Missing Person: A Riveting Kidnapping Mystery- Book 1

by James Hunt

  Almost instantly, Lane relaxed a little. “That was kind of him to say.”

  “Listen, I haven’t gotten approval for this, but we’re looking to expand one of the detective units in our budget next year. You still interested in moving up?”

  Lane straightened in his chair. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m not promising anything, but you do well on your detective exam next month, and I’d be foolish to not consider you.” Mocks leaned back in her chair and placed her hands on her stomach. “But keep that between us.”

  Lane stood then nodded and thanked Mocks profusely on his exit, leaving the door open as he walked back to his desk, giving himself a small fist pump that Mocks was assuming he thought no one saw.

  The truth was there were already three separate detective units asking about Lane, and provided he didn’t royally flunk the detectives’ exam, next year he would have a promotion. But she wanted to keep the kid hungry. To some, that might sound like extortion, but for her, it was just helping the kid stay on the straight and narrow. And the last thing she needed was Lane growing a big head.

  Mocks reached for the report from the utilities company that Grant requested on the house up north. The power had been turned on a week ago, but the account was registered to a bogus LLC company. She saw that Lane had tried to request the tax information, but she knew that it would take too long to get anything from the state. But he also included an appendix on the back of the report that listed other locations where the fake LLC had opened accounts.

  “LANE!” Mocks scanned the pages and then opened the top drawer of her desk that held all of her most pressing cases, which included information on Copella’s.

  Lane jogged into the office, slightly out of breath. “Something wrong, Lieutenant?”

  Mocks held up the papers. “What the hell is this?” She flashed the pages he added to the back.

  “Oh, well, when I got the name of the LLC that turned on the account at the house where the little girl was taken, I checked to see if they had any other utilities opened.” Lane gave a good-natured smile but faded as Mocks continued her scan of the papers.

  “None of these are in Washington,” Mocks said.

  “Correct, but I checked all fifty states and found that company had three other locations registered.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Mocks slapped the papers down, laughing as she rocked herself out of the chair, and donned her slippers. She snatched up the papers and then waddled past Lane. “C’mon. We need to get this to Grant.”

  10

  Links sat still in the chair in his office. He had stared at the same fixed spot on his desk for the past ten minutes. The tight ball of lies that he had woven was becoming unraveled. And the more those thoughts plagued his mind, the less he was able to control his anger.

  He popped up from his chair like a jack-in-the-box and paced the open patch of carpet in front of his desk. The door was closed, blocking out the angered muttering of a madman losing his grip. If they had been able to find the mother, then it wouldn’t be much longer until they found the father, and Charles Copella still hadn’t cracked. Which meant that he didn’t have the money, which meant that he didn’t have any offering to Joza.

  Links stopped the pacing halfway back to his desk when his eyes caught the nameplate on his desk. It read Nathan Links in gold letters, and below that FBI Director.

  The halogen of the lights in his office made the gold on the plaque shine, and suddenly all of the memories from the years it had taken to get to this point flooded back to him. All of the sacrifices he made, the time and effort he poured into this bureau, and his thankless efforts of keeping the American people safe from harm. All for naught.

  Links lunged for the nameplate and then snapped it in half, throwing the pieces against the wall just as there was a knock at the door. He whirled at the intrusion, his face red and the veins along his neck throbbing. “What!”

  The door cracked open, and Beth, his secretary, poked her head through the crack, leaving her body outside the office. She was a mouse of a woman, plain looking, but she did her work well, and most importantly she never questioned Links.

  “I’m sorry, Director, but I have a few notifications for you.” Still keeping her body outside of the office, she stuck her arm inside, her fingers clasping the few notes of paper.

  Links walked to her, retaking control of his breathing, and snatched the notes out of Beth’s hand. He sifted through them quickly and then noticed Beth’s lingering presence in his peripheral. He looked at her and saw that she was staring at the broken nameplate on the carpet.

  “Is there anything else?” Links asked.

  “No, sir.” Beth bowed her head, quickly retreating from the door, closing it as she left.

  Links briefly glanced back at the nameplate but then returned to the notes. Most of them were standard messages, check-ins from the Intelligence Committee in the Senate, but as he reached the last note in the stack, he froze.

  The paper slowly trembled with the shake of his hand, and he walked to his chair, taking a seat, slowly, carefully. The note was from the archive office that handled the FBI’s records. Links had left instructions with the office upon his promotion to Director to be notified if anyone tried accessing files older than three years. And one had been accessed less than one hour ago. The file belonged to Matt Kover.

  But what was more concerning than the access of the file was the fact that it was Deputy Director Hickem who had put in the request.

  Links slowly closed his fist around the note, crumpling the paper in his palm. If Hickem was digging into Kover’s past, then the brute might find something that Links didn’t want to be found. And if Hickem actually started to use his brain, then Links’s circumstances could take a turn for the worse.

  The landscape was changing. And Links needed to adapt. He reached for his cell phone, dialing the contractors that Joza had provided. It was time for Plan B. It was time for him to get out.

  Grant followed Sam and Mary toward the office where Anna was being kept. He hung back as the pair paused at the door, Mary gathering her composure before entering.

  “You ready?” Sam asked.

  Mary nodded, and when Sam flung open the door, Grant heard Anna’s squeals down the hall.

  “Mommy!”

  Mary dropped to her knees, and Anna flung her arms around her mother’s neck. Both cried, and Grant even caught Sam shedding a tear. Hell, his eyes were misty too.

  “I’m so glad you’re okay.” Mary smiled, still holding Anna close, gently stroking her hair with her good hand, but Anna slowly noticed the injuries to her mother’s left hand.

  “What happened?” Anna asked. “Are you okay?”

  Mary nodded, unable to wipe the smile off her face. “Yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart.” She kissed her forehead and then hugged her tightly again.

  The pair lingered in the hallway for a moment, and when Mary stood to hug Sam, Anna noticed Grant in the hallway and then jogged over and wrapped her arms around his legs.

  “Thank you, Mr. Grant.”

  Grant knelt down to Anna’s level, smiling. “You’re very welcome.”

  And then Anna looked back to her mother, twisting her fingers around, and then swiveled back, her head down. “Can I ask you something?”

  “What is it?”

  Anna motioned for Grant to come closer and then whispered in his ear. “Will you bring back my dad, too? Please? I miss him.”

  Grant knew he couldn’t give her the answer she wanted. So as he pulled back he took Anna’s hands. “I will do everything I can to bring him back. But I can’t promise.”

  “Why not?” Anna asked. “You brought back my mom, why can’t you bring back my dad?”

  “Anna,” Mary said, calling to her daughter. “C’mon, we need to let Mr. Grant and Sam get back to work.”

  Defeated, Anna turned back toward her mother, and the two returned to the room. Grant remained on his knees until Sam walked over and offered a hand
to help him up. “I forgot what that conversation felt like.”

  “Yeah,” Sam replied. “It’s never an easy one.”

  “Grant, Cohen!” Multz called out to them from down the hall. “Lieutenant Mullocks has something for us downstairs. Says it’s important. Conference room three. Let’s go.”

  When Sam and Grant walked into the room, Mocks and Multz were already inside.

  “Where’s Hickem?” Sam asked.

  “He’s on his way,” Multz said. “Why don’t you go ahead, Lieutenant. We can fill him in later.”

  Mocks slapped the report that Lane had filed onto the center of the table. “Airways Plus.” She placed her hand on the paper and then slid it across the wooden surface toward Grant. “That was the bogus LLC that was supplying power to that house in north Seattle where Anna was taken after her abduction.”

  Grant flipped through the pages. “There are three other locations listed here.”

  “You bet your ass there are, and guess which one we’ve already been to?” Mocks asked.

  Grant recognized the address. “The cabin where we found Mary Copella is listed on here.” He smiled, passing the paper toward Multz and Sam, who grabbed for it eagerly. “If they used the same name to run power to the sites where they were operating out of—”

  “Then that means one of the remaining locations could be where Charles Copella is being held,” Sam said.

  Director Multz clapped his hands together and pointed toward Mocks on his path toward the door. “Good work, Lieutenant.”

  “Hey, it was Grant’s idea. I just did the legwork.”

  Multz propped the door open and paused in the doorway. “Sam, get with Hickem and try and determine which site would make the most sense. We’re probably only going to get one shot at this, because the moment we breach one location, they’re bound to notify the others. Let’s get this right.” But before Multz could leave, Hickem rushed through the door, a stack of folders in his hands, which he set at the head of the table.

  “Nice of you to join us,” Mocks said, her hands resting on her stomach. “What’s got you all flustered?”

  Hickem’s cheeks were red, and his breathing was irregular. “Director Multz, you might want to shut the door. There’s something I need to share with you.”

  Multz returned to his seat, and a general sense of confusion appeared on everyone’s faces. But they all leaned forward, intrigued by Hickem’s sudden sense of urgency.

  “What I say here doesn’t leave this room,” Hickem said, finally catching his breath. “I did some digging into the mole.” Hickem looked toward the door, running his tongue over his lips before returning his gaze to the table.

  “Hickem, what the hell is going on?” Sam asked.

  Hickem knuckled the end of the conference room table, his weight causing the wood to groan. “One of the guys from my old unit reached out to me. Told me that Agent Kover was taken to a black site.”

  “Director Links told me Kover was taken to DC,” Multz said. “There aren’t supposed to be any black sites in the capital.”

  “I know,” Hickem replied. “My contact told me that Director Links spoke with Kover at the site alone.”

  “Alone?” Sam asked, arching her eyebrows. “Was his conversation recorded?”

  “The FBI doesn’t run any recording devices at the black sites,” Hickem answered. “They’re used for the most extreme cases of holding and interrogation.” He dropped his arms at his sides and collapsed into a chair. “But when I spoke to my contact about it today, he told me that Kover had been black-bagged.”

  Grant narrowed his eyes, having a good idea of what that meant, but unsure if he completely understood. “So that’s… what?” He paused, waiting for Hickem to fill in the blanks. “Kover’s dead?”

  Hickem rapped his knuckles on the table a few times. “The term is used to cover a wide variety of outcomes. But death is one possibility.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Sam pressed the top of her hair flat with her palm. “So what does that mean? You’re telling me that the director of the FBI instructed one of your team members to kidnap a family under the protection of the federal government?”

  “That’s a big leap, Hickem,” Multz replied.

  “I know, and I wouldn’t have brought it to you unless I found this.” Hickem handed one of the folders he brought with him to Multz, who took it wearily.

  “One of the positions that Links held prior to his promotion to director was head of recruitment for the FBI,” Hickem said, Multz slowly scanning through the pages. “And when I checked Kover’s history I discovered that he was part of the last training class under Links’s tenure with recruitment. I thought it was odd, so I looked up Kover’s official assessment and found that the field officer did not recommend him for active duty. But Links overrode the assessment and gave Kover a pass.”

  Multz shut the folder and passed it to Sam. “This could mean a lot of things.”

  “Director Multz, the fact that Links didn’t disclose this information leads me to believe that he’s involved,” Hickem said. “He has a level of clearance that would have given him access to the family’s whereabouts, and because the FBI keeps tabs on any people of interest, he would have information on Joza.”

  “So Director Links is using the family to get the access codes to the money?” Sam asked. “Even if he was able to get it, he would have the entirety of the federal government hunting him down.”

  But while Sam worked through those theories, Grant kept his eyes on Hickem, studying the crafty deputy director. “Sam’s right. This establishes a connection but not a motive. What’s in it for him?”

  “I don’t know.” Hickem shrugged. “I don’t think I’ve met anyone with more tenacity at his position than Links. I mean, the guy has done more for the bureau at his post than any of his predecessors. He’s built himself a reputation the likes of Hoover.” He shook his head. “None of it makes any sense.”

  “We found something else,” Multz said, and then he gestured to Mocks, who filled Hickem in on the LLC company and the locations.

  Grant studied Hickem’s reaction, and while he had a rocky past with Hickem, everything about the man’s body language told him that he was telling the truth. Hickem was hearing all of this for the first time.

  When Mocks was finished, Hickem sat down, the wind knocked out of his sails. “I don’t know who else might be working for Links, so I think it’s best if we keep this information limited to a select group until we have a plan of action.”

  “Agreed,” Multz said. “So let’s narrow down which location we believe the family has been taken to, and then go from there, all right?”

  Multz rapped his knuckles on the table, signaling the end of the meeting. “I want something on my desk within the next hour.”

  Mocks stood off to the side, watching the office drones scurry about on the third floor where Sam and Grant’s desks were located. They were a few desks apart, but while she munched on a Pop-Tart, she noticed that Sam kept stealing glances at Grant. “It’s like watching two kids at a middle school dance.” She smirked and then waddled over, choosing to insert herself into the situation to see if she could speed things along.

  “Enjoying the view?”

  Sam looked to her left, finding Mocks smiling at her, one hand holding a Pop-Tart and the other placed on top of her stomach. Sam’s neck flushed red, and she shook her head, trying to play dumb. “Hey, no, just trying to nail down a location.” She expanded the satellite imagery of one of the addresses, finding it in the middle of a suburb.

  Mocks bit into the pastry, smiling. “Uh-huh.” She stole a nearby chair and pulled it next to Sam’s desk. She took a few more bites, remaining silent as she gave Sam the once-over. “You and I haven’t really had a chance to talk. Where are you from?”

  “Dallas, Texas.” Sam crossed her arms and spoke the words with a sigh.

  Mocks smiled. “Doesn’t sound like you miss it.”

  “I don’t.”


  “Bad memories?”

  “You could say that.”

  Mocks nodded and gave her stomach another rub. “It’s funny how people think that moving to a new place is like starting over. Like, everything that happened to you would suddenly be forgotten with a new landscape.” She looked down at her long sleeves and thought of the scars that were still imprinted on her skin. “You can’t just forget it.” When she looked up, Sam had turned her gaze on her.

  “You and Grant go back a long way,” Sam replied.

  “We do.”

  “Do you think he left the city to try and forget what happened to him?” Sam asked. “After that last case you two worked on?”

  Mocks laughed.

  “What?” Sam asked.

  Mocks struggled to wipe the smile from her face. “Nothing. It’s just—” She wiped the crumbs from her stomach and then set the half-eaten Pop-Tart on Sam’s desk. “Grant experienced a loss in his life that doesn’t compare to anything that I’ve ever known. He lost his wife and his unborn child in the same night. It was a weight that was heavy, but it was also one that he carried around for a long time and was still able to do his job, and to take care of those that he loved.” She felt the tears welling up, no doubt being stirred into a frenzy from all of the pregnancy hormones, and she wiped the corners of her eyes before they had a chance to fall. “Grant didn’t leave because he thought things would change. He left because he wanted things to stay the same.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mocks sighed, a sad smile on her face. “He’s forgiven himself for what happened to his wife. And he’s forgiven himself for what happened to the women who died on the case. But he hasn’t found something to replace it. He’s stuck on a loop, and I’m afraid that if he doesn’t get out of it soon, then he’s never going to escape it.” She turned to her. “He likes you.”