Marcos turned onto 6th Street, looked into his rearview and waited for it. Suddenly, a white van sideswiped the Caravan. Dr. Reeves hopped out of his BMW and sprang into action, dragging the driver of the Caravan into the street.
Marcos was tempted to turn around and pickup Reeves, but he didn’t dare upset the Mastermind. At least, not yet. Instead, he drove back to the warehouse, a smile on his face. Victor finally did something right.
Victor hopped out of the white van and limped over to Reeves. “I didn’t see him coming. Will he be all right?”
“Yes, but it’s not a he,” Reeves said, testily. “It’s a she. And you better have a damn good lawyer because her husband is a very well connected man.”
“You know her?”
“I’m having an affair with her, but you probably knew that, didn’t you? Tell me something, who do you work for?”
“Somebody told you to take us out,” Reeves said, pulling out a gun. “And I’m willing to bet it’s the same person who has my son.”
“Come on, kid! How long you gonna be?” Guillermo banged against the other side of the door.
“Just a minute!”
Jason scanned his surroundings. The restroom was very utilitarian, and there was not much he could use: A tankless toilet, a small sink, a plastic trashcan, a toilet brush, rolls of paper towels and toilet paper stacked on the floor. The only window was barred from the outside, leaving the only way out through the door and past Guillermo. The only ways Jason could think to do that was to pummel the thug with TP rolls, or beat him to death with the brush.
Think, damn it! Jason scolded himself. A solution would have automatically presented itself to Jack Bauer by now.
The trouble was, he wasn’t Bauer. Marcos made him realize he was just Jason Reeves.
He heard tires rolling across gravel outside and surmised that Marcos had returned. Jason thought of his last escape attempt and rubbed his jaw. He didn’t want that again.
Jason opened the door. “Take me back,” he said. “I’m done.”
Arnold had never been the happiest child. He was the fat kid, always picked on, always the butt of the jokes. And he never quite felt like he was on the same page as his friends. He wondered if they would’ve even hung out with him if they didn’t love 24 so much and he didn’t look just like a young Edgar Stiles.
Even worse, his parents were quite controlling. Arnold never would’ve become a modern day Judas, if his parents hadn’t tortured him: Help us find your friends or you’re grounded from television for life.
No Survivor. No Lost. No CSI . No Heroes. No 24.
In a moment of weakness, he had betrayed his friends.
Now, he was trapped in Sara’s back yard at the mercy of her dogs. He knew one thing: once her parents realized she was gone, it was only a matter of time before they found him.
“I’ve got to get over this fence and set things right,” Arnold mumbled resolutely. “What would Edgar Stiles do?” he said as he tried to formulate an escape plan.
Arnold swore that if he got out of this, he would never go anywhere near a Pomeranian again. He searched his pockets for something, anything, he could use as a weapon against the beasts. He came up with half of a Snickers bar.
Would they even eat it?
Arnold threw the candy on the ground at the little dogs’ feet. They paused just long enough to sniff and lick the caramel, but it was enough time for Arnold to get through the gate and out of the yard.
“Tony!” Sara called out in the darkness. “Where are you?”
“Follow my voice.”
Sara Marco Polo’d through the woods until she came upon Randall staring at a large tree.
“We’re lost, aren’t we?” Sara stated.
“Moss grows on the north side of trees,” Randall said, feeling around the trunk. His fingers brushed something soft and bristly. Was it moss? It was…
Randall reflexively jerked his hand back, flinging the bug into Sara’s face. Sara shrieked and bolted off, swatting at her face.