by Ed James
“Sir.” Lewandowski wasn’t going to protest. No idea if he has a wife and kids, no idea if he even has a goldfish. “Thanks, sir.” He pointed at his colleagues then set off across the foyer.
Holliday walked over to the hall, slapping the smile back on for the cameras, pointing and waving at journalists, like they were important enough to warrant it.
Katie Chan from CNN evaded his gaze. No questions for me, no pressing scandals she needs a US senator’s opinion on. A good sign.
Holliday passed through the doors and scanned for his seat. The hall took up half the ground floor, reaching up through the next two. Oak paneling, white-marble floor, the state and union flags on either side of a stage, set up like a court. Could be anywhere, in any major city.
Olson was right. Three million bucks for this?
Congressman Xander J. Delgado stood on the stage, his wiry frame facing away from the crowd. His arms waved as he talked, microphone muted, to a panel of five of his peers, three men and two women. Then he took in the audience again. Dark hair, perfect teeth. Navy suit, white shirt, red tie, like the Stars and Stripes outside had got up and started walking around. Delgado could just as easily be Davis, Duffy, or Dublowski. Just so happened that the Spanish daddy’s name was the one to survive through history. One of those city boys whose only Latino attribute was the name that attracted the Hispanic votes in his ward. He kept shifting his focus back to the audience, locking on to targets like in the many military stories he bored people with on the campaign trail. Listen to him and he singlehandedly took down al-Qaeda.
Holliday took his seat near the side of the stage. No streamers this time, no champagne corks popping, no big-money donors pressing the flesh to take their pound, no ten minutes of rapturous applause. Not like last time. Or the next.
Delgado spotted him, giving a curt nod and wave. He looked around his audience. To him, this wasn’t a congressional hearing, it was a campaign rally, the Delgado story turning another page.
What’s next on his march to the presidency? Governor? Senator? Keep your hands off my seat.
Delgado tapped the microphone and waited for the hush to settle. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your time and your presence here, especially on a weekend day. Unfortunately, myself and my colleagues here have business in that other Washington, the District of Columbia, through the week.” He got up and paced the stage, like some tech CEO giving a TED Talk, or some snake-oil salesman hawking his own brand of motivational advice. “This hearing has been convened to look into Operation Opal Lance and…”
Holliday’s cell buzzed in his jacket pocket, feeling like a second heartbeat. Megan and her perfect timing… He checked the display—unknown caller. This is my private cell, must be some telemarketer asking for campaign funds or a charitable donation. He killed the call and put the phone away.
But it buzzed again. Just once, a long thrum. A text. Probably a voicemail. Nothing to worry about. But dark thoughts flooded his brain.
Megan in a car wreck, begging for a stranger’s cell to call her husband, their kids dying on the back seat.
He fished it out and checked the display. Almost dropped it. Not a voicemail. But a photo. Brandon and Avery… in Megan’s minivan, asleep, that morning’s Times propped up between them. And no sign of their mother.
Underneath was a text. He read the words but couldn’t believe what they said.
Chapter Four
Carter
Carter parked in his usual space at the usual time for a Saturday morning and killed the engine. The wipers stopped scraping the rain clear, the downpour quickly flooding the windshield and blocking out the downtown Seattle street. He craned his neck round.
Kirsty sat in her booster on the back seat, wavy mid-brown hair hidden under her favorite red beret, her black-and-white hooped dress bunched up by the seatbelt. She stuffed all of her fingers into her mouth, picking away at her teeth. “It hurts real bad.”
That was the last thing Carter needed today. “You need me to take you to the dentist, pumpkin?”
Kirsty inverted her hands, making her fingers into a twitching monster’s mouth. “Raaaargh!”
“Oh no!” Carter put his hand to his chest and let his mouth hang open. “It’s Cthulhu girl!”
She tugged against her seatbelt, making worse monster sounds. “RAAAARRGHHH!” Her voice was deep and filled with eldritch fury.
“Help!” Carter let his belt go and eased out of the seat. He slipped out of the driver’s side into the thick rain, then rounded the black Suburban to open the back passenger door. He leaned in, making his own monster face at Kirsty. “Daddy monster is going to bite you!” He used his monster-tendril fingers to tickle her until she squealed. “RAAARGH!”
“Stop it, Daddy!” Kirsty wriggled in her chair, laughing hard.
Carter bent forward, the rain lashing his jacket, and clicked the lock to liberate his daughter from her seat. He raised up her hood and picked her up, hugging her tight, then set her down on the sidewalk. “You going to be okay today, pumpkin?”
“I’ll be fine.” Secondhand YouTube sass, partially hidden by her raincoat. “When will you pick me up?”
Carter shut her door. “I just got to do a few things today, then we’ll go wherever you want, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy.” Kirsty huffed on her backpack and brushed hair out of her eyes. “I want to walk the last part to Chrissie’s on my own.”
“We’ve talked about this.”
A tiny shrug. “Mommy said I can.”
Carter didn’t quite believe it, but he didn’t want to cramp her instincts. He looked down the road, just over half a block to the daycare’s door. Instinct kicked in—thirteen front doors, eighteen pedestrians shivering in the rain, that parked Camry over there, the exhaust pipe pluming in the downpour, the taillights glowing across the sprawling puddles. “Okay, but I’ll be watching you all the way.”
“Thank you, Daddy.” Kirsty made another monster face with her fingers then hugged him. One last look and she walked off.
Carter watched her go, each footstep making his heart crawl up his throat toward his mouth. His little girl, still so young but determined to make her own way in the world. Another footstep and she swiveled around to see him, waving her gloved hand back at him, her cute smile hidden by her hood. He gave her a wave of his own, his hair now soaked through. Then she set off again, her head bobbing in time to some tune he couldn’t hear. Almost at the steps up to the door to Chrissie’s walk-up now.
The lights in the car across the road turned off, the idling engine dying in time. The driver’s door opened and an elderly man got out, his back slightly hunched.
Instinct kicked in and Carter ran off, splashing through the puddles, each step matching one of the man’s as he powered over the road toward Kirsty. Gray hair, trimmed beard, gold-framed glasses, a big body but wasting away with age. He beat Carter to Kirsty by seconds. “Hey, princess.”
Kirsty stopped to look up, her little face twisted into confusion.
Carter swept between them and grabbed the man’s left wrist, hiding his movements from his daughter as he disabled him, pressing his thumb into hard bone and getting a satisfying yelp. He smiled at Kirsty. “You go inside now, pumpkin. Say hi to Chrissie for me, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy.” She didn’t seem to notice what was going on, skipping up the steps and singing a little doo-doo-doo tune. She pressed the button, the door opened, and she slipped inside the daycare.
Carter swung around, tightened his grip on the left wrist, and twisted the right hard. Subtle, so nobody would notice. “Get away from her.”
“Can’t I speak to my granddaughter?” Bill Carter looked at his son, his shriveled-up face twisted, his filthy eyes glaring through rain-spattered glasses. “You’ve got a nerve, thinking you can—”
“Bill.” Carter felt the heat rising in his neck as he nodded back toward the Camry. “Get out of here.”
“Or what?”
Carter pressed
his right thumb harder. “Just go.”
Bill took one hard look at his son, wincing through the pain but clearly trying to hide it. Anyone watching would see two men in a heated discussion, but Carter knew what was going on behind those eyes. The calculations, the mental gears clicking and grinding. “Max, I just want to see my granddaughter.”
“And I don’t want you to see her. Ever. Are we clear?”
Bill sighed, then gave a reluctant nod. “And I need your help, son.”
“Here was me thinking you ‘just wanted to see your granddaughter’.” Carter snorted. “Now, get out of here before I call the cops.”
“Max, son, I’m—”
“I’m serious, Bill. If you don’t leave us alone, the cops are going to get involved. And you don’t want that, do you?”
Bill took one last look at him, then wriggled free from the loosening grip. He walked across the road through the driving rain, head bowed, rubbing his wrists, and got in his Camry. The lights clicked and the engine plumed again, then he shot off into the traffic, hauling his seatbelt on as he gave one furious look at his son.
Carter let out his breath and stepped up the steps. Through the door, Chrissie the supervisor was helping Kirsty out of her coat. She looked fine, hadn’t noticed anything. Carter left them to it, and set off back to his car, putting his phone to his ear. “Hey, Em, it’s Max.”
Office noise swirled around Emma. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” Carter took another look back down the street, scanning for any rogue Toyotas doubling back around. “I was just dropping Kirsty off when Bill tried to speak to her.”
A tight gasp hissed down the line. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. He—” Carter got into his car and sat behind the wheel, rainwater dripping off his coat onto the upholstery. “I think he got the message this time.”
“That’s the fifth time you’ve thought that.”
“You’re right.” He sighed. “What do we do?”
His cell connected with the car, and her voice came out of the speakers, too quiet. “Do I need to come over there?”
“No, I’ll email Chrissie and make sure Kirsty’s only picked up by you or me.”
“Fine.” Emma didn’t sound like it. “So, what now?”
“Into the office. Paperwork, paperwork, and more paperwork.” Carter took another look at the daycare. “Wish I was doing something with Kirsty. Wish I wasn’t like my father.”
“Hey, hey, hey. Stop that. You’re nothing like him, Max. Okay?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“No maybes, Max. You’re nothing like him.”
The dashboard display lit up. Incoming call from Karen Nguyen.
“Em, the boss is calling. Probably wondering where I am. Better take this.”
“Okay. Call me when you pick her up this afternoon, okay?”
“Sure. Love you.” He switched calls, trying to get himself into the right frame of mind. “Hey, Karen. What’s up?”
“Just had a report of a child abduction, Special Agent.” Nguyen’s robotic voice almost froze up the air in the car. “I’m texting you the address, but it’s just around the corner from your current location. Need you there ASAP.”
Carter stepped out of the Suburban into the maelstrom, only the hum of human activity now that the rain was giving them a temporary reprieve, just leaving that ozone taste in the air. What would normally be a quiet residential street was filled with black SUVs just like his. Local SPD cops knocked on doors. Shouts came from the trees behind, accompanied by the occasional bark. A huddle of federal agents in identical suits looked over at Carter.
The eye of the storm was a wood-sided house, tall and wide. Two story, mid-gray paint. Three-door garage on the left. No tall trees next to any windows. A platoon of uniformed officers filled the front yard. Big enough for kids to play in, even had a tire hanging from a sturdy oak. Big enough that the neighbors were far enough away. Pay a lot for that space, especially around here.
A four-door Volkswagen sat on the pebble driveway, basking in the sudden sunlight. A high sheen, like a dog’s coat, looked after by a father who takes great pride in his car, or who can pay for someone else to take that pride for him.
That dad being one of Washington’s two US senators.
No media yet, but just wait for the Amber Alert to kick in and then watch them head over here from the protests.
A loud engine roar announced the mobile command center’s arrival, a monster-sized Winnebago with more communications equipment than a TV broadcast truck outside CenturyLink Field for a Seahawks game.
Agent Elisha Thompson got out of her Suburban and looked around. Tall, sharp cheekbones, her red hair in a ponytail. Black suit, flat heels, with her lilac blouse the only softening touch. Her dark-brown eyes did the same trained dance as Carter’s, soaking in the vicinity, sucking in every detail and processing it, turning raw data into rich information. Cross-referencing, looking for the gaps and discrepancies. But finding none, just like him. She joined Carter by his car. “You want me to lead?”
“Next time.” Carter walked toward the house. “A senator’s missing kids means we could be dealing with just about anything here.”
A uniformed police officer stood with a pair of panicking women, his bulk contrasting with their slender frames. Soccer-mom types, expensive blouses, plain black leggings that probably had an equally expensive label inside.
One of them broke off and pointed a finger at the beat cop, her blonde hair flying around. “Get your hands off of me!”
Carter recognized her immediately—Megan Holliday, the face of so many campaign photos with her husband and their young kids. He got between them and gave a reassuring smile. “Mrs. Holliday, can I have a word?”
She looked him up and down, her sneer as wide as her friend’s frown was deep. “Who are you?”
Carter raised his eyebrows at Elisha. She took Megan’s dark-haired friend to the side, knowing to get the story straight. Details changed over time, things got lost. Those items could be key.
He focused on Megan, trying to make eye contact, but she looked everywhere but at him. “Special Agent Max Carter, FBI. I head up the Seattle Field Office’s Child Abduction Rapid Deployment Team. Can I call you Megan?”
He knew to use her name, and to keep using it. Gain trust, then maintain it. Never lose it.
Her gaze darted over and locked on to him, then the badge he was still holding out. That seemed to work, seemed to be the currency she needed. She looked at him, forehead creased, lips pursed. “Call me whatever you like, so long as you find my kids.”
“Megan, we’re going to do what we can to—”
“What you can?” She crunched across the pebbles and smacked her left fist into his chest.
He let it sit there, let her get her anger out of her system, bleed it like a hissing radiator. Then keep it empty and let her focus on the story, on the facts, on the truth.
“Do you know who my husband is?”
“I do.” Carter held her gaze. “Where is the senator?”
Megan inhaled deeply, then a wave of calm washed over her. “Not here.”
Carter tried to reframe the narrative. Missing kids meant one thing. Add in a missing husband, and it could mean anything.
When that father was a senator, it changed everything.
A pending divorce, hidden from the press.
Or something more sinister. Carter couldn’t wrap his head around the senator abducting his own kids, though. He had way too much profile around here. “Is there anything I should know about your marriage, Megan?”
“Nothing. He’s just not here.”
“Is he in DC?”
“He’s home for the weekend, but working. That congressional hearing?”
“Right.” Carter had seen something in the Times about it, relegated to page six, the N30+20 protests taking center stage. “Megan, we’ve issued an Amber Alert.” He waved around the neighborhood. “Every iPhone and a good
chunk of Android phones in the state will get the warning. I’ve got thirty highly trained FBI agents from across the state here. There are twenty police officers searching this street alone.” He pointed behind her house. “Another twenty in the woods there, with four trained K-9 units. More on their way too. Megan, the most important thing you can do right now is take me through everything. Brandon’s three and Avery’s four, right?”
Her anger was still there, flashes of it burning in her glare. She blinked it away, the rage replaced by moisture. “Right.”
“Okay. Take me through whatever you can remember.”
“I was driving. We’d just been to the mall and we stopped at that gelato place on the way home. The kids were acting up.” She stared at him, daring him to contradict or even agree with her. “You know how it is, right?”
“Megan, I know how hard this is for you.”
“Okay.” Sighing, she frowned over at the mailbox, the sort you’d see outside any house in Middle America. “I pulled up and picked up the mail. The kids were watching Frozen on their tablets, that song going on and on and on.” Her hand went to her neck, rubbing slowly. She pointed at the curbside. “I drove up there, collected the mail, then into the driveway. I got out of the minivan and felt a prick in my neck.” She waved at the front porch. “Next thing I know, I woke up with a note on my lap.” She passed him a sheet of paper.
He snapped on nitrile gloves and took it from her. Plain, letter-sized, folded and torn near the top. Black text in a thick font, filling the page in landscape:
DO NOT CALL THE POLICE
Carter stuffed it into an evidence bag and thought it through. Someone warning her. Meant it was more likely an abduction than parental. But still nowhere near conclusive.
“You did the right thing calling us, Megan. We’re going to do everything we can to find your children.”
Megan looked like she was struggling to hold it together. Shivering, rubbing her arms. Worry and fright in her eyes, that she’d cost her kids their lives by making a phone call. “Do you think the monster who—” Her hand shot to her mouth. “The monster—” She swallowed down her rage. “Could they know I called 911?”
