by Ed James
“Tyler, wind it back.” Elisha was standing now, frowning at the screen. “When he injects her.”
“Sure.” Tyler replayed the footage, freezing on the frame where the attack happened. “She’s out of it almost immediately. We can narrow down on what he—”
“Agent Peterson.” Carter’s tone made Tyler look around. Their colleagues were listening in, but not looking over. “We’ve confirmed Megan’s story up to this point. Keep going.”
Tyler hit play again and footage wound on, back to him walking Megan over to the house and placing the note on her lap. She slumped back against the door, like she was napping. The attacker walked over to get in the car, grabbing a bag on his way.
Carter leaned forward, but he couldn’t see what happened inside the van. Twelve seconds, according to the clock, then Megan’s car drove off. The two children were still in back.
“So it’s one hundred percent an abduction.” Carter leaned over and touched the car on the screen. “Peterson, track this vehicle, okay?”
“Sir.” Tyler was off, winding through the footage to get the best view, then tapping his laptop keyboard, entering details into search windows.
Elisha stood up tall, resting on the back of Tyler’s chair. Didn’t seem to annoy him the way it would Carter. “We still can’t rule out the husband.”
“Not yet, no.” Carter walked over to the door and looked out onto the street. Megan Holliday made eye contact with him, her mouth hanging open like he might have news for her. He gave a tense shake of the head and scanned the area again.
“What is it?” Elisha was next to him. “You got something?”
Carter pointed at the house. “That footage starts with our guy entering the shot, okay? Comes in from the right.”
“You mean, how did he get here?”
“Right. He drove off in Megan’s minivan, but…” Carter looked around again. The street was filled with cars, mostly standard black FBI Suburbans, but the residents’ cars were mostly high-end and German. “How did he get here? Also, if it went wrong, someone operating in this way would have a contingency. He’d want a quick getaway.”
Elisha pointed behind the house. “Through the woods?”
“Not with the kids, but maybe if this went south.” From up on the command center’s step, Carter could see into the small field and the thick woods beyond it, probably the only trees in Washington state not turned into lumber. Flashlights shone through the drizzle. “Get someone searching the vicinity for another car, okay?”
“Okay.” Elisha didn’t look sure, but she set off, a loyal soldier.
Carter focused on Tyler, working away. He looked around, then leaned in close. “Get the federal wiretaps set up on Holliday’s phone. All cell phones, his residence here and in DC. Congressional abduction protocols apply here, so we don’t need a warrant. Get everything you can. And dig into Senator Holliday. Anything you can find on him.”
“Okay…” Tyler almost rolled his eyes. “I’ll do my best.”
“Peterson, I know being cooped up in this van can feel like a yawnfest, but I’ve been here, I’ve done this job. Maybe not with the same tech you’ve got access to now, but I’ve been here. Feels like you’re wasting your time, but you’re going to be my MVP here, okay?”
“Sir.”
“I need you come to me first, okay? I’m taking point here, so whatever you find, you come to me. Even if SAC Nguyen asks you directly, even if she’s standing here, you come to me.”
“Will do, sir.”
Carter pulled up the chair next to him and stared at the footage. “Now, we really need to get a location on that minivan.”
“I need access to the local surveillance network, which they’re refusing to grant.”
“Huh.” Carter grabbed the laptop and put a finger to his lips. “You didn’t see me do this, okay?”
“Where is it?” Elisha was behind the SUV’s wheel, hurtling across pockmarked concrete through a derelict parking lot. “I can’t see anything.”
Carter sat next to her, his right hand clutching the handle above the door. His laptop was open, resting on his knees, showing the tactical map of the area. Only one way in or out. “Pull up.” He waited for her to stop, then got out and scanned the area.
The parking lot was a few hundred yards square, the front edge running along the freeway. A thick hedge blocked any view and most of the sound. Could still smell the diesel mixing with the fresh ozone from the wet pavement. A tall chain-link fence lined the other two sides of the parking lot, facing some recently built condos, none of them directly overlooking the parking lot. An old Burger King sat back, boarded up and dead. No security guard, no surveillance camera. No point in either. The whole place looked ready for development, for yet more condos. A ten-foot brick wall towered behind the Burger King. According to the map, a housing project was on the other side. Didn’t look like any way through.
“Our guy found this place, knew it was perfect.” Carter couldn’t shake the nagging doubt that they’d never find the kids. “We’re here because Agent Peterson tracked Megan Holliday’s minivan across multiple cameras. But, there’s no surveillance here.” He waved a hand at the BK. “It’s off-grid. And only one way in or out. Maybe our guy could scale the fences or the wall at the back, but carrying two kids? No way.”
“Either way, the Pacifica isn’t here.” Elisha was on his side of the SUV, arms folded. “He triggered the freeway’s surveillance camera when he came in, but left without a trace. The minivan’s not here, meaning he swapped plates.”
“It’s one explanation. Can you trace the plates for me? Follow the minivan, see where it goes next?”
“Gimme a sec.” Elisha got out her cell and jogged back to her side of the Suburban.
Carter leaned back against the car, trying to keep his breathing slow and his thoughts under control. He failed at both. What did it mean?
This was all executed according to a plan, probably carried out with no snafus so far. That or the guy had contingencies for all problems, certainly all the big ones, like Megan calling it in against his direct advice. The guy was organized and meticulous, which they already knew.
So why target the Hollidays?
Both from Aberdeen in rural Washington, the old lumber country hugging the Pacific coast. Same graduating class at school. Megan was a cheerleader and homecoming queen, then worked a beauty counter in her hometown’s only mall. Christopher, on the other hand, was the quarterback to her cheerleader. Sports scholarship to Washington State, full tuition, though his family were rich enough. Majored in Politics. Enlisted when he graduated, served in the Marines. Then worked for one of the Big Four management consultancies in Seattle. A chance meeting at a high school reunion rekindled the old flame. Marriage, kids. Then Christopher ran for Senate. Fresh faced, one of those rare beasts who appealed to both Democrat and Republican voters. Small government, but big on social care. Christian. Married to a homemaker. Perfect.
Was there anything in that?
On the surface, like Elisha said, there was an incredibly low probability that Megan was the target. Unless it was some ex-boyfriend, but she hadn’t mentioned any, and in this situation, she would have. Even so, it was unlikely they’d go to such lengths or be so organized with such a basic motive.
Meaning Senator Holliday was the likely reason their kids were taken. Could have been campaign donations, murky lobbyists, jealousy, hatred of government, terrorism. Anything.
Precision planning. Precision execution. Meaning they really needed to speak to Holliday.
A shiver ran up Carter’s spine. Where was Holliday?
Elisha reappeared, her face set hard. “Tyler’s found the car. He tracked it leaving five minutes later with out-of-state plates on.” She grimaced. “Lost it turning off the I405. There’s another dead spot there. And he didn’t pick it up again.”
“So either our suspect changed the plates a second time or he dumped it?”
“Tyler’s going to check
both. Thing is, there’s a disused truck stop near the turning. Perfect spot for a meeting.”
Carter got out his cell and called Tyler, switching to speaker. “Peterson, is Senator Holliday back there yet?”
“Hang on.” Sounded like Tyler was walking. A door opened, then the din of a hundred cops and civilians talking, the odd dog barking, rain drumming off a metal roof. “Sorry, sir, he still hasn’t turned up.”
“Are you still tracing his cell?”
“Sir. He was in motion, last I checked.” Sounded like Tyler was back inside. “Just running it now.” Then the clattering of a mechanical keyboard. “Okay. Got it. He’s at… a parking lot?”
“Get units over there now!”
Carter locked eyes with Elisha, her expression mirroring his suspicion.
Chapter Nine
Mason
I pull up at the edge of the parking lot, taking a space close enough to the woods that if this goes south, I can—
It won’t go south. This will work.
Keep focused on the here and now, on the plan. And it’ll all stay on course.
I look around and Brandon’s still out of it. Still breathing, however slowly. Still alive.
The place isn’t empty, but I’m far enough away from the nearest car. And besides, they all look empty.
I check the clock on the dash—Holliday still has time, but how long can I wait? I gave him twenty, but I’m not going to keep him to that. He’ll get the benefit of the doubt, I just hope he doesn’t realize. What’s at stake here will always haul me back to generosity. The biggest risk here is that it’ll become a weakness, an opportunity for Holliday to gain the upper hand somewhere down the line, to get his kids back without us gaining what we need.
Another scan of the cars and Holliday’s definitely not in any of them.
Wait a sec.
A man leans back in a sedan, facing me, looking around, his face a mixture of pleasure and fear. The faint trace of a bobbing head at his groin.
Oh no…
I’ve picked a hook-up site to meet Holliday.
A bright-yellow taxi cuts through the gray morning, trundling over the parking lot and pulling up not far from the prostitute and her john.
Here it comes. I give him Brandon, he puts him in the cab, the cab takes the kid to safety and we drive off, Avery all the leverage I need.
I roll my window down and listen in.
Some Hispanic music plays, Buena Vista Social Club. “This the place, boss?” The driver is almost definitely Cuban.
The back door opens and Holliday steps out into the deluge. He’s tall and has that quarterback look, the guy in charge, the one calling all the shots, making the plays. High cheekbones and a cleft chin. You can see his military training in the way he surveils the parking lot, just like I do. Mapping the vicinity in his head, spotting threats, cataloguing opportunities. You never lose that training, it never loses its hold over you. He leans down and hands some money to the driver. “Thanks.” He steps away and the cab heads back to the exit to the roaring freeway beyond. It sits there, signaling right for a few seconds, then it trundles off.
Leaving Holliday on his own.
I focus on Holliday, the rain battering his coat, my heartbeat racing. The cab goes out of the equation, Brandon’s rescue having to come from some other source.
He assesses the area again, squinting at the john in his Ford. A spark of ignition and the car drives off in the cab’s slipstream, the woman’s head appearing halfway over. Part of me wonders if they’ll go elsewhere to finish, or if they’re done for the day. If he’s paying or if it’s a romantic thing. Either way, they’re unlikely to come forward as witnesses to anything.
Time to get this whole thing in gear. I give him a flash of the headlights.
He doesn’t seem to notice, just stands there. Maybe going through the same shit in his head as I am, processing the same logic or similar. This is like having an affair, each step taking you closer to a line you shouldn’t cross. But you don’t stop, you keep going and, once you’re over that line, you’re locked in. Freewheeling, out of control and the stakes are higher than ever.
Another flash and he twitches. He takes a step forward then stops, his fists tightening.
Come to papa.
He speeds up, his stride lengthening. He’s crossed the line now. Better to get over it before—
Shit.
A cop car pulls up alongside me. Didn’t spot its approach, distracted by Holliday’s bullshit.
The Amber Alert means they’ve got people out combing the area. Nobody’s come anywhere near the minivan since I took them. Since I crossed the line myself.
The cop gets out of the squad car into the hissing rain.
I check I’ve got a round chambered and stuff the gun in my pocket, ready for action if needed.
The cop comes over and knocks on the window.
I let my seatbelt go as I reach over to roll down the passenger side. “Can I help, officer?”
He leans in. “Good morning, sir.” Canadian accent. Grizzled features, but nothing behind the eyes, like he’s lost all the fire that made him sign up in the first place. He’s just a guy doing a job he doesn’t care about any more. He holds up a photo of Brandon and Avery. “Wondering if you’ve seen these two, sir?”
Play it cool. Stay calm. Ignore the thudding in your chest. It’s just you and him. You’ve got this.
I take my time checking the snapshot, frowning for his benefit, trying to look like I’m doing a thorough job. I hand it back, making sure my grip’s steady. “Sorry, officer.”
“Sure?”
“Sure. They’re the senator’s kids, right? I got an Amber Alert on my phone. Sickening.”
The cop nods in agreement, but takes too long looking around the car. He frowns, meaning he sees Brandon in back. The boy’s facing away, asleep, but even so…
“That’s my son. Jacob. We had a long drive up from his mother’s in Frisco.”
“Frisco. Huh.” Cop can’t take his eyes off Brandon. “Where you headed?”
“Vancouver. You a fellow Canuck too, eh?”
He looks back at me, something stirring in his eyes. I’m winning him over. “Born and bred, sir. You from Van City?”
I give him a slow nod. “Just pulled off the road to get a break, you know? My GPS said there’s supposed to be a burger joint here, but I sure as shit can’t see one.”
“I know. Believe me.” The cop takes another look at the kid, then steps back. “Okay, sir. Going to need to see title and registration.”
Shit.
I’m in Megan’s minivan with fake plates, so of course I can’t show him anything even vaguely legal. What do I do? Think fast…
“Buddy, wondering if you could cut me a break here. My ex took this car when she left us, you know how it is? We drove down to pick it up from the bi— From her new place in Frisco.”
“It’s her car?”
“Our car.” I flash a smile. “In her name, though. She took it when she left me and Jake. I mean, what kind of woman leaves her kid, right?” Play to his institutional sexism. “Then I get a call from her, saying how she wants to swap this for her Honda. Can you believe it?” Keep asking him questions, keep involving him in the lie.
But he’s having none of it. “I need you to step out of the car, sir.”
I open the door and put my foot down in a puddle. “We don’t need to do this.”
“Come on, sir.”
I have no choice here, certainly not sitting here. He’s a big guy. Six two, maybe, but only about one eighty. I can take him down. Wait till he’s cuffing me, then overpower him. So I get out and follow him over to the radio car.
He speaks into the car radio, but I can’t make out what he’s saying.
No sign of Holliday, now. Shit.
The woodland behind the parking lot is maybe forty yards away, probably less. The whole reason for choosing this place. I can make it if I dart between the cars. Four seconds, maybe f
ive, then I’ll be in a woodland, hidden by tall bushes and trees.
I won’t have Brandon, though.
But we’ll still have Avery. We’ll still have leverage.
“Okay.” The cop stands up and puffs out his chest. “Sir, I’m going to need to—” His voice is cut off by wailing sirens. He spins around to check.
A quick glance and I’m in deep, deep shit.
Flashing lights on black Suburbans. The FBI.
The cop waves at the approaching vehicles.
I smash him in the gut with an elbow, then crack his head against the radio car’s roof. Still time to get away, so I run for the minivan.
“Stop!” Another glance and the cop is lying on his side, reaching into his pocket for something.
I keep going. Not far now, focus on the target and how to get there.
“Stop!” A gunshot, high in the air above our heads. A warning. The next shot will be in my legs or my back. “Stop!”
I’m already diving for it, as the air slices apart above my ear, a gunshot lashing past. I hit the ground inches from the minivan, then scrabble forward, spider-style.
There’s a bullet hole in the rear glass.
A scream erupts from inside.
Chapter Ten
Holliday
The second gunshot echoed around the parking lot. In amongst the white noise, glass smashed.
Holliday dared to look up from behind the sedan, that old adrenalin surge spiking in his veins.
Flashing blue-and-red lights of the black Suburbans rumbling over the parking lot, sirens wailing.
Closer, a cop car sat next to the car that flashed him. Next to it, a patrol cop dropping a pistol in a puddle, his eyes wide, mouth hanging open.
Holliday ducked back and caught movement off to his right, a man sprinting between scattered parked cars, heading toward the woods.
The son of a bitch who dove away from the bullet. The man who summoned me here. The man who has my kids.
The man cleared the parking lot and was soon lost in trees and undergrowth.
