by Rachel Lee
"Probably. How old did you say she is?"
"Nine, I think. And smart enough to get herself into trouble."
Miriam looked at her. "What do you mean?"
"She's assuming we're not part of whatever Art is up to. Maybe she's even letting us know she's aware the cabin is being watched by cops. Either way, she's aware she's in trouble, and she might try something that could get her hurt."
"Lips One, Lips Three."
"Go ahead, Three."
"The vehicles are here."
"Copy."
The FBI convoy had left when they pinpointed the cabin, while Karen and the team had gone ahead on the helicopter. Now they had transportation. The net was tightening.
* * *
Terry wanted to smash something. The airport, like the train station, hadn't been on the list they'd found in Michaels' apartment. Something was wrong. Train station. Airport. On the one hand, it was easy to shadow Grant in public transportation facilities. Terry could have a dozen men on him and they would be invisible in the crowds. On the other hand, it was impossible to set up a phone tap in a train station or airport without being seen. That seemed to be the kidnappers' strategy. But sooner or later, they would have to send Grant out into the world. He couldn't get to the cabin by subway, and Terry would bet he wasn't boarding a plane. He would feel better once Grant was in the car.
He barked orders over the radio as he headed for the rental car. Jerry was waiting in the passenger seat. "Reagan National," Terry said as he climbed in. "I don't get it."
"Michaels is smart," Jerry said. "He's got a reason. We just have to figure it out."
Terry scanned the list of locations. All of them had been in the north and east side of the city. It had made sense this morning. Bouncing Grant all over the city, but always closer to Maryland. "There was a logic to this list. There has to be a logic to not using it."
He headed south, toward I-295. The highway would be the fastest way to the airport. Once he got to it. Minutes later, mired in traffic, he understood Michaels' logic. Maybe he'd expected the list to be found. He reached for the siren.
"All our people are on the wrong side of the city," he said. "No way will any of us get to the airport before the subway does. Unless Grant stalls changing trains at Metro Center."
"And there's no way to tell him to do that, because it's a one-way wire," Jerry said.
"Right."
"Shit."
"Right."
Grant got off at the airport station and walked to the USAir counter. The woman behind the counter looked frazzled. "Long day?" he asked.
She gave him a tired smile. "They're all long. Can I help you?"
"Grant Lawrence. I'm supposed to have a ticket waiting."
She tapped away at the keyboard, nibbling on her lower lip as she waited for the computer to respond. She met his eyes and offered another smile. "The system seems to be tired this afternoon too. Oh, here it is. Yep. You're booked for New Orleans."
"New Orleans?" Grant asked, a bit taken aback.
* * *
"New Orleans?" Terry echoed, pressing the earpiece closer to his ear as he crossed the bridge, the airport off to his left, tantalizingly close but still several minutes away. And he was the closest of any of the teams.
* * *
"New Orleans," the ticket agent repeated. "Why do I think your boss surprised you?"
"He always does," Grant said.
"Damn right," Terry said, shuddering to a stop behind a mammoth SUV driven by a man who seemed more intent on his cell phone conversation than the road around him.
"Something's wrong," Jerry said. "There's no way they're in New Orleans. It's a setup, but why?"
* * *
Grant showed his ID and accepted the ticket. This was too well-planned not to have been thought out. But why?
"I'm headed for the security checkpoint and the departure gates," Grant said, hoping it looked like he was simply idly talking to himself.
* * *
Terry slapped a hand against the steering wheel. "Fuck. He'll have to lose the wire. The metal detectors."
* * *
"The mike will set off the metal detector," Grant said, pausing at the end of the line. "I'm going to have to take it off. I'm headed toward the men's room."
* * *
"Call the airport cops," Jerry offered. "They can cover him until we get there."
"They're too obvious. And we'll be there in ten minutes. Once I get past this idiot."
* * *
Grant stepped into the stall and stripped to the waist. He grunted as the tape tore away from his back, feeling like a trained animal jumping through hoops. But he would do whatever he had to to get his girls back.
"Bye, guys," he said into the mike. "I'm leaving it taped inside the third stall, in the men's room."
* * *
"Oh great," Terry said. He pulled the earpiece from his ear. "I'm not going to listen to people flush. I still don't see him getting on an airplane, though. That has to be a miss."
"We'll be fine once he gets in the car," Jerry said. "We'll be able to track him on GPS."
"Yeah," Terry said. "That's why we always have a backup plan." But his tone was ironic.
* * *
Grant made his way to the gate. A half-dozen business travelers were slouched in the seats, reading, noodling at laptops or staring out at the tarmac. Their faces all read the same. Another day, another flight.
He approached the gate desk and proffered his ticket, trying to adopt the same tired, casual attitude he saw around him. Inside, his stomach roiled. The gate agent looked at the ticket, then looked at him.
"You're all set, Mr. Lawrence. Oh, wait. Someone left a message for you." The agent handed him an envelope. "Enjoy your flight."
"Thanks," Grant said.
* * *
"I hate not knowing what's going on," Terry said. They had finally passed the SUV, and he now swung on to the exit ramp for the airport.
"We'll find him," Jerry said. "Or we'll pick him up in New Orleans. I can get us on a government jet, if we have to. We'd get there before he does."
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
* * *
Leave the gate area and go to the Budget rental counter. There's a car in your name. Drop this message and your cell phone in the garbage can on the way out of the departure gate. You are being watched.
Grant cursed under his breath. He fought against the urge to look around and find who was watching him, to find them and slam them up against a wall until they gave up his daughters. God protect Art Wallace and Bill Michaels. Because if he found them, they would need divine protection.
He crumpled the note and dropped it and his cell phone in the trash can next to a water fountain. Fear battled with grim determination. Grim determination won. He headed for the rental car counters.
* * *
"D.C. Homicide," Terry said, flashing a badge at a startled curbside parking cop.
The cop nodded and wrinkled his forehead as the two men sped past him.
Jerry scanned the visual cacophony of signs, looking for directions to the USAir departure gates. "This way," he said, taking off at a run.
"I'm at the airport," Terry said into his walkie-talkie. "We're going to the gate. We'll signal Grant into the men's room or something. Find out what's happening and make plans."
"Copy that," Miriam's voice said.
"Michaels is one smart son of a bitch."
"You're smarter," Miriam answered. "Out."
* * *
"The airport metal detector was clever," Karen said, not taking her eyes off the cabin. "But they couldn't have known Grant would get started so quickly. He'll have to wait for the flight. Terry will get there."
"Yes, he will," Miri said. "Damn. I was sure they'd make the exchange here. Why New Orleans, of all places?"
Karen glanced up at the fading light. "Because we wouldn't have thought of it. We'd be saying the same thing if they'd put him on a fligh
t to Boston or Memphis or wherever. Because it's anywhere but here."
"Lead us away from the kids. What if Michaels is going to pick up the ransom? Do we go in?"
"We have to," Karen said. "Art Wallace isn't going to give those girls up. This isn't about the money."
"I agree."
"We'll just have to see what Terry finds out when he catches up to Grant."
"Waiting," Miri said.
"Waiting."
Outside the airport there was a line at the Budget counter. Grant tried not to look as impatient as he felt. The woman at the front of the line wanted an SUV. The clerk was offering a minivan, all he had. She was holding out for an SUV. It looked like an unbreakable deadlock. He could be here all night.
* * *
"Lips One, Lips Five. The front door just opened."
Karen felt her heart slam. "Say again, Five?"
She could feel Miriam tensing beside her. Her voice crackled with adrenaline. "What's going on, Five?"
"Target is in the doorway. Repeat, target is in the doorway."
"What about the packages?" Miri asked.
"Negative."
"I see them," Karen said. "In the back window. All four of them."
She looked at Miri. "I can't believe he's going to leave those girls out in the woods alone."
"He's not," Miri said. "He just thinks he is."
Karen thought a moment. "What's going on, Five?"
"Target is out and closing the door. He has a long package under his arm. Looks like a rifle to me. I have a clear shot now. Repeat. I have a clear shot."
"Negative, Five," Karen said. "If he's separating from the packages, let him get farther away. Follow him. Once he's gone, we'll get the girls out and safe. Then you can take him."
"Copy that."
She turned to Miri. "I think we've got him."
27
Terry flashed his badge at the security checkpoint and nodded at Connally. "He's with me. Joint task force with the FBI."
The minor functionary at the checkpoint had a job to do, and he wasn't going to be deterred by what could be fake IDs and a high-sounding story. It was exactly the kind of lie a terrorist might tell.
"I need to call this in," he said.
Terry bit his lip. "This is a police emergency. There are four innocent lives at risk."
"I need to call this in," the security guard repeated. "Who is your superior?"
Terry handed him the walkie-talkie. "My superior is staking out a hostage situation. You're welcome to talk to her."
"That could be anyone," the guard said. "Who can I call at the FBI?"
This was beyond belief, Jerry thought. Trust airport security to be airtight at the worst possible moment. He felt his breathing quicken, his fists clenching.
Tyson raised the walkie-talkie to his mouth. "Clam Two to Lips Two. Agent Anson, I have a problem here."
* * *
"We simply don't have any SUVs," the supervisor said. "I'm sorry, ma'am. If you'd had a reservation, things would be different. We'd have one waiting. But those are very popular vehicles. I'm sorry. As the agent said, we do have a minivan."
Grant ground his teeth. Take the minivan, he thought. Take a Yugo. Take a skateboard. Just take something!
* * *
"Target is moving, Clam," Miri said. "Kinda busy here."
"What's your boss's number?" Terry asked. "Believe it or not, I'm having trouble clearing the security gate."
Miri rattled off the name and number, which Terry repeated to the gate guard, who in turn dialed a phone.
"Lips out," Miri said.
The guard paused a moment, phone to ear, then hung it up. "I'm sorry, but there's no answer. Just a voice mail. Now, if you'd like to leave your weapons and radio here, I can process you."
Jerry had had enough. The right cross connected solidly with the guard's jaw. Pain shot up his hand, but it was quickly followed by satisfaction as the guard sagged to the floor. Applause broke out behind them.
"Petty tyrants," he said, chasing after Terry, who was already moving as other guards set off the alarm behind them.
"Yeah, well, you'll probably get busted for that," Terry said.
"It was worth it."
"Maybe not. They're shutting this place down tighter than a drum right now." Then he glanced toward Jerry. "But…you beat me to it by about three seconds. Now let's find Grant."
* * *
"Target is pulling away in the car."
"Copy that, Five. We're moving in now."
Karen ran across the meadow, ignoring the twinges as her ankles rolled over uneven ground. She would feel it in the morning. Right now, the girls were all that mattered. Miri kept pace beside her, snapping orders to the other team members, coordinating the net around Wallace's car. They had him. Once they got the girls, they had him.
* * *
"Do you have one of those new Volkswagens?" the woman asked. "They're cute."
Both the rental agent and supervisor looked as if manna had fallen from heaven. "As a matter of fact, we do, ma'am. Will you need collision insurance?"
Grant shifted impatiently, one foot to the other, as they completed the transaction. Finally.
"May I help you?" the agent said, smiling in relief as he approached the counter.
"Grant Lawrence. I have a reservation."
Once again the type-and-wait. Then, "Yes, here it is. You're in a Taurus. It's prepaid." She wrote the lot and space number on a paper key ring and handed him the key. Her voice brightened out of habit. "Enjoy your stay in our nation's capital."
He was already walking away.
* * *
Terry slowed to a walk as he reached the gate attendant and offered his badge. "D.C. Homicide."
The woman nodded. "How can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Grant Lawrence. He's booked to New Orleans."
Jerry looked around the gate area. Grant was nowhere to be seen. "Has he boarded already?"
She shook her head. "We don't board for another forty minutes. And he left."
"What?" Terry asked.
"Someone had left a message for him. He read it and left in a hurry."
"Do you know what the message was?"
"No," she said. "It was in an envelope. I didn't open it."
"Damn," Jerry said.
"Yeah," Terry agreed.
"Whatever it was, it upset him," the attendant said. "He muttered a curse and threw the note away. Even threw away his cell phone."
Terry's eyes lit up. "Where?"
She pointed. "In that can."
Jerry was already moving. He began to dig through the can. It hadn't been emptied in a couple of hours, at least.
"Fuck that," Terry said, hefting the can and tipping it over. "We don't have time to be neat."
* * *
"Check the door for traps," Miri said as they rounded the cabin. "Just in case."
"He doesn't know we're here," Karen said. "And he wouldn't risk his daughters."
"Check anyway."
They never got the chance.
Cathy Suzanne opened the door. "Are you here to take us to my daddy?"
Karen crouched and took the girl in her arms. "Yes, Cathy. That's exactly what we're here to do."
"Lips Five, Lips Two," Miri said. "We've got them. Take him."
"Copy that. Five out."
* * *
Grant climbed into the car. He turned down the visors, then opened the glove compartment. There it was. He opened the envelope.
Take I-66 west to Tyson's Corner Mall. There will be further instructions taped inside the lid of the trash can to the left of the north entrance to Sears. You have twenty minutes. This car has GPS. You are being monitored. Follow instructions exactly.
He pulled out of the lot and headed north toward Arlington and his assigned route.
* * *
"Found it!" Terry said, smoothing the message.
"What's it say?" Jerry asked.
* * *
"Lips Four, stop the target. Repeat, stop the target. Lips Three, cover."
"Copy that," the voices said.
Karen tried to listen to the messages passing over the radio, even as the girls babbled questions. Four hundred yards away, in the woods, someone had Art Wallace in the sights of a sniper scope. The girls were safe. It was over.
Terry's voice came over the radio. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!"
"Lips Three and Four, hold!" Miri said. "What is it, Clam Two? We have the girls and are ready to move."
"I've lost Clam One. He's left the airport in a rental car. I have no idea where he's going. He had to take off the wire at the security gate, and they put him in another car. He's gone. Fuck."
"Cancel intercept!" Miri shouted into the mike. "I say again, cancel intercept."
"Lips Two, Lips Five. What's going on?"
"We've got the packages," Miri said, "but we've lost Clam One. I say again, we've lost Clam One. We have to assume he's being led to an ambush."
"Five concurs."
Karen looked at Miri. "Art's going to kill Grant."
Miri nodded. "You were right. It wasn't the money."
"Who's going to kill Daddy?" Cathy asked.
"No one," Karen said firmly. She met the girl's eyes steadily until Cathy nodded.
"What?" Terry asked, his voice crackling tensely over the radio. "What's going on?"
Karen took a slow breath. Everyone was on edge. This could get out of control very quickly. If they took Art now, Michaels might still be waiting at the ambush site. Two shooters would be better than one. And they had no idea where the ambush site was. Yet.
"Let the target go," she said. "Follow him."
There was a pause.
"Did you copy my last, Lips team? Let the target go and follow him. We have to know where he's going."
"We copy." It was Harrelson's voice. "Are you sure?"
"Just do it," Miri snapped.
* * *
Art drove on, unaware of the net that had settled around him. One more hour. Then Grant would be gone. Sixty minutes. Then a few seconds to settle his breath, let the sight settle on Grant's chest. Or his head. A half second to squeeze the trigger. A split-second as the high-powered rifle bullet flew through the air…
* * *
Grant pulled into the parking lot and stopped at the curb, ignoring the looks from startled shoppers as he dashed out of the car, leaving the door open, and attacked the trash can. The envelope was there.
