The Light Warrior Files
Chapter 2, Part 4: Missing In Action
By Chris Ward
Although the group of us continued to meet almost daily after that, nothing much
happened. We continually discussed what we had learned, usually over dinner in one
apartment or the other, but were stuck regarding what to do. It wasn’t really that none of
had the desire to do anything, rather it was the fact that there was no direction. We vaguely
knew who, although that was still somewhat vague, but we lacked what, when, where and
why.
As time passed, Marita and I mostly returned to life as we had known it before Ishmael’s
fateful call. We kept busy with work, but played hard as well. We went dancing several
times, usually followed by dinner and a romantic evening. We took in a couple shows,
including an off-Broadway production of West Side Story. (Afterward, she confessed that
she had been offered the role of Maria at one point, but hadn’t wanted to leave school to
pursue it.)
As the days became a week, and as that week stretched toward two, we began to wonder if
anything would happen to let us know what to do with the information we had gotten. That
all changed on the last Friday of October, roughly a week before the election. I was sitting
in the study area, working on the computer. Some time ago I had brokered a lucrative and
difficult deal for a struggling tech company. Although they didn’t have the finances to pay
me my usual fee, they did offer to create a custom computer and third party sales program
in exchange for my services. The computer was standard, with the exception of a touch
screen. The program, on the other hand, was well worth the time put into arranging the
deal. It was able to cross reference the goods and services clients offered with those
other clients needed, saving hours of painstaking research. More importantly, it ranked the
results according to satisfaction ratings system I created, and listed the cost.
As I was attempting to match up a particularly unique and difficult order with a good
provider, the phone beside me rang. Muttering under my breath, I picked it up and said,
“Kemp here.”
A businesslike, feminine voice came over the line. “Mr. Lucius Kemp?”
“Yes, that’s me. How may I help you?”
“This is Rose Carlisle, executive assistant to Ms. Chandler of Butcher, Baker & Chandler.”
“All right, I’m aware of the firm. It’s where Marita, I’m sorry, Miss de Contego works as a
paralegal. Again, what can I do for you?”
“Yes, sir. Miss Marita went to the courthouse earlier in order to research and draft a
motion Ms. Chandler needs, and she hasn’t returned.”
Leaning back in my chair, I massaged my temples as an inexplicable feeling of dread started
to form. “I’m still not certain I understand, ma’am. She’s talked of her job some, and it’s my
understanding that these motions can sometimes take several hours to fully research and
draft. Isn’t it possible that she’s still in ‘the stacks,’ as I believe she refers to them?”
“We thought of that, sir. However, when we sent one of Ms. Chandler’s runners to see what
was taking so long…”
The feeling of dread suddenly solidified into a cold stone in my throat. “Wait a minute. What,
exactly, do you mean when you say ‘what was taking her so long’?”
“Well, sir, Miss Marita went to the courthouse around 9 this morning, and expected to be
back in the office around 1. We sent the runner down to the court library around 3.”
Glancing at my watch shifted the lump from my throat to my heart, which suddenly felt on
the edge of an attack. “It’s after 5 now.”
“Yes, sir. According to the runner, the clerk saw Miss Marita check into the library, and
begin her research. However, shortly before lunch she was spotted nearly running from
the building, following a young man in an expensive suit. The runner commented that it
must have been an emergency, since the clerk commented that it was the first time Miss
Marita had left her notes and books scattered across the table.”
The lump had now changed to a squeezing fist wrapped around my heart. “I still don’t
understand. If you knew she had vanished, why’d it take so long to call the number I can
only assume was listed as an emergency contact?” I have never understood how I
managed to stay calm and coherent.
“We’ve spent the last couple hours contacting every hospital, morgue and police station in
the city, Mr. Kemp. It was only after we came up empty that Ms. Chandler had me call you.
We were hoping that you might know what’s going on.”
And the fist clenched, seeming to completely stop my heart as I fully realized what Rose had
been saying. “No, I… No… I have no idea… We were supposed to meet for dinner, but that’
s not… Not for a couple more hours… No plans… No emergencies.” Sinking further into
despair, I felt the tears start to fall down my cheeks as I realized that Marita was gone, and
that I was afraid I knew where. “Oh, God… Umm… Listen… I’ll just… I’ll make some calls…
Do some looking around… Oh, God… Have you gotten in touch with her parents?”
“No, not yet anyway.”
Thank Heaven for small favors. If they hadn’t gotten in touch with Gerardo and Adela I could
buy a little time. “I think her father had been having heart trouble. It’s possible that the man
she was following was a messenger saying that he had been taken to the hospital…”
“But we already checked the hospitals, she’s not there.”
“I know. Her parents don’t actually live in the city, so I doubt they’d use a city hospital.”
“Do you know which one they would use?”
“Not off hand. I’ll call her cell and see if she’s answering. If nothing else, I’ll head out to
their place and see if I can get any answers.
“All right. I’ll persuade Ms. Chandler to hold off on any punitive action against Miss Marita
for a couple days, but that’s all I’ll be able to do.”
“That should be enough. I’ll get in contact with your office as soon as I know anything.”
“That would be appreciated.” Rose’s voice dropped in tone a little, and sympathy entered it
when she finished with, “And let Miss Marita know that she’s in my prayers.”
“Thank you, I’ll do that.” Disconnecting the call, I set the phone down and proceeded to
simply stare at my monitor for the next several minutes. Finally, realizing that I simply had
no way of doing any more work that day, I saved my work and shut down the computer.
Aside from the tears, there was no physical reaction to the fact that Marita had gone
missing. Wandering into the bedroom, I found myself sitting on the edge of the bed,
holding the oversized shirt she normally wore to bed loosely in my hands. I was staring
blankly at it when the phone rang, nearly giving me a heart attack. Running across the room
to pick it up, I nearly yelled out, “Marita?!”
A dry, quiet laugh issued from the receiver. “No, I’m afraid not Mr. Kemp.”
“Who is this?”
“My name is unimportant, Mr. Kemp, and would do you no good. I believe, however, that
you are familiar with my partner, a rather special individual who goes by the name Dan?”
Apparently taking my silence as permission to continue speaking, he continued. “He was,
shall we say, not most pleased with the way you and your lady friend treated him the other
day. He was most especially unhappy with the rather rough handling he received at her
hands. He is currently entertaining her in his own inimitable way.” He paused as I heard a
woman scream for help, in Spanish, over the background.
“So help me God, if she’s hurt, then you, and everybody you work with, is dead! Do you
understand me you lousy son of a bitch?”
The laugh came again. “Temper, temper, Mr. Kemp. Isn’t that what landed you in the
psychiatric ward earlier? It’d be a real shame to wind up there again. Anyway, she’s not
physically injured. No, with my partner and the unique gift he possesses, physical assault
and torture are crude and unneeded.” As another scream, this one of terror, sounded in
the background, he laughed again. “My, my. Who would have guessed that she, who has no
children, harbors a deep and abiding fear of watching her children die?"
“BASTARD!!!”
“I’m afraid you really must calm down, Mr. Kemp. I’m certain that the situation here is
painfully obvious. We have something you want, Ms. De Contego alive and unharmed, and
you have something we want, namely yourself.”
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s really quite simple, friend. We were ordered to bring you in to see our boss. When you
grabbed Dan, we realized that a direct confrontation wouldn’t quite work out the way we
wanted it to. So, over the past few days, we hatched this new technique. I believe the
crude term is kidnap for ransom. We’ll give you until Wednesday.”
In a combination of disbelief, outrage, and a desire to get more information, I made my
voice as hostile and angered as I could. “Why on earth do you think I’ll do anything you
want?”
The laugh came again. “It’s really quite simple. My partner, Dan, and I have a small wager on
this particular situation. His position is that you’ll do anything you can to weasel out of
turning yourself into us. He seems to believe either that you don’t care for the lady as much
as she thinks you do, or that you’ll somehow try and free her without coming to us. I, on the
other hand, believe you to be much more reasonable. I think you’ll do anything, including
sacrifice yourself, to protect her. The wagers are fairly simple. My bet is that she goes free
if you do what I think you will. On the other hand, if you’re not outside Manhattan’s subway
stop 5, near City Hall, no later than 11:30 PM next Wednesday, then Dan gets to kill your girl.
The choice is yours, Kemp.” With that final comment, the line disconnected.
Staring at the phone in my hand, I was unable to put together a rational thought for several
minutes. Finally, the nagging thought in the back of my mind came to the front, and I
realized that I might have gotten the slip I wanted. Gently laying Marita’s nightshirt on her
side of our bed, I went to the computer in the living room. Turning it on, I typed in Mi Bella
Loba, and waited for it to finish booting up with the protected information. As it did so, I
picked up the phone and pulled Ishmael’s card out of my wallet. Dialing the number, I
waited for the other line to connect. Before Ishmael’s voice could begin to speak, I said,
“We need to meet. All of us. My place, if possible.”
After a brief pause, Ishmael’s voice said, “One hour,” and disconnected. Then I was left
with my aching heart and racing mind, hoping I was really seeing a plan form.
Chapter 2, Part 4: Missing In Action
By Chris Ward
Although the group of us continued to meet almost daily after that, nothing much
happened. We continually discussed what we had learned, usually over dinner in one
apartment or the other, but were stuck regarding what to do. It wasn’t really that none of
had the desire to do anything, rather it was the fact that there was no direction. We vaguely
knew who, although that was still somewhat vague, but we lacked what, when, where and
why.
As time passed, Marita and I mostly returned to life as we had known it before Ishmael’s
fateful call. We kept busy with work, but played hard as well. We went dancing several
times, usually followed by dinner and a romantic evening. We took in a couple shows,
including an off-Broadway production of West Side Story. (Afterward, she confessed that
she had been offered the role of Maria at one point, but hadn’t wanted to leave school to
pursue it.)
As the days became a week, and as that week stretched toward two, we began to wonder if
anything would happen to let us know what to do with the information we had gotten. That
all changed on the last Friday of October, roughly a week before the election. I was sitting
in the study area, working on the computer. Some time ago I had brokered a lucrative and
difficult deal for a struggling tech company. Although they didn’t have the finances to pay
me my usual fee, they did offer to create a custom computer and third party sales program
in exchange for my services. The computer was standard, with the exception of a touch
screen. The program, on the other hand, was well worth the time put into arranging the
deal. It was able to cross reference the goods and services clients offered with those
other clients needed, saving hours of painstaking research. More importantly, it ranked the
results according to satisfaction ratings system I created, and listed the cost.
As I was attempting to match up a particularly unique and difficult order with a good
provider, the phone beside me rang. Muttering under my breath, I picked it up and said,
“Kemp here.”
A businesslike, feminine voice came over the line. “Mr. Lucius Kemp?”
“Yes, that’s me. How may I help you?”
“This is Rose Carlisle, executive assistant to Ms. Chandler of Butcher, Baker & Chandler.”
“All right, I’m aware of the firm. It’s where Marita, I’m sorry, Miss de Contego works as a
paralegal. Again, what can I do for you?”
“Yes, sir. Miss Marita went to the courthouse earlier in order to research and draft a
motion Ms. Chandler needs, and she hasn’t returned.”
Leaning back in my chair, I massaged my temples as an inexplicable feeling of dread started
to form. “I’m still not certain I understand, ma’am. She’s talked of her job some, and it’s my
understanding that these motions can sometimes take several hours to fully research and
draft. Isn’t it possible that she’s still in ‘the stacks,’ as I believe she refers to them?”
“We thought of that, sir. However, when we sent one of Ms. Chandler’s runners to see what
was taking so long…”
The feeling of dread suddenly solidified into a cold stone in my throat. “Wait a minute. What,
exactly, do you mean when you say ‘what was taking her so long’?”
“Well, sir, Miss Marita went to the courthouse around 9 this morning, and expected to be
back in the office around 1. We sent the runner down to the court library around 3.”
Glancing at my watch shifted the lump from my throat to my heart, which suddenly felt on
the edge of an attack. “It’s after 5 now.”
“Yes, sir. According to the runner, the clerk saw Miss Marita check into the library, and
begin her research. However, shortly before lunch she was spotted nearly running from
the building, following a young man in an expensive suit. The runner commented that it
must have been an emergency, since the clerk commented that it was the first time Miss
Marita had left her notes and books scattered across the table.”
The lump had now changed to a squeezing fist wrapped around my heart. “I still don’t
understand. If you knew she had vanished, why’d it take so long to call the number I can
only assume was listed as an emergency contact?” I have never understood how I
managed to stay calm and coherent.
“We’ve spent the last couple hours contacting every hospital, morgue and police station in
the city, Mr. Kemp. It was only after we came up empty that Ms. Chandler had me call you.
We were hoping that you might know what’s going on.”
And the fist clenched, seeming to completely stop my heart as I fully realized what Rose had
been saying. “No, I… No… I have no idea… We were supposed to meet for dinner, but that’
s not… Not for a couple more hours… No plans… No emergencies.” Sinking further into
despair, I felt the tears start to fall down my cheeks as I realized that Marita was gone, and
that I was afraid I knew where. “Oh, God… Umm… Listen… I’ll just… I’ll make some calls…
Do some looking around… Oh, God… Have you gotten in touch with her parents?”
“No, not yet anyway.”
Thank Heaven for small favors. If they hadn’t gotten in touch with Gerardo and Adela I could
buy a little time. “I think her father had been having heart trouble. It’s possible that the man
she was following was a messenger saying that he had been taken to the hospital…”
“But we already checked the hospitals, she’s not there.”
“I know. Her parents don’t actually live in the city, so I doubt they’d use a city hospital.”
“Do you know which one they would use?”
“Not off hand. I’ll call her cell and see if she’s answering. If nothing else, I’ll head out to
their place and see if I can get any answers.
“All right. I’ll persuade Ms. Chandler to hold off on any punitive action against Miss Marita
for a couple days, but that’s all I’ll be able to do.”
“That should be enough. I’ll get in contact with your office as soon as I know anything.”
“That would be appreciated.” Rose’s voice dropped in tone a little, and sympathy entered it
when she finished with, “And let Miss Marita know that she’s in my prayers.”
“Thank you, I’ll do that.” Disconnecting the call, I set the phone down and proceeded to
simply stare at my monitor for the next several minutes. Finally, realizing that I simply had
no way of doing any more work that day, I saved my work and shut down the computer.
Aside from the tears, there was no physical reaction to the fact that Marita had gone
missing. Wandering into the bedroom, I found myself sitting on the edge of the bed,
holding the oversized shirt she normally wore to bed loosely in my hands. I was staring
blankly at it when the phone rang, nearly giving me a heart attack. Running across the room
to pick it up, I nearly yelled out, “Marita?!”
A dry, quiet laugh issued from the receiver. “No, I’m afraid not Mr. Kemp.”
“Who is this?”
“My name is unimportant, Mr. Kemp, and would do you no good. I believe, however, that
you are familiar with my partner, a rather special individual who goes by the name Dan?”
Apparently taking my silence as permission to continue speaking, he continued. “He was,
shall we say, not most pleased with the way you and your lady friend treated him the other
day. He was most especially unhappy with the rather rough handling he received at her
hands. He is currently entertaining her in his own inimitable way.” He paused as I heard a
woman scream for help, in Spanish, over the background.
“So help me God, if she’s hurt, then you, and everybody you work with, is dead! Do you
understand me you lousy son of a bitch?”
The laugh came again. “Temper, temper, Mr. Kemp. Isn’t that what landed you in the
psychiatric ward earlier? It’d be a real shame to wind up there again. Anyway, she’s not
physically injured. No, with my partner and the unique gift he possesses, physical assault
and torture are crude and unneeded.” As another scream, this one of terror, sounded in
the background, he laughed again. “My, my. Who would have guessed that she, who has no
children, harbors a deep and abiding fear of watching her children die?"
“BASTARD!!!”
“I’m afraid you really must calm down, Mr. Kemp. I’m certain that the situation here is
painfully obvious. We have something you want, Ms. De Contego alive and unharmed, and
you have something we want, namely yourself.”
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s really quite simple, friend. We were ordered to bring you in to see our boss. When you
grabbed Dan, we realized that a direct confrontation wouldn’t quite work out the way we
wanted it to. So, over the past few days, we hatched this new technique. I believe the
crude term is kidnap for ransom. We’ll give you until Wednesday.”
In a combination of disbelief, outrage, and a desire to get more information, I made my
voice as hostile and angered as I could. “Why on earth do you think I’ll do anything you
want?”
The laugh came again. “It’s really quite simple. My partner, Dan, and I have a small wager on
this particular situation. His position is that you’ll do anything you can to weasel out of
turning yourself into us. He seems to believe either that you don’t care for the lady as much
as she thinks you do, or that you’ll somehow try and free her without coming to us. I, on the
other hand, believe you to be much more reasonable. I think you’ll do anything, including
sacrifice yourself, to protect her. The wagers are fairly simple. My bet is that she goes free
if you do what I think you will. On the other hand, if you’re not outside Manhattan’s subway
stop 5, near City Hall, no later than 11:30 PM next Wednesday, then Dan gets to kill your girl.
The choice is yours, Kemp.” With that final comment, the line disconnected.
Staring at the phone in my hand, I was unable to put together a rational thought for several
minutes. Finally, the nagging thought in the back of my mind came to the front, and I
realized that I might have gotten the slip I wanted. Gently laying Marita’s nightshirt on her
side of our bed, I went to the computer in the living room. Turning it on, I typed in Mi Bella
Loba, and waited for it to finish booting up with the protected information. As it did so, I
picked up the phone and pulled Ishmael’s card out of my wallet. Dialing the number, I
waited for the other line to connect. Before Ishmael’s voice could begin to speak, I said,
“We need to meet. All of us. My place, if possible.”
After a brief pause, Ishmael’s voice said, “One hour,” and disconnected. Then I was left
with my aching heart and racing mind, hoping I was really seeing a plan form.
