The Professionals

by Owen Laukkanen

  “What about the shipping address?” said Stevens.

  “Shipped from Buffalo. We’re tracking down the shipper as we speak.”

  “Okay,” said Windermere. “Keep us posted.”

  When Hall was gone, Windermere turned to Stevens. “Goddamn it, Stevens. I feel like Christmas Eve over here. Where are those kids?”

  “Savor the anticipation,” said Stevens, but he was feeling it, too. Antsy and restless.

  Hall poked his face back in the room a minute later. “Hey,” he said. He gave Stevens a strange look. “You guys have a phone call. Line Two. Some guy asking for the special agent in charge of the Marie McAllister case.”

  “No kidding.” Stevens looked down at the phone where line two was lit up and blinking. He felt his heart start to pound. “He say what he wants?”

  Hall shook his head. “Just wanted to talk to you guys.”

  Stevens glanced at Windermere. “You want it?”

  “You go ahead,” she said. “You have the people skills around here.”

  Stevens inhaled for as long as he could and then slowly let his breath out. He reached for a notepad and gestured for Windermere to listen in on her extension. Then he picked up the phone. “This is Agent Stevens,” he said. “Who am I talking to?”

  The man’s voice was clear and calm. He sounded like he was ordering a pizza. “Hello, Agent Stevens. You’re in charge of Marie McAllister?”

  Stevens glanced at Windermere. “That’s correct. Who is this?”

  “This is Arthur Pender. I’d like to make a deal with you.”

  Windermere was up and scrambling, gesturing at Hall for a tape recorder, reaching for her own legal pad. Stevens cleared his throat. “Okay, Arthur,” he said. “Where are you right now? Are you in Detroit?”

  “Earlier today my team kidnapped a man named Jason Cardinal from the street outside his home,” Pender said. “If our demands are not met within forty-eight hours, we are prepared to kill our hostage.”

  Jason Cardinal. Jason Cardinal. Stevens searched his brain. He shrugged at Windermere, who scribbled something on her notepad: Movie producer. Big-time.

  “Okay,” said Stevens, feeling the blood start to pound in his temples. “What exactly are you looking for here, Arthur?”

  “Mr. Cardinal’s ransom is five million dollars, to be wired to a bank account of my specification. This is what we demand from Mr. Cardinal’s family to ensure his safe return. We’ve already informed his wife of the situation.”

  “Five million dollars,” said Stevens. “Okay. We’ll work on that, Arthur.”

  “I’m not finished, Agent Stevens. From the United States government, we demand the release and safe passage of Marie McAllister to a nonextradition treaty country of our specification. Ms. McAllister will be safe on the ground within forty-eight hours or we will execute Mr. Cardinal.”

  “Now, hold on,” said Stevens. “That’s going to take some doing.”

  “I will communicate with you and you alone,” said Pender. “I trust our demands are clear. I’ll contact you again in twenty-four hours with further instructions.”

  Pender hung up the phone. Stevens and Windermere turned immediately to Hall. “Can we trace it?”

  “Already done,” said Hall. “Pay phone in St. Clair Shores. We have Detroit PD units on the way.”

  “Jesus Christ,” said Windermere. “The balls on that kid.”

  Stevens let out a long sigh, his heart still pounding. “They’re desperate.”

  “He has to know we’re not giving up McAllister.”

  “If he knew that, he’d be gone already.” Stevens stared down at the telephone. “He thinks he has a chance.”

  seventy-six

  Jason Cardinal’s whole block was a zoo. The producer’s long driveway was choked with police cruisers, and the street beyond was equally clogged, filled with civilian machinery and a flotilla of mobile news broadcast trucks. Windermere leaned on the horn as she crept the unmarked car up the street, blaring the siren in vain at the swarms of looky-loos who had taken to the night. “Shit,” she said finally, giving up a half block from the epicenter. “I guess we walk from here.”

  They pulled up to the curb behind a vintage Jaguar convertible. Stevens cast an admiring glance as he got out of the car.

  “That’s Cardinal’s ride,” said a uniform nearby, a young St. Clair Shores cop with a buzz cut and excitement in his eyes. “Pretty sweet.”

  “Who’s in charge of this debacle?” said Stevens. “This place is a mess.”

  “If you’re the Feds, then it’s you,” said the uniform.

  “It’s us,” said Windermere. She glanced at the rookie’s name badge. “All right, Stent. Grab some guys and set up a perimeter on each end of the block, would you? Nobody gets in or out unless they’re neighbors or witnesses or the kidnappers themselves, clear? And watch out for reporters. Those slimy bastards will tell you anything to get inside.”

  Stent stood up straighter. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Windermere watched him go. Then she turned to Stevens, a wry smile on her face. “I bet you were like that once.”

  Stevens laughed. “Bright-eyed and buzz cut and destined to save the world? Maybe. Weren’t you?”

  Windermere shook her head. “I went to law school, Stevens. That means I’m a born cynic.”

  They walked up the driveway and through Cardinal’s front door, flashing their badges at the uniform standing guard. “FBI,” said Windermere. “This is our case. Where’s Mrs. Cardinal?”

  The uniform pointed them back into the kitchen, where a group of five or six middle-aged women were huddled around a very young, very blond woman who clutched a baby with one hand and a tissue in the other. A little girl about three years old sat playing with building blocks at her feet.

  Windermere addressed the crowd. “People, I’m Agent Windermere with the FBI. Unless you’re a witness, you need to clear out while we talk to Mrs. Cardinal, okay?”

  The women grumbled but started for the doors. Windermere approached Angel Cardinal. “Why don’t we sit down, Mrs. Cardinal?”

  The woman nodded. Windermere took her arm and guided her to the kitchen table, and they all three sat, Angel Cardinal silhouetted in a last-gasp sunset that streamed in from the kitchen window.

  “All right,” said Windermere. “Now, Angel, I want you to understand that there’s really no reason to panic just yet. These kids who took your husband, we know them. They don’t want to hurt or kill him, okay?”

  Cardinal stared at her through swollen eyes. “Okay,” she said softly.

  “Good. Now, I understand you talked to one of the kidnappers on the phone. Is that right?”

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Okay,” said Windermere. “That was Arthur Pender.” She nodded to Stevens, who produced a picture of Pender from his pocket. “This is what he looks like. Twenty-eight or so, sandy blond hair. About six feet tall. Have you ever seen him before?”

  Cardinal shook her head. Stevens handed her pictures of Matt Sawyer and Tiffany Prentice. Cardinal shook her head again.

  “Do you recall seeing a green Ford Explorer on your street today?”

  “No,” Cardinal said, her voice wavering just below hysterical. “Are those the people who killed that guy in Birmingham?”

  “Donald Beneteau,” said Stevens. “They are.”

  “Oh, God.” Cardinal started to sob. Stevens snagged a box of tissues from the counter as Windermere tried to console the woman.

  “They killed Donald Beneteau because his family tried to play games,” she said. “They thought they could solve the problem themselves, and they never called the police. They got stupid, okay? The fact that we’re here right now means you’re smarter than them.”

  “So I should pay the ransom?” Cardinal blew her nose. “I should pay them the five million dollars?”

  Windermere leaned forward and touched the woman’s arm. “We think we can catch these kids without you paying the ransom,�
�� she said. “But in the end it’s your call.”

  “We’ll back you either way,” said Stevens. “But you should know that these kids have made some unusual demands of the government, and even if you pay the ransom, there’s no guarantee they’ll let your husband go.”

  Cardinal’s eyes went wide. “What do you mean? What kind of demands?”

  “Arthur Pender’s girlfriend is in federal custody awaiting trial for kidnapping and murder,” said Windermere. “He’s demanding that we release her.”

  “Are you going to do it?”

  Windermere glanced at Stevens. “We’re confident we can get your husband back without compromising our investigation,” she said. “We can’t let a federal prisoner go.”

  Cardinal moaned. She let her head sink to the table, and she started sobbing again. “Oh, God. They’re going to kill him,” she said. “You’re going to let them kill my husband.”

  They put a uniform with Angel Cardinal and let a couple of her friends back in the room for damage control. Then they walked back out the front foyer, and Windermere made a call back to Hall at the Detroit office. A couple seconds later, the kid was on the line. “Hey, ma’am,” he said. “How’s life at ground zero?”

  “This place is a gong show,” said Windermere. “And cut the ma’am crap.”

  “Here, too,” said Hall. “This whole office is gone crazy. People running around yelling at each other, pretending they know what they’re doing. Everyone’s waiting on you guys.”

  “Yeah? Well, grab a pen. I need to set up a tracing system at Cardinal’s place. We’re going to camp out here. If Pender calls the office, you redirect him to this line and we’ll trace the call from here, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Make sure the tactical team is on standby and try to commandeer another helicopter, all right? And get someone to draft a press release. We’ve got reporters up our asses.”

  “Done,” said Hall. “I’m on it.”

  Windermere hung up and turned to Stevens. “Let’s go face the vultures.”

  They walked down to the front gate and waded through the traffic jam of neighbors and cops back to Stent’s roadblock. The rookie had angle-parked his cruiser at the foot of the block, and beyond his car was a line of news vans with cameramen shooting footage of the street. Stent grinned when they approached. “You like?”

  “We like,” said Windermere. “Good work.”

  “Stevens!”

  Stevens turned to see a police detective approaching. Stevens made him for Paul Landry, the Birmingham homicide cop who’d handled the Beneteau murder. “Kirk Stevens and Carla Windermere, right? You guys look better dry, I’ll tell you.”

  “Detective Landry.” Stevens shook his hand. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Yeah, well.” The cop shrugged. “Heard there was a chance your guys were my killers. Figured I’d come down and see for myself.”

  “Sure,” said Stevens. Then he had a thought. “Hey, maybe you can help out.”

  Landry nodded. “Just say the word.”

  “These kids like to stay in crummy little no-tell motels, you know, right off the interstate. We’re thinking they’re looking to make a quick getaway. You think of anywhere that fits the bill?”

  Landry rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Let me give it some thought,” he said. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll take a ride, maybe have a look at some places.”

  “Whatever you can do,” said Stevens. “The local boys are going to send some cruisers around, but it wouldn’t hurt to have another pair of eyes.”

  “Perfect,” said Landry. He shook Stevens’s hand again. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Stevens watched the detective walk back to his cruiser, and then turned to catch up with Windermere, who was already talking to a couple reporters.

  “I told you, I can’t give you anything on camera,” she was saying. “But we need you guys to get the word out about these kidnappers. Post their pictures as much as possible. Push the green Explorer. They’re probably hiding in some sleazy motel on this side of the city. Push that. Get it out there. Get people looking around, all right?”

  She turned on her heels and started back through the barricade. She punched in Hall’s number on her phone and held the phone to her ear. “Hall,” she said. “How are those tracer units coming?”

  “Headed out the door right now,” he said.

  “Good,” said Windermere. “Listen. Get those guys to bring us down some takeout as well, got it? We’re in it for the long haul, and this place is going nuts.”

  She snapped the phone closed, squared her shoulders, and marched back into the chaos. Stevens watched her clear a path. Then he took a deep breath and followed her in.

  seventy-seven

  Pender woke up to a siren in his ear. It sounded only briefly, just one quick blast, but it was enough to get him up and out of bed, his heart racing and his hand reaching for the TEC-9 on the table beside him. He felt the gun with his fingers, and then he blinked, still half asleep. You’re going to shoot a cop, he thought. Are we at that stage already? He withdrew his hand and checked for the time on the alarm clock. Ten past seven.

  Sawyer was already at the window, rubbing his eyes with one hand and holding the Uzi in the other. He glanced back at Pender, one eyebrow raised.

  Pender shook his head and held his finger to his lips. On the beds, Cardinal and Tiffany both lay asleep. Cardinal was a snorer; he’d kept Pender awake the whole night. When he wasn’t snoring, he was talking in his sleep, tossing and turning and muttering to himself. I guess it’s not his fault, Pender thought. He’s tied up for ransom in some dingy motel room. The man has a right to be nervous.

  Pender walked to the window as Sawyer peered through the crack in the middle of the blackout curtains, searching through the filmy day curtain for the police.

  Pender put his hand on Sawyer’s arm and the big man stepped back. Pender looked through the curtains and for a moment he was blinded by daylight. Blinking, he pushed back the day curtain and let his eyes adjust.

  For a moment he saw nothing, just a row of anonymous parked cars and the burger joint beyond. Then he heard the crunch of tires on the crumbled parking lot pavement, and a second later the front of a police cruiser made his stomach flip over.

  He had to fight himself not to jerk the curtains together. Instead he stepped back slowly, keeping the curtains as still as possible. “Shit,” he said. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  Through the crack in the curtains, he watched the cruiser roll by, slow and steady, a Grosse Pointe city cop peering out at the row of motel units and the cars parked in front. “What is it?” Sawyer whispered. “Cops out there?”

  “One cruiser,” said Pender, feeling like the cops could hear every word. “They’re searching the lot.”

  “They see you?”

  Pender shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

  “What about the truck? Where’d you leave it?”

  “I hid it around back,” Pender said. “Behind a dumpster and an old tractor trailer. Should be all right.” I hope it’s all right, he thought. Depends how diligent these cops turn out to be.

  He watched through the curtain as the cruiser crept away from the window, and then he stepped back and exhaled and sat down on Tiffany’s bed, running his hands through his hair. He looked up and saw Sawyer staring at him, and he forced a grin. “Let’s hope these are lazy cops.”

  They waited. Sawyer peered out the window while Pender sat frozen on the bed, his ears perked for any sign they’d been made.

  Tiffany sat up on the bed beside him. She rubbed her eyes. “What is it?”

  “Shh,” Pender told her. “Keep quiet a second.”

  They waited in silence, the only sound Cardinal’s rhythmic snoring. After four or five minutes, the siren sounded again from the other end of the building, and Pender imagined his world was collapsing. But then nothing more came, and after another ten minutes, Pender dared to open the door.

&
nbsp; He peered into the parking lot and saw no cops. “I think we’re safe,” he said. He walked back into the room and pulled on a hooded sweatshirt, and then he ventured out into the parking lot again, the hoodie pulled low over his eyes.

  He walked along the side of the motel toward the back, expecting every moment to see the cruiser come rocketing around the corner after him. But nobody came, and he made it to the back of the lot unharmed. The cruiser was gone, and there were no police crawling over the Explorer, either. He walked back to the room, where Sawyer opened the door slowly. “Anything?”

  “They’re gone,” said Pender. “We caught a break.”

  “Cops?” said Tiffany. “There were cops here?”

  “They must have figured we like motels,” said Pender. “They’re checking every one of them.”

  “We gotta move,” said Tiffany. “We’re not safe here.”

  “Are you kidding?” Pender grinned at her. “We’re safer here than ever. They just crossed this place off their list. We’re golden.”

  A couple hours later, when he was sure the police had moved on from their seedy strip of motels, Pender put on a baseball cap and pulled his hoodie back over his face again and set out into the street, finding a convenience store a couple blocks off the freeway and paying for a pair of prepaid burner phones.

  He left the store and started walking, hiking through alleys along the side of the freeway until he’d walked at least a couple miles. We’re doing this the old-fashioned way, he thought. Foot soldiers and all.

  He stopped in back of an abandoned butcher shop to unwrap the first phone. Then he dialed Jason Cardinal’s home number and slunk into the shadows to talk. The phone rang once, then again, and then Cardinal’s wife picked up. Someone else picked up, too. “H-hello?” said Angel Cardinal.

  “This is Arthur Pender,” said Pender. “Do you have the money?”

  “I have most of the money,” she said.

  Most of the money, thought Pender. “No stall tactics. Have all the money ready within twelve hours. I’ll call back with instructions for the drop.” He was about to hang up when another voice spoke.