She holstered the .45 against her body under her left arm and took out the smaller .22 she reserved for close combat. Also silenced, whomever she hit within twenty feet would be dead as a doornail if she wanted them to be, and never hear it coming. She holstered this weapon in the small of her back and smiled at her old friend in its leather sheath at the bottom of the box.
“Well, hi there,” she smiled as she slid the seven-inch blade from its leather scabbard and inspected the gleaming metal finish. She thought about all the times this knife had saved her life. It hadn’t seen action in quite some time, but she knew it was up to the job. There are a few more bad guys for you to take care of, she thought. She secured the sheath around her right thigh and felt as complete as she had in months.
Checking her watch, she figured another ten minutes until the detectives arrived, and she wanted to be gone with her small arsenal by then. She grabbed a few more items from the box: a small pouch—similar to a coin purse—that contained a few quarter-sized discs numbered individually, a palm-sized case containing a powerful night-vision monocular, a small canister that looked like an asthma inhaler, and a larger four-by-six-inch case that contained five small, dull gray tubes each about the size of a roll of quarters.
The discs and grenades were presents from Ace, JJ’s brother. The first were small discs of plastic explosives that she could remotely detonate by phone, or by clicking in a code on the small button on the back. The second were homemade flash-bang grenades, designed to blind, deafen, and generally disorient anyone for ten to fifteen seconds with their combination of bright explosive and concussive sound. She clipped the packages to her belt and pulled on her thigh-length, black leather jacket.
Checking herself in a dusty, full-length mirror in a corner of the basement, she was satisfied that the various arms strapped to her body were well-concealed. She grabbed a disposable flip-phone, a billfold with a few hundred dollars in American currency, and a fake driver’s license and passport JJ had procured for her.
Abby hurried upstairs but froze when she got to the top and heard a man’s voice. She stood listening through the cracked door.
“Sorry, we haven’t come up with anything on your daughter.”
“She’s not my daughter,” Abby heard Sarah say. “She’s my niece. Her mother passed away last year.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” the detective said.
“It’s OK,” Sarah said louder. “I’m going to pour myself a coffee in the kitchen. Would you like one?”
“No, thanks. Trying to cut back.”
“OK, wait here in the living room, I’ll be back in a moment.”
Sarah knew that Abby’s presence might raise some questions. Abby had to get out of there without being seen, so Sarah was letting her know where the detective was. He was in the living room, so Abby could sneak out through the French doors at the back of the kitchen without being seen. Quietly, she eased through the basement door as Sarah entered the kitchen. Abby held her finger to her lips.
Sarah nodded and gave a slight smile as she hugged Abby. There was no mistaking the hard bulges she felt under Abby’s coat. When Sarah backed away, she mouthed, “Be careful” to her, with a tear in her eye.
Abby nodded and mouthed back, “I will” before slipping out the French doors and through the back yard, where she had snuck into the house so many times before.
Sarah watched for a second as her sister disappeared, and was wiping tears from her eyes when the detective’s voice came from behind her, “Everything OK?”
She whipped around, surprised, with tear-filled eyes and nodded her head.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll give you a minute to compose yourself, then we’ll go over the questions, OK?”
Sarah nodded and stole one more glance out the back door, wondering if she would ever see Abby alive again.
***
Abby cut through a neighbor’s yard, behind a house that had had a For Sale sign on it for at least six months, heading toward her vehicle to get on her way. Just before she turned the corner of the house, she heard men talking. She stopped in her tracks and listened closely. After a moment, she realized she was going to have to find a new getaway vehicle. The officers were running the tags on her vehicle. It made sense. A car from outside of the country, parked in the driveway of a vacant house, they’d be remiss not to take a good look at it with a child missing in the neighborhood.
She was at least happy that they were trying to do something; though she also knew it wasn’t going to get them anywhere, and certainly wouldn’t lead back to her. The car had been purchased, registered, and insured all in a fake name that wouldn’t lead anyone back to Abby. All the exercise was going to accomplish was to delay her.
Easing away from the corner of the house, she looked around to figure out a plan. She briefly considered stealing a car, but that would get red flagged pretty quickly and she would never make it across the border back to the states in it. Not to mention cars were much harder to steal than the movies made it appear. Almost every car made in the last thirty years had a little transponder chip in the key, without it the engine will not start. “Hotwiring” a vehicle was a thing of the past, but it didn’t stop Hollywood from continuing to use the convention.
For now, she decided that she would have to travel on foot. She cut through another couple of backyards before coming out on a fairly main route near a shopping complex. A few miles later she procured a rental car under a fake passport, paid for in cash, and was quickly back on her way.
She would have preferred to go back to the border crossing that she had been using weekly over the months that she had been sneaking to Canada to visit Ava and Sarah. It was small, normally not very busy, and staffed by a rotating handful of agents willing to flirt with her, who never once had even glanced in her back seat.
Abby liked to think it was because she had a trustworthy way about her but was sure it had more to do with the cleavage in her black tank top. Either way, as long as no one was asking questions, she was fine with it.
Unfortunately, that border crossing was back in Maine, and to cut back in that direction would have turned a ten-hour trip into more than a day. Ideally she would be on a plane, but that was out of the question with small arsenal she was traveling with, so she decided she would head through Toronto into Michigan.
“It’ll be fine,” she told herself.
Traveling with the flow of traffic, she made good time. To ease her mind she had found a classical music station and concentrated on her breathing. She had to stay calm. Five hours later she pulled into a rest stop to stretch her legs and grab a drink. She also took the opportunity in a deserted corner of the parking lot to stuff her various arms into a black messenger bag and stow it under the floor in the trunk of the rental car.
While she paced around stretching, she looked at an oversized map laid out on the wall of the rest stop. She figured she was a little more than halfway there, and also realized that while she had a general idea of where she was going next, she needed just a little more direction.
As she hit the highway again heading south, she spent the next hour thinking about how she was going to find Bryce. She had spent the last ten months thinking about the time when this moment would come, that she would finally set off to right the wrongs that had been done to her. She wanted to plan a specific attack that wasn’t some idle fantasy of hers, and she needed some hard information.
Hitting the number two on the throwaway phone’s speed dial, she waited to hear the familiar voice.
“Who’s this?” he demanded.
“That’s how you answer your phone?” Abby asked in a mocking tone.
JJ smiled. “I had a feeling it was you.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“I’m an investigator, remember? Sorry, Abby, nothing new to report. I’ll be honest with you—I’m at a loss here. I don’t think we’re getting any further with this.”
“You said the inner circle would know, right
? Gaetano Rosso and his top men?”
“Yeah, but I can’t get to them.”
“Where do I find him?”
JJ was quiet a moment, processing what he just heard. “What?”
“Where do I find Rosso? Give me an address.”
JJ knew better than to laugh. She sounded pissed off and would probably come after him next. “Abby, you can’t just knock on his door and ask him where Bryce is hiding.”
“Watch me,” Abby shot back. “The game is over JJ. Ava was kidnapped last night.”
“Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“Holy shit Abby, when? Last night?”
“Yeah, in the middle of the night. The police have nothing. They’re not even trying.”
“Why didn’t you call me Abby?”
“I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking real clearly, but I’m calling you now. I know it was Bryce. It has to be him.”
JJ agreed, “Why would he do that though?”
“Maybe he’s trying to draw me out. He wants me to find him, so the least you can do is help me here. If you think Rosso knows where that scumbag is, then I’ll start there. Just tell me where to find him.”
“Abby, it’s not that simple. He’s old and sick. He’s barely left his house in years, and that’s the only place you’re going to find him.”
“The address, JJ.”
“It’s not a house, Abby, it’s a fortress. You’re on a suicide mission. You’re not going to be any good to Ava dead.”
“Well, I’m not doing her any good alive either if I can’t find her. Now, you’ve got a choice, JJ. I’m in my car, crossing the border any minute now. Once I cross, I can head west to Chicago and beat Bryce’s address out of Rosso, or I can head east to Boston and beat Rosso’s address out of you. Either way, I’m ending up in Chicago, so save us both a lot of trouble and give me his address.”
Abby and JJ had spent quite a lot of time together over the past ten months. He spent a day or two a week up north working at the rehab center with her, improving her hand-to-hand combat and firearm skills. Many years ago, he himself had been in special forces and served overseas. He knew what he was training her for. He also knew her resolve, and there would be no talking her out of storming the castle.
“Can I at least help you? You can’t do this alone Abby. Give me a day. I can be in Chicago tomorrow.”
“And I can be there in four hours!” Abby yelled back. “He has my daughter. Now give me the fucking address, or so help me you’re next on my list.”
They were silent as her words hung in the air.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean that. But JJ, please. I need to do this now. It’s my little girl. It can’t wait a second longer.”
“OK. Do you have something to write with?”
After she jotted down the address, she said thank you and promised to call later, or if she needed anything else.
She thought a great deal about what she was going to do when she reached Chicago. How would she gain access to Rosso and what would she say to him when she faced him? To that end, she had to make one more phone call, one she had been putting it off. Hesitating, she hit speed dial number one and waited to hear the English accent on the other end.
He was not a man who often answered his own phone. With an astounding wealth somewhere in the billions and corporations across the globe, he had assistants on six continents who answered his phones for him. Abby was in possession of a personal number that few others had, though, and it always rang directly to him.
“This is Robert. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
Abby smiled. His voice always brought her comfort, even at a time like this. “Hi, Robert.”
“Abby, my dear! How are you?”
Still smiling, Abby said, “I’ve been better Robert. How are you?”
“Who cares about me, my dear, what’s wrong? I can hear it in your voice.”
“It’s Ava. She’s gone.”
“What do you mean ‘gone’?”
“She’s been taken Robert. Someone went into Sarah’s house and took her.”
“What? When did this happen?”
“Last night, sometime in the middle of the night. It’s got to be him, Robert.”
“I agree, but the question is why? You’ve been off the grid. Very few people even know you’re alive. He can’t have any idea. It’s impossible.”
“But he has to be sure I’m dead. I know his deepest, darkest secret. He was willing to murder me in front of our own child to make sure it never got out. He has to be sure I’m dead, so I can never talk. This is how he’ll make sure.”
Robert thought a moment. “I know I’m suggesting the impossible, but hear me out. Suppose you do nothing.”
“What?”
“Hear me out. Do nothing. Don’t make a move. If you don’t come for your daughter, then he’ll be convinced you’re dead, right?”
“Then what happens to Ava?”
Robert sighed. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll tell you. He’s hated that child since she was in the womb. Once he’s satisfied that she no longer serves a purpose, he’ll kill her, plain and simple. It’s not like he hasn’t tried before.”
Robert quietly said, “I won’t try to talk you out of it, Abby.”
“Thank you.”
“Is there anything I can do? Have you spoken with JJ? You know, he’s much more than he leads on. He can help you. He’s just as sore about Eric’s death as you are.”
“I have spoken with him, and he wants to, but I told him no. I’m on my way to get answers right now, and I don’t have time to wait for him.”
“What are you planning, Abby?”
“You’d rather not know. Trust me.”
“Please be safe.”
Abby nodded. “I’m willing to sacrifice my life for Ava’s, but I don’t know how this is all going to wind up. If the worst should happen, please do what you can to look out for Ava and Sarah. Where I’m going, there’s no turning back. If things go the way I plan, the fallout is going to be monumental. You’re the only man I know who can move mountains, Robert.”
“You know I will, Abby. But let’s pray it doesn’t come to that.”
“But...”
“No, I don’t want to entertain the thought anymore. I can’t bear to think of anything happening to you. But if it does, rest assured I’ll do whatever I have to in order to protect your family. Stay in touch with JJ. We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s going on.”
“I will, Robert. Thank you.”
5
AGENT EDDIE VINES had given all of his good years to the FBI and was up for early retirement in his mid-fifties, full pension. That was a bit misleading, though. To say that he was up for early retirement implied that he elected to participate. The reality couldn’t be further from the truth.
He always wanted to be in the Bureau since he was a kid, and had been in since his mid-twenties. More than thirty years later he was on the high end of the pay scale for a senior agent with a salary nearly on par with many of his superiors.
He saw the writing on the wall two years ago when the agency announced significant cutbacks. After the debacle last year with the “Mob Massacre” (as the media called it) when his team gunned down those eight mob guys in an alley only to have forensics show that not one of the dead men had fired a single shot, he knew it was only a matter of time before he was asked to step aside.
At least they had the decency to make it appear voluntary. He held a lot of clout within the agency, and they didn’t want to make it look like he was forced out. But his director made it clear he was leaving one way or another, so why not save some face?
He lived a modest life, alone in a Cape-style house in the suburbs outside of Chicago. He used to have a wife. He also used to have a condo and a fishing boat in Clearwater where he planned to retire and spend his days fishing along the Gulf coast. The wife was gone and, of course, took
the condo and the boat. Last he heard she sold the boat for a new set of tits, which he was sure her new husband was enjoying just fine—in his condo.
Sitting on the small back porch of his home, looking over the remains of what was a beautiful flowerbed leftover from years ago when his wife had been around to tend to it, he was struck with the thought that he had no idea what he would do in two weeks when he left the office for the last time.
Eddie Vines was a man married to his job. He had no real friends, and when his wife left, the kids followed—a boy and a girl, now in their twenties with no use for their father unless they needed money. His work was everything, and for the last ten years, since his family went south, he had adopted a new family: The Rosso Family. The family he had spent a decade trying to take down.
He came close a couple of times. A few years back when old man Gaetano lost his son, things really went to hell. There was infighting for control of the family. Sure the old man was at the helm, but his son, Nick, was going to be his successor. When Nick was unexpectedly murdered, spats surfaced between the various lieutenants and their crews. The Bureau turned up the heat on their informants. They just needed to turn a couple of guys to get the big fish, Gaetano, and then the whole family would come toppling down.
Then Bryce Haydenson happened. This blond haired, blued eyed German kid was just some low-level guy in Nick’s crew and the furthest thing from an Italian in the whole bunch. His file was an inch thick, but the short story was that his parents came over on the boat, mom left when he was real young, and his alcoholic dad raised him with a hand as heavy as the drinks he poured. He spent more time on the streets than at home, got friendly with Nick when they were kids, and was adopted into the family for all intents and purposes.
Eddie took another sip of his bourbon and shook his head. The Bureau was on the brink of breaking up the family and this guy comes out of nowhere and takes control. Nick’s murder was never solved, but the Rossos blamed a rival family, the Patrizios, and Haydenson got to work dismantling them one butchering at a time.
Escape, Dead End Page 3
