by L. T. Ryan
I hated helicopters. Took a ride in one on my honeymoon and hadn’t been near one since. It wasn’t flying. Planes I could handle. Helicopters just gave me the shakes. I placed them right up there with snakes and spiders.
“You okay, Mitch?” Bridget said.
I nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be all right.”
“Remember, you’re doing this for the kid.”
“It’s not that.”
“What is it?”
She’d think I was a coward if I told her. I shook my head. “Nothing.”
“All right, then. The chopper will be here in a couple minutes.”
“Here?”
“Yup. Going to land right down the street. We’ll be in D.C. in forty-five minutes.”
“We?”
“I’m going with you. At least until we land. You’ll be on your own after that.”
“Unarmed and alone.”
She gave me a thin smile. I wanted to lean in and kiss her. The look she gave me told me that she wanted the same. We stood there for a moment, forgetting the reality of the situation.
“I don’t know if we’ll have the money in time,” Vinson said.
Bridget’s eyes flicked back and forth, then she turned around. “Then we do whatever it takes to get it. I don’t care if the FBI has to break open the vault. The Hollands have the money. It’s their money. Securing it should not be a problem. Get someone on the phone and let me talk to them.”
I left the kitchen and walked through the house to the front door. Townsend and his guys stood in the driveway. They glanced my way when I stepped outside.
“How’s it feel?” I asked.
“How’s what feel?”
“Having your case pulled out from underneath you?”
“Eat me, Tanner,” Townsend said. “You might as well extend this little ride as long as you can, ‘cause as soon as this is over, so’s your career. The Chief is gonna bust your ass down to the Philadelphia Parking Authority. Hell, that might be too good for you. You ought to be mopping up the floors in a triple-X theater.”
“I don’t need to see any more footage of your wife, Townsend.”
The guy smiled at me, then took a swing. I started boxing at the age of ten. To this day I still sparred monthly. Now, Townsend was fast for an old guy, but not fast enough. I dodged his wide right hook and drove my fist into his solar plexus. He bowed over and fell to his knees.
“Anyone else want some of this?” I said.
His guys shook their heads, then moved to Townsend’s side to help him to his feet.
“What happened here?”
I looked back and saw Bridget approaching. “I think he had a bad sausage or something.”
She nodded while looking at me out of the corner of her eye. Then she turned her head and pointed. “There’s our ride.”
The helicopter approached, growing larger by the second. It landed down the street in the middle of a wide oval court. I followed Bridget to her car. She started it, threw it into drive and pressed the accelerator to the floor. We covered the short distance in a couple seconds. The tires squealed as she slammed on the brakes. Bridget threw open her door and jumped out of the car a second after she put it in park. She’d left it running in the middle of the street. I didn’t bother to pull the keys out.
I caught up to her and shouted, “Who else is coming?”
She shook her head. “Just us.”
“His parents aren’t going?”
“Another chopper’s coming for them.”
Chapter 42
It was too loud to talk inside the helicopter, so I spent most of my time staring out the window at the expanse of forest below. Occasionally, Bridget and I would look at each other at the same time. While our voices couldn’t be heard, our eyes said plenty to one another. If things went well today, perhaps we’d have the chance to explore each other the remainder of the month. Maybe with some persuading, she’d agree. At the same time, I had a feeling today might be the last time we ever saw each other.
Forty-two minutes after we left the Hollands’s neighborhood, we entered D.C. airspace. Three minutes after that, we set down at the Pentagon on a helicopter landing pad just north of the main building. I wanted to check a news site on my cell phone to find out if hell had actually froze over.
Once we were far enough away from the helicopter that I didn’t have to yell to be heard, I asked her, “Why not the FBI building? Wouldn’t that have been closer?”
She looked over at me and nodded, never breaking stride. “And if they’re watching it, they would have seen us. Chances of them watching the Pentagon are slimmer.”
“Where are we going now?”
She pointed across Washington Blvd. toward Arlington National Cemetery. “Come on, we need to hurry.”
I glanced at my watch. We had over an hour for me to get the money and then get to the Lincoln Memorial. If memory served me right, that was only a half-mile away.
We waited a moment for traffic to pass. Bridget’s hand grazed past mine. My head turned toward her. She was already looking at me.
“Promise you’ll buy me a drink after all this is over, Mitch.”
I nodded. “Promise.”
She grabbed my hand and stepped into the street. We jogged across, left the road behind and hopped a fence. To the left were a couple maintenance or facility buildings. A dark sedan was parked there. A man I didn’t recognize leaned against the back of it.
“You got it?” Bridget asked the guy. She didn’t introduce us.
The man nodded, turned and opened the trunk. He pulled out a dark bag and unzipped it.
“So that’s what ten million in cash looks like,” I said.
The guy said nothing. He handed the bag to Bridget, then left us.
“Why’d we have to come over here for this?” I asked.
“For the family,” she said. “Felt it best that you not have to see them before this goes down.”
“Why?”
“Heroics.” She glanced over at the rows of white tombstones. Her eyes watered over. At first, I thought it might be the wind, but it blew against the backs of our heads.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I like to think that my dad’s out there.”
“Was he military?”
“My grandmother said he was a Navy SEAL. Killed in action.”
“You ever meet him?”
She shook her head. “Never.”
“Perhaps he is out there,” I said. “He’d sure be proud of you today.”
She looked up and smiled. “Thanks, Mitch.” She stared at me for a long minute until the engine of the sedan behind her started. “Okay, let’s get you on your way.”
We walked back the way we came, crossing the street together. There, we split up. She headed toward the Pentagon entrance. I headed north toward the Arlington Memorial Bridge. All in all, it wasn’t a bad day to be out for a walk. If you forgot about the whole kidnapping and ransom thing, it’d be a good way to clear your head. Only problem with that was I couldn’t easily forget.
After crossing the bridge, I stood behind the Lincoln Memorial. I checked my watch. Still had about thirty minutes until it was time to make the exchange. So I walked around the circle, then up and down the length of the reflecting pool. The crowd wasn’t too thick, but I expected that to change over the next half hour as lunchtime drew near. Worked out better for the bad guys this way. Maybe me, too, depending on how they planned to work the release of the boy.
I stood at the edge of the reflecting pool with the water behind me, watching old Abe. The President loomed large, sitting in his chair, watching over his small section of D.C. I wondered what he’d think of this situation. What would he do? Could he exercise the restraint that I’d be forced to use in the very near future? Standing face to face with a killer and a child abductor, could Lincoln hand over ten million dollars in exchange for a life, knowing that he might never catch the men responsible?
It didn’t matter what L
incoln would do. I was the one who had to shovel that crow.
My trained eyes scanned the faces in the crowd. There were at least four classes of kids on a field trip milling about in addition to the regular tourists making their pilgrimage to the nation’s capital.
My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced around to make sure no one watched me. Then I looked at the message from Bridget.
Don’t forget, you owe me a drink.
I figured that was her not so subtle way of telling me to keep my cool. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t play hero. Hand over the money, collect the kid.
I glanced at my watch. Five minutes to go. I cut through the thickening crowd and started up the stairs to the memorial. I reached the top and stopped in front of giant Abe.
“Tanner,” a voice called out.
I looked to my right. Roy Miller-Michael Lipsky stood at the end of the platform, leaning against the last column. I glanced over my shoulder, then down the stairs. No one caught my eye. I didn’t expect anyone to. These guys hadn’t gone through all this trouble only to blow it by all showing up at the same place. But I didn’t see the kid, either. And that was a problem.
I held the bag tight in both hands as I approached. The guy pushed off the column and took a few steps toward me.
“That the money?” he asked.
I nodded. “Where’s the kid?”
“Hand over the money.”
“Not until I see the kid.”
“You don’t hand that money over, both kids die.”
Chapter 43
I was faced with a terrible decision that only had three options as I saw it. One, back away with the money and potentially seal Bernard’s and the girl’s fate. Two, step forward and attack Roy Miller-Michael Lipsky. I liked this option. A lot. I wished I had done it a few days earlier. The problem with it now was that it would also seal young Bernard and the girl’s fate. The last option involved me handing over ten million dollars and depending on a kidnapping murderer to honor his end of the deal.
“I see you’re having trouble with this,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Let me help.”
My first instinct was to reach for my pistol, only I had left it behind with Bridget. It turned out he wasn’t reaching for a weapon. Instead, he pulled out a cell phone and placed a call, putting the phone on speaker, for my benefit I presumed.
“Yeah, you got the money?” I figured the guy talking on the other end of the line was Brad McCree.
“I’m here with the good detective right now,” Roy-Michael said.
“Detective, can you hear me?” McCree asked.
“I hear you,” I said.
“Hand over the money, if you haven’t already, and allow Mr. Lipsky to leave untouched and unharmed. He’s going to remain on the phone with me, updating me with his every movement and every single thing he sees and hears. If at any time he shouts out in pain, or if the line should go dead, the child dies. Then the other child dies. Then maybe your child dies. Do you understand?”
“You leave my child out of this!”
“Do you understand, Detective?” McCree’s voice rose in anger.
I understood lots of things. How someone could do such a thing, that was beyond me. But I had to play my part. The time to put these guys away wasn’t now. This was the time to rescue the kids. Forcing myself to cast my anger aside, I said, “I understand.” Then I dropped the bag next to my feet and took a few steps back.
Roy Miller-Michael Lipsky squatted down, keeping his gaze fixed on me, and grabbed the bag. He rose and said, “Got it,” while taking it off speaker. He winked at me as he passed. “Nice working with you detective.”
“What about the kid?” I said, taking a step back and blocking his path.
He leaned to the side, his smile widening. He held out the phone for me. I reached for it and he pulled back, shaking his head. “Put your ear to the speaker.”
“Detective,” the other man said. “In one hour we will call the Hollands’s house phone with the location of their son. I want to speak only with Mr. or Mrs. Holland. Understand? If anyone else answers, the boy will never be found. You can take that any way you want. Goodbye, Detective.”
My brain dumped every other thought as it processed what McCree had just told me. It must’ve shown on my face, because Roy-Michael laughed at me as he backed away.
The Hollands weren’t at their home. They’d left in a helicopter right after Bridget and me. They were here, at the Pentagon, unless the FBI had moved them to the J. Edgar Hoover Building. I had to find out and warn Bridget. I pulled out my phone and called her.
“Get them back to Philly,” I said after she answered.
“What? Mitch, did you make the exchange?”
“I thought you guys were watching?”
“We have agents watching, but no one has reported in yet.”
“The money’s been handed over, but the boy is elsewhere.”
“You gave them the money without the kid?”
“They threatened to kill him, and the girl, and Ella.”
“Okay, okay, we can make this work.” Bridget paused for a few seconds, during which time I glanced around and noticed what looked like an FBI agent approaching me. “What else did they say?”
“Guy on the phone said he’d call the Holland’s house in one hour with the location of Bernard. Said if he didn’t speak with either of them, we’ll never find the kid.”
“This isn’t good, Mitch.”
I started walking east. “What isn’t?”
“They just left in a car.”
“The Hollands?”
“Yes.”
“Well, get them back.”
“I have to get off the phone with you to do that.”
“Okay.” I pulled the phone away from my head. “Wait, where are you?”
“Hoover Building.”
“What’s the fastest way there?”
“Down the lawn, cut across the Ellipse between the White House and Washington Memorial, then east on Pennsylvania Avenue.”
I hung up, pushed my way through the crowd and began to run. I estimated I had a mile to go, give or take. I figured that by the time I reached the Hoover Building, the Hollands would be in the air and the next helicopter would be ready to go. I hoped they’d be, at least.
I ran straight down the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue, ignoring the stares, gestures and honking cars. A man in a dark suit stood on the corner of 10th and Pennsylvania. When he saw me, he started waving his arms.
“This way, Detective.”
He led me inside the Hoover Building. We bypassed security, and then took an express elevator to the roof. I heard the thumping of a helicopter’s rotors and the whine of its turbine before I saw the contraption. As I rounded the small elevator room, I saw Bridget standing between me and the chopper.
“Did they get off yet?” I asked after jogging to her position.
“They left five minutes ago.”
I glanced at my watch. We were cutting it close. No chance Bridget and I would make it on time. I had serious doubts the Hollands would, either.
“Can we forward their phone to a cell?” I asked.
Bridget nodded, then shook her head. “They’ll know, Mitch. You were just inside a helicopter. Can’t hardly think, let alone talk.”
She was right. We were screwed. The kids were in immediate danger.
“Come on, Mitch.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the helicopter. We sat down, placing the headgear over our ears. Bridget instructed the pilot to get us there as fast as possible, emphasizing that this was a life or death situation.
Now, off the top of my head, I had no idea how to estimate the speed at which the helicopter traveled. When I glanced at my watch, I saw the return trip took seven minutes less than our flight to D.C. Presumably, that meant we flew pretty fast. We’d made it back before the call was due to come in, which meant the Hollands had as well. Bridget’s car still idled in the middle of the street. I
half-expected to see a parking ticket plastered to the windshield. There wasn’t one. We both got inside as the helicopter lifted into the air. Bridget circled around in the space the chopper had occupied. A few seconds and four squealing tires later we were in front of the Hollands’s house.
“Bridget,” I said moments after we exited the car.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
“I had no choice. I couldn’t risk the lives of those children. These men are killers. They’d stop at nothing to—”
“I know, Mitch.”
“I mean it. They threatened the boy, and the girl, and then Ella. I can’t lose her, Bridget. She’s all I got left.”
Bridget turned and stepped closer to me. She placed a hand on my chest. Our eyes, our lips were inches apart. Her hot breath washed over my skin. “You did nothing wrong, Mitch. This doesn’t end until we find these guys. Regardless of what happens, today was just one more piece in the puzzle. And none of it is your fault. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
We entered the house. It was silent except for the ticking of an antique grandfather clock. I followed Bridget to the kitchen where Mr. and Mrs. Holland had resumed their positions at the kitchen table. Her eyes were wet. He smiled at me and then looked away. The anticipation in the room was thick enough that you had to wade through it. No matter what happened in the next few minutes, their ordeal wouldn’t be over. Whether they found their son or not, this nightmare would be relived for years to come.
The phone rang and nearly everyone in the room jumped.
“It’s ‘go’ time,” Bridget said, reaching for the speaker button.
