Mystery of the 19th Hole (Taylor Kelsey, Mystery 1) (18 page)

             
He clicked a button on the side of the gun, and the empty magazine landed in the dirt.  Pushing the new one in, he cocked the gun and lifted it back overhead.  “Let’s try this again,” he said.

             
Chad checked the camera angles on his screen again.  Then he looked at Jeff’s gun to see if it lined up with any of the men.  “A little to the right this time.”

             
Jeff moved the gun to the right.  Suddenly, turf shot skyward just several inches from his hands!  He jerked away.  “This isn’t working.”

             
Chad closed his laptop.  “I say we run.  We can try it again behind another bunker.”

             
“Good idea.”

             
Scrambling to their feet, they started for the next bunker behind them, across an open fairway.  The fairway was sloped downward, and the gang couldn’t see that they’d left until they were almost to the green.  By this time they were much too far for the pistols to be accurate.

             
Settling in the bunker, Chad flipped open his laptop.  “What hole is this?  I need to find the cameras.”

             
The lieutenant scanned the area until he found a sign with the number on it.  “Nine .  Hole nine.”

             
“Hole nine already!”

             
Jeff explained, “The course doesn’t go in order from hole to hole.  The holes are against each other and double back and such.  We didn’t take the normal path, which is why we made it to nine.  You didn’t know that?”

             
“I’m scared of golf courses.”

             
“Isn’t that ironic?”

             
“Okay,” said Chad, “we only have one camera angle here.  But I think it could work.”

             
“Where’re the tangos? 
Tangos
mean
bad guys
.”

             
“I know what it means.  The tangos are inching into the camera shot as we speak.  Still at least a hundred yards from us.”

             
“Good.”  Jeff cocked his pistol.  “Shall we try this again?”

             
Taylor lifted her head.  Her and Abby had been crying the last two or three minutes.  She checked the bomb countdown.  Thirteen minutes left.

             
“I’m sorry.”

             
A pause.  Abby sniffled a little.  “What?”

             
“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry for all the times I was mean to you.  I was... being so
unchristian
, if that’s even a word.”

             
“No,” said Abby, “I’m the one who’s been unchristian.  I’ve just been obsessed with making you mad and jealous.”  She dropped her head.  “An outsider wouldn’t even be able to tell we went to a Christian school.”

             
“I’ve also tried to make you jealous,” said Taylor.  “And I’ve lied.  The truth is I’m not even going to the dance; I’m going to be on vacation with my grandparents on those days.”

             
Abby wasn’t surprised.  “Yeah, well, I still feel bad.  See, I lied too.  Jason didn’t ask me to the dance.  He asked that other girl that you saw him kissing.”

             
Taylor sighed, recalling the last week’s events.  “Yeah, well, not only have I lied about the dance, I’ve lied to my parents and been totally disrespectful to them.  I coaxed Chad into disobeying his parents.  And I put Susan in dangerous situations she didn’t want to be in.”  A tear fell from her eye.  “Now she’s been shot in the leg.  Chad is in danger.  And I’m about to die.  Not to mention I dragged you into all this.”

             
“I came willingly, Taylor.”

             
“I also,” continued Taylor, “lied to the police department and broke the law like a million times in the last few days.  Lied, hid information…”  She stopped because she was crying again.  “What a way to die?” she said sarcastically.  “In fact, I believe the last thing I said to my dad was that I hated his guts.”

             
Tears gushed from Taylor’s eyes.  She had been so rude to her parents lately.  If only she’d known that she was going do die, she would have acted completely different.  But that was no excuse for her behavior.  Everyone’s days are numbered.  And everyday is important.

             
“I don’t even want to think about how I’ve treated my parents,” said Abby.  “Since I’ve become a teenager, I’ve been extremely mean to them.  I had this idea in my mind that they were dumb and useless, or something...  Now that I’m about to die from a bomb, I can see I was wrong thinking those things.”  Abby huffed.  “Can you believe that?  It takes a bomb to get me to wake up to reality.”

             
Taylor was nodding, still crying.  “Well, I just wish I could see my parents one last time.  I wish I could take back what I said to them, and how I acted.  It hurts them, it hurts God, and now, it’s even is hurting me.” 

Silence filled the room.  After thirty seconds, Taylor’s eyes suddenly snapped open wide.  “Parents!  Abby, my cell phone is in my back pocket.  If you can reach it, I can text my dad.  He would know what to do.”

             
Their hands were tied behind their backs to the stair railing.  There wasn’t much slack, but they milked what they could.  Taylor stretched and pulled until her hands bled.  At last Abby reached Taylor’s back pocket and picked the phone out.  She passed it to Taylor, who was a whiz at texting.

             
Taylor’s iPhone had gotten lost when they’d went off the cliff, so she was using her mom’s phone with a slide-out keyboard. 
Probably easier for this predicament
, she thought.  The phone was behind her back, so she couldn’t see the keys or the screen; but she had used it a million times.  Closing her eyes, muscle memory kicked in and she sent a text to her dad.

             
“I did it.”

             
Abby looked at the bomb timer.  “Ten minutes until.”

             
“Let’s pray.”

             
“I’m really getting tired of this.  When can I shoot?”

             
“Patience.”  Chad was looking at his monitor.  “They’re not close enough yet.”

             
“Pretty soon they’re going to be too close!” said Jeff harshly.

             
“Okay, okay.”  Chad alternated between Jeff’s aim and the monitor.  “Just a few more seconds.”

             
The bullets weren’t as frequent but were still passing overhead.  “Now!” yelled Chad.

             
Jeff shot.  Since the gun was over his head, it kicked him backwards, causing him to fall on his back in the sand pit.

             
“We got him!” exclaimed Chad, looking excitedly into the monitor.

             
“Killed him?”

             
“No.  But we got one of them in the hand.”

             
Jeff slammed his hand on the ground angrily.  “This isn’t going to work.”  The gunshots were coming two at a time now.  “Adding to the failure, it’s made them madder.”

             
“It’s going to work.”

             
The lieutenant grabbed Chad by the arm and pulled him upright.  “We need to get to the next bunker before we’re blown away.”

             
Suddenly the bullets stopped.  Time passed.  “What’s happening?”

             
Footfalls rose in decibel as they listened.  Looking into his laptop monitor, Chad yelled, “They’re coming.”

             
Jeff and Chad immediately took off for the hole behind them.

             
“The next green doesn’t have any bunkers,” hollered Chad.

             
“No, but the one to our right does.”  They veered and ran collateral.  The gunshots started up again.

             
“I don’t think we can make it that far.”

             
Jeff was going to disagree when a bullet skimmed his shoe.  “Keep running!”

             
Andrew Kelsey was sitting at home working on some architect drawings when he got the text from Taylor.  It said, “tn mntes t ive.. hlp”  It only took him a few seconds to decipher.  “Ten minutes to live… help!”

             
Christina was out shopping.  He clutched his cell phone, grabbed the keys to his old truck—the only vehicle available to him—and set out.  He didn’t know where to find Taylor, but he did know she had gone golfing.  That was a good start.

             
Then he had an idea.  He forwarded the text to Chad.  Chad knew electronics and such; he would probably know how to track the text. 
“Please know how,”
Andrew muttered.

             
Hopping in his old dusty truck, he spun out.

             
He only had ten minutes!

             
Chad and Jeff dove behind yet another bunker.  This bunker was one of two behind the eighteenth hole.  He still didn’t understand how he’d gotten to the eighteenth hole—which was supposed to be the final hole at every standard-length golf course—after just crossing a few fairways.  But it was no matter; this bunker seemed by far the safest.

             
“Willing to give the shooting thing another go?” he asked.

             
Jeff frowned.  “ Why not?”

             
“Wait, I’ve got a text.”

             
“We don’t have time for texts.”

             
Chad almost listened and put his phone back in his pocket, but it was already out, so he checked.  “It’s a text from Taylor.  She’s in trouble!”

             
Jeff scooted next to Chad to read the text.  “Ten minutes…  What?”

             
“Ten minutes to live, help!  Wait,” said Chad, “her dad forwarded it to me.”  While he was considering, his phone rang.  Andrew was calling.

             
“Hello.”

             
“Chad, can you trace that text.”

             
“No,” came the answer.  Chad thought through his options.  “But Taylor’s wearing one of my watches.  It has GPS technology in it!”  Keeping the phone to his ear with his shoulder, he rapidly pressed keyboard buttons on his computer.  Files and programs opened and closed.  “Aha!  Here’s the address she’s at.  It looks like it’s by the ocean.”  He relayed the address, and Andrew plugged it into the GPS on his cell phone.

             
“Got it.  Chad, I don’t think I can make it there in time.  Can you?”

             
“Maybe.”  Chad hung up.  “I’ve got to go, Lieutenant.  Sorry.”

             
Jeff took a deep breath.  “It’s all right.  But how are you going to get past all the guys.”

             
Reaching under his shirt, Chad procured a smoke grenade.

             
“What!  You had smoke grenades this whole time.”

             
“I didn’t want to waste it.  I only have this one.”

             
That said, Chad threw it out front and darted back and away from the men, before making a large u-turn and running for the parking lot.  From the parking lot, he could see the smoke reaching skyward, mostly transparent, almost disappeared.

             
“Help Jeff,” he prayed.  Looking around the parking lot, he realized he’d come in Taylor’s car.  He didn’t have the keys!  There was an ambulance—of course no police—and a lot of cars, but none with people in them.  “Ahhh!  I wish I knew how to hot wire a car.”

             
He saw a golf cart on the grass in front of the clubhouse and figured that was his best bet.  The golf cart seemed fast at first, until he turned onto the road.  Cars were honking and passing him at frequent.  He finally turned off and drove on the shoulder of the road.

             
Checking the coordinates on his laptop against a timer he’d set on one of the widgets, a weight rose from his gut to his chest.  Not enough time to save Taylor.  At least, not at his current pace.

             
Susan’s eyes wearily opened.  Everything was blurry, and she felt nauseous.  Wanted to puke.  Then she remembered what had happened.  She’d been shot.  And Taylor had been kidnapped!  The room that had been spinning around her a second ago became clear.  She was in the clubhouse on a gurney.  A paramedic with a mask over his face was standing over her.  Beside him was Mike Adamson.