by Ed James
No, you’d separate them from their mother, take her out, then drive off in her car. Probably knock them out too.
Meant they were organized, focused, disciplined. Not an opportunist, but someone hunting them like game. Someone who’d maybe been stalking them for days.
While the statistics leaned toward someone who knew the family, and heavily toward someone in the family, Elisha’s insight meant this was something else entirely.
Elisha was already walking away, already speaking into her cell, the evidence bag flapping in the breeze. “Tyler, I need you at the command center ASAP.”
Carter focused on Megan. “You said your husband didn’t answer when you called him?”
“That’s right.”
“What time was this?”
Megan stared at her smartphone, a slimline Samsung model with a cracked screen. “He called me! I didn’t see it. I was with Beth and that agent and—”
Carter snatched the phone off her, just about able to read the call log through the spiderweb of cracks. Chris called at 11:02, while she was speaking to the first attending officer. “Was his car here this morning?”
“He was getting picked up by a car at ten.” Megan was frantic, mouth hanging open, tired eyes flicking around. “What if they’ve got Chris too?”
She was right. If her husband was going to take the kids, he wouldn’t inject her when she got back from the mall. He’d take them out for the day, but not return.
Unless he wanted to cover his tracks.
Stop.
Carter knew that was way out in outlier territory, with no supporting evidence. Yet. Stick to the facts—this is a planned abduction, most likely not a family one, at least not directly. “Megan, I need you to call your husband for me.”
“Okay.” She took the cell and tapped the screen, then put it to her ear, biting at her rose-red lips. “Come on, come on, come— Chris!” She stared at Carter, wide-eyed. “Have you got the kids?” Then she frowned, listening. “No. No! Someone’s taken them! Someone’s got our kids!”
Carter snatched the phone out of her grasp. “Mr. Holliday, this is Special Agent Max Carter of the FBI.”
Megan clawed the air as she reached for the phone and her husband’s voice.
“What’s going on?” Senator Christopher Holliday. The People’s Senator. His voice was polished and professional, years of public speaking and training.
“Someone has abducted your children, sir. I need you—”
“What can I do?” Sounded like he was in a car. “Do you need me to speak to someone? Call in favors?”
“I need you to return home immediately, sir.”
Holliday paused. “I’m on my way.”
Chapter Seven
Holliday
Holliday put his phone away and stared out of the window at the passing freeway, thick with trucks and muscular pickups. He checked his watch again—still nine minutes to get there.
Rushing off to the middle of nowhere in a broken-down cab? Lying to a federal agent? Am I doing the right thing here?
Do I even have a choice?
I could go cap in hand to Special Agent Max Carter, but I have so many skeletons in my closet that they speak to me at night.
I really don’t need the FBI breathing down my neck unless it’s the only hope I’ve got.
Hugo the cab driver frowned, his old eyes creasing in the rearview. Guy was a long way from Cuba but hadn’t lost his accent. Or attitude. The taxi was as old as he looked, rattling along the I90, passed by just about anything. “Sure I don’t know you, boss?”
“You’re mistaken.” Holliday leaned forward in the back of the cab. Stank of stale cigars and broken leather. “I’ve just got one of those faces.”
“Must be that, boss. Here we go.” Hugo turned off the freeway into an empty parking lot, not even a broken-down truck.
Holliday craned his neck around and caught the sign: BIG AL’S TRUCK STOP. FULL SERVICE FOR YOU AND YOUR PRIDE & JOY! The lights were out and a couple of letters had fallen off, replaced with coarse graffiti.
They cruised over damp bitumen, cracked with grass growing in clumps, nature taking back what was once its own. In the middle were a bar, a burger joint, and a tiny store, all shuttered.
Holliday tried to open the door, but it was locked.
“Twenty bucks, boss.” Hugo grinned at him through the rearview. “Business is business.”
Holliday got out his billfold, a tiny brass clip holding hundreds of dollars. Made him look like a pimp, but you never knew when you needed untraceable hard currency. Besides, it was invisible in suit pants, and image always mattered. “I need you to wait for me.”
“Okay, boss, but you’re gonna have to put some greenbacks in my hand first, know what I’m saying?”
“I know full well.” Holliday tore off a fifty and held it up, keeping a grip as Hugo tried to grab it away. “You’ll stay, right?”
“Boss, do I look like a man who’ll drive away and leave you?”
“No, you don’t. But who does?” Holliday snatched the bill back and tore it in half.
“Boss, that trick from the movies—”
“—works. You need the other half for that to be worth anything. So wait.” Holliday handed over one half, seeing greed overtaking frustration in the cabbie’s eyes. He got out of the cab. The rain had faded to a fine mist, but he had to step around deep puddles as he made his way over to the truck stop. He tried to calm his breathing as he peered inside the building, through a window that had slipped its board, the glass long gone. An empty room, with a serving hatch at the far end. Typical truck-stop posters: naked women, oil company ads, Sports Illustrated calendars. Another look around. All that he could see was a phone booth, the only thing lit up in the gloom.
Holliday got out his iPhone. Five minutes since he’d spoken to that FBI agent, still four minutes until the deadline.
Do I call him? Tell him I’m being blackmailed?
But what if whoever sent the message turns up here and I’m gone?
Holliday dialed the number that sent the text.
“We’re sorry, but this number is disconnected.”
He clenched his jaw, hard enough to grind his teeth together. Fear crawled up his spine.
His iPhone flashed up a notification. An Amber Alert, a photo of Brandon and Avery cuddling together. Megan took it that weekend out at the lake. He touched the screen, rubbing a finger over Brandon’s face, stroking Avery’s hair.
The clock hit twelve.
Holliday took another look around, sniffing back the tears. The sound of Cuban horns blared out of the taxi.
The clock’s ticking and there’s no sign of anyone. Just a truck stop. Nothing around but a phone booth.
Wait a sec…
Holliday jogged over to the phone booth, splashing through oily puddles, and pulled the door open. Water sprayed over his thick coat. Inside, a basic flip-phone sat where the coin-operated telephone used to be. He reached for the cell but dropped it. Losing it. He crouched down to pick it up, taking a deep breath as he flipped it open. A piece of card floated out. He caught it before it hit the damp ground: CALL THE NUMBER.
Holliday pressed the power button and the phone lit up to the wake screen. He hit the green button and the call history showed up. Just one number there, a cell with a Seattle area code. He selected the number and hit dial, then waited for it to connect.
“Hello, Senator.” A man’s voice. Deep, local, though maybe not a city boy or not for the whole of his life. Either way, Holliday didn’t recognize him. Sounded like he was inside somewhere, but not enough reverb for a bathroom. “I started to wonder if—”
“Where are my kids?” Holliday swung around, scanning the truck stop again. Just Hugo in his yellow cab, surrounded by his horns and cigar smoke.
“This isn’t how you should start this exchange, Senator.”
“Where are they?”
“They’re safe.”
Even though it could be a li
e, Holliday felt a surge of relief. “So let me speak to them.”
“Not going to happen.”
Holliday felt a thrum in his pocket. His iPhone telling him he had a message. Megan? That FBI agent? He tightened his grip on the burner. “How do I—”
“Check that message, Senator. I’ll wait.”
Holliday swallowed hard as he held out his iPhone, the dumb phone still pressed against his ear, his breath coming softly, like he did this every day. A text, from an unknown number, a different one this time. Seattle code again. He tapped the notification and the iPhone unlocked.
Avery and Brandon lay sleeping on a bed, surrounded by soccer posters, Iron Man looking over them like he was protecting them.
His heart fluttered. “How do I—”
“It’s a video. Watch it. You can see that they’re breathing.”
Avery’s chest rose and Holliday let out a shrill gasp.
“It’s why I sent that rather than a photo. It’s proof.”
“How do I know this is live?”
A hand waved in front of them on the screen. “See?”
“Touch Avery.”
A bandaged hand reached toward his daughter to stroke her cheek. She jerked, but stayed asleep.
Holliday collapsed back against the phone booth’s metal wall, all that stopped him from falling over. He couldn’t take his eyes off the screen, their small chests pumping in and out. “What do you want?”
“I’m nobody, Senator. You don’t know me. I’m not what’s important here. You are—and what you can get me.”
“You want money, is that it?”
“I don’t want your money.”
“I can pay. Whatever you need. Just let them go.”
“And where did that money come from, Senator?”
A shiver ran up Holliday’s spine. “Please, don’t bring them into this.”
“Whatever this is.” He paused. Sounded like he licked his lips. What does he know about me? “Now, have you spoken to the cops or the FBI?”
“I—” Holliday killed the video playing and pocketed his iPhone. “No. I haven’t.”
“I can tell when you’re lying, Senator. Bad things will happen if you lie to me.”
“I’m not. They—” Holliday swallowed hard, felt like his throat had tightened up to nothing. “I spoke to Megan. She called 911. She put me on with an FBI agent. He told me to come home.”
“And yet here you are. Good boy.”
Here.
Is he watching me? Gloating?
Holliday dashed out of the phone booth and looked around again, drawing another blank. “Where are you?”
“The question is what are you hiding, Senator? Your kids are missing, you speak to the FBI, and yet you come here to meet me. What have you done that makes you more scared of them than me?”
“Because I’ll do whatever it takes to get my kids back.”
“That’s better, Senator. Much better.” Silence as Holliday walked away from the phone booth toward the cab, Hugo drumming at the steering wheel. “Here’s how it’s going to work. We’ll meet up and I’ll return Brandon as a sign of good faith, okay?”
“What about Avery?”
“I’ll keep her until you’ve helped me. Quid pro quo.”
“How do you know I can help you?”
“A little bird told me you can, Senator. And if you screw me around and the feds show up, your boy will die in front of your eyes. You’ll never even hear of Avery again.”
Holliday sucked a deep breath through his nostrils, snarling like a rabid wolf. “You—”
“Senator, you know the stakes here. And I’m not just talking about your kids. Now, there’s a parking lot two blocks due east from where you are. Be there in twenty. And leave your own cell phone behind here.”
“Listen to me.” Holliday kept his cell in his jacket pocket. “Meet me at my home or this whole thing is off.”
“I’m not stupid, Senator. The clock’s ticking.” Click. The call was over.
Holliday walked back to the cab, checking his watch. It was 12:05. I have to be there by 12:25. There’s no time to even think. And what did he mean about ‘not just my kids’? Megan? Or does he know something else?
He opened the taxi door and got in, trying to burn the time into his memory.
“You sure I don’t know you from somewhere, Boss?”
Holliday locked eyes with Hugo through the rearview again. His mouth was dry.
I know where he will be. I can report it to the FBI.
But he’ll only have Brandon. Save my boy, but take a chance on my daughter’s safety.
I’ve got to do this, alone.
Holliday passed him the other half of the split fifty and sat back. “Here. Now there’s a parking lot a couple of blocks east of here.”
Chapter Eight
Carter
Carter checked his watch again—12:17. One hour fifty-one minutes since the abduction. He took in the scene again. No more progress on the door-to-doors, and the dog searches sounded farther and farther away, and that felt like more and more of a lost cause. He focused on Elisha. “What’s your assessment?”
“Megan’s leads seem like long shots.” Elisha stared into space, her mind devoted to enriching the scant data they had into information. “And I don’t think the husband’s taken them.”
Carter took another look at the VW, gleaming in the noon rain. “But there’s still no sign of the good senator. Until he’s here and we can grill him, he’s staying in the picture.”
Elisha clenched her jaw, teeth clamping together, the skin pulsing, forehead creasing. “Everything points to an abduction. The kids are too young for runaways. They wouldn’t get far, and they’d usually freak out when we search anywhere near their hiding place.” She nodded slowly, building on her theme. “Factor in Megan being attacked, and it doesn’t look like a false report.” She smiled, grudgingly. “Which means you’re right. Given that the father was uncontactable at the time of abduction, we shouldn’t rule out parental kidnapping.”
Carter walked over to the car and peered inside again. Immaculate, like it’d just driven off the lot. A half-empty bottle of Evian sat up front, the only sign anyone had ever been inside it.
Elisha joined him. “Taking his own kids in broad daylight seems all kinds of wrong to me. Many reasons why someone would kidnap a senator’s children. Politics is a murky world and it’s only getting worse.” She folded her arms. “Could they have taken the kids to change his vote in an upcoming bill in the Senate?”
“It’s a possibility.” Carter got out his laptop again and rested it on his right arm. “Senatorial blackmail was the first thing that came to mind, so I checked his schedule. If they wanted to influence him, it’d be something current. But it’s a Saturday and Holliday’s in his home state all week for that congressional investigation.”
“Is he involved?”
“Not directly, no.” Carter snapped the laptop shut. “We really need to speak to him.” He spotted Megan Holliday in the crowd, talking to one of his agents, combing her hand through her hair. Frantic with worry, but keeping it together, just barely. “Can you ping his cell, see where he’s got to?”
“Already on it.” She set off toward the mobile command center.
Carter followed. “Trouble is, I can’t find any logic suggesting that Megan is the reason they’ve been taken.”
“And if we find the motive, we’ll find the children?”
“Right.” He opened the door and stepped inside.
The command center’s interior wasn’t as grand as the exterior. Six rows of beige tables, four agents sitting at each, combing through the scant evidence they had, searching for what they didn’t know. The place stank of bleach, like a crime scene that had been scrubbed down, mixing with coffee aroma and cinnamon vape sticks.
Elisha stopped by the first table and crouched next to the agent staring into his laptop. “Tyler, did you send that note to the lab?”
“On
its way now.” Agent Tyler Peterson pulled off his headphones, revealing the half-ear that sucker-punched Carter’s gut every time he saw it. The rest of him still had the look of a kid fresh out of college, even though he’d spent four years in dusty hellholes on the other side of the world. Losing half an ear to an IED hadn’t affected him, probably made him appreciate not losing the rest of his body. “Fast tracking it now. Should be back within the hour.” Even sitting down, he towered over Elisha. He glanced over at Carter and gave a nod. “Sir.” Then back at his laptop, typing away. “I’ve just got access to street surveillance footage from outside.” He waved around the agents sitting next to him. “We’re sharing the workload across the team.”
“Good work.” Carter joined Elisha in a crouch. “What have you got?”
Tyler tapped his screen. “This is from the Victorian across the road. It feeds into the Seattle public network, so we’re lucky.” He clicked the mouse and sat back, letting Carter see without having to crouch.
A grayscale image of the street filled his display, pointing right at the Holliday home. The time stamp read 10:20. Before the attack. The houses were so big that the feed only caught a couple of them. A man walked up the Holliday’s drive, head bowed. He stopped at the end of the drive and glanced around, his identity further hidden by a baseball cap and a hooded top. A dark shadow or a thick beard covered his face. He stepped around the bush by the front door and waited, becoming part of the scenery, just some pixels. Barely breathing. Meant a low heart rate, even in a high-stress situation like this. Meant the guy was physically fit, athletic. Added some information to the file marked military.
Minutes later, Megan’s minivan pulled up by the mailbox and she reached into it. Both kids were visible in the back, looking like they were watching some TV. Megan edged the car forward, stopping at the top of the driveway before getting out, her face full of rage and irritation and joy and fear, all the everyday emotions of a stay-at-home mom.
Then the man shot into action, jabbing something into her neck. She crumpled into his arms and he walked her over to the house.
