With Malice

by Rachel Lee

  He lay there in the darkness, running through the events of the past few days. Yes, he'd been lobbying hard against S.R. 52, but it had been honest lobbying. He'd made no threats or insincere promises. It was stressful, frustrating, sometimes angry, but it was the business of politics, and he'd long since reconciled himself to that process.

  He was almost ready to grant himself general absolution in the form of reading himself back to sleep when the thought wormed its way up from his subconscious. Grant Lawrence had been stunned when he'd called to express his sorrow and sympathy over the kidnapping.

  Randall had assumed the story was already out, but apparently it wasn't. Yes, Michaels had sources who fed him information before it was general knowledge—like anyone else in the system, Randall knew how important it was to stay ahead of the power curve with advance knowledge—and Randall rarely asked or wondered where that information came from. There were always those whose egos or avarice overcame their duty of discretion. That, too, was part of the game.

  But this was different. Grant's daughters were in danger, and leaked information could add to that danger. Michaels had a contact in the Tampa Police Department, that much Randall knew, but he doubted a cop would have talked about something that sensitive. There was, or should have been, a point where a sense of duty would again overcome ego or avarice. This was past that point.

  Any thought of falling back to sleep was now gone. Randall picked up the phone and called Michaels. There was no answer. He tried Michaels' cell phone. Still no answer. That was odd. Michaels knew better than to be out of touch.

  So where was he? The question suddenly made him feel ill.

  * * *

  "Cripes," Terry's voice said over the speakerphone, filling the study where Miriam, Grant and Karen all waited impatiently. "We had to go back six years. Six years! In case anyone is interested, the senator is one hell of a busy man."

  Karen knew he was trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere for all of them, but this time it wasn't working. "Just shoot, Terry, before we all gnaw our hands off waiting."

  "Yeah, we got it. I called the department and they're running a reverse on it. They'll call over there shortly with the address. Mr. Connally and I are on our way back."

  "Thanks, Terry."

  "Wait," said Grant, before Terry could hang up. "Can I speak to Jerry for a minute?"

  "Sure, Senator," Terry said, his deep voice calm and obliging. There was a rustle, a slight thud, then Jerry's voice filled the room. "I'm here, Grant."

  "Jerry…I want to know how the hell Randall Youngblood found out about…what happened." He apparently couldn't even make himself say the word kidnapping.

  "You mean this. He knows about this?"

  "He called to express his concern. I want to know where the leak is."

  "I'll get Sam on it right away. Damn. I always figured there was something squirrelly about Michaels."

  "Michaels?"

  "Youngblood's aide. His version of me and Sam."

  Karen jumped in. "What do you mean by squirrelly, Jerry?"

  "I don't think he's completely on the up-and-up, if you want the truth. He's as close to a hatchet-man as I've ever seen. If Youngblood knows something, it's because Michaels found it out. And he's not above dirty tricks, whether Youngblood knows it or not."

  "Well," Karen said, "I don't care about Michaels' character or lack thereof, but I want that damn leak plugged before it turns into a flood."

  "That's easy enough," Miriam said. "I'll have him picked up. He has knowledge of a crime that he shouldn't have."

  But something made Karen hesitate. Inside her, everything went utterly still. Then she said, almost before the thought formed, "No. Don't pick him up."

  Miriam looked askance at her. "Why not?"

  "I don't know. Just don't touch him. Jerry, if you can find out where the leak is without tipping off Michaels, fine. But…I don't want Michaels to know anything."

  Jerry was silent for several heartbeats. "I understand. And I agree with you, Karen. It's too big a risk."

  They disconnected the call, and the three of them sat in a room so quiet that the click of the air-conditioning thermostat could be heard.

  Finally Miriam spoke. "You think Michaels is involved in this?"

  "I think he might be. I could also be wrong."

  Grant shook his head slowly. "Why would a man in his position get involved in something like this? He could ruin everything he's supposed to be working for."

  Karen drummed her fingers on the console table next to her. "Maybe issues aren't important to him. Maybe he's driven by ego. It sure isn't money, not with what Wallace demanded."

  "I agree," Miriam said thoughtfully. "To have any chance of pulling this off, especially the ransom exchange, there's got to be an accomplice. And it's pretty damn suspicious that Youngblood knew about the abduction. Particularly as quickly as he heard about it."

  Grant's face tightened, his blue eyes darkening. "This just gets worse and worse. I at least had some hope Art wouldn't do anything to hurt the girls. Michaels is another kettle of fish."

  "Maybe it's not so bad," Miriam said. "I can put surveillance on Michaels. It might help."

  It was a thin straw, but all of them were willing to grasp at it.

  Terry and Jerry arrived a few minutes later, carrying the appointment book in question, with the number circled in red. They had barely entered the study when the phone rang. Grant answered it, hope on his face. Then his expression sagged, and he offered the phone to Terry. "For you."

  Terry grabbed the receiver. "Tyson. Yeah. Yeah?" He scribbled down the info. "I need a phone company map of the area. I know it's out of our jurisdiction. Damn it…. Okay."

  He hung up and passed his scrawl over to Miriam. "This is what we've got. You Feds are going to have to locate it."

  She looked down at it. "Oh, shit."

  "What?" Karen asked.

  "The bills are sent to a corporation in Florida." Then she laughed. "Oh, baby, we're on to you now."

  She flipped open her cell phone and began to speak rapidly. Shortly, she hung up. "We're going to get the phone company maps of the area. That damn cabin is about to be pinpointed."

  24

  Terry arranged for his department to stake out Michaels' D.C. apartment and the lobby offices to start the tail. Miriam mobilized the FBI's local hostage rescue team, and now they were all waiting for the task force at the FBI offices to pinpoint the location of the cabin on a map of the Maryland Mountains.

  "I'm going with the team to the cabin," Karen announced.

  "You should stay with the senator," Miriam said.

  "No. I'm point on this case, and I want to be there to ensure that no harm comes to those children. It's my responsibility."

  "I want to be there, too," Grant said. His face was so drawn that he was hardly recognizable any longer as the handsome, youthful senator who might one day be president.

  "No." The word emerged from Karen and Miriam at exactly the same moment.

  "You can't, Grant," Karen continued. "You have to stay here and make the ransom call. He'll expect you to start the ransom instructions from here. You can't do anything suspicious. You can't disappear."

  "My girls—"

  "Your girls will be safer if you do your part. Your part is staying here so no one realizes that we're on to them. Got it?"

  The struggle was written all over his face, but he finally agreed.

  "And, Terry," Karen said. "You stay with Grant. When he starts to move, I want you to make sure he's tailed without anyone discovering that you're the tail."

  "Obviously." He grinned as if he relished the assignment.

  "I want Grant wired before he goes to deliver the ransom. That way we can know everything that happens. He can keep us informed, and we can hear any conversations he has."

  "Good," Terry said. "That'll make tailing him easier."

  "We also need a position locator in his car. Unless someone else would pick up on the si
gnal?"

  "No problem," Miri said. "We'll get him a rental, one with a GPS emergency system. We can track him that way."

  Karen nodded. "That works."

  Miriam's phone rang. She answered, listened intently, then disconnected. "Okay, they've located the cabin. We're moving out in thirty minutes." She looked at Karen. "We need to get out of here without making anyone suspicious."

  "Easy," said Karen. "Drive me back to my hotel and say good night. You drive off. Have someone else pick me up at the rear service entrance."

  Miriam nodded. "Are you sure you don't want to join my team? You'd be good."

  Karen shook her head. "I just want those children back."

  Miriam looked at her watch. "Let's go, then. Time's a-wasting."

  * * *

  The first pink streamers were just beginning to glow in the east when Miriam dropped Karen off at her hotel. Karen made a point of going around to the driver's side window to make casual conversation, as if the two of them were just friends.

  Miriam surprised her. "Lean down and kiss me."

  "What?"

  "Lean down and kiss my cheek. It's the least professional thing you could do."

  Karen caught on. She bent and kissed Miriam's cheek. "Night, sweetie," she said, a little laugh in her voice.

  "Night, hon," came the response, and Miriam roared off into the dawn.

  Karen watched her go as if she were reluctant to see her depart, but as she did so, she also took in her immediate environs. Nothing out of place. Feigning a yawn, she turned and entered the hotel.

  No one followed her into the elevator. No one appeared in the hallways as she walked to her room. Inside, everything was exactly as she had left it.

  Unfortunately, she hadn't brought her Kevlar vest. The thought struck her as ludicrous, and she swiftly changed into a dark green slack suit, the closest thing she had to camouflage, and a pair of jogging shoes that were entirely too white. Well, she would see if she could drag them in the mud a bit.

  Then she left her room. No one in the hallway, no one in the service elevator. She didn't encounter a single soul until she stepped through the door onto the loading dock behind the hotel. Not a person was in sight.

  Then a bundle of rags near a trash Dumpster stirred. "It's clear," said a voice. "Go for the black Taurus at the northwest corner of the parking lot. Heiland is waiting for you."

  If there hadn't been so much at risk, Karen might have smiled at the extreme measures the Bureau was taking. As it was, she still felt exposed as she crossed the parking lot, weaving between silent empty cars that could have concealed almost anything.

  Finally she reached the Taurus. A man was sitting behind the wheel, smoking a cigarette. When he saw her, he tossed the butt out the window. She heard the thunk of power locks being released.

  "Climb in, Detective," he said quietly. "I'm Special Agent Heiland, and we have a chopper to meet."

  * * *

  They headed farther northwest and crossed the state line into Bethesda. "Where are we meeting the team?" she asked.

  "Bethesda Medical Center," he said. "Their medevac pad. It's the closest secure location we could find."

  She nodded. Perhaps it was because Miriam had taken charge of things from the FBI side, but she didn't feel she was living one of the jurisdictional nightmares for which federal/local relationships were so famous. Instead, she was glad she had someone along who would think of the things she didn't, and had the contacts and information she lacked.

  Heiland flashed his badge at the base security gate. "Project Clam Lips," he said. The security guard nodded and glanced at a clipboard, then waved them through.

  "Clam lips?" she asked.

  "It's one of the senator's favorite sayings," he explained. "Something about seeing them in the Keys as a kid. Anyway, that's the Bureau's code name for this op."

  Bethesda Naval Medical Center was, and looked like, any large, modern hospital complex. If Karen looked past the uniforms, she could have been at Tampa General. They pulled into the emergency room parking lot.

  "You're sick," Heiland said. "But not too sick."

  "Got it," she said, affecting a cough as they walked in the automatic doors and over to an elevator.

  They stepped into a car. A woman with a child was about to enter, but Heiland stepped into the door. "You'd probably better not," he said, nodding at Karen. She let out another cough. He smiled at the mother. "I wouldn't want your son to catch it."

  "Of course not," the woman said, stepping back as if from a rattlesnake. She looked at Karen. "I hope you feel better soon."

  "Thanks," Karen said, drawing a wheezing breath before coughing again. "You too."

  The door closed, and Heiland smiled. "You're in the wrong business, Detective. You should've been an actress." He pulled a walkie-talkie from his jacket. "Heiland here. We're in the elevator."

  Without his pushing a button, the car began to rise. When it stopped and the back door opened, she saw they were on the roof. "Special access," he said, walking toward the waiting helicopter.

  Miriam was standing in the doorway, a hand extended. Speech was difficult, if not impossible, over the rotor noise. Karen grabbed the hand and climbed in, then accepted the headset Miriam offered.

  "Meet the team," Miriam said, her voice a bit hollow through the helicopter's intercom circuits. She nodded to the black-clad commandos in the aircraft bay. "Special Agent Phil Harrelson is the team leader. Agents Levin, Garcia, Rose, Maxwell, Suarez and Dateman."

  The agents nodded as their names were called. Karen doubted she would remember them for longer than it took her to look away, but she had a day to get to know them. They were the men who would rescue Grant's children, and she needed to trust them.

  "Detective Karen Sweeney, Tampa PD," Miriam said to Harrelson. "She's lead for the op."

  Harrelson nodded, his eyes wary. "Have you ever worked with hostage rescue?" he asked.

  "Not since I was a patrol officer," she answered. "And all I did that time was secure the scene. So I'm trusting you guys to know what you're doing."

  "We do," he said, seeming to relax a bit.

  Admitting her ignorance and acknowledging their expertise had been the right move, she knew. She hadn't worked with FBI hostage rescue, but she had worked with aggressive males for years. Patting their egos, especially when they were indeed the experts, was always good policy.

  Miriam passed her a topographic map folded on a clipboard. The cabin, which looked to be nestled in a small clearing on the side of a mountain, was circled in red. On the other side of the mountain, a ranger station was circled in blue.

  "That's our insertion point," Miri said. "The hill mass ought to mask the noise of our approach, and it's only about three miles over the ridge to the cabin." She checked her watch. "It's zero-eight-ten now. Flight time is about forty minutes. A little over an hour for the hike. We should be on scene by ten hundred or a little after."

  Karen nodded. They ought to have at least seven hours to recon the situation. "Excellent." She turned to Harrelson. "Our thought was to take him when he leaves for the drop. What do you think?"

  "That's probably safest. We'll know more when we've had a chance to scout the scene. But yes, that's probably going to be our best bet to separate him from the girls."

  Over a decade later, the FBI still stung from the bloody sieges at Ruby Ridge and Waco. Macho heroics were out of vogue, and none too soon, in Karen's estimation. Harrelson and his team looked confident and determined. But she didn't see in their eyes an eagerness to wade in with guns blazing.

  "Do you need a vest?" Miri asked.

  Karen nodded. "As a matter of fact, I do."

  "We brought a couple of extras," Harrelson said. He nodded at her feet. "We also brought some hiking boots. Seven, seven-and-a-half and eight."

  "Eight," Karen said.

  "I was in the right ballpark then," Miri said. "I didn't figure you'd have come to D.C. equipped for this."

  Karen nodd
ed. "I sure didn't. I do at least have my Glock."

  "You won't need it," Harrelson said. He smiled. "You're here for your brains. We're the brawn."

  "Oh, I don't know," Karen said. "I bet we could muster a brain between y'all."

  "We traded those in when we volunteered for hostage rescue," he said. "Got extra brawn instead."

  Karen laughed. "Sounds like the makings of a good team, then."

  "Sounds like it," he agreed.

  She turned to Miriam. "Any news on Michaels?"

  The agent shook her head. "They hadn't seen him leave his home when I checked in with Terry. I'll check in again when we land."

  "He's gone to ground," Karen said. "Betcha."

  "I won't take that bet."

  * * *

  "Roo-Roo-Roo-Root-Roops!" Belle said, her face exploding in a smile.

  "Rat's right," Art said. "Roo-Roo-Root-Roops for everyone."

  Belle and the twins dug in with relish, but Cathy was more subdued. "Can I call Daddy after breakfast?" she asked.

  "We'll try," Art said. This girl was going to be trouble. "He may be at work already. You girls slept late."

  "He'll want to talk to us," Cathy said.

  Her voice was neither whiny nor confrontational. He could have dealt with either of those. Instead, she was unnervingly firm and matter-of-fact. He wasn't going to snow her. Not for long. But he didn't need to, not for very long. By tonight, she would be his.

  * * *

  Grant seethed in the inactivity. All his life, he'd been a doer. The grinding schedule of political life fit him to a T. Now he had nothing to do except to watch Terry make and receive phone calls, wait for reports from Karen and Miriam, try to make small talk with Jerry…and think. Way too much of the latter.

  "They should be at the cabin in fifteen minutes," Terry said, seemingly reading the look on Grant's face. "Then we'll know more."

  "Thanks," Grant said. "Waiting's hard."

  "Of course it is," the cop agreed. "Anyone who says otherwise has never done it for a living."

  "I almost forgot," Grant said. "You must have done more waiting than I'll ever know."