Worst Case

by James Patterson

  Chapter 42

  OVER TWO HUNDRED feet long, Gordon Hastings’s yacht, the Teacup Tempest, turned out to be the largest one at the marina. Ten minutes later, we sat waiting to meet the mogul at the rear of its massive cherry-paneled forward salon.

  There were antiques and paintings. There were also row upon row of flat-screen TVs. Smaller computer screens on scattered desks showed investment graphs. In addition to the ship’s crew, there were eight or nine businesspeople, Hastings’s corporate team that actually worked from the ship. Like us, they were just standing around waiting, with stressed-out looks on their faces.

  The captain of the vessel, John McKnight, who’d escorted us on board, told us about the accident that had crippled the abducted Columbia freshman.

  “It was on a mountain-biking trip in Asia that was all Mr. H’s idea,” the captain said in a low voice. “He completely blames himself. That’s what led to his divorce, if you want my opinion. Now with Dan being abducted, it’s just unbelievable. Unbearable. For all of us. Dan was the most down-to-earth, lovable kid you ever met. He took the accident like it was nothing. He was inspiring.”

  “He still is inspiring as far as we know, Captain,” I said. “You can’t forget that.”

  A barefoot figure in a Hawaiian shirt and khakis finally emerged from one of the rear staterooms. The wiry, deeply tanned man came directly over to us and shook our hands, and we introduced ourselves. I noticed that his heavy gold watch had nautical flags on it instead of numbers. I could also see the top of his pajama pants above the waistband of his khakis. He didn’t stagger or smell of alcohol, but I could tell the distraught father had been drinking.

  “Thank you so much for coming,” he said with an unexpected thick Scottish burr. With his bald head and mustache, he actually looked a little like Sean Connery. “Have you learned anything?”

  “There’s been nothing so far, sir,” Emily said. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through.”

  He stared at Emily a moment and then a vicious look crossed his face.

  “Maybe that lack of imagination is the reason why the first two victims ended up dead, Agent Parker,” he said with a sneer. “I just bought the New York Mirror a few weeks ago, you know. One hears these things.”

  Wow, I thought. Looks like James Bond, acts like Attila the Hun. And make that drinking heavily. I understood that Hastings was hurting, but his nastiness was inappropriate and completely uncalled for.

  “The pattern of the man who kidnapped Jacob Dunning and Chelsea Skinner is to contact the family,” I said, edging myself between Emily and Hastings. “We don’t know if the person or persons who seem to have taken your son are the same, but we’ll go on that assumption. With your permission, we’d like to put trap-and-trace equipment on your phones.”

  “I guess…,” Hastings said, brooding.

  “Thank you, sir,” Emily continued with a grin. “You wouldn’t happen to know either the Dunnings or the Skinners by any chance, would you?”

  “Of course not,” Hastings spat at her again. “What kind of question is that? Do you think we’re part of some billionaire cabal? Don’t they have any actual professionals who take care of kidnappings?”

  “Right here, sir,” Emily said with an even wider, lovelier smile. “You’re looking at them. Thank you again for your cooperation.”

  “Way to handle that jackass, Parker,” I said as the millionaire left.

  “I’ve learned from the best, Mike,” Emily said, grinning.

  Chapter 43

  OUTSIDE, EMILY AND I huddled with our own team and got busy bringing in the phone-tracing gear from the FBI and NYPD tech cars in the marina’s lot. In addition to recording the conversation, the tech guys were going to run it through voice-analysis software, a kind of high-tech lie detector and emotion indicator. We hooked up my phone to the equipment as well this time.

  We’d just finished setting everything up when something sounded from one of the computers in the luxury salon’s corner.

  “You’ve got mail,” it said in an inappropriately cheery tone.

  “I didn’t know they actually still said that,” I said to Hastings’s secretary.

  “They really don’t, but Mr. Hastings insists. He finds it nostalgic,” she said in a way that implied it was one of many nutty insistences that came from Emperor Hastings.

  We rushed over. Mr. Hastings’s personal assistant quickly brought up the mail page.

  From Subject

  danhastings@AOL.com Whether I live or die

  The secretary bit her lip as she opened the e-mail.

  Hastings,

  If you want to see your son alive again, you’ll get five million dollars in hundred-dollar denominations ready for delivery. You have three hours. The faster we wrap this up, the faster you can get back to your greedy, decadent life.

  I do not think I need to remind you what I am capable of.

  “What is it?” Hastings said, emerging from his stateroom. He banged a shin on a settee as he rushed over and stared at the screen. Everyone jumped as he emitted a primal moan.

  “Oh, Danny! Oh, my son,” Hastings said. He knocked a lamp off the desk as he reached for the computer monitor. Luckily, he missed. He landed with a painful-sounding thump next to the lamp on the Oriental rug.

  We watched as Captain McKnight lifted Hastings from the floor. It looked like something he’d done before. He spoke to him soothingly as he guided him to the back of the ship.

  Vivid freeze-frame images of Jacob Dunning and Chelsea Skinner flashed through my head as I reread the last part of the e-mail.

  I do not think I need to remind you what I am capable of.

  No, he didn’t, I thought. He was right about that.

  Chapter 44

  AS OUR TECHS got busy tracing the e-mail, I caught Emily’s attention.

  “Could I talk to you out on the aloha deck?” I said, motioning for the salon’s exit.

  On our way outside, through an open doorway I spotted a dining room set with crystal and silver for twenty. I found the sight of it, for some reason, the most lonesome thing.

  No wonder Hastings had gone over the edge. Even with eight hundred million dollars, life had rammed him completely through the wringer. Despite his drunken melodrama, I truly felt sorry for him.

  “I don’t like this, Parker,” I said as we stood outside, watching yuppies hit golf balls on the converted dock beside us. “Something smells. On the one hand, switching to e-mail is in keeping with our guy’s pattern of changing methods. But on the other hand, our guy loves the sound of his voice too much to send an e-mail. He loves talking to me, crying on my shoulder. I’m not convinced this is the same guy.”

  Ramirez suddenly stuck his head outside.

  “Mike, get in here quick. And I thought Columbia was bad. Now this is really getting nuts.”

  Back inside, I saw a large, bald gentleman in a pinstripe suit collecting the laptops off the desks.

  “Sic ’em, Vin,” Hastings yelled from a couch with a laugh. He lit a cigar. “Tell them their services are no longer required.”

  “Vinny Carbone,” the new arrival said, offering his hand. “I’m Mr. Hastings’s attorney. I’m going to be representing Mr. Hastings in this matter here.”

  I stared at Parker, baffled.

  “I wasn’t aware this was a court proceeding,” I said.

  “The bottom line is, you don’t need to be putting any kind of trace software or spyware or anything else on Mr. Hastings’s computers,” the lawyer continued. “He’s had a little trouble with you guys, especially the IRS, and, well, we’re sorry, but we can’t cooperate. In fact, you can get off his phones, too. He wants to handle things on his own from here. And if you’ve left any bugs, you should take them with you. We will be sweeping the whole boat after you leave.”

  Spyware and bugs? I thought. These people really were worse than the nuts at Columbia.

  “Mr. Carbone,” I said, putting up my palms. “This is a kidnapping.
Dan Hastings is a citizen. We can’t just walk away.”

  “Tell him to get the fuck off my boat, Vinny,” the father yelled, pointing his stogie for emphasis. “Tell him we’ll do it the right way. By ourselves. I let these assholes handle it, Dan comes back in a plastic bag.”

  “You heard it from the horse’s mouth, kid,” the lawyer said in his Brooklyn accent. “You gotta go.”

  More like the other end of the horse, I thought.

  “Yeah, in a second, Pop,” I said to Carbone, stepping past him.

  “This might not even be the same kidnapper,” I said to the father, trying not to lose my cool.

  Emily, following me, seemed to have lost hers.

  “You think you can buy your kid back?” she said loudly. “You’re going to get him killed.”

  “Piss off, cop,” Hastings said. “You’re oh for two! You fools have no idea what you’re doing.”

  He waved his cigar at us dismissively. He suddenly sounded a lot less upper crust than at our initial meeting.

  “Oh, don’t worry. I am pissed off, Mr. Hastings,” Emily yelled at him as we left. “I’ve been pissed off pretty much since the second I met you.”

  Chapter 45

  VINNY CARBONE, ESQUIRE, followed Emily and me back outside to the observation deck.

  “Are you as insane as that guy? This is a federal investigation,” Parker said to the lawyer.

  “Hold on a second, Agent Parker,” I said, pulling her back. “I think I can work this out.

  “Listen, Vinny. You want subpoenas, you got ’em. But I guarantee you, I’ll be going over his computers and phone records with a fine-tooth comb now. I’ll lock his ass up for obstruction of justice—or shit, maybe I’ll make him my main suspect. You gonna muzzle him, or do I take his rich drunken ass up to Harlem for questioning?”

  Vin didn’t think about my offer for too long. For all his blue-collar demeanor, he definitely seemed on the ball.

  “I’ll talk to him,” Vin said. “Gimme a sec.”

  As we waited, Parker and I stared at the cars on the West Side Highway, trying to brainstorm.

  “We need to piece this thing together before this idiot really does get his son killed,” Emily said.

  “Okay, Parker,” I said. “For the moment, let’s assume it’s the same guy. How does Dan Hastings fit in?”

  “He’s rich, obviously,” Parker said. “One of the other two was a college freshman, too. He’s an only child.”

  “No, he isn’t,” I pointed out. “He has two new half siblings, remember?”

  “You’re right,” she said. “Is that important?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a difference. Also, this guy’s going through a divorce. The other two families were happily married.”

  “Good point. But doesn’t that indicate another kidnapper?”

  “Or that there’s another connection we haven’t made.”

  “Yeah, well, we better make it quick,” Parker said as we watched an armored car pull into the pier’s parking lot.

  Two armed uniformed guards got out of the car, went around to the back, and removed two very large currency bags.

  “Because this ship of fools looks like it’s about to set sail.”

  Chapter 46

  WE WERE ALLOWED back on board with the stipulation that our technicians be closely monitored by Gordon Hastings’s staff. Hastings’s IT adviser actually stood over the shoulder of our FBI techie as he installed a Computer and Internet Protocol Address Verifier.

  The petty squabbling was still going on when the next “You’ve got mail” came at three o’clock on the button. Hastings himself opened up the e-mail.

  The following instructions will be followed to the letter.

  The five million dollars will be placed in a black rolling suitcase.

  You and you alone will bring the money to the south playground of the Polo Grounds projects at 155th Street in Harlem at 4:45 PM.

  When you are there and when we are convinced you have not been followed or brought the police, you will be given more instructions.

  Take note:

  If there is any evidence of ground or air police surveillance, you will never see your son again.

  The first two were to prove what I am capable of. You alone have been given the chance to save your precious flesh and blood. Do not blow it.

  Hastings and his lawyer disappeared into the stateroom for a quick powwow. Carbone emerged five minutes later alone.

  “Mr. Hastings will be paying the money and delivering it himself. That’s nonnegotiable. He’ll wear a wire so he can be kept track of, but that’s it. Otherwise, follow the kidnapper’s instructions. No air surveillance. Hear me, Bennett?”

  I knew at some point in this case I’d be required to apply the skills I’d learned as a hostage negotiator. I just never thought I’d have to use them in dealing with the victim’s father.

  We reluctantly had to agree. It really was up to Hastings how he wanted to play things, especially with the ransom. But that didn’t mean we would shirk our responsibility and not use everything within our power to get his son back alive.

  Emily and I quickly made calls to our respective agencies to relate how badly things were stacking up. My boss, Carol Fleming, told me she’d heard of Hastings’s mouthpiece, Carbone. The lawyer was known to represent mob types.

  Could that fit into this? I didn’t know. But we didn’t really have the time to check it out. We had a deadline in less than two hours, and we needed our people in place yesterday.

  Standing by the bar, Mr. Hastings was drinking coffee now as our techs wired him up. His corporate people were busy packing the money. I understood the instructions for it to be in a rolling suitcase, because even in hundred-dollar bills, the ransom would weigh almost ninety pounds.

  “This guy can hardly tie his shoes. How’s he going to save his son?” Emily said.

  “He’s not,” I said. “We are.”

  Chapter 47

  DETECTIVES RAMIREZ AND Schultz had to stay and rough it back at the yacht as Emily and I raced up the West Side Highway and then crosstown along 155th Street. Traffic wasn’t so bad, but then again, we didn’t bother stopping for any of the red lights.

  Housing Police sergeant Jack Bloom from Police Service Area 4 met us at the rear of the Polo Grounds Housing Project’s most southern building.

  “We patrol up here with guns drawn,” the Housing cop advised as we arrived on the roof. “There’s sexual assaults, beatings. We beg Housing to keep the roof doors locked, but they keep saying they can’t because of fire codes. Even when you’re patrolling the courtyards below, you need one eye up in case some kid wants to send you a little airmail.”

  There was an incredible view of Yankee Stadium across the Harlem River. Bloom told us that the projects were built where the historic Polo Grounds baseball stadium had been located.

  “Get out of here,” Emily said. “You mean the Giants-win-the-pennant, shot-heard-round-the-world Polo Grounds?”

  Bloom nodded grimly.

  “The only shots heard round here anymore are from the drug disputes in the stairwells.”

  “Well, it’s definitely another hellhole like the other two locations,” I said to Emily. “So maybe it is our guy, after all.”

  Twenty minutes later, we were radioed that Gordon Hastings was present and accounted for, waiting with the money in a town car half a block west on 155th. I checked my watch. It was four thirty. Fifteen minutes to contact.

  Everything that could be set up was ready to go. Though not actually in the air, Aviation was waiting in Highbridge Park a little farther uptown. A Harbor Unit boat was on standby as well a little ways south down the Harlem River, in case anything was thrown into the water.

  Two ESU surveillance teams and a contingent of the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team were getting in place inside several apartments surrounding the development’s south playground. Over the radio, I could hear them aligning frequencies with one another.

&nbs
p; If our guy was dumb enough to show up, we would bag him. I truly hoped he was.

  I let out a tight, tense breath as I stared down at the project yards. For the first time, we had something the kidnapper wanted. We had to bet our only chip very carefully now.

  Five minutes later, Emily called me over to the roof wall.

  “Mike, check it out.”

  Down on the plaza beside the playground, some young black men in traditional African garb were setting up instruments. A moment later, a rhythmic drumming filled the courtyard.

  “Nice beat,” I said. “You want to African dance?”

  “No, idiot,” Emily said. “That’s us. They’re from the New York office’s Special Surveillance group.”

  “No way,” I said, laughing.

  Emily nodded.

  “The guy in the green buba and gbarie pants is the SAC for the White Collar Squad. What time do you have?”

  “T minus ten minutes,” I said, wiping sweat off my face.

  Chapter 48

  THE WIND AND my heart rate both picked up as Hastings finally exited his car on Clayton Powell Jr. Boulevard. I tracked the harried-looking father through the stark cement courtyard with a pair of high-power Nikon binoculars.

  “Be advised,” crackled the voice of a member of one of the surveillance teams over the radio. “Male black in a brown leather jacket is approaching from the south.”

  Agent Parker and I scurried over to the southeast corner of the roof. Directly below our vantage point, a young, bald black man wearing sunglasses was moving through the southern parking lot, making a beeline for Hastings.

  He called out as Hastings was entering the courtyard’s amphitheater. I turned up the other radio, which was tuned to Hastings’s body mic.

  “Over here,” the man was saying.

  Hastings stopped. He stood, breathing loudly, both hands now clutching the suitcase as the man approached.