isn’t he?”

  “You said he would be safe.”

  “I’ll poke holes in it and put some lettuce in there.” he knocked on the top panel of the box with the crow bar for good measure.

  Jaco motioned for Gracie to come sit on the crate. She did.

  “Do you know what this is?” Jaco asked.

  “A Taser.”

  “I’m guessing you’re smart enough to know exactly what these 50,000 volts will do to your nervous system.”

  Gracie nodded.

  “That door’s going to open, and me, you, and your boyfriend are going to go for a short walk to our boat. If you cooperate, everyone will be fine, you’ll go to China and have the full support of your new country to cure cancer and save the world and all that. There’s a good chance we will walk by several people in this high-traffic area, your instinct will be to scream for help. Your mind will demand for you to yell out ‘rape’ or something cute like that. I want you to know the exact consequences if you do.” Jaco’s eyes narrowed to wicked slits and his eyebrows arched as he pointed the Taser at her forehead. “I’m gonna tase you right between those pretty eyes, and tens of thousands of volts will drop you like a burnt sack of potatoes, leaving you incapacitated for 30 seconds. In those 30 seconds, I’ll dump your boyfriend into Lake Michigan, still in this box, then throw you over my shoulder and walk onto the boat.”

  Jaco continued to stare at her. “Now then, are we going to have a problem getting on this boat or do you understand me?”

  Gracie ever so slightly shook her head, not making eye contact.

  “I’d rather gag you and stuff you in a crate like your boyfriend, but your host Mr. Zhou insisted on you being presented to him in a civilized manner. So, I’m going to ask you again, are we going to have a problem?”

  “No,” Gracie said.

  Jaco put the Taser under her chin and lifted her face up. “I want you to look me in the eyes and say, ‘No, I won’t be a problem, Jaco. I don’t want my actions to result in Quinn’s drowning to death.’”

  Jaco pushed the Taser even harder on her throat.

  “No, I won’t be a problem, Jaco.” She turned away hard, trying to get the Taser off of her neck.

  “All of it.”

  “I don’t want my actions to result in Quinn’s death.”

  “Good.” Jaco put the Taser on his belt harness, concealing it under his sport coat, and pulling out a big knife. With this he cut the zip tie holding her hands behind her back.

  Gracie raised her hands in front of her, opening and closing them to restore circulation.

  Jaco unstrapped the dolly from the corner and glared back at her as he tilted the crate onto its side. Again, he wasn’t gentle with the box as it slammed down on its side. Then he tilted one end off the floor and slid the dolly under the crate.

  “Remember, your mind is going to tell you to do something stupid. Do yourself a favor. Don’t listen to it.”

  83

  Daylight spilled into the cargo box as the roll-up door was opened from the outside. Within a second, Gracie saw the massive Ferris wheel of Navy Pier. The driver had put the ramp on the rear of the truck. Jaco, ready to go, rolled the crate down off the truck. He then motioned for Gracie to come out.

  The driver switched watches with Jaco. A Rolex for a couple hundred-dollar Fitbit-type watch.

  The driver looked at his phone, then said, “A cool calm 56 beats a minute.”

  Moments later, Jaco rolled Quinn on the dolly with Gracie at his side. They walked onto Navy Pier. In front of them were 50 acres of parks, shops, restaurants, and family attractions that stretched 3,300 feet into Lake Michigan.

  “Good afternoon,” Jaco said with a smile to a passing family of four as he effortlessly weaved through the tourists.

  On the horizon were a slew of boats. Having visited Navy Pier before, Gracie knew the usual boats, the architecture tour, the Seadog Speedboat, but past the Odyssey dinner cruise yacht, another yacht she’d never seen before was equal in size, docked 100 yards further down.

  Her mind was screaming for her to do something. Seeing the yacht, it represented some kind of finish line. If she got on that boat, she knew she’d be gone forever.

  She scanned the pier. A mixture of tourists and workers selling tickets for boat tours and street vendor types selling cotton candy and hot dogs.

  Jaco grabbed her hand as the landscape of people spread to expose a Chicago PD K-9 unit headed towards them.

  “Remember what I said,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth a
s the officers approached.

  Adrenaline flowed through her veins with the force of a tsunami.

  Moments away from crossing paths with them, the K-9 veered a hard left toward teenage boys standing at the railing looking out onto the lake, taking a sudden interest in the skateboard one of them was holding.

  Crap, she thought, all it’s going to take is one of these kids to have a joint in their pocket and they’re going to walk right by us.

  The dog wasn’t aggressive, but it wasn’t leaving the teenagers. She and Jaco were now almost parallel with them, and in another couple of seconds they would pass.

  Gracie turned and took a big breath, preparing to scream for help as loud as humanly possible.

  That instant, the K-9 turned, and its dark eyes caught Gracie’s. The connection was strong enough that she didn’t feel a need to scream, and she didn’t. The dog lost interest in the boys and beelined towards Gracie.

  “Hello, officer,” Jaco said.

  The K-9 sniffed the crate. Gracie knew its moist black nose was going to set off the alarm bells any second.

  “Your dog must have expensive taste,” said Jaco. “Delivering a crate of Chateau Petrus for the yacht down at the end.”

  “He’s partial to a fine red,” the officer chuckled, pulling the leash of his dog to get him to move on.

  Now or never.

  “My name is Gracie Green, the terrorist on TV, and there’s an FBI agent stuffed in that crate.”

  Instantaneously as she finished her sentence, Jaco lashed out and grabbed her arm in a viselike grip.

  The officer didn’t seem to have heard what she had said, still as calm as could be.

  “I know who you are,” the officer replied.

  “Make sure to keep an eye out if anyone else is snooping around the yacht,” said Jaco. “Especially the large black man.”

  “You bet,” said the officer, tipping his cap, then turned and walked off in the opposite direction.

  “Let go,” Gracie said as the pressure of Jaco’s grip felt like her forearm was about to break.

  Jaco pulled her with his right hand, not letting go, and with his left rolled the crate on the dolly. “Stupid kuchka. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.” He leaned in and whispered. “For that little display, once we get in the yacht, I’m going to cut your boyfriend’s chest open and have him bleed out right in front of you.”