by Ed James
“It’s doubtful, Megan. Police radios are encrypted these days. People can’t monitor them.” Carter waited for her nod. “Have you received any other notes like this?”
“None.” She bit her lip. “No. I mean, Chris might have, but he’d tell me, wouldn’t he?”
Carter couldn’t answer. He filed the concern away for later. “Megan, our first step is to validate that your children aren’t hiding.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“Megan.” Carter held up a hand. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just that kids are kids. Got one myself. And you’d be amazed how many apparent disappearances are just kids hiding somewhere. It’s way more common than you’d think.”
“I’ve searched the house for them. Searched the back yard. There’s no sign of them. Someone put me to sleep and took my kids.”
Carter knew not to press her, not to force her to clam up. “Have you had any strange phone calls? Any emails not caught by your spam filter? Any messages on Facebook or Twitter?”
“Nothing. I’ve been through my phone since the cops showed up. There’s nothing. Just that note.”
“What about over the last few days?”
She thought about it, carefully. “No, no. Nothing.” She frowned again. “I mean, my husband, because of who we are, he gets threats, but it’s always about him. Never me, and never the kids.”
“Okay.” Carter held up his hands, wide, trying to bring her back to somewhere near calm. “Have you contacted your husband?”
Her fingers were like claws, digging into her arms. “He didn’t answer.”
Carter couldn’t shake the feeling that the senator might be deliberately avoiding her calls. He tried piecing together the window of opportunity in his head, slotting all the facts into place. “Let me get this straight, you called 911 at 10:57.” A glance at his watch. It was 11:43 now. “When was the last time you checked a clock?”
“Ten fifteen we were at the gelato shop. That was the last time I checked the dashboard.” She nodded, but it looked like she was trying to convince herself, more than an absolute certainty. “No.” She snorted, nostrils flaring. “Ten twenty-five. Definitely. Yes. I saw the time when I checked the mail.” She was nodding now. She believed it, it was now a memory, a fact. “I checked the house before I called 911.”
“Okay, and how long did you search the house for? Five minutes? Ten?”
“Less than five. It’s all open-plan, nowhere for them to hide. Kind of by design. I went through the bedrooms. Ours, Brandon’s, Avery’s and the guest room. There are three big cupboards upstairs. And I checked the attic.”
“Is there a basement?”
“Chris wants to dig one out, but we haven’t done it yet.”
Carter nodded at the half-open garage doors, eight legs visible inside. “And in there?”
“I checked too. Chris keeps it tidy. The cabinets are all still locked.”
Carter suspected that the four officers were wasting their time. Then again, standard process was to start at the center of the locus, clear it, then move outward. He hoped it was all just a mistake, that Megan suffered some undiagnosed allergy and nobody had abducted her kids. “You said you tried to contact your husband?”
“He didn’t answer. I tried again. Beth heard me.” Megan waved at her friend talking to Elisha, rubbing a hand over her forehead. Clearly shopped at the same places as Megan, went to the same salon, just her hair got a red dye rather than blonde. She was taller with softer features and a few extra pounds. “Beth helped me search for the kids after I called it in.”
“Okay, Megan. Here’s what I’m going to do. We’ll get you to give a detailed statement to one of my agents. Think of anyone who could’ve taken them, list them, and we’ll speak to them all. Meanwhile, the team will be looking for your children.”
She nodded, slowly. Then frowned. “Will you find them?”
“Like I said, I’ll do my best. Megan, has your husband ever disappeared like this before?”
“I mean, most of the week he’s in DC, so it’s not like he’s here all the time.”
“But before that?”
“No, never. He’d always call me to tell me what he’s up to.”
A US senator going off the reservation the same day his kids were abducted? It’d take a lot to persuade Carter that they weren’t connected.
“I promise you that we’ll do everything we can to find your children.”
Chapter Five
Mason
I slow the minivan to a crawl and let the Range Rover pass. Olive green, looks real vintage to me. Not the sort the feds would drive, but you never know. You just never know.
I pull up and wait. The neighborhood is a lot less salubrious than the Hollidays’, that’s for sure. Low-rise apartment blocks mixing with bungalows, surrounded by patches of bare earth instead of landscaped lawns, chain-link fences reining them in instead of stone walls. Someone built the houses in a hurry and the people who moved in left them like that—there’s never enough time to fix up your place when you’re working three jobs just to put food on the table.
But the Range Rover is back. Either it’s lost or it’s taking another pass at me.
The feds can’t be onto me already. Can they? The dash clock reads 11:40, not even forty minutes since… Since I took them.
So I follow it around the block, turning right, then right again past a row of new condos, walled off from the rest of the neighborhood. The Range Rover pulls up on the left at the far end and I slow as I weave past. A dark-haired man punches the steering wheel as he shouts at a blonde woman. She gets out, slamming the door and strutting off. Real tall too, her unnecessary heels making her strut like a bird. In my rearview, the man punches the wheel again, both fists this time, then again, harder and harder. He pulls off with another shout through the window and passes me.
Okay, so they’re more likely to be investigated by the feds. And if they’re deep cover, they’re very good.
Child abduction means black SUVs homing in on a target, lights flashing, sirens blaring. Not a busted old Range Rover. It’s still okay, I’m still in the clear.
Another right and I’m back at the freeway intersection, but I take the turn again and pass the house, one last time. It’s clear. No other cars following, no tails. Nobody watching from their front stoop, nobody peering through windows.
I pull up and get out, taking my time as I walk up the path to the door, checking every single step of the way. Still nobody watching me, so I press the bell.
The front door snaps open and Layla looks out, arms crossed over her chest. Dark rings under her eyes, hair hanging either side of her narrow face. Her skin tone could be Latino, Arabic, even African-American. She looks around. “Were you followed?”
“I know I wasn’t. Switched the plates and drove back roads all the way here.” I wave my hands around to the new condos, to that scene of domestic whatever. “Did a loop back there and nobody followed. We’re cool.”
She doesn’t look reassured. Twitchy, nervous. And I can’t blame her. “Show me them.”
I lead back to the minivan, scanning around again, looking for anyone, anything, any sign someone’s watching us. Still nothing, but my heart’s thudding, adrenalin pumping. I open the back door.
Brandon and Avery are both still asleep on the back seat, still tucked up in their car seats.
Layla gasps, covering her mouth with a hand. When she pulls her fingers away, a coy smile crawls over her lips. Then it’s her turn to look around. “Let’s get them inside.”
Layla opens the door to the bedroom. The walls are covered in posters—European soccer players in reds and blues screaming with joy, sliding on their knees. And Marvel, obviously—Spider-Man, Captain America, Iron Man, movie versions and their comic-book equivalents.
I carry Avery over and rest her on the bed by the window. It smells stale, dust piling up on the wooden frame. The girl’s still out of it, but she’s breathing. “That dose
will be good for hours.”
“You’re sure?”
“I gave them a stronger dose than their mother, one that’ll last.”
Layla rests Brandon next to his sister and sticks her head to his chest. “This is just— I don’t know.” She shakes her head at me. “What have we become?”
“It’s okay.” I crouch in front of the bed and watch their angelic faces, their chests rising and falling. Like they’re asleep, and we’ve just brought them home from somewhere, and it’s all normal, and we’re a happy family and—
“Oh no.” Layla grabs my hand, making my wrist burn again. “You’re bleeding!”
Layla wraps another layer of bandage over the wound. The disinfectant still stings, but it dulls with each second. “Like this?”
Sitting on the toilet, I flex my hand around and it feels tight enough. “That’s perfect.”
“You’re sure this is enough?”
“A field dressing is all I need. Trust me, this’ll do.”
“You’re the expert.” Layla tapes up the bandage and perches back on the edge of the tub. She tucks her hair behind her ears, the gold rings catching the harsh overhead light. “We should’ve taken the mother.”
This again?
I fight to hide my frustration, but it’s not easy, coming out in a harsh sigh. “Two reasons we didn’t take her, remember? First, it’s easier for me to explain two sleeping kids in back. A sleeping mommy who doesn’t respond to jostling? A lot less so. And a sleeping senator’s wife? No way.”
The logic seems to penetrate her skull a bit, but she’s still clenching her fists.
“Second, assuming she ignores the note and calls 911, the chaos of the search will play to our advantage. Megan Holliday has no idea who we are. They’ll be looking at the senator’s college girlfriends, bitter campaign donors, or any number of Twitter or Facebook asshats. Not us. We don’t exist in their world.”
She stares hard at the floor for a few long seconds, the crease in her forehead deepening. “Look, I get it. I really do. It’s just… I worry that we’re turning into them.”
“It’s eating away at me too. Constantly. But we have to be strong. We have to stay the course. What we’re doing. This? It’s the most important thing in our lives.”
With an almighty sigh, she gets up to put the bandages and disinfectant back in the medicine cabinet above the toilet. She brushes against my arm as she rests back on the tub.
She’s not putting her full self into this. Seen this so many times, when shit gets real… That’s when you see who really means it.
I grab her hands and make her look at me. “We’re in execution now, okay? Our perfect plan is turning into a flawed reality. What’s important is improvisation and constant vigilance. For this to work, we’ve got to put what’s left of our hearts and souls into it.”
She breaks off from me and gets up, starts pacing around the bathroom. “Are you saying I’m not putting everything into this?”
I worry she’ll break, worry she’s not strong enough. I sit back on the toilet and fold my arms. “Reassure me.”
She fishes her iPhone out of her pocket, frowning deeper as she hands it to me.
Only one notification—an Amber Alert, some text alongside a photo of Brandon and Avery. The children sleeping in the room next to us. The kids I abducted from outside their home.
I hand the cell back. “Well. Megan’s awake and didn’t heed my advice.”
“Some mothers might, but her?” Layla raises her eyebrows. “She thinks the country works for her.” She sits back on the edge of the tub. “So what do we do now?”
“The plan doesn’t change. We anticipated this might happen. We’re just waiting for the next move now. Okay?”
She digs the heels of her palms into her eye sockets, then covers her mouth with her fingers.
I try to make eye contact with her. “If we stick to the plan, if we keep one step ahead of them, then we’ll get what we want. What we need.”
She looks at me, looks more sure now. I’ve been honest with her and she appreciates that. “Okay.”
I get up and tiptoe through to the bedroom. They’re still there, still sleeping. Avery and Brandon. So small and so fragile. So easy for them to die at that age. Or so you think.
Layla runs a hand over my arm, brushing it up and down. “You’re right. We’ve got this covered. Sorry I’m freaking out a bit, it’s just hard.”
“I know that. Remember, this is what we planned for, what we expected might happen.”
“I know that, it’s just…”
All I can do is shrug. “Megan calling it in won’t make things any harder for us. This is still perfectly doable, okay?”
She nods again. Even smiles. “Okay.”
A rumble in my pocket, then that sound, like a dentist’s drill.
My burner phone is ringing.
Chapter Six
Carter
Carter walked away with Elisha as another agent took over managing Megan. “Talk to me.”
Elisha flipped out her notebook and ran a finger down the page. “No previous history at the house or with the family. Just a teenage DUI on the mother back in Aberdeen.”
“Nirvana country.”
“Like I’m old enough to know that about them.” Elisha put her notebook away. “Nothing’s jumping out at me, Max.”
“Well, the fact this involves a senator’s kids should leap out, screaming at you.”
“Come on…”
“And the fact said senator isn’t here and has been avoiding his wife’s calls.”
“You think he’s involved?”
Carter shrugged, keeping his options open on the matter. “What did the friend have to say?”
“Lives over there.” Elisha pointed at a large Victorian almost exactly opposite the Holliday’s home. “She heard Megan screaming and shouting at the 911 operator, out here on the street. Said she was frantic, screaming in the pouring rain. She rushed out and helped her search for the kids a second time.”
“That checks out, I guess.” Carter tried piecing it together. “Here’s what I’ve got.” He swept his hand back at the road. “She pulls into the driveway, opens the mailbox, then drives up to the house. Doesn’t park in any of their three garages. Gets out and someone grabs her. Injects her with… something.” He did the math in his head. “Someone knocked Megan out and took her kids. She was out for twenty-six minutes. Any number of drugs could’ve done that, any dose.”
“Huge amount of risk doing that. You need to know exactly what you’re doing, otherwise you can kill them. Fast acting, though, so—”
“We’ll get a blood toxicology, Elisha. It’ll confirm which drug. But it’ll take time. And it won’t find her children.”
“Max, we should—”
“Right now, it does not matter what drug they used, okay? We’ll waste time if we look into it.” Carter waited for her to catch up. She nodded, grudging, but she was with him now. “When Megan woke up, she lost twenty-six minutes and two children, but gained a warning note. She checks the house and there’s no sign of the kids. But she’s smart and she ignores the warning, calls it in and here we are.”
Over by the house, Megan wasn’t talking to her agent, just standing there, one hand clutching her elbow, teeth biting her lips.
Something gnawed at Carter. “Why take the kids but leave the mother?”
“Kids are easier to control.” Elisha stared over at the house, her eyes narrowing. “Meaning the abductor is likely alone. Could be female or a diminutive man.”
“Or they’re not interested in her.”
“Right. And they could be buying time. Whoever did this knew she’d either heed the warning and wait, but more likely she’d ignore it. Assuming that, they know we’ll get a hundred different leads from Megan, so he knows that none of them lead to him.”
Carter nodded slowly, starting to get into the abductor’s mind. “Whoever did it, they must know her Saturday routine. But they surpris
ed her with a blitz attack, knocking her out with a syringe of something.” He did another scan of the street. One of those newer neighborhoods that herded everyone in, but kept the houses from looking in on each other. Made it easier to hide in plain sight, especially in the Seattle rain. “This whole operation was executed professionally. Not sure they planned it out meticulously. Maybe they followed her, maybe they knew her every movement, maybe they just lay in wait ready to strike. Our highest priority is working out how they took away two kids without being seen.”
“That neighbor didn’t see or hear anything until Megan was shouting at the 911 operator.” Elisha looked around the street at SPD cops and Carter’s agents. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s gotten anything yet.” She pointed at the woods behind the house, bright flashlights tearing through the deluge. “That look like the logical way to take two kids to you? Carrying two children through undergrowth? Way too risky.”
“There’s always risk, Elisha, but it’s how they minimize it. Kidnapping a senator’s kids is about as high risk as it gets, so there’s got to be a big payoff.” The gleaming car caught his eye. Passat, 2017 plates. Turbo Diesel. He stepped closer and peered inside the sedan.
“What is it, Max?”
Only one child’s seat in the back, the interior otherwise immaculate.
“I got out of the minivan and felt a prick in my neck.”
“This isn’t Megan’s car.” Carter raced over to the house, stopping his agent mid-sentence. “Megan, you said you were driving a minivan?”
“Chrysler Pacifica. My husband buys American.”
Carter took another glance at the German sedan. Then snapped out of correcting her. And he saw it, clear as day.
You wouldn’t move the kids in daylight, hiking through a wooded area.
