Holding Their Own IV: The Ascent (36 page)

As often a
s possible, Terri dropped a paper-breadcrumb, her hopes being that anyone trying to follow the kidnappers would come across her litter.

Doing something to resist helped her fight the despair that was welling up inside of her. As the hours passed
, and they traveled further and further away from Meraton, Terri realized her chances of rescue were dwindling.  Anguish soon gave way to desperation, which was quickly followed by an overriding sense of gloom.

Eventually the three vehicles pulled into what appeared to be a warehouse, the building accessible via a little-used exit off of a major interstate. Given the direction and distance of their travel, Terri assumed the big highway was I-10. The large metal building didn’t have any signage or distinguishing marks, apparently having gone out of business some time ago. Her captors had evidently been using the abandoned facility for some time as someone lifted a loading dock door upon their approach.

Terri noted all of the windows had been covered with tin foil, probably to block any light leaking out after dark. Once the three ATVs were inside, the door was pulled down; the silence seemed odd after so many hours of listening to the roar of engines.

Again,
her dignity was insulted as her captor lifted her off the seat with little effort. Making sure she was standing, the brut spun her around and got up close to her face.

“I’m going to explain this to you one time, and one time only. You are going to be questioned by the boss. He’ll be here soon. Until then, if you try and escape or cause me one iota of bullshit, I’ll bleed you. I’ll do it slow and make you wish you were dead. After the boss is done, it’s his call what happens to you. Do you understand?”

Terri shook her hair away from her eyes, and looked up at the man with a harsh expression. “And who’s this boss of yours? What does he want to know?”

With a movement so
fast, Terri didn’t have time to flinch; the knife was on her cheek. “No questions. Keep your mouth shut.”

Terri nodded her head in
agreement; the cold steel against her face was very pervasive.

“Good,” the man said
, and then nodded at one of his comrades.

Terri was taken to a dark doorway, the entrance to what was a completely empty room except for a
five-gallon bucket and a gallon milk jug full of water. Her escort cut the nylon tie restraining her hands and then shoved her inside.

“The bucket is the head, the water is to drink.” Then the man closed and locked the door behind her.

Terri paced around the room a few times, the damp, dark cell having no windows or other features of note. Despite a comfortable temperature outside, she felt cold—the foreboding situation and dark quarters causing her to wrap her arms tightly around herself as she paced.

After a few trips around the clammy concrete floor, Terri took the
potty-bucket, flipped it upside down, and made a stool. Her dire predicament beginning to crush any sense of well-being, Terri’s primary concern was for her unborn child. She really didn’t feel any fear over what these evil men had in store for her, and honestly told herself that she would sacrifice her life right now if it would guarantee the child’s survival.

Terri’s eyes grew wet as she thought about the future and wonder
ed if Bishop would be able to find her. “You can’t count on that,” she mumbled quietly. “You can only count on yourself.”

There was also a bit of anger in her soul. She hadn’t done anything to anyone as far as she knew. She was completely unworthy of kidnapping. Fear of not being able to provide whatever these men wanted began to creep in. Would they kill her and the baby after convincing themselves she didn’t know or have anything of value?

Terri had never felt so alone before. The walls of the room seemed to draw closer and closer. All she could do was pray.

Meraton, Texas

January 6
, 2016

The sun had set over an hour ago, and Bishop was about at the end of his rope. Pete had been convincing, using the logic that everyone should just wait until the trackers returned. As dusk had passed to night, Pete’s argument had made even more sense, given the chances of a misidentification leading to an accidental shooting were higher at night.

Betty and Nick had done their best to sooth Bishop
’s nerves, the former pouring an endless supply of coffee while the latter repeating, “We’ll get them brother . . . if there’s a God in heaven, we will find them . . . and when we do. . . .”

The sound of hoo
ves galloping down Main Street drew everyone to The Manor’s front windows. Over a dozen men had gathered, many riding in on horseback and prepared to give chase. Each time another had arrived, Bishop rushed to the glass, hoping it was the trackers returning with news. This time, it was.

Bishop was outside before the men could even dismount, his face eager for news of his missing wife. The older cowboy spoke up first. “We found a
trail; we’re pretty sure your wife left us clues.”

“Did you find them?”

“No, sir. But we’ve got a good idea of where they’re at.” Reaching in his pocket, the younger cowboy pulled out three small scraps of paper.

“We found these little pieces of paper
spread along the trail. They kept us on track over solid rock until we could pick up their tire tracks in the sand again. We ran out of daylight, but I’m sure they were headed for the old Robinson garage up by I-10.”

Bishop wasn’t familiar with the place
, and his expression indicated as much. He started to ask more questions, but the old tracker said he could explain better with a cup of coffee and a map. Seeing that the men and horses were exhausted, Bishop held his tongue until the trackers could get some caffeine.

Pete unfolded a map on
The Manor’s pool table and everyone gathered around while Betty filled two cups. After a few sips of coffee, the older man continued. “Those machines they were riding have limits on what terrain they can cover. We use ’em out at the ranch all the time. Sometimes, in rugged country, ya just can’t beat a horse.”

Pointing toward the map, the man continued. “That ruled out this
whole section of the Glass Mountains—there’s just no place to go, even with a horse. So, we picked up the first tire tracks about here.”

The younger man joined in. “Over here is where I found the first piece of paper. I thought at first it was just random trash, but a half mile further north, I found a second one. It was right beside a tire track and the same type of paper.”

“We found the third scrap all the way up here, and if you connect the three dots, they make a straight line.”

After another sip of coffee, the man continued. “We rode until it got to dark and found the last tire track five miles south of Robinson’s old place. That’s the only shelter for several miles either direction and would be a good place to hide out. Pete told us not to be heroes, so we turned around and came back.”

Bishop glanced at the map, “So, can you describe Robinson’s garage? What type of building is it?”

“It’s one of those inexpensive metal buildings, nothing fancy at all. Old man Robinson did more welding and equipment repair than anything else. He closed it up about six years ago when the economy got real bad. He died a few years later
, and I think the county owns the place now since no one paid the taxes.”

The younger cowboy jumped in, “It sits all by itself off of the exit. Country
Road 413 runs through here,” and the man pointed at the map. “It’s very isolated out there. If I were of a criminal mind and needed a hideout, I couldn’t think of a better place.”

Bishop studied the map again, memorizing as much as he could. He glanced up at Nick and
asked, “What do you think?”

“I think you and I are going to walk I-10 again, my friend. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Bishop nodded. “I think the first step is to verify they’re actually there. Once I get a look at the place, we can decide what to do.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Bishop turned and looked at the gathered men. “I want to thank each and every one of you for volunteering to help. I won’t forget it. I think for tonight, Nick and I should go scout the place out. If we all go charging in there, they might hurt Terri. Nick and I’ll be back by sunrise, and we’ll determine the best plan of action then. You all go home and get some sleep—we may need you in the morning.”

Several of the men approached Bishop and patted him on the back or shook his hand.
Every one of the men pledged to do anything Bishop needed to get his wife back.

After the meeting had broken up, Bishop turned to Pete and said, “I’ve got another issue. Nick and I used a lot of gas in the truck today. I’m not sure I’ve got enough left to make two round trips. Any ideas?”

Nick chimed in, “You could use some of Pete’s bathtub gin—that shit would power the space shuttle.”

Pete thought for a moment and replied, “No problem
—just go down to the gas station and inquire about bartering for some fuel.”

“I’m not sure I’ve got anything with me of value, Pete. Roberto is a tough customer.”

“You’ve done business with him before. I’m sure your credit’s good.”

Bishop and Nick loaded up their gear in the back of the truck and drove the few blocks to Meraton’s only gas station. The place had been turned into what could only be described as a fort. Old cars and trucks ringed the facility
, creating a wall. Barbwire, bartered from local ranchers, was woven throughout the barricade making access to the liquid gold stored in Roberto’s belowground tanks very difficult. Bishop pointed to the ever-present sniper on the roof and commented, “Roberto has a lot of kids. They sleep up there during good weather.”

A new protocol for requesting service had been established, thanks in no small part to the numerous attempts by various passersby to rob the place. Bishop stopped the truck in the middle of Main and honked twice.

A flashlight beam could be seen swinging back and forth behind the car-fence, evidence that someone was responding to the greeting. Before long, a voice called out, “Senor Bishop? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me
, Roberto. Sorry to bother you so late.”

Shadows played through a small gap in the barrier
, and then an armed man approached the truck. “Senor Bishop, what can Roberto do for you?”

“Roberto, I need gasoline. My wife, Terri, has been kidnapped
, and we think we know where she’s being held. I’ve been driving too much lately and am running low.”

The thick-build Latino nodded his head, “Yes, senor, I heard about Miss Terri. I’m so sorry. I would be happy to give you some gas as she was always so kind to my children.”

“Roberto, I don’t have anything with me to barter with. I promise I’ll make it up to you later if we can come to an agreement.”

The station owner got an odd look on his face, apparently having trouble understanding Bishop’s intent.
Finally, the translation registered and he began shaking his head. “Mister Bishop, Roberto will give you gasoline to contribute to the rescue. I’m only sorry my age and family do not allow me to accompany you to get Miss Terri.”

Without waiting on Bishop to answer, Roberto turned and yelled
a few short bursts of Spanish toward the station. More flashlight beams began sweeping the area, and in a few minutes, two teenage boys slid through the opening, each carrying a five-gallon, red plastic can.

Roberto turned to Bishop and said, “Senor, if I may ask you to turn off the truck please. Sometimes a little fuel spills when using the cans. A fire would not be good.”

Bishop did as he was asked, the irony of it all making him smile. Here he was, parked in the middle of the street, the truck loaded with weapons of war, begging for a few gallons of gas to rescue his wife from kidnappers. He had an ex-Green Beret sitting next to him, and the visit to the gas-fortress was no doubt being covered by at least one sniper rifle. All of this, and Roberto wanted him to turn off the truck for safety sake.
What a world we live in
, he thought.

Bishop exited the cab and helped the two lads pour the fuel into the truck while Nick and Roberto talked about the latest Ford V-8 and how
Caddy’s just weren’t what they used to be.