She wandered the perimeter of the basement, searching for a door or window, but the only way out appeared to be the iron staircase in the center of the room. She didn’t need to climb the stairs to know the door at the top was locked. Her legs buckled and she dropped to the floor. Still groggy from the drugs, she curled into a ball and dozed off.
When she woke again, Popkov was standing over her, staring at her. She had no idea how long he’d been there.
“What did you inject me with?” Scottie asked.
“Nothing to worry about. Yet. That was just a harmless tranquilizer, but if you run your mouth or cause me any trouble, I will shoot you high with heroin and keep you there.”
Scottie’s skin crawled at the thought of poison pumping through her veins. She’d written a story about heroin addiction for the Richmond Times Dispatch a couple years back. During her research, she’d interviewed several recovering addicts. Prisoner or not, no way would she want to trade places with them, to fight that battle every day.
“I don’t understand what you want with me,” she said. “I’m no longer a threat to you now that the photos have been released. Just let me go. I promise not to tell anyone.”
“Ah… but you are the innocent one now, aren’t you?” He lifted a lock of her hair to his nose and sniffed it. “It’s all about revenge, my little friend.”
Scottie flinched. “You’ll never get away with it. Your face is plastered over every computer and television screen in the country. It’s only a matter of time before the FBI finds you. You might as well book the next flight to Russia or wherever the hell it is you came from.”
His lips curled into a smirk. “The FBI? What a joke. They’ve been chasing me for years. So far, they haven’t come close to finding me.”
28
The following day, Guy met with some of his team members to discuss damage control. The fallout surrounding the leaked photographs of Caine and Popkov was presenting quite a challenge. Shortly before noon, he received a call from Roger Baird. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to take this call,” he said to those gathered around the table. He stepped out of the conference room. “Roger, can I call you back? I’m in an important meeting.”
“I’m afraid this can’t wait. Scottie’s been kidnapped.”
Fear crept up Guy’s spine. “What? When?”
“Sometime during the night last night. She seemed fine when my men checked on her during their shift change at eleven.”
“Are you telling me someone broke into Scottie’s house and kidnapped her while your men were stationed out front?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. To make matters worse, whoever kidnapped Scottie killed the two Yorkshire terriers that belong to the owner of the house next door.”
“What the fuck, Baird? Were your men sleeping on the job?”
“Just calm down, Guy. I understand you’re upset.”
“You don’t understand the half of it.” He turned his back on the nearby campaign workers who had stopped what they were doing to listen to his conversation. “Where are you now?”
“A block away from your office building. On my way to Richmond. Want me to pick you up?”
“I’ll meet you downstairs in five minutes.” By the time Guy returned to the conference room for his things, then made the trip down ten flights in the slow elevator, Roger’s black Yukon was parked illegally on the curb in front of his building.
“Start talking,” Guy said as he slid into the passenger seat.
Roger turned on his blue lights and sped through the city center toward the expressway. “I’ll be honest with you, Guy. Our men really screwed the pooch this time. Mistake number one, we had two rookie agents on surveillance detail. They reported nothing out of the ordinary during the night. When they rang Scottie’s doorbell at seven this morning to notify her of a shift change, instead of following through when she didn’t answer, they assumed she was sleeping and decided not to disturb her. One of them finally became suspicious around ten when the blinds remained closed in her bedroom. It appears as though the kidnappers parked in the alley behind Scottie’s house and forced their way in through the French doors leading from her courtyard. Nothing appears to be missing. Her cell phone was still charging on the table next to her bed.”
“What about her laptop and iPad?”
“All accounted for,” Roger said. “As is her purse with her wallet and car keys inside.”
Guy’s stomach clenched and he felt like he might vomit. “Then she has no way of communicating with us.”
“Affirmative.”
“And these men killed the next-door neighbor’s pets?” Guy asked.
“In cold blood. We figure there were two men. They would’ve had to kill both dogs at once to keep the other from barking.”
“Have you contacted Scottie’s family?”
“Her brother is on the scene in Richmond. Her parents, on the other hand, are celebrating their anniversary on an Alaskan cruise. They are somewhere between Anchorage and Sitka as we speak.”
“Scottie speaks highly of her brother, Will. He should be of help.”
Roger snorted. “From what I hear, Will is raising holy hell down there.”
“And he has every right to be,” Guy mumbled. “What’s your plan of action?”
“We’ll find out when we get there. If I have my way, we’ll plaster this bastard’s face on every news broadcast and across every social media site in the country.”
Roger’s cell phone rang and he answered it. For the rest of the drive to Richmond, Guy listened to the agent’s one-sided phone conversations. Just as he’d start to ask a question, Baird’s phone would ring again, interrupting him. Even so, Guy managed to piece together the important facts. None of the neighbors heard or saw any suspicious-looking persons or vehicles in the area during the time in question, not even the next-door neighbor whose terriers had been brutally murdered. No Jane Does had been admitted to any of the area hospitals. No ransom calls had come in as of yet, either at Scottie’s home in Richmond or at her parents’ farm out in the country. Scottie had disappeared without a trace.
Guy stared out the passenger window, his ears tuned in to Roger’s conversations while his mind reflected on the last few days he’d spent with Scottie. He knew she was in danger, yet he let her go back to Richmond alone. Regardless of how mad she was at him, he should have followed her home and stayed by her side until the FBI had Popkov in custody. He understood the statistics. He knew the odds of finding a kidnapped victim decreased with each passing hour. With no eyewitnesses, the FBI had little to go on. Without the make and model of the vehicle the kidnappers were driving, the traffic and toll booth cameras were useless.
The reality that he loved Scottie, that he might have lost the woman who could make him happy, caused an agonizing pain in his heart.
He thought about the way she fingered the tendrils of curls along her hairline when she was deep in concentration, the way she smelled fresh like an early summer morning. He thought about her quick wit, and the way sparring with her made him feel alive.
When they arrived in Richmond, Roger drove past the street where she lived and turned into the alley that ran the length of her block behind her house. “I need to see this for myself.” He maneuvered the potholes and came to a stop at the back of Scottie’s house. They pushed open a tall wooden gate and entered her brick courtyard.
“That was too easy, Roger. You are going to have a lot of explaining to do.”
“I’m aware.” Roger straightened his shoulders and held his head high. “Here goes nothing,” he said, and disappeared inside.
Guy chose to remain on the patio, letting Roger enter the lion’s den alone. Guy’s head was not on the chopping block. At least not this time.
He admired Scottie’s charming courtyard. An iron table and four chairs were set up beside a grill on one side of the terrace while a teak bench sporting an arrangement of brightly colored pillows occupied the corner of the other. Planters
in all shapes and sizes were scattered about with flowers spilling over the tops. Except that the flowers were looking kind of droopy, as though they hadn’t been watered in a while.
Guy located a spigot on the side of the house and dragged the hose from planter to planter, giving each flower a healthy drink. He was coiling the hose back up when a man who could only be Scottie’s brother, based on her description of him, came out onto the patio.
“Thanks for watering the flowers. It doesn’t take long for them to wilt in this heat. I’m Scottie’s brother, Will.”
Guy accepted his outstretched hand. “Guy Jordan.”
Will looked Guy over from head to toe the way most father’s check out their daughter’s dates. “So you’re that guy.”
Guy appeared surprised, even though he had no reason to be. He knew enough about Scottie’s relationship with her brother to know they didn’t keep many secrets from one another. “She told you about me, did she? Considering the situation, I don’t imagine she had anything nice to say.”
“It’s what she didn’t say that intrigues me,” Will said.
Guy hung his head. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
Will leaned back against the house, crossing his arms. “Then why did you?”
“I made a bad decision for a good reason. I don’t know how much she told you.”
“Everything,” Will said without hesitation.
“Okay, then. At least that makes it easy.” Guy braced himself against the iron stair railing. “When Scottie came to me with the photographs, and I showed them to my coworkers, they were ready to release them on the spot. I talked them into giving me a few days. I felt it in everybody’s best interest to identify the man in the photographs before we released them.
“I made the decision to go on the road trip with Scottie. No way was I going to let her go alone. The situation got more and more complicated as time went on. I eventually told Scottie that I worked for the Republican Party. I left out the part that I was one of the top organizers, because I didn’t think it mattered. Of course she didn’t believe me.”
“She can be stubborn like that.”
Guy gestured at the French doors, at the group of men gathered on the other side. “Are they making any progress in there?”
“Depends on how you define progress. They’ve decided to hold a press conference. The idea is to enlist the help of the American people in finding Scottie.”
Guy shook his head in disappointment. “Because they have nothing else to go on.”
“Exactly.” Will opened the door and a wave of cold air rushed out. “You might as well come inside.”
29
Guy wandered around the downstairs rooms of Scottie’s house, admiring her eclectic mixture of furnishings. The home reminded him of the person who resided within, her soft and loving side evident in the calm gray walls and carpet while her flair for the dramatic showed in the big punches of color from the art and fabrics.
He climbed the stairs to the second floor with apprehension. A part of him needed to see where Scottie last rested her head. Yet another part of him couldn’t face the reality of what had happened to her in that room.
He never got beyond the nursery.
When Will found Guy thirty minutes later, he was still in the nursery in the rocking chair with a stuffed turtle clutched to his chest. “I thought you might want to know, the FBI will be starting the press conference in a few minutes.”
“Great!” Guy tossed the stuffed turtle in the crib. “I can hardly wait to hear what those bumbling idiots have to say.”
“They don’t inspire much confidence, do they?” Will dropped down to the daybed next to Guy. “Scottie needs to clean out this room. Holding on to all this stuff isn’t healthy.”
“She told me about her miscarriages, and about Mary, but being in this room makes it all the more real.”
“I’m surprised she told you about Mary,” Will said. “She swore to keep that secret to her grave. She must really trust you.”
“Trusted,” Guy said. “As in past tense. She’ll never forgive me for lying to her.”
“Yes she will. Scottie never holds a grudge for long.” Will got up and walked over to the crib, giving the mobile a hard push. “Scottie wants children more than anything. Who knows if she’ll ever be able to have them?”
“She will. It’s just not her time.”
Will gave the mobile another solid punch, sending the zoo animals in one tangled mess to the mattress. “If Popkov has anything to do with it, she won’t live to see another day.”
Guy buried his face in his hands. “She’s already been through so much. I should’ve protected her. I should’ve never let her out of my sight after we left the beach.”
“I’m her brother. How do you think I feel?” Will rubbed his eyes with his balled fists. “I should’ve been here last night, and not at some business dinner.”
Guy jumped to his feet. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t just sit around here waiting for the FBI to find her.”
Will followed him out of the room. “I’m with you, man. Did you have anything specific in mind?”
“Not exactly,” Guy said over his shoulder. “Why don’t we start with the press conference and go from there?”
Guy and Will joined the crowd gathered in the front yard. The police had cordoned off the street, preventing cars from entering or leaving the block, and reporters had strategically placed microphones and cameras in front of Scottie’s door waiting to capture Roger Baird’s address to the nation.
Baird raised his hand to get the crowd’s attention. “I’m going to make a brief statement, and then I’ll take some questions.” He paused for a moment while everyone quieted down. “The FBI owes photojournalist Scottie Darden a debt of gratitude for helping us crack the case in America’s most wanted mystery man investigation. The photographs she shared with us led to the positive identification of a man we’ve been tracking for nearly a decade. His real name is Mikhail Popkov. He’s a Russian immigrant who has been living in the United States illegally. He is wanted on charges of sex and drug trafficking, extortion, and murder. I’m sorry to report that Ms. Darden has now disappeared, believed to have been abducted during the night by Mikhail Popkov and his unknown accomplice or accomplices. Popkov should be considered armed and dangerous. We are asking the American people to help in the search for Scottie Darden. The FBI has provided photographs of Popkov and Darden to all major networks. These photographs are also available on the FBI website as well as a special website we’ve set up at bringscottiehome.com.”
A flood of hands went up and Baird fielded several questions regarding Caine’s association with Popkov. Finally, frustrated, he read from a notepad in his hand. “At a press conference yesterday, Senator Caine made a statement in which she denied having any sort of relationship with Popkov. According to the senator, one of her biggest supporters arranged the meeting with Popkov to discuss a potential donation to her campaign. She had no knowledge of his criminal activity at the time.”
Guy’s hand shot up, and Baird pointed at him. “Mr. Jordan.”
“You mentioned that you’ve been searching for this armed and dangerous man for nearly a decade. Considering all the resources the FBI has, how is it that Popkov has eluded you for all these years?”
“That’s a good question. Popkov has used a series of aliases and disguises over the years. His identity is multilayered. The photographs Ms. Darden shared with us were vital in helping us connect a few dots, if you will.”
Guy raised his hand again. “What’s to prevent him from using one of his aliases to try and escape the country?”
“Nothing. In fact, we fully expect Popkov to go underground. That’s why the sooner we can bring him in the better. As I mentioned earlier, all known aliases and photographs are available on the special website we’ve dedicated to bringing Scottie home. Newsrooms, please provide that web address on the bottom of our viewers’ screens.”
Guy’
s hand went up yet again. “Do you have any information regarding the escape vehicle?”
Baird’s jaw tightened. “No, another good question, Guy,” he said, his voice tinged with irritation. “We are going door to door in the neighborhood in search of anyone who might have seen a strange vehicle in the area last night between the hours of eleven and three a.m.”
Guy was on the cusp of asking another question, one about the murdered pets next door, when Will leaned in and said, “Don’t make him mad. We need him on our side.”
Baird wrapped up the press conference, and Guy followed him back inside. He needed answers and he intended to get them. It wasn’t until he had cornered Baird in the dining room that he realized Will was no longer behind him.
“Every second counts here, Baird,” Guy said, getting so close to the agent’s face he could smell the onions he’d eaten for lunch. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that. But I need you to tell me what you’re doing to find her.”
“Everything within our power, Guy.” Placing his hands on Guy’s shoulders, Baird gently backed him up three steps. “We’ve tapped the phone lines here, and at Scottie’s parents’ farm. The traffic cameras are useless without some clue about the vehicle they are driving. I promise you, we’ll follow up on every lead that comes in. It’ll take an army of agents to investigate the case, but I’m confident something will turn up.”
“Where are you planning to monitor these calls?” Guy asked.
“We’ll keep a small team here, at Scottie’s house. The rest of the calls will be directed to a call center we’re setting up at headquarters in DC.”
Guy’s shoulders slumped. “What can I do to help?”
Baird thought about it for a minute. “Are you headed back to DC?”
“Probably.” Guy hadn’t thought ahead to the next step. “I want to be close to the call center.”
“Can I schedule some time for you to work with our sketch artist on a composite of Popkov’s assistant?” Baird asked.
Guy narrowed his eyes. “I thought Scottie already did that?”
Breaking the Story Page 17
