The Abduction

DAY FIFTEEN

“Run, Gracie, run!”

FBI Special Agent (no longer on probation) Jan Jorgenson was standing off to the side of the goal at one end of the field, the goal toward which Gracie Ann Brice was now running. She was kicking the ball out in front of her, chased by the other team. The parents were cheering in the stands.

“Take it to the goal, Gracie!”

“Go, Gracie! Score!”

Gracie suddenly cut across the field and ran directly toward Jan; she kicked the ball past the diving keeper and into the net. The crowd cheered. Jan clapped.

Gracie’s momentum carried her to within twenty feet of Jan. She stopped and was about to turn back to the field when her eyes met Jan’s. Gracie stared at her, a quizzical expression on her face, as if wondering whether they had met. The other girls surrounded Gracie and pulled her away. Halfway across the field, Gracie turned back. Jan gave her a thumbs up.

I didn’t quit on you, Gracie Ann Brice.

She had not wanted this assignment to the Dallas field office, but now she understood. She was meant to be here for Gracie. She was meant to find her place in life. She was not Clarice Starling. She was Jan Jorgenson and she was catching a flight to St. Louis to join Agent Devereaux.

A six-year-old girl had been abducted by a stranger.

The parents in the low bleachers were cheering for his daughter. But no one cheered louder than John Brice.

“Go, Gracie! You’re the girl! Be the girl, baby!”

John R. Brice was now worth $3.5 billion, but he had decided not to buy the Boston Red Sox for Sam or a bunch of radio stations for Gracie. Or even a jet. But he had written a $10 million check to Gary Jennings’s wife. She said she and her baby were going back to Nebraska to live with her parents on their farm. She said she would be all right, in time. She said she had prayed for Gracie’s return. And Gracie had come home. She was back, the bullies were gone, and with them, Little Johnny Brice.

John R. Brice was a man now.

A different man. The mountain had changed him. He had learned about himself on that mountain. And he had learned about life. He had always held firmly to the theory that life was just an endless succession of coincidences, random events completely without meaning or connection; he had always believed that human beings were like molecules bouncing randomly off each other in the atmosphere. Whom we hit was nothing more than pure coincidence.

It was just a coincidence that Ben Brice and John’s real father had been assigned the same dorm room at West Point, which led them both to Vietnam and SOG Team Viper and Major Charles Woodrow Walker.

It was just a coincidence that Ben had balked at shooting the old Vietnamese woman by the river, which led to an ambush and to John’s real father being killed and to a massacre, which led to a court-martial where Ben’s testimony convicted Major Walker.

It was just a coincidence that Ben and Kate had adopted John, which led to Army bases and Army brats who bullied him, which led him to his room and his Apple computer and to learn computer code, which led him to MIT and to the Justice Department and to Elizabeth.

It was just a coincidence that a hobo spider had bitten Junior, which led to Major Walker’s capture and to Elizabeth’s abduction and to Gracie, which led Elizabeth to John and to the son of Walker’s accuser marrying the mother of his child.

It was just a coincidence that Fortune had run a feature on John R. Brice with the family portrait, which led Junior and Jacko to Gracie’s soccer game and to the Viper tattoo on the game tape.

It was just a coincidence that John had been on the phone with Lou and the trial had delayed Elizabeth’s arrival at the park, which led Gracie to the concession stand without her parents and into Junior’s trap.

It was just a coincidence that Junior’s POS SUV had needed repairs, which led them to Clayton Lee Tucker’s gas station and to his recognizing Gracie’s Amber Alert photo and calling the FBI hotline, which led Ben and John to Tucker and to Bonners Ferry.

It was just a coincidence that Bubba had walked into Rusty’s Tavern, which led them past the booby traps and up the mountain called Red Ridge and to Agent O’Brien, who saved John’s life so John could save Ben’s life so Ben could save Gracie’s life so Gracie could save the president’s life.

It was all just an endless succession of coincidences.

That had always been his theory of life.

He had always been completely wrong.

Life is not random. There are no coincidences. Human beings are more than mere molecules bouncing around life without reason. We bounce around life with a purpose. We are meant to bounce off specific other human beings during our lives, other human beings who will change the content and course of our lives. We are meant to be exactly who we are. John R. Brice was meant to be husband to Elizabeth, father to Gracie and Sam, and son to Roger and Mary and now Ben and Kate. He was meant to be exactly who he was today: a man standing on a soccer field on a fine spring day with his family.

And he felt pretty dang robust about that.

John started yelling again: “Yeah, Gracie! You go, girl! Hoo-yah! Be the girl, baby! You’re the girl! Unh-hunh!”

Elizabeth leaned into her husband and kissed him. She whispered in his ear, “I love you.”

When he had returned from Idaho, she saw in his eyes that he had learned the truth about her and about Grace. But he had not spoken of it. Last night, lying in bed with him, she started to bring it up, but he put his fingers to her lips.

“I don’t care how Gracie came into my life,” he said. “I care only that she’s in my life and that we have her back. The past-mine, yours, Gracie’s-it died on that mountain.”

He said they would never speak about what had happened to her ten years ago or what had happened on that mountain in Idaho. That was all in the past now, and Elizabeth Brice was finally able to leave the past behind her. The violation she had suffered ten years ago had owned her life ever since. But no longer. Because that violation had given her a better life-a child’s life.

Grace was worth it.

Gracie was driving the ball down the field, but she couldn’t focus, not with her SO acting the fool on the sideline, shouting and cheering and doing some kind of funny little dance now. God bless him, he had the rhythm of a rock. Maybe it was better when Dad multitasked during her games… No, this was better. Like, totally. She smiled at him as she ran past.

Everything was different now. Everything was better. Her parents seemed to actually like each other-she had never seen Mom kiss Dad before-and in public! PDA! Dad was a new man, a real grownup, a manly father more than a big brother (although he promised to still take them to Krispy Kreme every Saturday morning). He had bear-hugged her a dozen times since she had come home.

And Mom-wow, Mom was a complete stranger. She had held Gracie and cried and cried when they got off the plane. She hadn’t even stopped to talk to the reporters waiting for them. She had even come up to school and had lunch with Gracie yesterday. That had never happened before. And she wasn’t mad at the world. She was happy. She wasn’t going to be a lawyer anymore.

But she still would not allow Gracie to get a tattoo for her eleventh birthday.

Gracie had changed, too. She was a different girl since the last time she had played on this field. She had been abducted, buried, and saved. She had seen things no fourth-grader should ever see and met people no fourth-grader should ever meet and learned things no fourth-grader should ever learn. And she had talked to the President of the United States of America. They had captured the man with the red hair and long rifle, and the president had called just to say thanks. She made sure he knew she was a Democrat. He laughed and said that was okay with him.

She was even happy to see Sam, even though one look at her room and she knew he had gone through all her personal stuff. She decided not to kill him, at least not now.

Her family was finally together.

“Gracie, take it to the goal!”

Coach Wally was having a cow. So Gracie turned on the speed, faked out two defenders, drove to the goal, and blasted the ball just inside high left post. It was Gracie’s third goal, and they were still in the first quarter. The other girls mobbed her.

The team had made it into the playoffs. Luck would have it, their first-round opponents were the Raiders. The snot’s team. Her butthead father, Mr. Creep himself, was again standing on the sidelines, wearing a slick suit, and drinking from a big plastic mug. Mrs. Creep was standing next to him like a prison warden. You’d think the big jerk would know when to leave well enough alone. Well, you’d be wrong.

“Pa-a-a-a-a-nty che-e-e-ck!”

The players and spectators instantly fell silent. Brenda groaned. “Not again.”

This time, though, was different for Gracie. She didn’t feel as if someone had punched her in the stomach. She didn’t bite her lower lip and fight back the tears. She didn’t wish to die or that she were bigger and older so she could beat the guy up or that Dad would do something or that Elizabeth Brice, Attorney-at-Large, would “Oh shit, Gracie!” Brenda said. “Your mother!”

Gracie turned away from the big jerk and saw her mother marching straight across the soccer field and past the players and directly toward Mr. Creep; her fists were clenched. Gracie heard Sam’s high-pitched voice from the sideline: “All right, a fight!” Gracie looked over and saw Dad running after Mom, but she would be punching out Mr. Creep before he could stop her. Gracie heard Sally’s gleeful voice behind her: “Your mother’s gonna kick his big butt into next week!”

Fifteen days ago, Gracie would have paid to watch this fight. But she was different now. She ran over and cut off her mother.

Elizabeth Brice was no longer a forty-year-old rage-filled lunatic. She was no longer a tough-broad white-collar criminal defense lawyer willing to wear short skirts to win trials. She was no longer hard and mean and ruthless.

But she was still a mother.

And the most dangerous creature on earth is a mother whose child has been threatened, insulted, harassed, or bullied.

Elizabeth Brice was going to punch that big son of a bitch in the mouth.

“Mom, stop!”

Grace suddenly appeared; she grabbed Elizabeth’s arm and pulled her to a stop just as John ran up.

“Mom,” Grace pleaded, “I can handle this.”

“No, Grace, I’m your mother. I’ll handle it!”

“No,” John said, “I’m your father, I’ll handle it!”

“No! Both of you-listen! I’m a big girl now. I can handle it myself!”

Elizabeth stared into her daughter’s blue eyes. Her anger dissipated as if blown away by the soft breeze. Grace was different, too.

“You are a big girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Mother, I am.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me to beat this guy up?”

“I’m sure.”

John said, “Can I beat him up?”

“No! I’ve got it covered.”

Elizabeth smiled. And then Grace smiled. And Elizabeth Brice saw in her daughter’s eyes that Grace did indeed have it covered. She leaned close to her daughter and whispered, “Make it good.”

Mom and Dad walked off the field, and the cute referee blew his whistle to restart the game. Gracie quickly stole the ball from a Raider and then kicked the ball on a high arch over the defenders to Brenda, who was open along the Raiders’ sideline. Brenda controlled the ball and drove it up the sideline. Gracie’s mind quickly plotted out her angle of attack. Precise timing was required to pull this off. Gracie cut across the field and ran toward the Raiders’ sideline, to a point that would intersect the ball and…

Brenda kicked the ball up the sideline just as Gracie arrived at the exact point, her concentration focused like a laser beam on the ball, now driving the laces of her white Lotto soccer shoe into the ball, with all her might, sending the ball forcefully — right at Mr. Creep’s head.

He bailed. The plastic mug went flying, ice and liquid splattered all over his expensive suit, and he hit the ground hard on his big butt. The other parents laughed out loud. Mrs. Creep was grinning down at him.

Gracie walked over to the big jerk.

“I’m a girl.” She put her thumbs inside the waistband, like she was going to pull her shorts down. “You wanna check?”

Mr. Creep shook his head.

“I didn’t think so.”

Gracie rejoined the game.

Sam was standing on the Tornadoes’ sideline; he was terribly disappointed. Dangit, he wanted to see a real fight.

He had cried when Gracie came home because she wasn’t dead or nothing. It was good to have a big sister again. Just the same, he hoped she didn’t find out that he had gone through all her personal stuff in her room while she was gone.

Kate Brice was standing next to Sam. Thirty-eight years late, but she finally had her fairy tale marriage. She looked down at her husband. She had been wrong: Ben Brice had come back.

The war was finally over for Ben Brice.

He sat in the wheelchair, Kate’s hand resting on his shoulder and Buddy resting on the ground beside him. The doctors had said he could come to the game but only if he stayed in the chair. He had started to argue but decided against it; he would’ve come even if they had to roll the hospital bed out here. Gracie was safe. And he had found his peace.

He looked up to John and Elizabeth. They had survived this and were stronger for it. They were one now.

“Thanks, Dad,” John said. “Sorry about shooting you.”

“You weren’t the first.”

Elizabeth leaned down, kissed Ben on the cheek, and whispered in his ear: “Thank you, Colonel Ben Brice, for saving Grace.”

Ben looked out at Gracie racing down the field. His past had in fact come back-West Point; Special Forces school; Commander Ron Porter; Captain Jack O. Smith; Sheriff J.D. Johnson; Lieutenant Roger Dalton; Major Charles Woodrow Walker; Quang Tri and the china doll-but not to haunt Gracie, as he had feared. His past had come back to save her. The pieces of his life that had never seemed to fit together had fallen into place like a complex puzzle to form a whole life that he only now understood. He thought of that life and he thought of his mother. She had been right all along.

God did have a plan for Ben Brice.