72 Hours... Chapter 1

The quiet rumble and swaying of the bus lulled three of the five members of Nsync into various levels of sleep. Their assigned bodyguard, Mitchell Lewis and the bus driver were the only ones well rested enough to stay awake during the gray, cloudy late afternoon.

Near the front of the bus, Lance was seated at the kitchenette table, asleep with his head resting on his arms, folded on the table's surface. In front of him sat a short stack of papers he had been working through for his businesses, Freelance and A Happy Place.

Joey lay in his bunk, nursing a sinus headache. It was always difficult being on the road, adjusting to the various climates they traveled through, but during the height of allergy season he suffered the most. For the moment, he was floating on a benadryl cloud...two hours earlier he had found it necessary to lay down when the medication caused him to fight wave after wave of dizziness each time he stood up.

And, last but not least, on the couch in the back lounge, directly behind the bunk area, lay JC, who had long ago succumbed to the urge to sleep and was now quietly snoring under a thin blanket, the sound of the television quietly providing some background noise.

Mitchell had settled down behind the bus driver, James Havard, and the two quietly passed the time, speaking of their families and friends back at their respective hometowns of Houston and Little Rock.

As the trio was transported to their next destination, Justin and Chris remained behind fulfilling some obligations of their own. Justin was meeting with various potential donors to his foundation while Chris was going over some contractual negotiations with a popular department store chain wishing to carry the FuMan Skeeto line of clothing.

Eventually, the two groups would be meeting up with each other in about 24 hours to prepare for a photo shoot and interview for an entertainment magazine before moving on to Detroit for a private party members of their manager, Johnny Wright's, family was having in his honor. They were scheduled to perform there before leaving for Orlando.

The schedule, as far as Johnny was concerned, was crazed but necessary sine the group had just ended one leg of their new tour and had a short interim before the kick off of their second leg of the tour in Europe, which was slated to start in the early fall. The group had many proverbial irons in the fire, but, in all honesty, wouldn't have it any other way, if asked by anyone and that is what makes them unique in the industry.

* * * * * * * *

“Are you finished for the day?” Chris asked Justin over the phone. He and his bodyguard, Dre Thomas, were seated in a limo speeding along a busy downtown avenue on their way to the hotel he and Justin, along with their bodyguards would be staying for the night.

“Almost,” Justin replied as he stood at the end of a hallway of a high-rise business building not too far from their hotel. “Mike and I should be at the hotel in time to pick y'all up for supper or something.”

Justin absent-mindedly played with his tie and glanced out the window. It was always humbling to him to watch so many people scurrying about so far below him. Each one of those people had his or her own lives to lead...their own troubles...their own...

“Hey, J?” Chris interrupted the young man's thoughts and he quickly cleared his throat in half embarrassment.

“Yeah, what?” he asked softly, chuckling into the phone.

“Caught you,” Chris replied as softly as he joined his friend in laughter before sobering. What he was getting ready to say would surely disappoint Justin.

“I wanted to let you know that Dre is shaking his head on going out tonight. Apparently, the cat is out of the bag and there's no way we're going to get out,” he said regretfully. Many a night had been spent locked up in hotel rooms rather than out on the town due to safety issues concerning not only the group, but also those fans who might disrupt the safety of those around them.

At the end of Chris's statement, silence reigned over the line for a few seconds then a little sigh on Justin's end effective broke it.

“Oh, well...maybe next time,” he said with a touch of frustration in his voice as he watched his bodyguard, Mike Headnot approaching him. He understood that those men who been hired by the group to keep them safe were only trying to what was thought to be in their best interests...but it would be nice if every once in a while they would be allowed to be somewhat normal, even if only for one evening.

“Hey...Dre just said he's buying tonight,” Chris said brightly, ducking the playful slap aimed for his head by the large man seated next to him.

“Oh, well in that case, tell him I want a large, steamed Maine lobster and a nice juicy prime rib,” Justin answered with a laugh as he glanced to his left and saw that he was being summoned back into the boardroom to complete the next portion of his presentation.

“Listen, Chris...I need to go. I'm up to bat again,” Justin said quietly as he quickly stood then walked toward the open door. “We'll catch up with y'all pretty quick.”

“Give me a call when you're on your way in and...good luck,” Chris replied as their vehicle stopped. Closing his phone, he watched Dre get out of their parked limo to check the hotel's back entrance to see if it was safe for him to enter.

Justin turned off his phone to prevent any interruptions during the meeting, while, across town, Chris jumped out of the limo and ran to Dre's side then into the hotel.

* * * * * * * * * *

The conversation at the front of the bus had become quiet with Mitchell reading the latest John Grisham novel while James watched a car in the side mirror, following rather closely behind the bus. It was common practice for the buses carrying the members of Nsync, their band, crew and others to travel the less congested highways and roads in the hopes of avoiding fans who might cause accidents in their haste to catch a glimpse of who might possibly be on one of the buses. And, on more than one occasion, James, or one of the other drivers had had to alert the local sheriff or police departments or state troupers of less than safe drivers. As James continued to watch the vehicle traveling behind them, he was beginning to wonder if he would have to do it again.

“Hey...Mitchell,” James called out quietly over his shoulder. “Ummm...we've got someone following us pretty close.”

“Really?” Mitchell asked as he put down his book to stoop down behind James so that he could have a better glimpse at the side mirrors. He could clearly see a dark blue car following the bus...its front bumper easily within twenty to thirty feet of the back of the bus.

“Go check on the guys, Mitch,” James said as he continued to glance at the mirrors every few seconds. “Make sure their situated okay...you know...just in case.” The bus driver didn't want to have to worry about one of the young men falling from precarious sleeping positions if he happened to need to take evasive action against the vehicle behind them.

“Sure, James,” Mitchell replied as he left the front of the bus to check on the sleeping young men.

In the kitchenette area, he saw that Lance was no longer at the table, but had moved over to the long couch that lined the opposite wall. His right arm hung slack over the side of the couch, his fingertips just brushing the carpet beneath them. Mitchell gingerly lifted Lance's arm, tucking it at the young man's side before pulling a thin throw blanket off the back of the couch, covering him...all of this done without even waking him. Lance was usually a very light sleeper but the group's hectic schedule, along with his growing business, were apparently beginning to take their toll on him.

Mitchell then moved through an narrow doorway leading to the sleeping area, pausing at the front of the only bunk hidden by a heavy, dark curtain. He could hear steady breathing coming from behind the curtain, and, very carefully, he parted the material, revealing Joey sleeping heavily, his back to the curtain. His t-shirt was riding up his back, his sheets a tangled mess around his legs. The bodyguard could easily sympathize with the sleeping figure. He had battled his own allergies just a week or two ago when the group passed through an area of highway being mowed by that state's highway department. The dust that had been kicked up on the ten mile stretch plagued him for the next two days and he became very good friends with his prescription allergy medication. As quietly as possible, Mitchell pulled the curtain to before making his way to the very back of the bus.

As he stepped through another narrow door, Mitchell saw JC's body lying slack across the couch. He was curled around a pillow with a thin blanket covering the lower half of his lanky form. Out of the three, Mitchell knew JC could sleep through absolutely anything. With a small grin, he remembered the time that the young man had slept through a small earthquake in the LA area about two years ago. Then, just a few months ago, during a storm so severe that the management for the hotel they were staying was forced to move the majority of its occupants to safe areas. Unable to readily awaken his charge, Mitchell had simply flung JC's limp form over his shoulder then carried him to the stairwell where they had been told to wait for more security to meet them and lead them to a safer location. Mitchell was certain he would never forget the look of astonishment on the young man's face when he awakened the next morning in another room, on another bed, pressed between Joey and Justin's sleeping forms. That situation was a source of running jokes and gags for weeks and only now was no longer mentioned when group members had to share hotel rooms on odd occasions.

With a shake of his head and a small chuckle, Mitchell quietly stole back thro0ugh the length of the bus, rechecking one more time Joey and Lance as he passed by them. Once back at the front of the bus, he stooped down to take another look at the vehicle behind them.

“Still there, huh, James,” he stated in a voice that was a mixture of annoyance and growing concern.

“Yep,” James answered in a clipped tone. “Boys still asleep?”

“Like babies,” Mitchell replied. “What do you want to...whoa...wait a minute, James. Here they come.”

James immediately tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his gaze darting from the road ahead to the mirrors on either side of the bus as the car moved up along the side of them, easily keeping pace with them.

“Move up, Mitch,” James said. “I want them to know I'm not alone. Pull out your phone, too.”

“Can't...it's in the back on my bunk,” Mitchell answered, his voice tight as he stood up and moved down into the driver's area in time to see a car load of young men...maybe three or four of them...all in their mid to late twenties looking in their direction. The man in the front passenger seat rolled down his window and yelled in their direction as he pointed toward the rear tires of the bus.

“You've got a problem back there...looks like you're going to lose the tread on the inside tire!” he shouted once James had opened his own window. Mitchell looked at the young man's face, noting what seemed to be genuine concern.

“Do we believe them?” James asked as he turned his attention to the road ahead, not wanting to take the chance on another car coming from the opposite direction. “I haven't felt any difference in the way the bus is riding or driving.”

“Me neither,” Mitchell added. “But you're the driver...I'll go with whatever you want to do.”

“There's a sign for a picnic area up ahead...we'll stop there,” James said.

“I'll get out and take a look,” Mitchell said. “You can stay inside with the guys and lock the door behind me.”

James nodded as he began slowing down, while, at the same time, noting that the car was pulling in behind them as they turned off the main road onto a more narrow lane lined with oaks and full of potholes. Seconds later, he opened the door of the bus then chanced a glance at the left side mirror as Mitchell stepped outside. He then turned to look at the right side mirror and noticed that Mitchell was no where to be seen. Almost instantly, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he reached toward the button to close the door.

“I think you need to come on out here, mister and join your friend,” a young man firmly stated, pointing a shotgun at James.

“Don't touch anything, either,” he added when he noticed the bus driver reaching to the other side of his hair, his fingers just brushing against the holster of a pistol he was in the habit of carrying.

James stopped his movement then slowly stood up, his hands in front of him as he stepped off the bus. He kept his eyes trained ahead, not daring to glance back into the bus. He didn't want to give away the fact that there were others inside. As his feet hit the ground, he was quickly pushed toward the back of the bus where Mitchell was lying on the ground, his hands bound behind his back and a shotgun leveled at his head.

“Down on the ground, mister,” another one of the men said as he pointed a pistol in his direction.

Minutes later, James and Mitchel were effectively rendered immobile on the side of the lane, their hands and feet bound and mouths gagged. Helplessly, the pair watched as three of the four young men boarded the bus, before driving away while the fourth followed the bus in their car.

'Please, God...help us...help the boys...” Mitchell silently prayed as he wrenched his wrists back and forth in an effort to free himself while James just shook his head in a mixture of horror and astonishment...three members of Nsync had just been kidnapped.

* * * * * * * *

The first thing that alerted Lance to the fact that something wasn't right was the unsteady rocking motion of the bus along with a sudden, sharp turn. The second was an strange voice yelling for the driver to watch it. Before he could even sit up, a masked figure strode into the kitchen area and yanked him off the couch with one swift movement. Lance fearfully shouted out but was silenced when he was felled with a glancing blow to the head. The intruder stood over Lance's crumbled form, wiping the blood from the butt of his pistol before moving toward the back of the bus while another of the strangers flipped Lance over to this stomach to bind his hands behind him.

Joey slowly awakened from his drug-induced sleep when he felt a draft on his back. He immediately thought that either Lance or JC...maybe even Mitchell, was checking on him and he turned over to face them only to yelp in fear when he found himself facing a masked stranger with a gun.

“Turn back around...hands behind you,” the man said as he brought the gun to rest on Joey's forehead. In response, Joey shuddered, closed his eyes then quickly reopened them all in the hopes that it was only a nightmare, but was horrified to discover his was very much mistaken.

“Still here...still waiting,” the man said as he cocked the hammer of his pistol. “Turn over...now.”

Joey numbly nodded then turned his back to the man before putting his hands behind him.

“Please...take what you want...just don't hurt anyone,” Joey said quietly, wincing at how tightly his hands were being bound.

“Don't worry...we're taking exactly what we want and, if you cooperate, maybe we won't have to hurt you...” the man said before turning the gun in his hand. “...too badly, that is.” With that, he swung the butt of the gun in a short arch at the back of Joey's head. Seconds later, the stranger moved toward the back of the bus, leaving Joey's unconscious form lying limply in his bunk.

“What's going on?” JC asked, watching the approaching figure. He had awakened seconds earlier and had heard a strangers voice then witnessed Joey's being hit over the head. Now he was fearfully facing the same individual.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” was the quiet reply.

“What do you want?” JC asked as he scooted along the couch in a futile effort to move away from the man.

“We want you and the other two,” was the simple reply as he cocked his pistol the motioned for JC, who was now noticeably shaking, to move to the floor. “Now...down on the floor...hands behind you...and...maybe...,” the stranger said, turning his head as he watch JC follow his instructions. “...maybe you won't get hurt...too badly.”