BOULDER, COLORADO

Friday—November 18, 2016

            It was closing on two A.M. as the helicopter—crossing over the city—suddenly banked away from the valley and targeted the wooded slopes of Hightain. 

            Inside the noisy aircraft, the pilot motioned at the illuminated complex at the top of the knoll.  He glanced aside at the American—and  then behind at the two Asians who were tucked in the rear, each toting an automatic rifle. All of them were outfitted in combat fatigues and helmets. 

            The pilot wiped a forearm across his sooty colored beard, then quickly returned the hand to the controls.  “How is it looking there to us, States?” he asked the American.

            Two pistols strapped to his belt, States lifted the night vision binoculars to his eyes—he focused on the roof of the seven story building:

No visible activity surrounding the helipad—a single soldier inside the security station.

“Tranquillity,” States concluded.

By midday they would have the married couple safely overseas.  And they would collect the balance of their compensation—enough for all of them to live in grand style for a long while.

Overhead, the helicopter swung out wide.  And then started circling.

            Allanna MacKay turned over in the bed in the dark to check the clock.  Two past two.  Tom was gone now for nearly twenty minutes.

            He awakened her while changing into his workout clothes.  He complained again of being unable to sleep, and asked if she cared if he jumped downstairs to the gym to drain some adrenaline.  No problem, she told him—though it was not the truth.  Because whenever he wasn’t in bed pressed up against her, she herself had trouble sleeping. 

And so, Allanna had tossed about since Tom left.  It bothered her that this seemed to have become a habit with him—it was the third time in the last week that he had gone down in the middle of the night.                                 

            During his absence, her thoughts sprinted in multi-directions.  Apprehensive thoughts concerning the health of her unborn babies, happy thoughts about all of them returning home to normalcy as a family once the twins arrived.                                    

On the whole, she remained in fair spirits these days—due to her conscious decision to be happy.  And, she was beginning to see the end in sight—she was now halfway through her pregnancy.

            Allanna reached over and touched Tom’s side of the bed. “Please hurry,” she whispered.  “I miss you...”

            On the roof, from inside the security station Corporal Brad Bridges heard then saw the helicopter.  He tossed aside his magazine, wheeled his chair over to the computer, and brought up some information on the monitor.  No, there was nothing posted as far as scheduled arrivals tonight.

            He reached over to the radio and tried unsuccessfully to establish contact with the incoming flight.  He phoned downstairs to central security and inquired if they were aware of anything.

             Negative. It’s probably just another one of those late night lab deliveries that the medical minds neglected to log, Bridges was advised.

 “Their typical take out order—a pint of chilled seminal fluid and a super size bag of ova eggs to go.” 

As the helicopter began to descend from overhead, Bridges leaned over and flipped a set of switches, turning on the roof helipad lights.

            Jogging in the gym, Tom MacKay slowed to a stop—ending his laps.  And he continued to think about things.  For a while, his life at Hightain had evolved into something routine, almost approaching tolerable.  But over the course of the past week, the anxiety had returned.  And, Tom was aware of why:

Night after night Tom was tortured by a recurring nightmare to the extent that he dreaded falling asleep…Alone in his car he pulls up into their driveway at twilight, and their home is underwater—but nobody in the neighborhood is giving it any attention.  He wades to the front windows startled as he watches through the waters a frantic, submerged Allanna paddling desperately for freedom, a flailing Grace under her arm…From room to room they scoot searching for any way out, the water choking them.  And, then they spot him at the windows!  With fresh smiles, they extend their arms out to him.  We’re saved, Daddy is here!  But within seconds, the smiles are gone and they are clawing at the glass and they are again choking.  They are pleading for him! Daddy, daddy, please, my dear daddy!   But no matter how forcefully he tries, he can’t break through the windows to rescue them.  And he watches with paralyzing helplessness as all body coloring leaves his wife and little girl—and their limp bodies drift noiselessly through the deep waters... 

            Tom pressed his palms against his forehead, pushing away the images. He would take a final walk around the gym before he returned upstairs.

When the helicopter touched down, Brad Bridges moved out cautiously towards it—shielding his face from the swirling gale of the blades.  As the corporal saw the side door being dragged open, he raised his arms overhead—beckoning the pilot to cut the engine…Suddenly those arms were spiraling across his chest, automatic weapon fire pummeling through him.  

“What the—”  Downstairs in the central security room, two soldiers had just witnessed it together on the video surveillance monitors. One of them pounced onto the radio and signaled a code alert.

            The pilot stayed inside the helicopter while his three comrades hopped out, raced across the roof—and heaved open the stairs door…  Spreading out onto the seventh floor, they immediately recognized the layout from the diagrams that were provided to them.  In the lobby, States stepped over to the fire alarm—and yanked the lever.  Blaring buzzers at once were resounding on all floors.                                    

Allanna heard the alarms as soon as they went off.  Her instinct was to scamper out of bed and dress quickly.  She  was knotting her tennis shoes when she heard the knocks on the front door. 

            She hurried across the suite and put her eye to the spy hole:  Two soldiers in the corridor. “Mr. and Mrs. Thomas MacKay!  Please—we are evacuating the building—we have ourselves a fire downstairs!”                

            Tom was her fear, and she panicked.  She rushed to unbolt the door. “My husband, he...Tom is down there!  At the gym, he—”   

            On the other side of the door, States stabbed his fingernails into the frame upon hearing that Tom MacKay was not inside.  Not the ideal scenario—however, they had prepared for such a possibility.

            “We must leave this very second, Mrs. MacKay!” he said, increased urgency in his voice.  “We will be airlifting your family out from the roof.  Mr. MacKay—he has been located and is currently being escorted up to join you.”

            Hearing that calmed Allanna.  She rushed to Grace’s dark bedroom and lifted her from her crib. She laid her sleeping child against her shoulder and hurried into the corridor. Looking towards the lobby, she saw staffers scurrying down the stairs.  One of them—catching sight of  her holding the little girl amid the soldiers—broke away and trotted forward a few steps onto the residential wing.  “Good deal—you’ve already got the family in tow! Need any extra help?”

“We are okay!” States relayed pleasantly for everybody.

            The staffer flashed a thumbs up sign, then vanished down the stairs. 

            At ground level, after having gathered to discuss strategy, a team of eight soldiers were now storming up the stairs, <!--[if !supportEmptyParas]-->their climb slowed by the oncoming rush of those evacuating the building.

 On the roof, the stairwell door was pushed open ahead of Allanna.
The young woman gasped and froze at what she saw on the walkway.  Corporal Bridges, bloodied and unmoving...

            Allanna was nudged forward toward the waiting aircraft.

As Tom MacKay tried to return upstairs to his family, he was prevented from doing so by two soldiers who assured him that everyone in the building including Allanna and Grace were currently being evacuated:  No one but authorized rescue workers were being allowed to reenter. 

So Tom was relegated to joining the hundred or so people who had abandoned the building and were now grouped in the cold along the front parking lot.  The slopes were echoing with shrill emergency alarms—from down in the city, sirens yelped from the approaching metro fire trucks.       

            While Tom stood there watching all of this, it struck him—sickening  him:  The dream.

Seconds after they had guided her into the rear of the helicopter, Allanna happened to look out through the windshield and saw soldiers bounding from the stairwell. Assault rifles drawn, they spread themselves across the roof, and surrounded the aircraft.         

            States—outside the door of the helicopter—boosted  his arms overhead in surrender.  “Yes,” he said, “We have the pregnant woman Mrs. MacKay—but I advise that you do not attempt anything stupid!”  He then demanded that the husband Thomas MacKay be brought to the roof.  Failure to comply, he warned, would result in the worst of consequences for Mrs. MacKay. 

            Cradling her whining daughter, Allanna cried out, “Oh, dear God,”—fully realizing what was happening to her and Grace.

            The one nearest to the mother touched her arm—and she yanked herself and Grace away from him.         

            “Missy, we won’t harm you or child or husband.  Soon all of you will be at very nice place—where you are loved and cared for like royalty...”

As Les Wesmore sped out of the city and toward Hightain, he slugged the steering wheel—as he continued to listen to the voice on the phone.  The voice was that of army captain Sid Brock, whose tactical squad had been summoned in—choppered over from their command post at Denver.    

“…These people are saying, Doctor, that if we do not send up Mr. MacKay that they will kill Mrs. MacKay,” Brock reminded him.

Wesmore nodded at the rearview mirror.  “But, again, what you’re telling me is that in your opinion it’s just a bluff on their part?”

            “Yes, sir, we believe it is.  These guys have all the markings of soldiers of fortune—hired guns.  Recruited by whom, who knows.  But it’s not hard to recognize the abduction motive, wouldn’t you agree?  Anyway, we’re confident that they won’t under any circumstance deliberately harm the lady—being that she’s worth zero to them dead.  While our guess is that they are assuming that we won’t risk any rescue that would endanger Mrs. MacKay.”

            Wesmore cursed. “I still can’t comprehend any of this! The MacKays were brought to Hightain for the benefit of the research project—to provide them the best possible prenatal care for the babies! And, we assured the MacKays that Hightain was the absolutely safest environment for them all!”  He swore some more.  Finally, “Tell me, Brock—what are the odds of successfully rescuing Mrs. MacKay?”

            “We all need to accept that there are sizeable risks involved.  But, if you allow that whirlybird to leave with the lady—you are likely writing-off your chance of restoring custody of her babies.  But give us the word go, and you have a fighting chance at a happy ending.”    

            Wesmore had no trouble making a final decision.  “Do your best to rescue Mrs. MacKay—even if you can’t assure us of a good outcome.  But let me make one thing absolutely understandable to you, Brock—under  no circumstances are you to allow Tom MacKay to surrender himself to them.  Are you hearing me crystal clearly, Captain?  Do not let Tom MacKay walk out to that helicopter!”

The front of Hightain was full of flashing-light emergency vehicles—fire trucks and police cruisers—and the two grounded tactical squad helicopters.  From among the many onlookers, Tom MacKay was located and brought to the central security room.   Brock briefed him on what was happening upstairs.

“This is insanity!”  Tom exclaimed, kicking over a chair. “All this because Allanna is carrying twins—and  some lunatics or some crackpot government wants them badly enough to do this?”   He swung away from Brock and harbored his head in his hands.  “No, I don’t care what you think is the smart thing to do—it’s my wife and baby girl up there.  I  don’t want anything attempted that might cause them to hurt Allanna or Grace.”  He revolved to face the man.  “I’m going to the roof.  If they want me, they got me.”

            Brock squinted at him.  “If it was my family, I’d probably do the same.  Okay, then. But, Mr. MacKay, let me recommend that we first try and negotiate an exchange—your daughter for you.  It would be in the best interest of your child to get her as far removed from this as possible.  We’ve got nothing to lose by asking.  And if they buy into it, we can at least assure her safety.”

The word was relayed to the captors:  “Mr. MacKay is on his way up.”

States—still outside the helicopter—saluted, having agreed to free the little girl.  The standoff was beginning its second hour.

            Allanna’s eyes stayed on the stairway door.  Finally, it opened—and she saw her husband at the top of the steps, amid a pack of soldiers.  “Oh, Tom…” she cried softly.

            States smiled.  He reached over his shoulder and pounded on the door.  One of the Asians tugged the door aside and traded places with him.

States crawled over to Allanna.  “Your husband has consented to join you—but only if we release the child.  If that is what you both want, we can  agree to that.  Taking the child with us or leaving the child—it does not matter.”

            Her eyes widened,  then soared out the window at her husband.  She cried quietly into Grace’s hair.  “Tom don’t do this to me...”  Allanna looked down at her daughter and felt she was losing her mind at the prospect of never seeing her baby girl again.  But without question, it was the right thing—Grace’s safety was their most important concern. 

            “Mommy,” the little girl whimpered groggily, rubbing her closed eyes.  She was in a poor mood, still mostly asleep.                         

            “Grace, I…I…your mommy so loves you!”  Cradling her daughter, Allanna was kissing her face, rocking her.  “Dear God—let her always remember me!” the young woman sobbed.  “Father in heaven, let Grace  forever remember the time in her life when her mom was there with her and for her each and every day.  Let her always remember how much I love her!  Every day.  Oh, God…”

            Steadying herself, Allanna readied Grace.  The little girl opened her eyes and when she saw the menacing bodies reaching for her—she was suddenly wide awake.  She wound her arms around her mother’s neck and started wailing, “No, mommy, no!”

            The harder Allanna struggled to push her daughter away, the more the little girl fought it.  Clawing savagely for her mother, the child cut open the young woman’s lip.  “Stop it, Grace! Just stop it!”  Allanna cried, blood trickling—and as she shook her daughter, the blood spattered onto Grace.  Finally, Allanna dispatched a stern slap to Grace’s leg.  The whack stunned the child long enough to allow Allanna to push her away.  Once accomplished, Allanna buried her face in her hands—weeping in spasms.  Her final image of her daughter was that of a shivering Grace—the pleading little eyes speaking of incomprehensible betrayal. 

            Bracing the child, States vaulted from the helicopter.  Halfway to the stairs, he stopped and set Grace down on the walkway. 

Under the bright lights, the little girl stood in her footed flannel pajamas—the fluffy outline of a diaper beneath.  With her mother’s blood smeared across her face, she was tossing her arms and turning circles in confusion—frantic for someone familiar. 

            From inside the stairwell, Tom MacKay swallowed hard, then raised a foot onto the roof. He got down on his knees.  “Grace!  Grace, come here—come to daddy!” he shouted across, holding his arms wide for his little girl. “Grace!”

            Hearing her daddy, she spun in his direction. Seeing her daddy, she scurried towards him, pumping her short legs as fast as they would carry her.                                                  

            As Grace fell forward into his arms, Tom found himself being tackled and thrown backwards into the stairwell—the door was yanked shut, and Tom and Grace’s tumble was blocked by soldiers halfway down the flight.

            “No!” Tom roared, hearing the gunfire outside on the roof—the soldiers restraining him.

            States was shot down without mercy while grabbing for both pistols.   Instantly, the elevator rolled open—inside, a huddled trio of soldiers geared in gas masks and chemical suits—each aiming a rocket launcher from the top of a shoulder.  One of them fired and that was all that was required—the flaming gas canister exploding through the helicopter’s windshield.  The blinding black smoke released itself, surging throughout the interior—clouds of it pouring out its open door.  Amid this, the aircraft’s engine was throttled on—the blades began revving, soon spinning speedily.                                 

            The helicopter began rising.  Wobbling higher…Five, fifteen, twenty-five feet.  At that height, it paused and began rotating on its vertical axis,  oscillating like a pendulum.  All along the roof, mesmerized eyes watched.

            Then down it tumbled—galloping across the walkway, soldiers leaping for new cover.  The security station ruptured into blasting tidal waves of glass and debris as the aircraft smashed through the structure.