Gallery of the Dead

One Hundred and One

‘Mommy isn’t coming for you,’ the man had said as he returned the remote control to his trouser pocket and began gloving his hands. ‘Nobody is ever coming for you... Except me.’

Maybe it was the sincerity in the man’s tone of voice, or maybe it was because the girl sensed danger in every word he spoke, but as he got to her and placed a hand on her left shoulder, the girl lost control. The fear that had begun as butterflies in her stomach rapidly spread throughout the rest of her body, manifesting itself in irrepressible shudders, forcing the tears that had welled up in her eyes to finally roll down her cheeks.

Without being able to move, frozen in place from pure fear, the girl wet herself.

The man looked back at her in disgust. As he circled around the girl, positioning himself directly behind her, the door to the small room they were in was pushed open and, in a blink of an eye, five FBI agents stormed in.

Despite how shocked the man was, he was able still to quickly slide his hand from the girl’s shoulder to her neck and bring her close against his body.

‘Don’t move!’ five different voices shouted at the same time. The aims of five different assault rifles targeting the same two-square inch spot over the man’s chest.

‘Let the girl go,’ Agent Richardson commanded. His voice was calm but overflowing with determination.

The man said nothing in reply, his big and powerful hand completely covering the girl’s neck, his fingertips rounding it to her nape. He wouldn’t need a second hand to snap the life out of her.

‘Let the girl go,’ Agent Richardson commanded again. ‘It’s over. You know you can’t win.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ the man said, his eyes moving down to his hand before returning to the five agents before him.

Heather tried to breathe through her nose, but the air seemed to travel into her nostrils in chunks, making her entire head shake with the effort, her tears now wetting the man’s hand.

‘It’s OK, Heather,’ Agent Richardson said. Though he was speaking to the girl, his eyes never left the man standing behind her, holding her by the neck. ‘Your mommy sent us. We work with her. We’re going to take you home, sweetheart.’

The girl tried to speak, but the man’s grip against her neck was too tight and all her vocal cords were able to produce was a meager squealing sound.

‘It will take me just a split second to break her neck,’ the man said, his eyes playing a tug-of-war with Agent Richardson’s. ‘You know that, right?’

‘You really want to talk calculations?’ Agent Richardson replied. ‘OK, I think I can do that. If you were lightning fast, it would take you maybe a second to do what you said you would do, but you would need both hands to be able to do it that fast. With only one hand it would take you one, possibly two seconds more, and remember, you would still have to be lightning fast to be able to accomplish that. The problem you have is that we’re all carrying modified M16 assault rifles with high-velocity ammunition. That means that a round will leave the barrels of our weapons at an average speed of 2,750 feet per second, or 1,875 miles per hour. The distance between our weapons and you is about eight feet, give or take a couple of inches. If we throw that into the equation, we’ll get that any one of our rounds would reach your chest in about 0.00002 of a second. I can’t really compare that to anything to give you a better example because nothing in this world can travel that fast. So, like I’ve said, whichever way you look at this, you’ve lost. You and the girl are coming with us, whether you want it or not. The girl will be unharmed, there’s absolutely no doubt of that, but you’ve got a choice — unharmed, or in a body bag — and I’ll give you three seconds to make that choice. Three...’

In the eye tug-of-war the man could see he was losing.

‘Two...’

Fingers tightened against triggers.

‘One...’

The man let go of the girl’s neck.