“Nothing personal, Jackson. Just business.”
* * *
WHEN ANDERSON AND GANT approached the front door of Jackson’s apartment, they knew something was wrong. The door was wide open and the house was a mess. They drew their guns and announced their presence.
As they turned the corner, Anderson saw the bodies of Jackson and Carlita in the corner. He knelt down to check for a pulse. They were both dead.
“Check the house, Gant.”
“All clear, Anderson. But it looks like our little gambler was trying to send us a message.”
Scrawled in blood on the wall was one word: Diego.
CHAPTER 11
NOAH NEEDED TO MAKE A CALL but paranoia set in. What if they’ve bugged my phone? He decided not to take any chances.
He knocked on Ricky Johnson’s hotel room door.
Johnson answered the door.
“What’s up, man? Come on in. You all right?”
“Yeah, I’m just trying to call Ellen and I can’t get a signal. You mind if I borrow your phone?”
“Sure, man. Here.”
Johnson tossed his phone to Noah; it slipped out of his hand and fell onto the bed closest to the wall.
“That’s why you throw the ball instead of catch it.”
Noah flashed a smile and chuckled, the first time that had happened in nearly two days. He began punching in some numbers.
“Are you sure you’re OK, man? The pressure isn’t getting to you, is it?”
“No, I’m fine,” Noah said as he began moving toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”
Noah returned to his room where he pulled out the card Cal handed him earlier that day and dialed the number.
“Agent Anderson,” said the voice on the other end.
“Uh, yes, Agent Anderson, this is Noah Larson. Cal told me you might be able to help me.”
“Yeah, I did tell him that. Thanks for giving me a call. I want you to understand that our top priority in this case is getting your son back safe and alive. I know this is a horrible ordeal for you to be going through at any time, much less this week.”
“I don’t care about anything else but getting him home safely.”
“I understand. And in order to do that, we need to know more about the people who have contacted you. What can you tell us about them?”
“All I know is that the guy I’ve spoken with has a broken English accent. He sounds like he’s from Mexico or Latin America. Beyond that, I don’t know much else.”
“Have they sent you proof of life?”
“Yes, to my cell phone. I still have those pictures and all the messages.”
“Good. Please forward them to my number. We also want to tap your phone in case they call again.”
“That’s fine. Do what you’ve got to do to catch this animal.”
“We’re doing our best.”
“Cal also told me that you’ve got a lead in the case. How is that going?”
“Well, I’m not going to lie, Noah. It’s rough right now. Our lead just turned up dead and all we have is a name. But we’re doing our best to uncover the identity of the man responsible for this.”
Noah began to tear up. He couldn’t let his macho image override his paternal emotions. His sniffles were audible to Anderson.
“Don’t worry, Noah. We’re going to catch these guys. You’ve got my word on that.”
“OK, thanks.”
Noah hung up the phone. He could barely see the screen for all the tears blurring his vision. He transferred the images from his phone to his laptop and then emailed them to Agent Anderson. Noah then composed himself before returning Ricky’s phone.
Could he hold up this week? The burden felt heavy but he had to do it. He had to put on a happy face for Jake. The world couldn’t know.
* * *
CAL SIFTED THROUGH HIS notes from Fink about the rest of the coverage for the week. He reviewed his assignments and wondered how he could focus long enough with the biggest story of the year—if not in the history of the NFL—looming within arm’s reach.
It was 9:30 p.m. when Cal checked the time on his phone. One minute later, it buzzed.
“Cal Murphy.”
“Hey, Cal. It’s Kelly. I finally made it. You still want to hang out tonight?”
“As a matter of fact I do. When do you think you’ll be able to get together?”
“What about in an hour?”
“Sounds good. Just call me when you get to the Four Seasons lobby and I’ll come down and get you.”
“Great. See you in a bit.”
Cal hung up. He needed to talk with someone about what was happening. The integrity of the Super Bowl was at stake. It was the story of a lifetime but Cal couldn’t touch it. Not yet anyway.
* * *
THE NEXT HOUR ELAPSED quickly as Cal prepared for Wednesday’s coverage. At 10:30 p.m. on the nose, his phone buzzed again.
“Kelly? You here?”
“Yep. I’m in the lobby. Come on down.”
Cal grabbed his room key and phone and headed downstairs. He and Kelly had been through a traumatic experience together not that long ago. They couldn’t deny the special bond between them. Was it romance? Neither could be sure. But there was an undeniable chemistry when they put their journalism heads together. They worked well together, something they hadn’t done since running from crooked cops and mafia goons across Southern Idaho a few years ago.
Cal wasn’t sure why he and Kelly weren’t together, but he knew it would be good to see her again.
It only took him a moment to spot her by her signature long legs and warm smile.
“Cal, it’s so good to see you,” she said, hugging him.
“You too, Kelly. Welcome to Houston.”
“Should be a fun week, eh?”
“Loads. I just can’t believe you took off this much time for the game.”
“Are you kidding me? The Seahawks in the Super Bowl? Who knows when this will happen again?”
“Well, you have a point.”
“So, how was Media Day? I saw you on the news.”
“Oh, that. It was just a big misinterpretation of events. No big deal.”
Cal knew he wasn’t fooling Kelly.
“Really, Cal? A misinterpretation? Is that what you’re going with?”
Cal was beginning to feel uncomfortable.
“Can I buy you a drink? I’ll tell you the truth once we find a quiet corner to talk.”
He motioned toward the lounge with his hand.
They grabbed a table and ordered a couple of drinks before Cal began talking.
“So, what is really going on, Cal?”
“OK, listen. You can’t tell anyone about this. Got it?”
“Deal. What’s up?”
“I hate to tell you this, Kelly. But the Seahawks are going to lose Sunday.”
Kelly laughed. “Are you kidding me, Cal? We’re going to crush the Dolphins.”
“No, I didn’t say I think the Seahawks are going to lose Sunday. I know they’re going to lose.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The game is being fixed.”
“Are you serious? By whom?”
“I am serious. And I don’t know yet. But what I do know is that someone has kidnapped Noah Larson’s son and told him that he has to lose the game if he wants to see his son alive again.”
“No way! Why haven’t you reported this?”
“I can’t, Kelly. Not yet anyway. I’ve got a friend who works with the FBI who called me wondering if I’d heard any rumors about a fix. I hadn’t heard any rumors but I saw a picture of Noah’s son gagged pop up on his cell phone when he went to look for coffee during our interview this morning. I told Noah that I told the FBI and that’s why he was angry with me. That’s what the cameras captured, but no one was close enough to hear what we were really talking about.”
“This is unbelievable. Do the feds know what is going on?”
“The
y have a few leads, but nothing definitive. This is the craziest story I’ve ever stumbled upon—and I can’t report on it.”
“Why not?”
“Well, the kidnappers told Noah that if they find out he’s been talking to authorities, they are going to kill his son. They’ll know he’s talked if I write about it. I can’t have his son’s blood on my hands, all for an article.”
“Wow. I don’t know what to say.”
“Yeah, I don’t know what to think either. My editor told me to sit tight with the information, so nobody else knows about it.”
“Fink is sitting on this? That’s a first, but understandable, I guess. Well, look, if you need to talk more about it, I’m here for you.”
She reached across the table and grabbed his hand. It felt sympathetic more than romantic. But Cal was too much of a jumbled emotional mess at that moment to decipher what a little hand touch meant.
“Thanks, Kelly. I appreciate it.”
Finally sharing his burdensome secret with Kelly felt good. If only he could help Noah get his son back.
CHAPTER 12
IT WAS WELL PAST MIDNIGHT in Las Vegas when Anderson zeroed in on his new suspect, Diego. Working in the white-collar crimes division, his investigations bogged down when they collided with violent criminals. His desperation led to a Vegas bureau-wide email requesting help on a potential gang member known as Diego. A quick response by a colleague who investigated gang-related activity yielded a solid lead. He even texted a photo of the suspect along with some other information that might be helpful for gaining leverage in questioning him.
Thirty minutes later, Anderson and Gant were banging on the door of Diego’s apartment. They arrested him for murder and didn’t wait to interrogate him.
“I know what you did today, Diego, and I know why you did it,” Anderson started. “But what I really want to know is who you’re working for?”
“Trust me, man. You don’t want to know.”
“Oh, I think you’re wrong about that. Now, who are you working for?”
“I’d rather go to jail. You don’t rat out this guy.”
“Oh, don’t worry. You’re going to jail either way. But I guess you don’t care about your wife and kids going back to Nicaragua either. Just put them on a plane with no daddy and let them rot in their crime-infested hell hole.”
“Hey, man. You leave my family alone. They didn’t do anything.”
“You tell me who you’re working for and I will. Otherwise, your kids will grow up calling some other man ‘daddy.’ ”
“OK, OK. Just promise me you’ll leave them alone.”
“Start talking.”
“A week ago, this guy asked me to deliver three briefcases of money to a guy named Gil. They told me to come back on Tuesday and collect something for him and to give him another briefcase with money.”
“Did this guy have a name?”
“Yes. His name was Javier.”
“Do you know who Javier works for?”
“Yeah. Rumor is he works for the Hernandez family.”
“The Hernandez family? The one from Juarez?”
“Yeah. That’s the one. When they ask you to do something, you don’t say no or else it will be the last thing you say.”
Nobody said a word the rest of the ride back to the FBI offices. Anderson wanted to know how his investigation had gone from a white crime to one being directed by one of the most dangerous cartels in the western hemisphere.
CHAPTER 13
CAL’S PHONE BEGAN BUZZING. He rolled over and squinted at the screen’s blinding light. Who’s calling me at 5:30 in the morning?
“Hello?”
“Cal, I thought you said your friend at the FBI could help?”
“Noah, is this you?”
“It sure is, Cal. And I’m not happy. The FBI’s lead wound up dead, and those bastards have probably already killed my son by now.”
“Whoa. Slow down, Noah. When did you talk to them?”
“Last night. I called Agent Anderson like you asked me to do and he told me the lead they had was dead.”
“Well, don’t give up hope just yet.”
“It’s Wednesday, Cal. Wednesday! Time is running out.”
“I’ll give Agent Anderson a call today and find out what else is going on. Just don’t panic, OK? They’re going to find your son.”
“You don’t know that, Cal.”
“You’re right. I don’t know that. But I believe they’re going to find him. Just don’t give up hope so easily.”
“OK. Call me if you hear something.”
“I will.”
Cal hung up and rolled back into the middle of his bed. Not that he could go back to sleep now. His mind was already wild with ideas about who was holding Noah’s son and what their real motivation was behind it all. Could this simply be about money? It always seemed to be. That’s the number one rule in investigative journalism, right? Follow the money. But in reality, it wasn’t always that simple. Following the money had led to the FBI finding one dead lead according to Noah. Every rule had exceptions.
* * *
CAL’S NEXT SCHEDULED PRESS conference was at 12:30, giving him plenty of time to prepare for his day. He decided to wait until the sun was up in Vegas before calling Anderson.
At 9 a.m. he dialed Anderson’s number.
“Cal? What are you doing calling me so early?”
“Just anxious to hear about what’s going on in the case. Noah called me this morning. He crawled all over me for telling you and was panicking that your lead was found dead. Is that true?”
“Yeah, that’s true. But we got another one after I spoke with him. And now we know who’s behind it all.”
“Really? Can you tell me who?”
“Yeah. But it won’t mean anything to you. It’s a name I doubt you’ve ever heard.”
“So, who is it?”
“The Hernandez cartel. Ever heard of ‘em?”
“Nope. Where are they located?”
“Juarez.”
“Mexico?”
“Yeah. Crazy, huh?”
“Oh, man. That’s not good.”
“No, it isn’t. But we’re going to work on a plan this morning to rescue Jake. We’ve just got to find out exactly where he is first.”
“OK. Good luck with that.”
“I’ll be in touch, Cal.”
Cal hung up. In an instant his confidence in the FBI vanished. Going into Juarez was a suicide mission. Mexican authorities notoriously refused to cooperate with U.S. law enforcement. And if they did, there were at least a dozen dirty cops on the take that would warn Hernandez. Everyone knew the cartels had the police in their pocket.
He decided to wait before he called Noah. No use in making the poor guy panic needlessly. Cal needed more facts, more substance. If he didn’t have enough to write a story, he didn’t have enough to tell Noah. At least for the time being.
Suddenly, covering the Super Bowl seemed like a second-rate assignment to Cal. He wanted to see these monsters brought to justice. He didn’t want his enduring image of Jake to be one of him gagged and guarded by his captors.
CHAPTER 14
RIVERA STOPPED BY TO SPEAK with Hernandez before starting his shift of guarding Jake. He was anxious to relieve Morales, who didn’t seem to care about the boy’s welfare like he did.
“You wanted to see me, boss?”
“Yes. I wanted to let you know the plan for the boy.”
“OK. Are we moving him?”
“Not yet. But I want you to dump his body as soon as the game ends on Sunday. Just throw him in the river after you slit his throat.”
“Are you sure you want to do that, boss? Why not drop him off at the border instead? Do we need to kill him?”
“Of course we need to kill him. He’s seen too much already. Did you think this was about playing daycare for the week? This is about making a ton of cash in one day. You think I care what happens to that boy? That’s why I let Moral
es watch him. So what if he kills the kid?”
“Boss, they’re going to want proof of life.”
“Of course they are. And you’re going to give it to him. Just don’t let Morales kill him until after the game is over. Got it?”
“Got it, boss.”
Rivera exited the room without another word. The walk across the compound to Jake’s quarters gave him plenty of time to think. He couldn’t believe Hernandez had become so ruthless. It was a six-year-old boy! He was innocent, a pawn caught up in an evil man’s game of greed. He didn’t deserve to die. But Hernandez had all but sealed Jake’s fate with a chilling edict.
Just throw him in the river after you slit his throat.
The words haunted Rivera as he knocked on the door to relieve Morales.
“Come on in. He’s all yours,” Morales mumbled.
Rivera noticed blood trickling out of the corner of Jake’s mouth and a shiner on his left eye.
“What did you do?” Rivera asked in a hushed voice as he stood in the doorway.
“What? Oh, that? We were just wrestling a little bit.”
“It looks like you beat him, Morales.”
“So what if I did?”
“We need to keep him alive—and we need his dad to think we are treating him well instead of using him as a punching bag.”
“That’s why I took this picture before I beat him up.” Morales held up a picture of a gagged Jake devoid of any visible physical injuries. I’ll send it to you now.”
Rivera fumed as Morales strode away.
“Are you OK, Jake?” Rivera asked as he shut the door.
Jake nodded. Then he started crying. Rivera pulled the gag out of his mouth.
“No, no. Don’t cry. It’s OK. I’m going to take care of you.”
Jake pointed toward where Morales just stood. “Then make that man stop hitting me.”
“Don’t worry. Everything is going to be all right. You’ll see your daddy soon enough.” Rivera lied.
He then transferred the latest picture of Jake onto a fresh burner cell phone and sent it to Noah with another ominous message.
CHAPTER 15
ANDERSON ENTERED HIS BRIEFING on the suspicious gambling case with knots in his stomach. What was once a strange betting pattern had now devolved into a kidnapping and murder case involving one of Juarez’s most dangerous cartels. He felt unqualified to lead the new interdepartmental task force to solve the case. He felt worse about the single idea he had to propose to bring Jake home alive and maintain the integrity of the Super Bowl.
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