Coercion by Tim Tigner Page B

to be alone when it does?”
    “Oh, God, I can’t tell you.  They’ll kill my daughter.  They’ll kill her, just like that.”  She tried to snap her fingers but there was no pop.  “Please, please … help me.”  Her last words were a whispered sob.  If she was playing him, she was the best he had ever seen.
    Alex needed more information.   “Are you afraid someone is watching you now?” 
    “I, I don’t know.  I never know.  They seem to know everything.  At first I thought you were one of them.”
    Alex was sold.
    He pocketed the Glock, held out his hand for hers, and guided Elaine to an adjacent picnic area where they could sit and talk more comfortably.  Alex figured the walk would give Elaine a chance to get her thoughts together, to make up her mind that this would be the day that she would change her life.  Or not.
    They sat facing each other across a picnic table.  The moon shone enough light on the clearing for each to see the other’s face, so he turned the flashlight off.
    “First of all, do me the favor of keeping your hands above the table.”
    She nodded, looking more pitiful than scared. 
    “Now, I need you to give me the chance to help you, Elaine.  I need you to tell me who is doing this to you, to Kimberly.”
    Elaine blanched at the mention of her daughter’s name.  “I don’t know.  They do everything through phone calls and faxes.  The voice is always the same, but I’m sure it’s disguised.”
    He had made the right decision by not taking the sabotage tape straight to the police.  His instincts had not failed.  With a tone that was obviously more relaxed, he asked, “Why don’t you take your time and tell me everything from the beginning.”
    Elaine nodded slowly and then took a couple introspective breaths to compose herself.  Alex waited patiently, actively listening to the woods around for sounds of disturbance.  He looked down and caught himself nervously pulling at the hair on the back of his fingers and stopped; he had to appear strong and confident and that nervous habit was telegraphing his bluff.  Too late .
    “Frank did that too,” she said, nodding toward his hands.
    Alex looked up and saw that a glimmer of hope had crept into her swollen eyes.
    “It started a year and a half ago, July 5, 1989 to be exact.  I got a call early in the morning.  The voice told me that MiMi, my mother, was not doing well, that I should go to her room.  MiMi, you see, had been living with us ever since grandpa died.  I went to see her but she said she felt fine.  Then the voice ordered me to look at her bottom.  I almost hung up at that point, thinking it was just a very sick prank caller.  But there was something about his voice—I didn’t dare defy.
    “I found what looked like a nasty bug bite.  Then the voice said Kimberly wasn’t doing well either.  I checked her and saw that she had the same bite as MiMi.  ‘What is it?’  I screamed into the telephone.  The answer nearly gave me a heart attack.  ‘Poison,’ he replied, ‘a very deadly poison.  But don’t worry, it’s also a very special poison.  It only activates if I tell it to.’
    “I stood there for a minute, certain that I was dreaming because something like this could not happen in real life.  But of course it was happening.  ‘Oh please, no, don’t do it, I begged.’  Then he said, ‘I won’t.  But here’s what you’re going to do for me …’
    “There was nothing I wouldn’t have done.  You understand, don’t you Alex?” 
    He nodded somberly and laid his hand on her elbow.  The situation she described resembled the picture that had flashed before his mind’s eye when he first saw her tears.
    She drew her elbow away as though unworthy of affection and shook her head slowly.  “But now, now he’s turned me into a killer, a terrorist.”
    This last sentence caught him by surprise.  “A terrorist!”  Then, realizing his mistake he calmed his voice and