The Rescue Game

Prologue

Central Africa, 1990

Captain Sam Walker was in the middle of the twelve man team as it walked into the clearing. Smoke and misery hovered in the still, hot air. The village had been ravaged and it was nearly empty now. Some of the huts still smoldered which meant the attack came last night. Sam had seen villages ravaged like this before. The villagers probably knew the marauding soldiers were coming but there was nothing they could do. Most of the men would flee knowing that to stay in the village meant execution or forced recruitment. The women and children would try to hide. The rebel soldiers did what they wanted—took what they wanted.

Captain Walker’s team of Army Special Forces walked through the village on their way to another destination to train government soldiers how to defend villages like this one. They were not in time to help this village.

Later that night one of the younger soldiers asked Sam Walker what had happened.

Where were the men from the village? he asked.

Hiding; probably on the other side of the river, Sam replied. He knew where the conversation was going and the kind of answers the young soldier wanted to hear.

So they just left their wives and daughters there at the mercy of those soldiers? The young man asked.

Sam nodded.

Those women were helpless . . . His voice trailed off. What could they do? What can anyone do? The young soldier continued.

Don’t have daughters, Sam answered.

Chapter One

When she opened the door, six tall boys, practically men as far as their size and build but not in their faces, were standing in the doorway to her home. They wore matching official-looking dark blue uniforms. Their uniforms looked like military but also a little like shopping mall security. A patch on the left, front of the uniform said Rotenstil MSA. The boys wearing the uniforms looked uncomfortable wearing them; like little boys forced to wear ties to a wedding. What she really noticed was that, despite their official looking uniforms, they seemed to lack authority. This lack of authority made them seem like boys playing dress up in army uniforms.

My name is Cadet Joe Marchand from the Rotenstil Military and Security Academy, said the boy standing in the front. He was either the highest ranking member of the group or was at least going to act like it. I came for . . . er . . . need to speak with, he paused and then glanced at a sheet of paper in his hand, Miss Jessica or Faith Walker. Is that you?

Faith understood his question despite his jumbled wording. She could tell he was lowering the pitch of his voice to try and sound more grown-up. The other boys stood behind him, their eyes narrow and hostile. They seemed to be trying to look tough. In Faith’s experience, people who are tough don’t have to try to look that way.

This was not an observation that most 15 year old girls might have made but Faith and her sisters grew up surrounded by soldiers and fighters of every kind. Their father, Sam Walker, was a captain in the US Army and a Green Beret. He trained soldiers. Faith knew lots of soldiers. She also knew that wearing a uniform does not make someone tough. Faith had met men who’d earned the right to put on a uniform but it still didn’t quite fit them. These big, rough-looking boys in her doorway did not fit into their uniforms.

I’m Faith, she replied.

May we come in, Faith? He said a bit more confidently.

What is this about? She asked, not answering his question. Neither of Faith’s parents was home. She remembered her father saying he was going to see someone he used to work with and wouldn’t be home when she and her sisters got back from school. Her mother was on a business trip to China.

We are here to take you into custody and to bring you back to the Rotenstil Academy, he said. His words were poorly chosen. Joe Marchand was savoring his role as team leader for this particular assignment but he was nervous. A less confrontational choice of words would have better accomplished their assignment but Marchand couldn’t help himself. The bully in him liked scaring people—especially girls.

Faith stepped back but kept her hand on the door to slam it shut if she needed to.

Take me into custody? What are you talking about? I want to talk to my dad, she said in rapid fire. There was a hint of fear in her voice.

We are cadets from the Rotenstil Military and Security Academy and our orders are to bring you back to the Academy. Marchand picked up on the nervousness in her voice. He liked that he was scaring her. Your dad, he continued, is at the Academy right now. Please tell me where the other girls are. As he finished speaking, Marchand thought he’d screwed up. He wasn’t supposed to say anything about Captain Walker being held at Rotenstil. Or maybe he was. He couldn’t remember. Too late, he thought, this will just have to go down a little messier than they had planned. If the girls wouldn’t come willingly, then he would grab them one by one and drag them out. In fact, Marchand would prefer it that way.

When he and the other five boys on his team—all teenagers between the ages of sixteen and eighteen—had been given this assignment they’d been given pictures and information about the girls. The three Walker girls were the daughters of Captain Sam Walker: Jessica, seventeen years old; Faith, fifteen years old; and Cate, ten years old. The six cadets had ogled the photos of the Walker girls as they drove in the Rotenstil Academy van to the girls’ home. The two older girls were gorgeous. During the ride, the boys made lewd jokes about wrestling the girls to the ground. All six of the cadets were angry, violent boys who had been sent to Rotenstil Academy because they had been expelled from every other school they had ever attended. Rotenstil was the only school that would take them.

I want to talk to my mom and dad, Faith said. And then she yelled for her older sister, Jess! Come down here. She trained her voice up the stairs toward her older sister’s bedroom on the third floor.

Joe Marchand stepped through the open door while Faith’s head was turned to yell up the stairs. Just do as you are told, he demanded.

Faith backed up as Marchand pushed the door open wider. The other boys followed him through the door. They were in the house now.

Jess! Faith said, her voice now insistent and scared, Come down here!

The cadets started fanning out from behind Marchand. Faith was surrounded. They were peering into the adjacent rooms like they were looking to see who else was in the house. And the way they stared at Faith made her skin crawl.

Jess didn’t answer but Faith’s younger sister, Cate, having heard someone at the door and the urgency in her sister’s voice, came up from the basement gym. As Cate turned the corner, she saw the boys crowded into the foyer and her sister Faith backing away from them. Cate was alarmed by the big, rough looking boys in her home but she couldn’t imagine hostility from anyone in her house.

She looked at the boys and said, innocently and a little comically, Why are all of you in my house?

Bill Duffy, at eighteen years old, was the oldest of the six boys. He decided it was time for him to assert himself as the leader of the group. Duffy was very tall—six feet, three inches—and skinny. His height gave him status among the other boys at the school. He had been given charge of this assignment but was also instructed to let Joe Marchand take the lead in securing Captain Walker’s daughters. Cadet Staff Leader Moore had given him this assignment and made it very clear that getting the girls out of the house and back to the Rotenstil Academy was a matter of critical importance.

Bill Duffy responded to Cate, Listen little girl, we are here per the orders of the President of Rotenstil Academy, President Arthur Chase. Duffy thought if he told the girls the order came from President Chase they would be more likely to comply. President Chase has requested that you and your sisters accompany us back to the Academy. That is all I can say right now. Please come with us right now.

Duffy motioned toward Joe Marchand and another one of the cadets and then pointed at Cate. Cadet Marchand and Cadet Brace, please take this girl out to the van.

Faith moved toward her sister Cate partly out of a protective instinct and partly to get away from the boys who were more clearly becoming a threat. As she moved toward Cate, Marchand and Brace moved to intercept her.

The Walker family’s house is very large. The girls’ mother, Sybil, is a highly paid executive at a biotech company in Boston and their house in Milton—a Boston suburb—is old, beautiful and expensive. The cadets surveyed the house when they entered. The foyer at the front entrance, where they were all standing, was wide and long. The foyer measured ten feet long and fifteen feet wide. To the right of the foyer is a large family room, to the left is a staircase leading to the second and third floor and straight ahead is a hallway with a door leading down to the basement gym on the left, a dining room on the right and the kitchen at the end of the hallway.

Marchand, Brace and two more cadets moved toward Cate and Faith. Duffy and Cadet Garner went up the stairs to find the third sister, Jessica.

Marchand lunged at Faith to grab her wrist and restrain her. He was sure that once he had her in his grip, she would realize that he was too strong for her and she would submit. Marchand had no idea of the extent of these girls’ training.

Marchand’s big hand easily wrapped around Faith’s slender wrist. Faith was shocked that he would grab her and she was sure this was all a mistake but her instinct and training kicked in immediately. Faith was strong for her size but at five feet, six inches tall and 125 pounds, she was not strong enough to break the grip of a 180 pound boy. Of course, size and strength are, as her dad would say, only part of good martial arts practice—technique and application are equally important.

In one fluid and lighting quick motion, she turned her hand over so that her palm was facing up. This loosened his grip and took away his strength advantage. That was the technique—using leverage to disadvantage a larger opponent. She could not break his grip no matter how good her technique, he was a big, solidly-built boy. But the hard wooden door frame they were standing in was even more solid than him. (Use the environment to your advantage, she could hear her father say, If your opponent is near a chair, push him over the chair, if he is near the edge of a table, push him into the table.) She pushed his arm to the side so that the bony part of his wrist banged against the angled edge of the door frame and pulled hard away from him. His response, as she anticipated, was to pull very hard back. When Marchand pulled back, he pulled his own wrist across the edge of the door frame causing his skin to grind painfully against the angled edge of the wooden door frame. He gasped in pain and let go of her wrist.

Don’t touch me! She yelled as she hopped lightly backward and away from him. She moved so fast that Marchand realized she was now out of his reach. He felt stupid. He wasn’t even sure what had happened. At the Academy, they trained in restraining people all the time and he often restrained boys twice her size. She had escaped his grip and was now five feet away from him further down the hallway. He didn’t know how she could have moved that fast. He couldn’t just reach out and grab her again because she was too far away. He would have to rush her and try to tackle her. One of the other cadets snickered behind him.

Whoa, hold on! Cadet Geary shouted, trying to regain control of the situation. Cadet Marchand, stand down. But it was too late for Marchand to stand down; he was hurt and embarrassed. He charged at Faith.

Faith was frightened by the situation but not so much by the boy charging at her. In the few seconds she had to assess him, she concluded he was poorly trained and lacked any instinct for combat. He was impulsive with his attacks and easy to fool. She had several options to defend against his attempt to tackle her. The easiest was to swing open the basement door to her right and use it to block his charge. She chose that option.

He charged her. She pulled the door open and he ran face first into it. He stumbled back holding his nose. A second later, a trickle of blood rolled from his nostril. Faith stood looking at the other boys gathered in front of her waiting to see what they would do next and then she looked at her little sister Cate.

Cate was smiling. She had run upstairs to see what the raised voices and commotion at the front door were about to find boys dressed in silly looking military uniforms in her house threatening to take her and her sisters away. Now her sister Faith had bloodied a boy’s nose. Several other boys were moving toward her and others were moving up the stairs. Cate was thrilled. She thought it was a game.

Cate was used to games. Her dad used lots of games with his daughters to teach them how to fight. In the army, his job was to train other soldiers how to fight. When his daughters were born, Sam expected to teach them just like he taught his young soldiers but he quickly discovered that his little girls needed a different kind of training than the soldiers he was used to teaching. Sam often used games to teach his daughters. At first, the girls didn’t even realize it was combat skills they were learning as they got very good at the games.

The cadets from Rotenstil didn’t know any of this. They thought the Walker girls were just typical American girls. They expected that apprehending the girls and bringing them back to the Academy would be the easiest assignment they had ever had.

Cadets Mark Geary and Stan Winslow, both sixteen years old, and both big and strong, moved toward Cate. Cate assessed them as they moved toward her. They were much larger than her and she knew she could not escape their grip. She would need to move fast and stay low and out of their reach.

Faith was still trying to make sense of having a bunch of teenage military cadets from the Rotenstil Academy chasing them around their home. Faith kept waiting for an adult to come through the front door and tell them this was all a mistake. Or maybe it was a crazy training drill her father had planned (although their mom had made him promise to never pull anything like that again). Cate seemed to be treating this like a sparring match with the older students at her kung fu school. Cate was smiling playfully as the boys advanced on her.

When the first boy grabbed at Cate’s arm, she just moved back and as the second boy grabbed at her other arm she did the same. She knew what would happen next—they would both try grabbing her again but more forcefully. And she knew they would both move at the same time. As they lunged at her, Cate dodged and spun around the side of the boy on her left so she ended up in back of him. Cate was surprised at how slowly they moved. She thought if her dad was going to send boys to their house to test the girls’ martial arts skill, he would send boys who were better than this.

Both boys turned to try and grab her again but, now that they realized how quick she was, they moved faster. Cate anticipated this. They both lunged swiftly toward her trying to grab her before she could dart away. The cadets tried several times to grab her but she easily evaded them each time. She was small and lightning quick. But Cate knew she couldn’t dodge them forever. Cate needed to go on the offensive. She noticed that one of the cadets, Winslow, in addition to being overweight and slow, had poor footwork. She would use that against him.

The boys were growing angrier by the second at not being able to catch Cate. The cadets circled her. They were trying to corner her. At their next charge, Cate ducked low and went between them. As she ducked between them, she stayed closer to the bigger, heavier cadet, Winslow. Winslow twisted to try and grab her as she went by but she was far too quick and, once she was past him, she kicked the back of his knee causing his leg to buckle. Winslow stumbled into Geary, slamming him against the kitchen counter.

Winslow, what are you doing? Geary said as he pushed the much bigger Winslow away from him.

You bumped into me. Winslow replied, though he knew it wasn’t true. They both turned to Cate.

Cate moved further into the kitchen to where her sister Faith had retreated and stood next to her. The boys were regrouping and preparing to come at them again. The two sisters stood side by side. Faith was scared. Cate was having fun but she could sense her sister’s fear and it worried her.

Cate thought she would reassure her sister that this was just a game. This is a test dad is doing for us, she said, The one who scores more hits wins. I’m gonna kick your butt.

Cate! Faith yelled, This is not a test. You are so stupid. These guys are for real and you are going to get hurt.

Whoa guys, Faith said to the four cadets moving toward them. Take it easy. You can’t just come here and do this. I’m calling the police right now.

Marchand practically growled at her. He was furious at having been humiliated by Faith twice and because he was screwing up his first leadership assignment outside the Academy. Completing this assignment would have earned him leadership points and allowed him to graduate next year. Now he would be stuck at Rotenstil for another semester. He was going to make the little brat pay for this.

No more playing around, Marchand said threateningly. He reached down to the holster on his belt and pulled out his stun gun. He pointed it at the two girls and pulled the trigger. The handheld shock weapon made a menacing zap sound and a spark of electricity moved between the two poles at the front of the device. Fifty-thousand volts of electricity flowed through Marchand’s stun gun. He was going to jam this thing right into Faith’s chest and zap her with it, he thought to himself.

Faith and Cate gasped when they saw the weapon in his hand. They were in trouble.

Chapter Two

Cadets Duffy and Garner had gone upstairs to find Jessica Walker. At the top of the stairs, they came to a hallway with several doors, most likely bedrooms they thought, and another stairway up to a third floor. They could hear music coming from the next floor up and assumed that was where they would find Jessica.

This is a damned big house, Garner said in a whisper.

Watch your language, Garner. A language violation is a three second shock when we get back to the Academy, Duffy said.

Sorry sir, Garner said guiltily. Cadet Duffy was one of the senior cadet leaders at the Academy so Garner had to be careful around him. If Duffy ordered it, Garner could be punished for swearing with an electric shock. Punishment by electric shock is common at Rotenstil Academy.

Swearing is strictly forbidden at Rotenstil Academy. Maintaining order at a military academy for one hundred boys requires strict discipline, especially when almost half of them are juvenile delinquents and many are violent and dangerous sociopaths. Profanity, Arthur Chase believed, was a gateway vice. He believed that boys who could not control their tongues could not control their emotions and if they cannot control their emotions they could not follow orders.

Since being forced to resign as Secretary of Defense for the U.S. Government several years ago, Chase—who insisted on being called President Chase at the Rotenstil Academy—had dedicated himself to building a private army of soldiers and security guards. Chase was convinced that the country needed an army of strong, disciplined, but vicious warriors. Arthur Chase was building these warriors at Rotenstil Academy. He culled them from the poor, abandoned and desperate children he found on the streets, in foster homes and in juvenile detention facilities. Chase was building an army of young men who could serve as a private security force for the country’s wealthy and elite.

As they came around the corner at the top of the staircase, the cadets saw the door to Jess’ room. It was like the door to any teenage girl’s room. In the middle of the door there was a poster for the band Fun. and a Victoria’s Secret Pink sweatshirt lay crumpled on the floor just outside the door. The door was partially open and they could see a girl’s bare foot and hear music. This is getting interesting, they thought and they gently pushed the door open.

* * *

Faith and Cate stood in the kitchen. Four boys stood in front of them. The cadets were getting ready to charge and overpower the girls. The girls were both working through possible defensive moves in their heads.

The dangerous looking stun gun Marchand held finally convinced Cate that this was not a game their dad set up to test them. The boys looked angry. Cate could only imagine what the terrible looking weapon the boy held would do to her if he touched her with it.

Guys, stop! This is crazy. Faith held up her hands and pleaded with them.

The boys paused at her words. As they stopped in mid-step toward the girls, they looked like coiled snakes waiting to strike.

Just let me talk to my sister, Jess. I need to talk to my sister, Faith implored.

The boys watched as she moved slowly to the wall near her and pressed the button for the intercom that connected the kitchen to Jess’ third floor bedroom. When Faith pressed the intercom button it made a loud beep in Jess’ third floor bedroom. She knew Jess had probably taken a shower and that was why she didn’t hear any of the commotion on the first floor but she needed to tell Jess what was going on and the intercom was the only way.

Jess! She said, her voice urgent and tense, There are people here—boys from the Rotenstil Academy! They said they are here to take us to Rotenstil. They said dad is there. They just tried to grab me. There are six of them and two are coming upstairs to get you. As she finished the sentence, the boys charged her and Cate.

* * *

Upstairs, Jess heard Faith over the intercom. Jess was not as shocked as she could have been. She remembered what her father had told her yesterday. Her father was at the Rotenstil Academy with Arthur Chase. He told Jess that he was going to see Chase to settle some things with Chase that happened a long time ago. Her father had worked for Arthur Chase in the CIA but left because he thought Chase was up to something illegal. But why would Chase send cadets to their house? Was her dad in trouble? Jess didn’t have any answers. She needed to talk to her father.

Jessica Walker was seventeen years old and, although she hadn’t practiced much in the last year, she was still one of the most skilled martial artists in the world. She had never had to use her skills to defend herself in a real fight but she had a room full of trophies as testament to her fighting skill. As the door swung open, Jess took a deep breath. She was not worried about whoever would appear on the other side of the door. She knew her own strengths and she knew her capabilities. Very little could scare her, least of all the two teenage boys whose faces appeared as her door swung open.

Jessica Walker, you need to come with us, Cadet Duffy said forcefully as the door swung open. Jess (everyone called her Jess) looked at them and assessed her situation.

One boy was taller than her (Jess is six feet tall) and the other was a little shorter but husky. The boys might be physically stronger than her but that would not matter. Jess knew how to neutralize their strength advantage. They were training to be soldiers at Rotenstil so she presumed they understood combat tactics and were trained to fight. She had the advantage in knowing the terrain—it was her house. In any case, she did not plan to fight them if she could avoid it.

Jess was sitting on her bed when the door opened. She was dressed in baggy white sweatpants and a black tank top. She looked at the boys standing in her doorway and calmly said, Come with you where?

Cadet Duffy answered her, We are taking you and your sisters to the Academy. President Chase has requested that you be taken . . . uh . . . that you come with us to the Academy. He was fumbling for the right words. He had been told not to use any force unless necessary but to make sure they were out of the house as soon as possible.

Please get dressed and come with us, Duffy continued. As he spoke to her he thought that she seemed too calm. It was unnerving, like she knew something they didn’t know. Duffy expected her to be terrified that they had just barged into her room but she seemed less nervous than they were.

Well, I’m already dressed, she said, as she stood up from her bed. As she rose from the bed, she consciously drew herself up, elongating her waist and exaggerating her height. Jess was tall and physically intimidating to most boys her age. She was muscular for a girl. She was not bulky but sinewy and athletic. Her shoulders and back rippled when she moved. Jess had been training as a fighter for as long as she had been able to walk and all those years of training had given her the body and graceful power of a champion gymnast.

Jess calmly walked over to the small desk in her room and sat down. She swiveled her chair around to face them. She was searching for a way to neutralize them without having to fight them.

Words like neutralize come naturally to her mind. She was the daughter of a Green Beret. Like Faith, Jess had been around soldiers and fighters her whole life. She knew more about combat, discipline and bravery than any ten men. These cadets looked like children to her. However, a violent confrontation where someone could get hurt was the last thing she wanted. She needed to handle this carefully.

I can’t go anywhere with you until you explain what the hell is going on, she said loudly and firmly. She was establishing that she should not be trifled with. Jess thought she understood what was going on but she couldn’t believe it was actually happening the way her father had said it might. He had seemed only half serious when he told her what he feared might happen.

You must come with us, Cadet Duffy said. He reached for the stun gun at his belt and held his hand over it menacingly. He was overreacting. He was so intimidated by her that he was not thinking straight.

All right . . . all right, Jess said calmly. I can come with you . . . just relax. She wanted to calm him down. He had