Harley said, “I would disagree on two levels. One, if the kidnappers are politically motivated, a bogus ransom demand would certainly be a clever way to throw the FBI off the trail. And two, I wouldn’t say that Ms. Leahy’s supporters are the only ones who have exploited the kidnapping for political gain.”
The general swelled with indignation. “Are you suggesting I’m playing politics?”
Harley met his stare, wondering if now was the time to question both the candidate and the director about the politically transparent capital punishment speech that O’Doud had delivered at this morning’s press conference. He decided not. “I would never suggest that, General. Not without more evidence.” He glanced at the faxed ransom note. “What I’d really like is to see the original of this.”
“It’s being flown here as we speak,” said O’Doud. “It will have to be analyzed, which is in part the reason for this meeting.”
General Howe interrupted, taking control. “I’m sure you noticed the handwritten message on the back-the warning that if we tell the police about the ransom demand, they’ll kill the hostage. So far, the only person my wife and I have told about it is our daughter, some close friends who might help us raise the money, and of course Director O’Doud. The director has naturally brought some higher-ranking officials into the loop. The assistant director of the criminal division, the CASKU chief, some very select members of the Hostage Rescue Team, and as of now, you. Obviously you’ll need to tell more-laboratory agents who analyze the message and the packaging, a handwriting expert who will analyze the handwritten portion of the message, and so on. As for this support level, I’m counting on you to identify the smallest group possible that needs to know about this. And then I want you to hand-pick those people who can be absolutely trusted to keep this confidential. We have to assume that the kidnappers will act on their threat. We cannot afford a break in security.”
“It’s always hard to guarantee no leaks, but I will certainly put together a list of those agents I would trust. Just to come at this from another direction, is there anyone you absolutely don’t want on the access list?”
The general and Director O’Doud exchanged glances. “Only one person I can think of,” said Howe, his eyes narrowing. “Allison Leahy.”
Rush-hour traffic was streaming down Pennsylvania Avenue, a grand and in many ways metaphorical divide between the Justice Building and FBI headquarters between Ninth and Tenth streets. Allison crossed at the crosswalk with her Secret Service bodyguards at her side.
After lunch with Peter, Allison had reached the conclusion that she needed a one-on-one, face-to-face meeting with the point man on the investigation. His unexpected return to Washington presented the perfect opportunity. She thought about summoning him to her own office, but since it was literally a matter of crossing the street, she preferred meeting him on his own turf-sort of a polite ambush.
Allison entered the relatively modern J. Edgar Hoover Building through the employee entrance on Pennsylvania Avenue. An escort directed her to an interior office near the lab, the visiting agent’s office that Harley Abrams used when away from his home base in Quantico. She found the stark surroundings about as aesthetically pleasing as the old CASKU offices in the underground facilities back at the academy. Beige walls with no artwork. A potted plant in the corner that had seen better days. Abrams was busy behind the basic government-issue metal desk with wood veneer top.
“I need five minutes of your time,” she announced, standing in the doorway.
Abrams looked up from his desk, surprised. He rose, then offered the only chair with a wave of his hand. “Please, come in.”
Allison entered alone and closed the door, leaving her escort in the hall. Abrams discreetly slid the list he was preparing-the list of those who would be privy to the ransom demand-into the top desk drawer.
“Afraid I might see something?” she asked.
He smiled awkwardly as he closed the drawer. “Oh, this? Just, uh-personal.”
“Yeah, I’ve been catching up with all my letter writing in the past twenty-four hours, too.”
“Touché,” he said, his smile fading.
“Look, I recognize you’re in a tough spot. You work for an FBI director who, even though he technically reports to me, has determined that the attorney general should be excluded from this investigation.”
He raised his hands. “Please, if this is a power struggle, I really wish you would have this conversation with Director O’Doud.”
“This is not about power. It’s about a twelve-year-old girl. Tragically, that fact has been lost in all the political maneuvering over the past thirty-six hours.”
“Which is exactly the reason Director O’Doud thinks you should stand aside and let the FBI do its job.”
She nodded wearily, as if tired of the party line. Part of her wanted to stand up and scream, The FBI works for me, damn it! But Abrams was the right man for the job, and she needed his respect, not his resignation. She dug in her purse and removed a small cassette player. “I’d like you to hear something. It’ll just take a minute.”
She laid the cassette player on the desk and hit the PLAY button.
Abrams stared at the machine, never making eye contact. A cooing sound came from the small speaker. Gurgling, broken sounds. It lasted about fifteen seconds before Allison hit the STOP button.
As it ended, their eyes met.
Her lip quivered as she struggled with her emotions. “That was my four-month-old daughter, Emily. She was abducted from my house eight years ago.”
He nodded with some difficulty. “I’d heard about that.”
“This is the tape her abductor put in her crib. It played over the baby monitor, so I wouldn’t know she was gone. Until it was too late.”
“I don’t know what to say,” he said. “What happened to you in the past is terrible. But your conflict of interest stems not from your past, but from your present status as a presidential candidate.”
Her tone sharpened. “My alleged conflict of interest stems from the assumption that I would use Kristen Howe’s abduction to my own political advantage. After hearing that tape, do you honestly believe I would ever exploit the abduction of any child for any purpose?”
His expression answered for him. “What are you asking me to do?”
“I’m asking you to look at reality, not the rhetoric. When Emily was abducted eight years ago, people told me exactly what Lincoln Howe and Director O’Doud are telling me now. ‘Step aside,’ they said. ‘You can’t be objective. Leave it to the experts.’ Like an idiot, I listened to them. It hurt like hell, but for the good of the investigation I stood on the sidelines and let them do their jobs. And you know what?”
Abrams shook his head slightly.
“They never found my daughter,” she said in a hushed voice. “They never came close to finding my daughter. No leads, no motive, no suspects. Vanished.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. But I didn’t come for sympathy. I came to state my case. I would no more divulge the details of this investigation than would Tanya Howe. As the attorney general I feel a moral responsibility to make sure everything that can possibly be done is being done to save Kristen Howe. And as a woman I bring something of value to the process. Experience. Personal experience.”
She rose, then stopped and looked him in the eye. “There’s one other thing you should know, Inspector.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s killing me to be made into a bystander all over again.” She turned and opened the door, never looking back as she headed for the elevator.
At six-thirty Wednesday evening Harley Abrams was at a table by himself in the FBI cafeteria, gobbling down a tuna fish sandwich as he revised his written profile of the kidnappers in light of the day’s events. A television set in the corner was tuned to the evening news, but Harley was only half listening.
“Good evening,” said the evening news anchorman. His shoulders squared to the ca
mera, filling television screens across America with his handsome face. “In a late-breaking story, ABC News has obtained confirmation through an exclusive source that Kristen Howe’s kidnappers have presented a ransom demand of one million dollars.”
Harley coughed, nearly choking on his sandwich.
“Details are scarce,” said the anchorman. “But the one-page, typewritten note is the first communication from the kidnappers since the twelve-year-old granddaughter of presidential hopeful Lincoln Howe disappeared yesterday morning on her way to school. With more on the story from Washington is-”
Harley’s cellular phone rang, but his focus was on the television until he heard Director O’Doud’s voice on the line.
“Have you seen tonight’s lead story?” snapped O’Doud.
“Yes, sir.”
“You told Leahy, didn’t you.”
Harley grimaced. “No, sir.”
“I know you two met this afternoon.”
“I met with her, yes. But I didn’t tell her anything.”
“It had to be Leahy, or someone in her camp. They must have cut a deal-give up the exclusive today for some favorable press coverage tomorrow. I’ll bet my right arm that by tomorrow morning we’ll see some hogwash story showing Allison Leahy on top of every phase of the investigation.”
“Sir, I didn’t breathe a word of it to anyone. Unless-”
“Unless what?”
“I suppose she could have seen something on my desk. But I don’t think so.”
“Well, if it wasn’t Leahy, then who in the hell was it?”
“Probably the same people who have been playing politics with the kidnapping all along.”
“And who would that be?”
“I’ll say this much,” said Harley. “The list of suspects is narrowing.”
20
At 8:30 P.M. Lincoln Howe arrived at the studio, dressed in a dark suit befitting a funeral. Secret Service agents flanked his sides. The general showed no expression as he marched down the hall to the backstage area. He stood to the side, surveying a set that normally served a local talk show in Arlington, Virginia. The interviewer’s desk had been moved to the center of the room, with a large projector screen behind it. Two men were carrying a couch off stage. A tangled mess of wires and cables lay around the perimeter. Hundreds of floodlights dangled from the ceiling. Five cameras were in position.
Buck LaBelle approached. “Just about ready, General,” said the campaign manager.
Howe nodded. “What about coverage?”
“From the technical standpoint it’s like the debates. CNN will serve as the pool organization, and anybody who wants to pick up the broadcast can subscribe. All the major networks are covering it, and some international. You could have a hundred million viewers.”
Howe glanced at the Secret Service agent, who seemed to have overheard. “I’m not concerned about the number of viewers, Buck. I want broad coverage so the kidnappers will see it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Two minutes!” shouted the program director. “Two minutes to silence.”
“You’d better take your place,” said LaBelle.
The general walked across the set, then seated himself behind the desk. A makeup artist powdered his face, then quickly disappeared. Howe sat pensively, orienting himself to the camera, lights, and TelePrompTer.
“Fifteen seconds,” shouted the director.
He licked his lips, calming his nerves.
“On the air!”
The general paused two seconds, then spoke directly into camera 1.
“Good evening, my fellow Americans. As you all know, the Howe family has suffered a terrible tragedy. Kristen Howe, my daughter’s only child, was abducted yesterday morning. This afternoon, my wife and I received a ransom demand of one million dollars.
“What the media did not report to you, however, is this: The kidnappers threatened to kill their hostage if the ransom demand was made public.”
Howe turned in his chair. Camera 3 moved in for a closer shot.
“I don’t know how the ransom demand became public. It certainly wasn’t leaked by the Howe family. I trust it wasn’t leaked by law enforcement. I’m told that the FBI is currently investigating whether it was leaked by someone in the attorney general’s office. We will simply have to wait and see. For the moment, however, I have just three things to say.
“First, to my opponent, Allison Leahy. If the ransom demand was leaked by you or your supporters for political gain, this is the most despicable act ever committed in the history of American politics.
“Second, to the cowards who have put a price on the head of an innocent child: I don’t have a million dollars, and I wouldn’t give it to you if I had it. Unlike my opponent and her millionaire husband, my wife and I subsist on a modest military pension.
“Third, to the American people…”
The general rose, then walked to a projection screen at the back of the set. It lit up as he reached it, revealing a wall of photographs, floor to ceiling, each an individual photo of a child. The camera panned the photographs, then returned to General Howe.
“Every one of the young children you see on this wall is missing, the victim of a child abductor. It happens every hour of every day, in every community in the country. In 1990 the Justice Department estimated that as many as 4,600 children were being abducted by nonfamily members each year. Three hundred children were either detained for a long period of time or murdered. Ten years later, the problem is only worse. Much worse.”
He walked to another screen. It too lit up-more photographs, men of all ages.
“Each of the men on this board is a known child abductor. More to the point, each of these men is currently roaming the streets of America, preying on young children. We know who they are and what they’ve done. Law enforcement simply does not have the resources to find them and bring them to justice.”
He faced the camera.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I devoted my life to protecting the national security of this country. Nothing threatens our national security more than a direct attack against our children. Politicians talk about the war against crime. I know what it means to be at war. Believe me. We are not at war. But we should be.
“Although the military has shrunk in size over the past ten years, the United States of America now has the most skilled and highly trained army ever assembled on the face of the earth. We should put it to use.
“Tonight, I’m calling upon President Sires, in the final weeks of his service as commander in chief, to sign an executive order that will authorize and direct the use of military personnel to assist in the search for and apprehension of child abductors. If I am elected president, I promise you I will sign such an executive order. In the interest of full disclosure, I also promise that there will be no more important assignment than the apprehension of those responsible for the abduction of Kristen Howe.
“Thank you. May God bless America. And its children.”
Tanya Howe sat motionless before the television set in her living room. Her breathing quickened as the rage swelled within. Her eyes nearly burned a path across the carpet as she turned and glared at her mother.
“He just murdered my daughter.” Her voice combined anger and disbelief.
Natalie blinked uneasily, struggling to answer. “Your father is a very smart man, Tanya. He knows what he’s doing.”
“No, I know what he’s doing.” She glanced at the FBI agent monitoring the phone. “I want you out of here,” she told him.
Her mother rose. “Tanya, please. Don’t overreact.”
She shook with rage. “The kidnappers have threatened to kill Kristen if the cops are involved. And so what do we do? We have the FBI sitting in my living room and my self-centered excuse for a father declaring war on national television. I’m not overreacting. I’m taking control. Somebody has to.”
Natalie took her hand. “I wish you would just wait.”
“Wait until she’s dead?�
�� she shouted, shaking free. “No, Mom. I’m not waiting.”
She grabbed the agent’s coat and threw it at him, then ran to the door and flung it open. “Get out of my house! Take your guns, your radios, your tanks, your bazookas, and whatever the hell else it is that you and General Howe think it will take to wage war and get my daughter killed. Get out!”
Cold air rushed through the open door, sending a chill through the room. The agent looked at Natalie. “We have to abide by the wishes of Kristen’s mother,” he said, then glanced at Tanya. “We’ll check back in the morning to make sure your decision is final.”
She slammed the door shut as he crossed the threshold. She stood frozen for a moment, alone in the foyer. Her eyes locked on a pair of small, muddy sneakers behind the door-Kristen’s shoes, laying right where she always left them, despite her mother’s nagging.
Tanya picked one up and clutched it. Her shoulders began to heave. She slumped against the door as the tears began to flow.
Allison had watched the general’s broadcast from her townhouse in Georgetown. She was on the telephone immediately, checking with David Wilcox and others to see if anyone in her camp knew about the ransom demand. If the leak had come from within the Leahy campaign, she wanted to deal with it immediately. She left it to her aide to arrange a morning meeting at campaign headquarters, then she retired to her library to prepare a response to the general’s broadcast.
Just after 10:00 P.M. the doorbell rang. Her maid answered in the company of a Secret Service agent. Allison was on her way to the kitchen for a coffee refill when she saw Harley Abrams standing in the foyer. She stopped in the hall.
“Come in,” she said.
Harley handed his coat to the maid, then followed Allison into the library.
“Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
They sat facing each other in matching leather armchairs. Harley scanned the room, seeming to admire its carved mahogany paneling and marble fireplace. Or maybe he’d gone off the deep end and was checking for hidden microphones.
The Abduction Page 12
