"It's difficult to know for sure, Mrs. Williams. All I can say right now is that we know the van exited I-78 at W. Runyon St." The Agent in Charge reported, "We've collected and are processing video from all around but haven't been able to find their exact location." He said while pointing to the map displayed on the hundred-inch screen. He looked around the room, his eyes settling on Claire briefly, an uncomfortable look on his face. His weight shifted from foot to foot, reminiscent of a kindergartener in front of their teacher.

Claire looked around the room, eyes piercing, and settled back on the agent holding him in judgment.

When this meeting is over, I'll be calling the Director.

Williams Holding's opulent boardroom was packed with law enforcement representatives. On the wall, a monitor showed a video feed with several prominent politicians. Muted chatter filled the room as the people seated around the long oak table discussed the information presented. Claire looked around the room. She fidgeted with a pen, clicking rhythmically as she digested the progress.

"Agent Langford, when will you have drone surveillance? We don't have the manpower to continue to monitor the area 24/7." A Captain from the New Jersey State Police said.

"Captain, let's discuss the operational details at another time. This meeting is to update Mrs. Williams," A stern-looking man on one of the video feeds admonished.

I need to stay calm. Roger is capable. She tried to calm herself, but the thought of him being injured disturbed her. She stopped fidgeting with the pen and looked up at the agent.

"Two days have passed, Mr. Langford." Her voice was steady, a controlled calm at odds with the tempest in her eyes. Each word was measured, precise, like a sharpshooter readying for a shot. The slight quiver in her clenched jaw betrayed her attempt at composure, making it clear—she expected results, not excuses.

"We have it narrowed down to a few blocks, Ma'am, but even with that, it will take us a few days to pinpoint the exact location. To answer the Captain's question, drone surveillance was authorized a couple of hours ago, and they should be operational now," the agent quickly added defensively.

"Mrs. Williams, I can assure you that all of New Jersey's law enforcement resources are working on finding your husband," one of the men on the video feed said.

"Thank you, Governor Michaels," answered Claire.

You better move all your resources, you bloated windbag, or you'll see how quickly the donations for your reelection dry up.

"As are all of New York's law enforcement resources, Mrs. Willimas," another man quickly added.

"Thank you, Governor Stevens," Claire smiled insincerely toward her gramp's long-time leech.

Yours too. Now is the time to pay back all our years of investment in you.

"We have 24-hour surveillance around the whole area. If the van moves, we'll know; if not, we'll find where they are hiding. It shouldn't be long," added Agent Langford.

"I'm hoping you'll do more than just wait around, Agent!" Claire's controlled voice signaled a clear or else.

"Ma'am, there's nothing else we can do. We can't get a blanket warrant to search the whole area," Lanfrod's tone was apologetic.

He quickly added, "At night, the warehouses are mostly deserted, and the drones will be able to do infrared imaging."

Night is still nine hours away. Anything can happen to Roger in that time.

"Far be it for me to tell you how to do your job, Agent, but that area is all commercial warehouses. I'm sure you can do fire inspections or something else! Governor Michaels, I believe the DCA can handle that?" Her anger escaped in her tone. Claire breathed deeply. She had to stay calm.

Assenting chatter to the idea rose in the room.

"Yes, Mrs. Williams, we can certainly do that!" The governor quickly assented, his orders echoing in the background as aides scrambled to make calls.

"In the meantime, perhaps law enforcement could do some wellness checks!" She said in an exasperated tone.

"Ma'am, that might alert the kidnappers!" The captain from the State Police said.

"Gentlemen, let me remind you that this is not a kidnapping. It is an abduction. These people will not be calling about a ramson. What they want is to take my husband out of the country!" The menacing tone could make anyone's hair stand on end. Her patience was exhausted. Or kill him, she added mentally.

The room went silent. People fidgeted, and all eyes were downcast as if they were afraid to make eye contact.

Claire got up and looked fixedly at every single person around the table. Gramps might have been satisfied to donate and donate, but I will squeeze your help in return.

"Thank you, gentlemen. I appreciate your diligence in this matter, and I hope you have good news in the next couple of hours." Her tone was calmer, under control.

All the men in the room got up reflexively. She left the room before anyone could respond. Mr. Doyle and Edward flanked her.

Other less legal people owe me favors, and it was time for them to pay back. If these morons wouldn't do wellness checks, other people could!

"Mr. Doyle, please call Marcello Bianchi at ILA and that Romano guy at IBT. See if their people can help. It's time to pay back some favors. Tell them this is family!"

Mr. Doyle nodded, and a knowing look passed between them.

The small yellowish light was the only illumination that greeted Roger as he woke. A solitary bulb that created more shadows than light.

He stretched each one of his stiff muscles with concentrated effort. Slowly, methodically, movements ingrained from decades of training elicited groans as his body begrudgingly obeyed his will.

The musty smell of abandonment mixed with rusted metal permeated the room.

Bruises covered his body, but there didn't seem to be anything wrong with him. That is, until he tried to cycle his Ch'ulel. Nothing. The absence was heart-wrenching, literally. He vividly felt the hole in his chest as clearly as if an arm or a leg had been severed.

He tried again. He could feel it—just beyond his reach, a finger's length away, yet impossible.

A rolling motion caused momentary dizziness. Was it the effort, or was he moving?

He steadied himself, breathing. Disconnected images flashed. He remembered rolling and screams.

Less stiff, he moved off the threadbare cot where he lay and explored the stark surroundings. The cold walls were metal.

A wooden table—a plank with two legs, really—was fixed to one of the walls, with a 5-gallon water jug on top. There seemed to be some rations next to it. On the other side of the room, there was a port-a-potty.

A fetid smell escaping from it.

It seems like I'll be here a while.

As he moved toward the darkness, he found two large metal doors at the end and tested them, but they wouldn't budge. He tried his Ch'ulel again, and nothing.

On either side of the doors, on the roof, there were three holes, each about an inch square, that allowed him to see the night sky. He was definitely moving.

The rolling motion made him dizzy again.

He walked to the table. The ensuing hunger pangs reminded him of the food there.

He opened one of the MREs and poured water into a plastic cup. He sipped the water and spit it out.

Bitter! It must be Xibal root. The water will be a problem.

The food tasted heavenly. No doubt his hunger seasoning it.

He started his routine—the sequence of movements and breathing patterns modified just for this situation. His arms moved in slow, small circles in front of him, his hands mimicking the claws of a jaguar. His steps deliberate, placing the toes and rolling until the heel touched—a pantomime of a hunting feline in slow motion.

His mind calmed, and his body relaxed as the deliberate movements pushed energy without needing conscious direction. Stiff muscles became limber, and aches started to dissipate.

After a few minutes, he stopped and sat on the cot barefoot. He traced a line from his middle toe to about one-third down the sole of his left foot and pressed with his thumb, counting slowly to thirty. Then, he repeated the same on his right foot.

"Stimulate your K'i'ik' Ja'," He remembered his grandfather telling him. On the run for years, his Tata had trained him for his, too.

Memories flashed of the first time he ingested Xibal root. The wrenching pain his grandfather had put him through.

"Gracias, Tata," he whispered.

"If they take you, you'll be given Xibal. You'll lose your Ch'ulel, but there are ways to recover quickly." Tata had been a warrior for decades, and he had trained him. I can't continue to run.

The rolling motion came to a sudden stop. Roger looked through the holes in the roof and confirmed the sky had stopped moving. He grinned. A decade in New York had lulled him into inaction—no more.

Slowly, energy trickled. Inch by inch, the sense of his surroundings returned.

Time to stop playing billionaire and embrace his Nácom Tzakab heritage.

He thought of Claire embracing the man. A momentary sadness and a sigh. You knew it was dangerous to get close, Idiot!

A noise from outside brought him back from his musing. He was finally able to touch his Ch'ulel. He pushed, willing it into faster motion, readying for whatever came next.

He heard engines in the distance.

These people are going to get a surprise they aren't going to like. It's time I hunt them!

The seatbelt light turned on as the Gulf Stream G700 rapidly descended to land at Norman Manley International Airport. Claire fidgeted in her seat. Her hands were sweaty, and her heart was about to jump out of her body.

"Agent Langford, I expect the embassy has cleared us for immediate arrival. I don't want to be delayed in stupid customs and immigration procedures!" It wasn't a request or an inquiry. It was a command with a dire warning if something went wrong.

'Yes, Ma'am. I spoke to the ambassador directly, and they have made the preparations with the Jamaican Government," Langford answered.

It's been six days! Anything could have happened to Roger in that amount of time. Her mind conjured dire scenarios—each one worse as time passed.

She looked around the cabin. Mr. Doyle was on the phone. Sweat beaded on her forehead even though the nozzle was at its maximum.

"Yes, Governor-General Holmes, we will be landing momentarily. I hope your forces can cooperate. This is a most dire situation." Mr. Doyle said.

He was silent, listening to the other party. Claire mimed, asking what was going on. Mr. Doyle mimed back, asking for patience.

"Yes, Governor. The grand-son-in-law." His conversation continued.

"Thank you!" He hung up.

"Mrs. Williams, all is set with the Jamaican government."

She nodded as she looked back at the six ex-seals who had accompanied them. They were a group of private contractors recommended by the White House, and they had assured her they were experts in hostage rescue.

She mused as she remembered the encounter with the ex-sailor, who had been quickly put in his place when he tried to talk condescendingly to Claire.

She smiled— a small respite from worry—at the incongruence of the jet's plush seats and the gruff men in camo gear who occupied them.

As the plane landed, she remembered being wrenched by the disappointment when they found the van in a vacant warehouse on Concord Street.

Roger had been moved long before.

"I'll become your proper wife," the words echoed in her mind. I will, Roger. I don't know how, but this farse has become precious to me.

She remembered how hope rekindled when, this morning, the ILA had found a container they had put on a ship the very night Roger was taken bound for Veracruz with a stop in Kingston. It was last minute, and the sender was suspicious; the cargo listed was incongruent with the type of container.

So they raced here before the ship could dock in hopes of intercepting anyone who might get off the ship. It all depended on not being delayed at the airport.

I know in my heart you're safe.

The wheels touched, and the sound of the airbrakes drowned the cabin. Claire removed her seatbelt and jumped to her feet, impatient to get moving. As the plane taxied, two helicopters ready to take off could be seen.

Claire is about to rescue Roger. Will she get there in time?

Will Roger be able to free himself and take care of the threat?

I hope you like the chapter. Don't forget to comment!