Milwaukee Deep

General Mcafee sat at his desk in the late hours of the night, his hand tightly holding the phone to his ear…

“What the hell do you mean you don’t know where he is? Well you find him and I mean NOW!”

The General slammed down the phone.

Immediately he picked it up again. As he began dialling, his attention turned to the doorway where two men dressed in dark suits stood silent.

Mcafee stood up.

“Mr Crane….uh, well what brings you here?”

Neither Crane nor the other man responded.

“Please come in, take a seat.”

Crane slowly approached Mcafee’s desk.

“You’ve obviously heard about the debacle that took place tonight?” asked Crane, his hand rubbing the deep scar that marked his left cheek.

The General waited for Crane to go on.

“How is it, Mcafee, that not one, but now two separate individuals have escaped from below - can you answer me that?”

“Two?”

Crane turned around to his Aide and shook his head, “Unbelievable.”

He turned back to the General.

“Are you telling me you don’t know about the other?”

The General began to breathe that little bit faster.

“Don’t FUCKING stand there with that dumb look on your face, General, and tell me that you don’t know that the sole operation you are responsible for is about to derail because ONE, you can’t control the simple fact that you don’t know who the fuck is missing from below and TWO, when they do go missing you don’t have the ability to eliminate them and ensure the safety of our NATION!”

Mcafee stood silent, unable to speak. He immediately looked down at his desk drawer - his army issued hand gun sat neatly in its place.

Crane took a moment to compose himself.

“You know General, they tell me that in my position running the nation is all that I have to deal with, that the little things that I need to do can be done by others - men of mine that will do what I tell them, when I tell them to do it. Do you know how I respond to that, Mcafee?”

“No, Sir?” the General finally replied

“I tell them that it’s the little things that I enjoy the most,” and with that Crane pulled out his weapon from beneath his black coat and fired it directly at the Mcafee - four spent cartridges hitting the concrete floor as the General’s body fell back hard against the wall.

Sam pulled up along the curb and turned off his engine.

The night was cold and it made it difficult to see through the windscreen. Rubbing the glass with his hand, Sam could make out a yellow taxi cab parked in the distance, its front wheels resting on the sidewalk. Sam checked his rear view mirror to see if he had been followed. He couldn’t get a clear view, the windows now almost completely covered by mist. His defences kicked in as he pulled out his weapon and checked it. With a quick release he confirmed the magazine of the Glock 22 was live. He slapped it back in and cocked it.

“Okay, let’s see where this takes us”…

Sam opened his car door and stepped out onto the road. A blanket of fog rolled in over the Hudson, obstructing his view as much as it was obstructed when he was in the car.

With a deep breath Sam set off towards the bridge, his eyes focused on the badly parked taxi. As he approached, he kept to its left. He was almost within touching distance before he noticed the driver slumped over the steering wheel.

Sam moved to the driver’s door and opened it.

“Jesus, Michael! Michael can you hear me?”

There was no response. The loss of blood was severe.

Sam pulled out his cell phone and dialled 911.

As he pressed his finger down on the number one for the first time, he stopped.

Sam shut his phone.

“Hold on, Michael, I’ve got an idea.”

Sam sprinted back to his car and jumped in. He sped to the cab and screeched to a halt, jumped out and ran over to where Michael lay.

“Just hang in there, pal.”

Sam clamped his arms underneath Michael’s and slowly pulled him out of the cab.

Dragging him to his car, Sam laid Michael on the back seat and checked his pulse.

It was faint, but it was there.

“I don’t know what the hell’s going on, Michael, but I’m going to take you somewhere where you’ll be safe. Just hang in there, and whatever you do, don’t die on me.”

Hillary looked across the room at the man who had complete control over her life. He was busy writing down something - his back hunched over the desk – only the interruption of a persistent cough causing his head to rise from time to time.

Ganton looked over at his prisoner – a slight break from work.

“Won’t be long now,” he said.

Hillary tried to swallow – her mouth drier than ever from the cloth trapped in it. She wanted to cry as soon as Ganton spoke, but the tears had dried up days ago.

“Once they read this your father won’t have much time left – they’ll kill him before day break.”

Hillary moaned from behind from her gag as she heard Ganton speak of her father.

Ganton didn’t react to Hillary’s objection.

As he pressed down on the page once more, there was a slight twitch in his hand, followed by a sharp pain.

Ganton dropped his pen.

He clenched his teeth. Hard.

Taking a deep breath, he prepared as best he could for what he knew was about to happen…

Not again…

Ganton’s hand was shaking – his eyes focused on the jittery movement in anticipation of what was to come…

The vibrations increased. As seconds ticked by it gained momentum until finally it shook uncontrollably moving up into the arm and shoulder.

It was followed by the other hand, it soon shaking as violently as the other.

Next, Ganton’s neck began to stiffen as his head started to twitch from side to side.

Then came the coughing – his head now moving without any control.

With his body in complete convulsion, Ganton collapsed to the floor.

Hillary watched as her captor, stretched out as far as he could, shook fiercely and uncontrollably – his eyes rolling into the back of his head, his trembling lips drooling saliva.

She grimaced as the violent spasm went on – Ganton in serious trouble as the seizure tossed him around the floor like a rag doll…

Then as quickly as it started it ended.

Hillary was now staring at the body as it lay motionless on the floor.

She moaned awaiting some form of response.

There was nothing. Ganton lay there stiff as a board.

Again she moaned, only this time louder than before.

Still there was nothing – no movement or response from her captor.

Hillary looked behind herself – the door that had been shut for days sat ajar at the top of the stairs.

She again turned to the body of David Reese Ganton. Still it had not moved.

She turned on her side, her hands tied tightly behind her back; her legs clamped together, and began to inch her way over towards the staircase, sliding across the concrete floor. Reaching the first step, Hillary turned herself around and managed to sit upright on the bottom rung. Never taking her eyes of the body, terrified it might come to life, Hillary backed her way up the stairs. With the push of her legs, with her arms to guide her from behind, each step exhausted her while at the same time giving her the incentive to conquer the next one. Fear can be both paralysing and liberating and Hillary was caught between these extremes as she made her way to the door at the top of the steps.

Finally she made it.

Sitting at the top of the stairs, looking at the unconscious body, Hillary knew this was it – her best chance of escape. Falling back into the doorway, she found herself lying on the kitchen floor. Hillary looked around for the exit - the back door, now only a few feet away. With all her effort focused on nothing other than the door, Hillary squirmed her way towards it, her body sliding along the kitchen tiles, desperate to get away.

She reached the door.

Hillary turned her body around and so that while lying on her back, her feet faced the door. With all her might, she raised her bound legs and kicked the wooden door.

There was a loud bang, but the door did not move. Again, Hillary raised her feet and - bang!

Still locked.

Bang!

The door didn’t budge.

Hillary took in a deep breath.

“Stay calm,” she thought, “You’ve got time.”

Hillary looked up at the door handle and saw the latch locked into the door frame. All she had to do was stand up and slide the latch.

She rolled onto her side and began rocking back and forth, trying to get some momentum to get to her knees.

“AND where the fuck do you think you’re GOING!”

Hillary froze.

“I ought to kill you right here, right now!”

Hillary closed her eyes tightly – the sound of Ganton’s voice making her ill with fear.