by Ed James
Chapter Sixty
Holliday
Holliday jerked awake. He couldn’t see anything. Someone pulled him up to standing. He breathed hard, but fabric stuck to his lips.
How long was I out for?
He tried to piece it all together. Could only draw a blank. Leaving the house, standing behind a van, gun in his hand.
Then nothing.
Wait, someone put a hood over his head. Who?
Stiff fingers gripped his shoulders and pushed him forward. He stumbled to his knees. The fingers dug into his ribs, hauling him up to standing, then nudged him forward, keeping him upright. His heavy footsteps sounded like they were on wooden boards, echoing like he was in a big room, maybe even a hall. The hand gripped his arm and pushed him faster.
He almost tripped again, but he stayed upright. “Where are you taking me?”
“Shut up.” A Boston accent. “I will hurt you unless you keep your trap shut.”
“I can pay you. Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll double it.”
“I said I was going to hurt you if you didn’t shut up.”
Something jabbed into Holliday’s side. Blunt and applied with force. He stumbled and tripped again. His knees cracked off the wood. His hands caught the brunt of it, stopping him from falling flat on his face. The varnished floor was maybe a basketball court.
Then his hood was tugged back into his face, bunching up around his mouth and cutting off his breathing. Then it released and bright lights flooded his eyes, stinging. Behind the lights, it looked like a school gymnasium. White plastic lines marked out a basketball court, just like he’d thought. Rows of bleachers led up to a scoreboard, but the time was blanked out.
The rest of the room was in darkness. Seemed like the spotlight pointed at him got even brighter.
Hands grabbed his suit jacket and pulled him up to standing. A man mountain, standing so close to Holliday he could taste his Paco Rabanne Ultraviolet aftershave, his face crisscrossed with scars, slicing through a trimmed goatee. His tailored suit was standard-issue black, meaning security goon.
“Who are you?”
“He’s nobody.” A door opened at the far end of the hall and a woman walked over, slowly, her footsteps almost silent. She stopped just beyond the edge of the light, tapping her foot. “You’ve been a bad boy, Senator.” Her voice echoed around the hall. Familiar, but Holliday couldn’t place it.
“Have you got Avery?”
“All in good time.” She stepped forward, but the lights still blocked her face, just outlined her shoulder. “I like people to pay for what they’ve done, Senator. And you’ve been a very, very bad boy, haven’t you?”
“Have you got Avery? Because if you haven’t—”
“I know what you’ve done, Senator.”
“Listen to me, I need to—”
“Oh, I have her. Don’t you worry about that.”
Holliday jumped for her. The scar-faced muscle pulled him back and wrapped a bulky arm around his throat. “You! You’re the reason my boy’s in the hospital!”
“No, Senator. The reason he’s fighting for his life is all because of you.” Her foot kept tapping the floor like she was counting time in a jazz band. “Do you know where you are?”
“What? No.” Holliday’s breath came in short gasps. “Give me my daughter, now!”
“Senator, this is the gymnasium at Tang Elementary.” Holliday could make out the outline of her hand waving around the room. “On October second last year, a boy died and another was abducted.”
“What? That’s got nothing to do with me!”
“Don’t play that game, Senator, it’s unbecoming.” She took a step forward, still shrouded by the light. “The reason your son is in the hospital is because you covered up what happened here.”
“That’s a lie.” Holliday felt his shoulders slump. “This has nothing to do with me!”
“Now, that is a lie. What happened here has everything to do with you. I know you helped people get away with it. These people bribed the school principal and killed the sports coach. Maybe you didn’t do it yourself, but you were certainly involved. Franklin Vance or Harry Youngblood, one of the two, they paid you, didn’t they? Gave money to a PAC supporting your election campaign.” The woman slid a paper file across the basketball court. “And that money went from the PAC to a Caymans account owned by you, didn’t it? You took all that filthy lucre, right down to the last cent.”
“Let my daughter go!”
“Of course, I’d ask Vance or Youngblood, but they’re both dead, aren’t they?”
“That lunatic, Mason—he killed them. Youngblood was an accident, sure, but Vance… He shot him in cold blood.”
“They deserved it, Senator. Just like you deserve what’s going to happen to you.”
Holliday looked away, reaching for a way out but coming up short. Everything was closed off. Except… “Listen, there’s a file in a Cadillac near where you abducted me. It proves everything, proves my innocence.”
“You’re guilty, Senator. Caught red-handed.”
“You have to believe me. I swear I was not involved in—”
“You took the money.”
Holliday didn’t have a response, just let out a moan.
“No questions asked, Senator. You helped Youngblood and Vance cover up what they did.” A gun emerged from the gloom, catching the harsh light from behind as it pointed straight at Holliday’s head. “You brought the mission to Harry Youngblood in the first place, didn’t you?”
“No, it was the other way around!”
“So you were involved?”
“No!” Holliday gasped. Breathed hard. “No, it’s… I…”
“You make me sick.” The gun pressed against Holliday’s teeth. “What I’ve pieced together is that some guy you know in the CIA came to you, had a real tasty gig for you, one they needed absolute discretion for, just needed to acquire a target for them. And you couldn’t resist. You wanted to be front and center of everything, so you told him you knew some people who could do it, could help cover it up. In exchange for this, Harry Youngblood slipped you some dough for the privilege. Just doing an old buddy a solid, that’s all. No harm, no foul.”
“Listen to me.” Holliday’s voice sounded thin and too deep. “They told me the target of this military operation had sensitive information, something the country needed to prevent a terror attack on domestic soil.”
“Just one of those golf-course discussions, wasn’t it? Right?” The woman laughed. Then it cut dead. “The target of the operation was nine years old, Senator. They kidnapped him from his school and they tortured him, made him give up information. And he was never heard of again. But you know that, don’t you? Because that intel ended up on your desk, under the name Operation Honey Bear. You approved the mission, didn’t you?”
“That’s not my purview.”
“You’re on the Defense Committee, Senator. Makes you favorite for a cabinet position in 2020, assuming the presidential election goes the way you think it will. You sick, sick bastard. The target of that operation was the boy’s father. Quraish al-Yasin. Because of what you did, that boy was tortured into giving up his father’s cell number. They traced it to a compound in Syria.”
Holliday jerked his head back, pulling away from the gun. He couldn’t deny it. Felt like the walls were closing in. “I don’t want to know what happens behind the curtain. It’s how I sleep at night.”
“You animal. You know what happened to that boy?”
“Why don’t you enlighten me?”
“Once I knew the CIA had him, it was easy. I got some people to track what happened to Faraj. They took him to a black site, one of those that people don’t come back from. I thought you were just lining your pockets, but you’re involved with these punks, aren’t you?” The man pulled the gun back then pointed it at Holliday’s cheek. “You helped organize a mission where a small boy was abducted from this sports hall, where he was tortured for information, and
then you ordered the death of his father. How much did you get for that?”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Holliday lurched forward, but he was held back again. “Just give me my daughter.”
“You have no power here, Senator. Nothing to bargain with. Not even your life. You know that, don’t you?”
“Just give me Avery. Please.”
“The problem was you were sloppy. Or unfortunate. One of the two. Because when your friends were abducting a child, another one died. In this building. Call it collateral damage, call it what you like, but it was a mess. And you needed to cover your tracks. But you didn’t, certainly nowhere near as well as you thought.” The gun dropped low. “You know, I found a man and a woman, not married or a couple, but they’d both lost their sons that day. They were angry, full of righteous fury and venom. One of their kids died the same day another went missing. Sure, people can buy that. But the same day and place as a military exercise? That many coincidences aren’t easy to cover up. So I told them about you, Senator, not the details, no, just that you could help them find out what happened here that day. That’s why they took your kids.”
“You were that woman, weren’t you? Brandon’s dying because of you.”
“You helped them in their search, didn’t you? Had no choice, they had your kids. But the information you found, well, that proved what happened here last year.”
“So what? The ends justify the means. I was protecting our great nation. National security trumps everything. You of all people should know that.”
The woman stepped closer and jabbed a finger at Holliday. “You’re a senator. You should be hunting down corruption in our great nation, not adding to it, not lining your pockets. Not helping the CIA to kidnap and torture children.”
Holliday swallowed hard. He stared at the gun for what felt like the millionth time that day. A Glock 26, small and stubby, designed for concealed carry, but expensive. “I can live with my decision. It was the right choice.”
“You can tell that to her.” She shifted back behind the light and returned, carrying a sleeping girl. Black hair, dressed like Megan.
He jerked forward. “Avery!”
“Shhh, she’s asleep.” The woman was still out of sight. She rested a hand on Avery’s cheek, her ring catching the light. “Go on, Senator. Tell your daughter what you just told me.”
“Let her go!”
The woman was still shrouded by the lights.
“I won’t mention any of this, just let her go!” His voice hissed out.
The woman stepped forward, holding Avery so close to Holliday, just inches away. He could see her now, her thin face twisted by rage and fury. The woman in the photo he’d taken. “My name is Layla al-Yasin. My son, Faraj, was taken from here and I never heard from him again. All thanks to you.”
Holliday couldn’t look her in the eye. He felt the iron grip on his shoulders again. “Just let her go.”
“Listen to me.” Layla held Avery up high. Holliday could see her chest moving. She was still alive. “My son is dead because of you! You and your games! Your greed and arrogance! You killed my husband! You destroy people’s lives! Real people!”
“And you kidnapped my kids, you animal. My son’s in the ER because of you! This isn’t on me!”
“This is on you!” Layla pressed a knife against Avery’s throat.
Holliday lurched forward, but the goon still held him. “No!”
“Why should I spare her life?” Layla pressed the steel tight to Avery’s skin. “Why shouldn’t I just kill her? My boy is dead because of you.”
She’s going to kill my daughter!
“I’m sorry for your loss, truly I am.” Holliday tried to move but couldn’t. “But this wasn’t my fault. You’ve got the wrong guy.”
“You started this. They kidnapped my son. They tortured him. They got information out of him, found where my husband was. You ordered a child’s death! How can you live with yourself?” Layla shifted the knife to Holliday’s cheek.
“You didn’t see the intel reports. He killed honest Americans in cold blood. He was a terrorist.”
“My son wasn’t. My son was nine years old. And he’s dead because of you.”
“Please, this isn’t my doing. Let Avery go. Please.”
Layla eased Avery up onto her hip and stared at her. “If I’m never going to see Faraj again, then it’s only fair that you never see Avery again.”
“No!”
“Goodbye.” Layla dropped the knife to the floor and walked off, carrying Avery with her.
“Come back!” Holliday tried to move, but the goon stopped him. “Come back here!”
Almost hidden in the gloom, Layla took one last look at him, then slipped out through the door.
“No!” Holliday’s scream echoed around the hall.
Chapter Sixty-One
Carter
Tang Elementary was turn-of-the-millennium new, a stark-white building lit up in the evening sky, the square roof hanging low in one corner like it had melted. Hard to figure out whether it was designed that way, or was just in dire need of repair. The schoolyard was quiet, all the kids back home on the weekend, but there were lights on inside the gym.
Carter hopped out of the SUV and raced toward the sports hall, his cell to his ear. “Tyler, have you got an update on the APB?”
“Negative, sir. Layla al-Yasin is still at large.”
“Call me the second that changes.”
“Sir. Her cell’s still reporting that location.”
“Thanks again.” Carter ended the call and slowed his pace as he entered the building. He raised his hands to halt the agents trailing them into the sports hall.
Inside, the room was mostly dark, just a spotlight at the far end, focused on a man slumped underneath a basketball hoop.
Carter ran toward him.
It was Senator Holliday, in floods of tears, his chest racking with each fresh wave. He looked up and raised his arms, but he was handcuffed to the stanchion, like a prisoner in a transport. “Avery was here!”
A cell phone sat at his feet, powered on and the screen glowing.
Carter tried to grab the cuffs, but Holliday was shaking his arms too much. “Where is she?”
“That bitch has Avery! She took her!” Another shake of the cuffs. “And she was right here. Avery! Right here! This crazy bitch, saying I’m responsible for her son’s death. She has my baby girl!” Holliday’s crazed eyes scanned the room as he rattled the cuffs. “She’s got my daughter!”
“What was her name?”
“Something Muslim. Layla, but the last name sounded like Klingon to me.”
Mason’s accomplice, then.
“Do you have any idea where she might’ve taken her?”
“I’ve never seen the woman before in my life.”
“Okay.” Carter waved a pair of agents over. “Cut him out of there.”
Carter rushed out of the sports hall into the parking lot. The soccer field was used every weekend, armies of kids and parents descending to watch an impenetrable game. Kirsty’d played here a few times. Carter even started to get into the flow of it the last time. He couldn’t spot his Suburban among the ten or so other identical models. Someone joked a while back how the FBI bought so many that Chevrolet couldn’t get enough of them on the sales lot to sell to Joe Public.
But he did spot a black Cadillac. Mason Wickstrom told him that was Vance’s car. Holliday drove it here. Or someone drove him here in it.
Carter tried the door and, wonder of wonders, it opened. Pristine interior, like the owner suffered from OCD. Or just never left any personal effects in there, no food packaging in case it left a DNA trace. He opened the glovebox and found a cleaning kit, spray and cloth. No doubt to wipe down after every trip.
But the sterility made the document folder in the rear footwell stand out all the more.
Carter reached down for it, his knee digging into the leather seat, and started flicking through
it. Seemed to be a wire transfer from the Caymans to a GrayBox suspense account.
Just like Mason Wickstrom had said.
Two dead GrayBox employees meant only one thing. Richard Olson must’ve known what was going on here.
Carter got out and powered across the parking lot, scanning for his vehicle. There, with the ding on the hood.
Another Suburban pulled up, splashing through puddles. Karen Nguyen got out, shoving the door shut with some force. “Max!” She blocked him off, grabbing his shoulders. “What are you doing?”
“We’ve got Holliday. Barely a scratch on him. Elisha’s taking him back to the field office for debriefing.”
“And Avery?”
Carter shook his head, then held up the document. “I need to speak to Richard Olson.”
“What? Why?”
Carter took a step back, pulling free of her clutches, then handed her the file.
“Max, I told you to stand down.” She was sifting through the document. “Lori’s running this operation, not you.”
“So where is she?” Carter waved a hand at the sports hall, now swarming with suits. “Because I tracked Holliday here, almost caught the person who has Avery. And whatever’s going on here involves Olson’s company. Two of his guys died at the hands of Mason Wickstrom. Now I find that, linking an offshore account to Olson. I need to speak to him.”
Nguyen stared hard at him, exhaling slowly. “Okay.” She pointed a finger in his face. “But I’m coming with you.”
“You can’t go in there!” Olson’s PA blocked the office door like she was guarding the entrance to Fort Knox. “He’s in a meeting!”
“Ma’am, I’ll ask you once.” Carter took a step closer to the door. “Get out of my way.”
She looked behind her, then bit her lip. “Okay.”
“A wise choice.” Carter pushed past her, leading Nguyen through the office door.
Olson sat behind his massive desk, sipping whiskey from a crystal glass. “Back so soon?”
Carter took one of the chairs and glanced at the figure in the other chair.
