In July 1994, teenagers on a church
field trip stopped with their chaperones at a motel in Fort
Walton Beach, Florida. As evening fell, the vigilant adults implemented curfew, but
musical rooms
ensued while classmates, friends, and new acquaintances exchanged jokes, pranks, clothes,
and
dating tales. By 10:00 P.M. the activity had energized to running and laughing along the
walkway
between rooms with an occasional firecracker in the parking lot.
Amy looked through her luggage for her makeup and realized her purse
remained under her
seat on the bus. Not wanting to venture out in the morning with a naked face, she slid
down the stairs
amidst the melee to the bus parked within sight of the rooms. She opened the doors, and
groped until
she located her bag pressed back against the wall. She hopped down the steps and off the
bus. A
strong forearm snatched her off her feet. Amy attempted too late to squeal as a hand
covered her mouth
and dragged her to the flowerbed between the cars and a fence assuring total privacy for
his intentions.
"Don't make a sound, or you're dead, little lady," growled a
man in his mid-twenties. "Take off your
pants."
In shock, Amy followed the instructions of her captor.
Forty-three year old Gary Clark, Sr. relaxed in his motel room. Having
just hung up from a phone
call with his wife, he flipped the channels to HBO in hopes of catching a decent movie.
Squealing girls
and the periodic pop of fireworks left no doubt the night would be long. He had four boys
of his own,
three teenagers now, so he knew the depths and heights of their enthusiasm and exuberance.
A young
girl's scream jerked his attention away from the television. "Wish they wouldn't do
that," he fussed out
loud. "Can't tell what's playing around and what's not."
Suddenly an unmistakably blood-curdling scream cut the air, and Senior
Special Agent Clark instinctively
grabbed his 9mm and jumped to his feet. A gunshot rang out as he reached his motel room
door. Bare
footed and bare chested, he threw open his door against the wall with intentional force
while simultaneously
shouting a guttural "Police!" The intended rapist relinquished his mission,
grabbed the fence, and in one swift
motion, pulled himself quickly over it, all in the sights of the agent's gun.
Uncertain as to the players involved and the crime attempted, Clark
could not pull off the shot without
knowing all the facts. Swiftly, Clark bounded down the stairs and made strides toward the
runner in hopes
of a tackle and apprehension. About the time Clark hit the parking lot, Amy collided into
him. Seeing blood
running down her face from an unknown head wound suddenly diverted Clark's attention to
the little girl. She
continued to run in place. Dazed and in shock, she saw Clark as no different than her
assailant.
He grabbed her by the shoulders and said, "Honey, honey, it's all
right. I'm a police officer. It's ok now."
What concerned him was the head wound, especially in light of the gunshot he had heard.
Three girls from Amy's group walked around the corner about that time.
Screams and frantic chatter
started at the sight of Amy in her underwear with blood running down her face and neck.
The last thing Clark
needed was a trio of crying, upset teenagers, so he asked them questions to calm them
down.
"Where's her room?"
They pointed and said the room number.
"Where's her parents?"
They advised him they were on a church retreat and only had chaperones.
"Show me her room. Go get a chaperone." He got them occupied
and busy. Picking up Amy, he carried
her to her room. Laying her gently on her bed, he wet a hand towel and carefully analyzed
her head. As the
kids and chaperones watched, the evidence became apparent, and the story came together.
The intended
rapist had watched Amy remove her shorts. Then realizing he couldn't remove his own jeans
holding the pistol,
he set it down. Amy went for the gun. The rapist beat her to the weapon, and in anger,
swung it against her head.
The wound resulted from the gun's sights ripping her skin, not the bullet. The gun did
discharge, however, right
next to her head creating a reverberation that temporarily stunned her. It was at that
moment that Clark had
slammed open his motel room door and screamed "Police!" The distraction by Clark
apparently was enough to
deter the man from fulfilling his purpose. But if Amy had not fought, Clark would not have
heard the screams
and the shot, probably leaving her at the rapist's mercy.
Another agent from Clark's training group pursued the man on foot. A
getaway car had been waiting several
dozen yards on the other side of that fence, thus indicating an orchestrated plan to do
harm to the kids as the
opportunity presented itself. The agents worked with the local police department most of
the night setting up
roadblocks and searches to apprehend the pair, but to no avail.
But Amy was safe, and that was the most important point.
Gary Clark received commendation from superiors in Washington D.C. for
his heroic act. The motel wrote
a thank-you to him offering accommodations if he should ever again visit Ft. Walton Beach.
But the token that
touched him most was the letter of thanks from Amy's parents. A letter that obviously
strove to put into words
emotions that just couldn't be put into words. A letter that made him pray that someone
would be available if
ever his children were in danger.
To this day, Clark regrets not having fired at the criminal. To this
day, Amy regrets her impetuous trek to the
bus. But Clark was grateful that Amy proved a feisty victim to give him the chance to save
her. And Amy was
grateful fate placed a group of Federal agents at the same motel as a Sunday school
retreat troupe.
NOTE: Senior Special Agent Gary W. Clark, Sr. is the
husband of writer C. Hope Clark. They reside in Columbia, SC with two teenage sons ages 15
and 17.
Email this author: HopeClark1@aol.com
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