Countdown to Showdown

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A man's family is kidnapped. What will he do to rescue them?
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This is a story I wrote in 2006 and have re-edited it several times since. This is both my first time posting on Literotica and the story's first time being posted for everybody to read. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 1

The sun was just peeking out from behind the mountains, like an infant peering between the crib's bars. Rick was sleeping peacefully beside his wife when his alarm went off, piercing the tranquil room. His hand flew to the off button, shutting it off before he was struck with a headache first thing in the morning. He lay there for a moment, and then turned to look at his wife.

Rick and Sheila had met in Paris twelve years prior. Her hair was the color of oranges, her eyes the color of chestnuts. As he looked at her sound asleep face, he couldn't help the smile that came to his lips. The alarm, just like every morning, didn't disturb her because she gets up in another half an hour. He climbed softly out of bed, careful not to shake the bed or cause it to creak.

Rick ate breakfast, cleaned himself up, and got dressed for work. Just before he was about to leave for work, Sheila came down the stairs, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, which had prominent bags beneath them.

"Rick, is it time for you to go already?" Sheila asked.

"Yeah, and if I don't hurry out now, I am going to be seriously late for work again. But I'll be home for dinner, I promise."

She smirked, the way she always did when he made this absurd statement. His dinnertime was not for two hours after Sheila and their children, Robbie and Andrew, ate theirs. Sheila always left Rick some leftovers to heat when he got home. Rick always enjoyed these meals, as if she had just removed them from the oven herself.

"Okay, then I'll see you tonight when you get home. By the way, could you bring those pans that you used for the potluck home? I needed them for dinner yesterday and didn't have them."

Rick looked back at her and replied "Sure, I'll bring them back home tonight."

"Thanks. Okay, I'm going to go back upstairs to get ready for the day."

Rick paused to watch her ascend the stairs, the recollection of their marriage swimming to the forefront of his mind. He then grabbed his briefcase, turned and walked out the door to his red Chevy Suburban.

He started the car and drove down the street, but before he could make it off his block, a silver Toyota Camry cut him off. Rick quickly mashed the brake, and was barely able to avoid an accident. The other car had started to spin for a second, the wheels not able to grip the ground, but then the car came to rest. He glanced at the windshield of the other car to see the driver, but couldn't because the windows were tinted. Rick put his car back into gear and, as he drove off towards work, he caught a fleeting look in his rearview mirror and saw that the Camry hadn't moved, as if the driver of the car was watching him. Rick quickly made a mental note of the car's license plate, 4SKW408, just in case he had some car damage, before he turned off of the street.

Chapter 2

Today was the day that he would put his plan into action. He had set his alarm for fifteen minutes earlier then usual, so there couldn't possibly be a chance of him being late. Only he hadn't counted on his subconscious staying asleep until twenty-five minutes after the alarm had gone off. Silently cursing himself, Paul climbed out of bed, quickly ate some cereal, grabbed his car keys, unlocked and climbed into his car, and sped off.

Paul had been developing this plan for several weeks now, and was practically licking his lips with anticipation as he prepared to carry it out. It began with the idea of making an abundance of money very quickly, but he had had no idea of how to carry it out. Then, one day, he was driving down a street and noticed that a car had governmental license plates. Before he was even off the block, the plan had begun to formulate in his mind. He had memorized the street name, Ardíd Avenue, and went back every day to find out the habits of the owners of that car. It was very easy, their schedule wasn't hard at all to predict. The man would get up at sunrise and, about thirty minutes later, would get in his car, turn left, and go to work. His wife would usually wake up about the time of his leaving, get ready, wake up their two kids, and usher them to the bus stop about twenty minutes after the kids woke up. It was almost exactly one hour from the time the man awoke to the time the bus left. The formulated plot was now ready to be carried out.

He looked into the sky and realized, with a jolt, that the sun had already risen. Paul knew that at any moment, the man would be leaving for work and, although that didn't bother him because Paul's plan didn't involve the man yet, Paul still wanted to see him leave. Paul finally reached Ardíd Avenue and, just as he turned left, Paul looked to his immediate left and saw a large red blur come to a screeching halt. His foot found the brake and stopped the car, but he had a sudden panic as his tires wouldn't grip the road, but then his car came to rest.

Breathing hard, he turned his head to look at the car, and felt his breath catch in his chest; it was the man, in his car with the governmental license plate, staring right at him, although Paul knew that the man couldn't see his face. Paul realized that, if he had been one second later, his plan would have been ruined and he would have gotten into a crash with the man himself. He watched the other car drive away and felt himself begin to calm down. Restarting his car because it had stalled out, Paul drove slowly down the block, parking his car across the street and down the block of the man's house and waited for his opportunity.

Chapter 3

Although he tried to put it out of his mind, the morning's excitement continued to linger in Rick's mind. He knew for a fact that the Camry didn't belong to any of his neighbors, yet he could swear he had seen it before. Maybe it was just lasting aftereffects of the almost crash. Rick shook his head, clearing it to get ready for the day.

As he reached the security gate, he fished in his breast pocket for his I.D., pulled it out, and showed it to the guard.

"Hey, how're you doin' Doug? Everything pretty much normal?"

"Yep. Kinda bored though. It's always slow this early in the morning, Mr. Bronson. How're the kids and the wife?"

"Oh, the kids are fine and Sheila is great."

"Okay, well I've cleared you. You can go on through."

"Thanks. Have a nice day."

Rick drove his Suburban through the gate and started up towards the southern fifth of the Pentagon. He parked his car in his assigned spot, the corner nearest the door with his name spray-paint stenciled on the ground. He got out, grabbed his briefcase, and locked the doors to arm the security system.

Rick walked to security, placed his briefcase on the x-ray machine along with his 97 cents of change and his keys, and walked through the metal detector. It didn't beep, and his belongings were cleared, so he collected them and headed to his office. He unlocked his office door, went in, and sat down on his chair with a sigh.

Suddenly, the image of the silver Camry swam to the forefront of his mind and, becoming uneasy, Rick decided to call his house. He checked his desk-clock, realizing the bus and his children should already be at school. He picked up his phone and dialed (870) 397-8581. The phone rang once, twice, and by the third, his feeling of uneasiness increased. Then, on the fourth ring, Sheila answered the phone.

"Hello? Bronson residence, this is Sheila speaking."

"Hey Sheila, it's Rick. Everything okay over there?"

"Yeah, of course, why shouldn't it be? Should I know something?"

Rick, sensing some tension in her voice, tried to recover. "Oh, nothing, I just almost got into an accident this morning with some guy and wanted to hear your voice. That's it. The kids get off to school all right?"

"Yep, the bus was a little late, but it came, I saw them onto the bus, then it left."

"Okay, well see you tonight. Love you."

"Love you too. Bye."

As Rick hung up the phone he was relieved to know that his family was fine. Yet that silver Camry still remained in the back of his mind. He decided to investigate a little. He called up the DMV database, accessed the license plate records, and typed in 4SKW408.

Chapter 4

Paul glanced at his watch. The wife would be coming out any second with the two

kids to accompany them to the bus stop. He reached into the back seat and seized the box with the pre-prepared supplies he was going to need. Paul took out a pad and pen and placed them in his pocket. He dug out his trusty 22mm gun, ejected the clip, checked it, slammed it back home, cocked the slide, and hid the gun in his jacket pocket. He grabbed the box's handle, opened the car door, stepped outside, then locked and closed the door. Paul took up a brisk walk across the street, reaching the house, and went to the side of the door. Setting his box onto the ground, Paul reached into his pocket and grasped the gun's handle, but refrained from pulling it out. He took his left sleeve and mopped up his brow, where a small puddle of perspiration had formed. He peered through the window and saw the three inhabitants congregating near the front door. Paul pulled the gun out of his pocket, and waited.

The door slowly opened, and Paul could hear the wife talking to her children.

"Okay, come on, the bus'll be here any minute. It's time to leave."

As soon as he saw her, Paul swung himself at her, practically tackling her back into the house. He shoved her onto the floor and pointed the gun at her as she rolled onto her back, facing up at him. The kids were just staring at him from his left.

"Don't any of you move or say anything. You two lie down on your stomachs, NOW! You, get onto your stomach."

Once convinced that they wouldn't move, Paul retreated towards the door and, while still pointing the gun at the wife, bent down and picked up his box. Walking back inside, Paul pulled the door shut behind him. Striding to the wife, Paul buried his foot into her stomach to keep her at bay. She immediate curled into a ball, gasping for breath. The two kids flinched, and Paul was pleased to see they didn't start crying. Paul opened his box and removed his duct tape from the other items in there. Dropping the box, Paul converged on the kids. Paul unstuck the end of the tape, ripped off a large piece, tore the piece into two, and put each piece over the kids' mouths. Paul tore off another, even larger piece and wrapped it around one kid's hands behind his back, then repeated the process for the other kid. Next, Paul shoved the kids to a banister, tore another piece of duct tape off and bound the kids together, back-to-back, through the banister. As he was finished, the phone rang.

Horrified, Paul stared at it for a moment but as it rang for a second time, Paul rapidly strode to the wife, forced her up, and pushed her to the phone as it rang a third time.

"Answer it," Paul growled at her as he pointed the gun at her forehead, "and no funny business. I'll be watching carefully."

On the fourth ring she picked up and intoned "Hello? Bronson residence, this is Sheila speaking."

As she paused to listen to the caller, Paul took out a pad of paper and made a note of her name, then sauntered over to look at the name on the caller I.D. It read Rick Bronson: Pentagon. The number was (344) 135-7067. He wrote these down too.

"Yeah, of course, why shouldn't it be? Should I know something?"

Paul, noticing the tension in her voice, glared at her. All he needed was Rick sensing something wrong and rushing straight home, possibly with some cronies.

"Yep, the bus was a little late, but it came, I saw them onto the bus, then it left."

She had noticed his glare and her voice had normalized; yet her sentence was phrased awkwardly. Paul involuntarily flinched. There was another pause as she listened to her husband. Paul continued to look daggers at her, making sure she wouldn't do anything foolish.

"Love you too. Bye." Sheila hung up the phone.

"What did he say?" Paul commanded.

Terrified, Sheila squeaked out "Not much. He almost got into an accident this morning and wanted to hear my voice. That's it. Why? What do you want? Why are you here? I'll give you anything you want: jewelry, money, just tell me, WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

Paul pistol-whipped her in the side of the head, her knees buckled, and she crumpled to the ground. What he didn't want was her becoming hysterical and shrieking like she just did. With his ears ringing, Paul retrieved his box and pulled out a syringe. He bent down and kneeled on one knee. He grabbed her wrist and gave it a slight twist as she attempted to wring her hand free. He then pushed the needle into her wrist and injected the anesthetic into her veins. Ten seconds later, she became unconscious.

Chapter 5

Rick was breathing better and was more relaxed. The information that the DMV database had given him on license plate 4SKW408 had set his mind at ease. The owner of the car was a Paul Laynebz, 34 years old, and had a silver Toyota Camry with a Washington D.C. drivers' license. Paul worked for a computer company that created software to prevent against hackers, and Paul was a tester of the software. Rick then checked Paul's criminal history and was pleased to see that the man barely had any criminal history. The only blemish on the record was armed robbery, but that was 15 years ago.

Rick started up his program and began to fill out the chart from the mounds of information contained in the files before him. The first file he picked up was one about the fees of storing some gem called Alexandrite for future testing and possible use. Although it was tedious work, looking up every bit of information and then entering it in the correct part of the program so that people later on could find it easier, he was glad to have it. He had given up fieldwork a few years earlier for two reasons. One was because the hours were terrible and he saw his family even less then he did now, but also the job was too dangerous and demanding, so as soon as he got home, he just collapsed onto his bed.

A few minutes later the phone rang. Rick, expecting the caller I.D. to identify one of his bosses, was surprised when it read Bronson Residence: (870) 397-8581. He wondered why Sheila would be calling him after they just talked a few minutes ago. Rick picked up the phone and said, "What's up?"

"What's up is the fact that I have your wife and kids."

Rick promptly sat up straight in his chair. He had never heard this voice before. A bead of sweat had already formed over his eyebrows as he asked, "Who are you?"

"That is of no concern to you. What should be concerning you is the fact that I have just kidnapped your wife, Sheila, and two sons, Robbie and Andrew."

Although the situation unnerved Rick, he still had enough sense to turn back to his computer and open up the satellite tracker program and type in his house's address. As the program was locating, Rick questioned, "What do you want?"

"This is very important so listen to me. Your government is currently working on a new fuel for its jet planes. They're making it out of a gemstone called Alexandrite. Have you ever heard of it?"

Rick's house was now visible on his computer monitor. The house looked fine, but across the street there was a car that Rick didn't recognze. Zooming in, he realized that it was the Camry from earlier, and he could see two, only two, dark shapes sitting up in the back seat. Zooming in even closer, Rick's breath caught in his throat. The license plate number was 4SKW408. Silently cursing, Rick opened the DMV database again and typed the plate number into it. Remembering the file he had just placed aside, he grabbed it and opened it to the fact page, which was two sheets into it. Reading from the file, while keeping an eye on his computer monitor, Rick volunteered, "Yeah, sure, I've heard of it. Isn't it a subgroup of chrysoberyl with the chemical formula BeAl2O4? Alexandrite is formed when aluminium is replaced by chromium oxide, right? It also has a unique feature, being that the berellium puts it under the metal subgroup, the only metallic gem in nature. And aren't Alexandrite gems the most expensive gemstones in the world?"

"That's right, Rick. Your government's found out that tweaking the cyclic twins, trillings, a little bit, the gem becomes a very powerful form of fuel. The gemstone is translucent, although when the hexagonal trillings catch the light, they give off a fine emerald green or a fine purplish red color. Do you agree with these details?"

Rick was quickly scanning the information in front of him. The owner of the car is 34-year-old Paul Laynebz, who lives on 3467 Fern Street. Rick decided to drop these bombshells on Mr. Laynebz. Glancing back at the file, he confirmed the information. "Yes, Paul, I do."

There was a momentary pause that seemed to last a lifetime. "So, I see that you know my name."

"Yes, and not only that, but I also know that your last name is Laynebz, you're 34 years old, work in a computer software company, own a silver Toyota Camry with license plate number 4SKW408, and you live at 3467 Fern Street."

Paul was silent, then commented, "Wow, I'm impressed. But it doesn't matter. What you're going to do if you want to see your family again is first locate where your government is storing the gems. Then, you're going to steal them and contact me. I will tell you where you're going to deliver them to me. You understand?"

"Yeah, um, how am I going to contact you, exactly?"

"What, you have all of my information except for my home phone number? Oh yeah, that reminds me, if you show up at my house, with or without backup, you will never see your family again."

The line went dead, and then the dial tone came on. Rick stayed seated, staring at the phone in his hand, contemplating his next move.

***

Everywhere, people were busy. The Pentagon, like always, was alive and buzzing with movement. People passed back and forth in front of Rick's office for the ten minutes he was sitting there, staring off into space, without saying anything to him. This, along with his experience in the field, brought Rick to the realization that nobody cared about him, and that the only person he could trust with the safety of his family was himself. He reached down and brought his briefcase up and set in on his desk. While opening it, he noticed that the lid was vibrating, which wasn't surprising, given that his hands were shaking with the thought of what he was about to do. He took everything out of his briefcase and shut it again. Standing up, he quickly composed himself, and then walked out the door.

It took Rick ten minutes of asking different coworkers about the Alexandrite project, finally finding out exactly where the Alexandrite was being stored. It was in a storage room below the basement, the lowest floor without security clearance. Luckily, Rick's clearance was never revoked when he changed from secret services to desk jockey. Rick ducked into the maintenance elevator and showed his badge to the electronic eye, pressed B2, and the elevator began to descend to the Alexandrite.

Chapter 6

Paul closed the garage and went inside his house. Collapsing onto the sofa, he picked up the remote and turned the T.V. on. Although he was staring at it, he wasn't watching it; Paul was thinking about the day's events. After he sedated Sheila, he took the kids to his car, put them in the back seat and gagged them. Going back to the house, he called Rick, using the number that he had gotten off the caller I.D. when Rick had called the house.

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