✦ His formal education may not reflect his intelligence. Cat-and-mouse games suggest he is bored easily; he may have dropped out of school.
❑ Background: possible military or equivalent (skill in taking Allie and killing García)
❑ Expertise:
✦ Technological sophistication: high level
* Ability to pierce Allie’s online postings to find her true identity
* Makes calls from stolen cellphones and relies on voice-altering software
❑ Motive: connected to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade
✦ A public stage (the world is watching)
✦ A holiday celebrating America, democracy, freedom, etc.
✦ A holiday celebrating family and the magic of childhood—as favorite storybook and cartoon characters are brought to life through balloons and floats and dressed-up volunteers
She turned the page to Haddox. “If my profile is accurate, it doesn’t exactly describe Jackie,” she said ruefully. “Maybe she has a new friend? One obsessed with society’s ills?”
“I thought of that angle, too, luv. I spoke with Casey from Donovan’s detail—as well as Sam, their private security man. We all agree it’s possible. Want to pay her another visit?”
Eve felt a prickle in her gut. “Do we have a choice?”
Chapter 71
Beginning of the Parade Route, American Museum of Natural History
Mace took a spot at the rear of the Ace CyberDog float—looking backward toward the Molly the Mongoose balloon. He was joined by three executives and four kids—all dressed as dog mascots.
“What’s his name?”
Mace looked down at the boy and the rescue puppy. “I’ve been calling him Melo, ’cause I like the Knicks. But when he gets to Herald Square and finds his new family, he’ll get his real name.”
“Oh.” The boy scrunched up his face, thinking. “I’d nickname him Zinger.”
“Well, you can call him that. Why don’t you take care of him for me for a few minutes? Test out some names; see what he likes. What do people call you?”
“I’m Tom. Like my dad.” He pointed to the tallest of the execs—the one dressed in a Dalmatian suit.
The generators behind the float powered up. A police officer gave the thumbs-up. The float began to move—just inches at first, until it picked up speed.
The crowds standing in front of the museum let out a rowdy cheer.
Mace left the boy and took stock of the floats remaining behind them. Beyond Molly the Mongoose, he saw the float of its corporate parent, Wholesome Minds. Santa was going to bring up the rear. The commissioner had taken a seat on the tall sleigh, awaiting Santa.
“I bet you think that Aflac float oughta turn around and pick you up—’cause you’re gonna be a sitting duck on that bench, Commish,” Mace said into his hidden microphone—one that connected all of the members of the Vidocq team as well as the commissioner.
“That’s the idea, isn’t it?” Donovan retorted dryly. “I’m here to draw him out. And don’t worry: I’m ready for him.”
—
Eli stared woefully at the costume the Macy’s volunteer had brought him. He picked up a red half-ball at the end of a string. It might have been designed to fit over a human nose. He wasn’t sure whether it looked more Rudolph or Bozo.
“This looks like a clown costume,” he complained.
The man laughed, exposing a set of crooked teeth. “Por qué no? It’s festive. And the red cone is your hat.”
“I’m not sure it will fit,” Eli objected. “I might be a little tall.” Because tall was a more polite word than fat. And he wasn’t about to admit that this clown costume, which was obviously cut for a man of extremely generous girth, still wasn’t big enough for him.
The Macy’s volunteer nodded knowingly. “I’ll find you another costume. One designed for people who are taller.”
—
Donovan checked his watch nervously. Confirmed that the headset and microphone connecting him to Eve and the rest of the team was working. There’d been no further word from the kidnapper.
“Ho, ho, ho! Help me up, will you?” A man in a red Santa suit stifled a belch and sniffed twice before lumbering up onto the sleigh. “You must be the commissioner. I heard we’re going to be dance partners this morning. Parade buddies,” he said and chortled. “Just you, me, the elves down below, and some reindeer.” Santa climbed onto the right side of the bench and stretched, rolling his shoulders in lazy circles.
Donovan glanced at the girth of the man beside him. “I always wonder if that belly’s real—or if it’s just your costume.”
“Just smile and wave, Commish. Smile and wave,” Santa instructed with a grin.
WJXZ REPORTS
Good morning! This is WJXZ News with Gwen Allensen, and I’m talking with Isidore Marone, a World War Two veteran of Patton’s Army who’s here with his daughters Anna and Lucia, his four grandchildren, and six great-grandchildren. Isidore, you’ve not missed a single parade since 1945, is that right?
ISIDORE: What’s that you’re saying?
LUCIA (LOUDLY): Pop, you’ve come to the parade every year since ’45, right?
ISIDORE: Yes. I came home from the war and went with your mother, my Maria—God rest her soul. Haven’t missed a one since! It’s a tradition.
GWEN: Can you tell me what’s changed the most since your first parade?
ISIDORE: What?
ANNA: She’s asking you what’s changed since that first parade.
ISIDORE: Oh, that’s easy. The crowds. It’s all ’cause of Miracle on 34th Street. That movie came out—when? 1947?—and suddenly everybody wanted to be part of this parade.
Chapter 72
West 80th Street Between Amsterdam and Columbus
Something was wrong.
When Haddox and Eve arrived at the Donovan brownstone a block and a half away, they found the house silent. Only a humming refrigerator broke the stillness. The house still reeked of Pine-Sol and bleach.
Jackie’s cellphone rested on the table in the hallway. A message—unread—lit its screen for a moment.
Eve scanned it in the second before it vanished. Then passed the device to Haddox, telegraphing him with a glance. Your job.
Wordlessly, he pulled his computer out of his bag, connected it to Jackie’s phone, and began working his magic. He launched the software program he’d designed to unlock first the passcode, then all the device’s secrets.
Eve left him and moved toward the stairwell. It was going to be important to proceed carefully.
In the quiet, Eve felt a small tremor expanding inside her, filling her chest. “Jackie? Are you here?” she called out.
Silence.
“I’d like to talk,” she offered.
No reply.
It was possible Jackie was gone. That she’d learned of their suspicions and run.
Eve climbed the staircase, reached the second floor. Moved room to room.
All quiet.
“Jackie?” Eve repeated.
Silence.
Another stairwell. The third floor. Only four rooms left to search.
Eve took the two on the left, then those on the right. She gingerly nudged open the last door.
Jackie was sitting on the bed. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, hugging them to her chest.
“Hi, Jackie.”
Jackie’s hair, no longer in its headband, was sticking out in all different directions. Her eyes were dull, no trace of emotion. There was a pistol on the quilt beneath her.
Eve pressed the button on her cellphone that would summon help. Took a slow, cautious step into the doorway.
“You don’t need the gun.” Eve edged closer. “Mind if I hold on to it?”
It always surprised Eve how sometimes a direct question yielded exactly the result she wanted. But not this time.
Jackie snatched the gun close. “I am not going to jail.”
Six words laced with panic, exhaustion,
and determination. Three emotions that combined to scare Eve considerably. She thought: I need to understand what you’re thinking.
“Who’s said anything about jail?” She made her voice conversational but concerned. “I’m here because I need your help.”
“Liar!” She pointed the gun at Eve. “You’re lying to protect that bastard.”
Which bastard? Eve wondered. The commissioner—or someone else?
Eve noted three pill bottles on the nightstand. Each one emptied of its contents. Turned on its side. “Sometimes I’m wrong about things. I make mistakes. A liar wouldn’t admit that, right?”
Something sparked inside Jackie’s eyes. Shock. Maybe even surprise that someone was truly listening.
Eve put herself inside Jackie’s mind: He lied to me.
“People let you down. Men, especially, treat you badly. It happens.”
Jackie looked at Eve, understanding.
“He lied to me,” Jackie said.
Eve imagined Jackie’s train of thought: But I believed him. He said he understood me.
Jackie said, “He made me feel like he understood me—and would make it all better.”
“But the only one who can do that is you, Jackie. I can help you.” Eve held out her hand. “Will you give me the gun?”
No response.
The pills, Eve knew, were swiftly being absorbed by the woman’s bloodstream.
“I understand what it’s like to be attracted to the wrong guy,” Eve said. “It happens. It can lead to some pretty stupid choices.”
The other woman faltered. “Logan came home alone. He wanted to make believe Jill died in an accident. I destroyed evidence to help him do that.” Her words were beginning to slur. “Then I hated myself for it. I started talking to people.”
“Talking to who?” Eve sat beside her on the bed. Jackie didn’t seem to notice.
Jackie’s eyes were blank. Dilated.
“Who has Allie?” Eve asked.
“She’s safe.” The S was extra-long.
Eve took a chance. “A lot of men have lied to you, Jackie. You don’t need to protect any of them. Just tell me who has her—and where he’s keeping her.”
“They say I won’t feel a thing,” she mumbled.
Eve reached for the gun—and took it. Jackie no longer cared.
Eve picked up the bottles on the nightstand. Read their names. Klonopin. Paxil. Seroquel.
Sirens wailed in the street below. The medical help Eve had summoned was arriving.
“I never meant to hurt Allie,” Jackie insisted. Her breath was growing ragged. “He’s keeping her in the park.”
“I know,” Eve agreed sadly, as Jackie succumbed to the pills.
—
The text message received on Jackie’s phone had read: Anything happens to me, get girl. She’s at place we watched the fireworks.
Haddox waited for Eve just outside the brownstone. Ashen-faced. “Jackie tell you who’s holding Allie—or where?”
Eve shook her head. “We didn’t get that far. The place we watched fireworks has to mean Central Park—so we’ll get an expanded search team working. I figure you can handle the ID. Since you had the sender’s number and all.”
“I downloaded all Jackie’s data; I’ll search for patterns and suspicious activity.” Haddox pulled Jackie’s phone out of his pocket, returned it to her. “But no luck on the ID. The text was sent from a burner, luv.”
WJXZ REPORTS
This is Gwen Allensen, with live coverage from the Macy’s flagship store at Herald Square.
We’re watching as childhood favorite Paddington Bear, that huggable teddy from England, journeys his last few blocks.
He’s a big bear: fifty-four feet long, thirty-six feet wide, and sixty feet tall. His trademark suitcase is the size of a typical suburban two-car garage!
He first made his appearance in the Macy’s parade in 2014.
There are volunteers waiting on the other side of Herald Square—who will immediately begin breaking him down for the return trip to Macy’s Studio in Moonachie, New Jersey.
Chapter 73
Along the Parade Route, Inside the Frozen Zone
The Ace CyberDog float was passing West Sixty-fifth Street.
Mace took seven steps forward, through Ace’s reconstructed doghouse. He stepped around oversized bones and chewies, stuffed fire hydrants, and a life-sized squirrel. He peered inside the float’s machine room.
No movement. No sound. No sign of anyone there.
Just the generator that supplied enough power to propel the float forward.
Where was an Army Ranger when you needed him? The moment Mace thought of García, he cursed himself. This was no time to be stupid or sentimental.
All around him, there was chaos and shouting, sirens and bullhorns, and the incessant noise from the circling helicopters overhead.
But inside Mace’s head? An eerie quiet prevailed.
On the meanest streets of Hunts Point where he grew up, somebody was always mad about something. People got stabbed, windows got broken, and guns went off throughout the night. What he wouldn’t ever forget was the sensation of waiting for it to happen.
He alternated looking down the dark stairs into the depths of the Ace CyberDog float—and looking out into the crowds. His breathing was becoming more labored—which was either nerves or something bad in the air, ’cause he was in top shape—but none of the cops with their biological weapons detectors were worried.
“Anybody there?” he called.
No one answered.
He stopped. Listened.
There it was. A faint whining sound. It was actually coming from the puppy behind him—but it echoed in the wood, bouncing from side to side, until it seemed it came from the depths of the float itself.
Mace wasn’t a superstitious man—but right now, just waiting for the unthinkable? It was enough to make a far more practical man go insane.
And Mace had never been practical.
—
Behind Mace on the Ace CyberDog float, Molly the Mongoose had been given the green light to start moving. Eli was doing his best to blend in with the other handlers around him. But the only part of him that actually fit the bill was his carrot-colored hair.
“They want us to look like we’re having a great time. It’s okay to dance!” The handler next to him, a perky, pony-tailed woman, gave Eli a bright smile. “And if you can’t really dance, just kick your legs up high in the air. Pretend we’re all Radio City Rockettes!”
“Seriously?” Eli gave a halfhearted kick.
“Try again.” The woman smiled even brighter. “Just pretend you can do it. Like you’re John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. That’s your generation, right? Whatever inspires your best moves.”
Eli tried again, knowing he didn’t really have a best move.
This time, he kicked his left leg so high he teetered and wobbled. Nearly fell on his face—or, rather, the red ball at the end of his nose.
A cold gust of wind briefly turned Molly into a whirling torpedo. For a moment, Eli was scared—and he remembered why he was there.
How am I going to keep an eye out for a kidnapper or cop killer or whoever he is if I’m too busy tripping over two left feet? Eli wondered.
The ponytailed woman had another suggestion. “Maybe you can just wave. Because people in the crowds and the stands? They mainly just want us to look friendly.”
—
Jackie’s cellphone was a mine trove of data.
It didn’t matter that Allie’s kidnapper had used a series of burner phones.
Or that Jackie had taken some basic precautions to obscure the man’s true identity.
Or that when he went online to communicate with her, he’d protected himself with TOR—or The Onion Router, the most widely used method for staying anonymous on the Web. Multilayered, with no clear center, it relied on a complex network of intermediary relay servers run by volunteers around the world. Political activists in pl
aces like Iran, Egypt, and Syria routinely favored it for protection. So did cybercriminals.
It was all too familiar to Haddox.
TOR made identification more difficult—but its shield of anonymity was far from impenetrable. While there was no foolproof strategy for tracing people through TOR, Haddox had one that was pretty close: human error. Because all users—even the most disciplined—eventually made mistakes.
Allie’s kidnapper was no exception.
He’d downloaded a series of documents through TOR—documents containing Web links that had taken him outside of TOR—and revealed his naked IP address.
It took three minutes and twenty-two seconds to find him. Haddox flexed his fingers and savored the moment. This was ordinary work. Really no different from what he’d done as a skip tracer—trying every means at his disposal to locate a missing person.
Haddox placed his hands over the keyboard. Then he began speeding through the world of the Web. Fingers flying, he made his way through activity, discovering more and more about his mark.
Haddox continued to work—if you could even call this work. Because there was no sensation more intoxicating than tracing the details of a mark, having so much information at his fingertips.
It was the ultimate high.
Chapter 74
Along the Parade Route
Santa’s sleigh was passing West Sixty-fifth Street.
Donovan scanned the crowds lining either side of the parade route.
Mace was right. Donovan was a sitting duck. Still, he plastered a smile on his face and waved. Focused on the fact that soon he was going to come face-to-face with the bastard who’d taken his daughter.
“Ho, ho, ho!” Santa roared, to the delight of the cheering crowd, as he waved his left hand.
“First time sitting on this sled?” Donovan asked.
“No, sir. Been a fixture at this parade for over a decade. Never had to share my sleigh before with anyone but an elf! Hope you’re not auditioning to take my place next year!”
Santa threw his right arm around Donovan’s back—and gave another merry and booming Ho, ho, ho.
Whistleblower Page 27
