The Target f-3

by Catherine Coulter

  Mason Lord had forgotten that. He nodded. "Come to my study. It's quiet there." He shut the double oak doors, cutting off the repulsive sound of that game show in the living room and all those shouting low-class slugs.

  Ramsey said without preamble, "I understand that when you heard that Louey Santera had beaten Molly you were out there like a flash. That was well done."

  Mason Lord stared at the big man standing in front of his desk, at ease, his face open, his expression even admiring.

  He wouldn't have even gone to Denver if it hadn't been for what Louey had done. "I wasn't about to let that little creep hurt one of mine."

  And that was the bottom line for Mason Lord, Ramsey thought, relieved and pleased. "And naturally you'd feel the same about Emma. She's also one of yours. Who do you think is behind this?"

  "It's a kidnapping. Louey is rich-well, not as rich as he was before my daughter divorced him, but he's doing very well. His European tours net him literally millions, the wretched little shit."

  "No, it's not just a kidnapping. I told you there were a lot more men after us. How many more people would you need to mount a tracking operation like that? Say at least two more, all of them professionals.

  Not a kidnapping, sir. Something else. I'd stake a lot on that." Ramsey paused a moment, then said, "I'm sorry to have to tell you, but you don't know yet that Emma was taken to a cabin in the woods, high in the Rockies, and sexually abused and beaten. It's another thing we have to think about. Emma needs to see a doctor and a child psychiatrist. She has nightmares. Neither Molly nor I have spoken about this because we're afraid of making things worse."

  The blood drained from Mason Lord's face. For a moment Ramsey thought he'd be sick-that, or explode. He did neither. Gradually the color returned. His breathing was slow now, calm.

  He looked directly at Ramsey. "The bastards have just signed their death warrants."

  "I shouldn't, but I feel the same way."

  "You're supposed to uphold justice and the precious laws that protect scum like that."

  "Yes," Ramsey said. "I'm supposed to uphold the rights of all sorts of scum."

  Mason Lord looked at him sharply, but Ramsey's expression didn't change. "As much as I don't want to even consider it, you're probably right that there's got to be either a connection to me or to Louey. I will think about that. Actually, I'd already spoken to Buzz Carmen about my enemies being behind this. We'll see."

  "I want to leave Molly and Emma here with you. At least here I know they'll be safe."

  "Just what will you do that I can't?"

  "Your people didn't do much of anything in Colorado. No, my resources are more far-reaching."

  "Just who are your resources other than a whole bunch of cops and lawyers in San Francisco?"

  Ramsey shook his head. "You wouldn't approve, so I'll just keep that information under my collar."

  Mason Lord felt red creeping up his neck. He rose slowly, his palms flat on the beautiful mahogany desktop, but he didn't have time to say anything. The door opened and his daughter walked in. She was smiling. She said to her father, "Have I missed much? I'm sorry for being late, but Emma wasn't ready to go to sleep. You know, it's true- a mother's work is never done. Now, tell me what you're thinking and I'll tell you what I think."

  Ramsey winked at Mason Lord. "Might as well, sir. She's got a really good brain. It'd be stupid not to use it. You should have seen her drive the getaway car."

  Mason Lord heard the mindless music from the game show. He shouldn't have, not in his soundproofed study. Had she turned the volume up? He looked at his daughter's face. "Go back to see to your daughter."

  "Your granddaughter is peachy. She's with Miles. Let's talk."

  "Go watch the game show with Eve."

  "I don't know Eve. I don't like game shows. Actually, on my list of priorities at this moment, neither of those is very high."

  He wanted to tell her to butt out, that this was his home and he was the boss here. Then he looked at her eyes, filled with pain and defiance and determination.

  "Well, hell," he said.

  Ramsey Hunt smiled and nodded at him. He still had to tell Molly that he was leaving her and Emma here. He'd been avoiding it. He wondered if she'd take him apart. But he had to do something.

  Molly smiled at him, patting his arm. "Don't even think it," she said. "I overheard you speaking to Dad.

  No, Ramsey, no way am I letting you go out there on your own."

  Ramsey looked at Mason Lord. "Well, hell," he said.

  * * *

  DlLLON Savich said to Agent Sherlock, who happened to be his wife of six months, two weeks, and three days, "This whole thing just doesn't make any sense. I've tried lots of different approaches with MAX but he can't seem to get a reasonable handle on it."

  MAX was Dillon's laptop and partner, so he called him. Dillon's reputation in the Bureau was that he could make the laptop dance, and he did, that was true enough. Sherlock patted MAX's case. "You've got lots of supposition, but just a few facts. Unfortunately MAX likes solid facts, not wussy guesses from the ether."

  "That true, MAX?" Savich punched a key on his laptop. A deep mellow voice said, "Right, boss."

  Sherlock laughed. "I still can't get used to that voice. You're a sicko, Dillon. You're going to have to change the voice when MAX has a sex change again to MAXINE."

  "You want to audition?"

  "Do I strike you as a Maxine type?"

  He stared up at her face and just shook his head. "No, but don't worry, I'll think of something when the inevitable sex change happens. You should see Jimmy Maitland's face when I ask MAX a prearranged question. The first time he nearly fainted. Now he sits forward, just like a kid waiting for a Spiderman cartoon to come on." As a matter of fact, she had seen his boss's face when MAX had come out with "Actually, Savich, I don't think I wish to deal with this confusion anymore." Maitland had run out of his office, shouting for everyone in the vicinity to come in and hear this.

  She poked him lightly on the shoulder and said, "We've got to get more information. Ramsey called you this morning from San Francisco to check in. Has he called since then?"

  "No. But at least we know where he is."

  "Just imagine Ramsey Hunt-a federal judge-at Mason Lord's house in Oak Park. It boggles the mind."

  "Just to imagine that Molly's his daughter. Now that's got to be a real shock to Ramsey's system, having to go to Mason Lord. At least the little girl should be safe now. I hear that place is a fortress." He sighed.

  "Unfortunately, with Mason Lord's resources, I don't blame Ramsey a bit for not wanting to try his protection. I did try to talk him into calling the FBI, but he refused, said this was the safest way to go for the moment, and he's probably right. He also wants the little girl protected from the cops asking her questions, psychologists all over her. At least until we find out who's behind all this." Savich sighed again.

  "You want to see some photos we just got from a military satellite?"

  She smiled at him. "Do you know something of interest, sir?"

  "A bit." He punched buttons on MAX, waited a moment, and then the two of them watched photos of Mason Lord's huge house come onto the screen. Dillon hit another button and the photo changed to another view, this one from east of the vast grounds. "These shots just came in. I counted six different men stationed around the grounds. Now on to the boss man himself." He hit a key and Mason Lord's lean, very handsome face appeared on the screen. "He ain't bad, is he?"

  "No. Who's that? His daughter?"

  "Nope, that's his new wife. She's younger than the daughter."

  Sherlock made a rude noise. They looked at more photos. Finally, he hit a key and said, "This is Molly Santera and Emma, her daughter."

  Sherlock was silent for several moments. Then she said, "We've got to do more, Dillon."

  Special Agent Dillon Savich, chief of the Criminal Apprehension Unit at the FBI, tilted back his chair, looked up, and said, "What do you suggest, Sherlock
?"

  "For starters I'd go see that farmer in Loveland, Colorado. You know, the one who said he'd sold the truck that later turned up being driven by the guys chasing Ramsey."

  He felt a tingling down his spine. He sat forward, his eyes never leaving her face. "You think this guy knows who they are."

  "Yes, it makes sense. I think we should go there, talk to him, have a really serious talk. Besides, at the moment, there aren't any other leads."

  "Agreed. I'm with you on this one-that farmer knows. One of the guys from the field office in Denver can take a ride up there and talk to the farmer."

  She was shaking her head. "No, Agent Anchor is already involved. I'll bet he's also already verified to his own satisfaction that the farmer didn't have a clue that he'd sold his truck to the kidnappers. In other words, his mind is already made up and I doubt he'd change it unless something smashed him in the nose.

  The word about Agent Anchor is that he's got an attitude problem. He brown-noses up the chain of command at the Bureau and tromps on local law enforcement. Nope, it's got to be one of us who goes.

  We're not on the FBI's side. We're on the kid's side."

  "And that makes a difference?"

  "Maybe this time it does," she said thoughtfully, lightly stroking her fingers over two thick black strips that were MAX's speakers. She remembered hearing Dillon hoot when MAX had made his first statement, which was, if she remembered correctly, "Hooray for the Redskins."

  She said, "If it were a simple kidnapping, that would be different. But this is big, Dillon, and no one has a clue who's behind it and what they want. Well, maybe Mason Lord does. You know, that's got to be one of the reasons Ramsey's there."

  "All right. I'll phone the field office and let Agent Anchor know we're coming." Savich swiveled his chair back, pulled out his directory, and punched out some numbers on his telephone. The phone rang busy.

  "Damned thing. I think e-mail should be mandatory for everybody in every department and in every field office in the FBI, maybe even everybody in the world."

  She shook her head at him, picked up the phone, and punched in the same numbers. When it was answered, she asked to speak to Agent Anchor. She said to Dillon, "Phones hate you. It's time to face up to it. Just let me do the dialing from now on. Oh yes, hello, Agent Anchor. Agent Sherlock here from the CAU in Washington. I'm fine, you? Good. I wanted to ask you about the Santera kidnapping.

  Un-huh. Now, about that farmer you interviewed who claimed he'd sold his truck after his wife had reported it stolen?" In an instant she was staring at the phone as if it had bitten her. "You're kidding me."

  She waited some more, nodded, then said, "When? How? Any leads?"

  She asked more questions, then listened for a couple of more minutes. Slowly, she hung up.

  "What happened?" Savich's voice was tense, low.

  "You won't believe this," she said. "The farmer's dead. He was found three days ago just after dawn by his teenage daughter. His head had been bashed in with a hammer. Whoever did it just dropped the hammer by the body. No clues, no leads as of yet. Of course no fingerprints. As for other forensic evidence, we've got to wait to see. Agent Anchor said he'd call us when he found out anything more. He said they just found out about it from the local cops.

  "The locals said that no one saw anything or anyone. His wife said he always went to the barn just before dawn to milk the cows."

  "And someone was waiting for him."

  She stared out the window. "He had three other kids besides the teenage daughter who found him."

  "Of course it has to be tied to the kidnapping, or whatever the hell it is."

  "Agent Anchor thinks so, at least he now thinks there might be a connection. What do we do now, Dillon?"

  Savich pressed one of MAX's buttons and said in a throaty FBI interview voice that imitated MAX's,

  "We're going to kick butt, Sherlock."

  15

  "I'LL SAY IT again. No way are you going out there on your own. We're in this together."

  He grinned down at her. "Before we get into it, let me compliment you first. You did really well with your dad. You hung in there, didn't lose your temper, and finally he caved. He's pretty smart himself. What I'm thinking now is that I should go to Denver, get personally involved, work with both the local cops and the FBI. As for you and Emma, you'll both stay here." He saw the fear draining the brilliance from her eyes.

  "I can handle myself, Molly. I won't get killed. I promise."

  The emptying fear left her eyes and anger moved right in. She took three deep breaths.

  "Good. You're getting good at control. When my mom gets really mad at my dad, she throws something at him. My father can still move faster than any human I've ever seen."

  "I'm trying hard not to kick you in the shin. Listen to me, Ramsey. I know you mean well, but there's no way I'm going to let you go out there alone and put yourself on the line." She smiled at him. "It's all for one and one for all. We're the Three Musketeers. Call me D'Artagnon."

  "He was the fourth musketeer."

  "His is the only name I know."

  "I remember Aramis was one of them. Tell me, Molly, which one is Emma? Do we give her a sword or a gun, in this case, and let her fight right alongside us?"

  She walked away from him, rubbing her hands over her arms. Then she hugged herself. "You and I have done a good job of protecting Emma. Besides, I can't begin to imagine what she'd do if you just up and left. Don't you understand? Emma needs us, both of us."

  He cursed under his breath and ran his fingers through his dark hair. "Okay. So you're right. I agree. And I really don't want to leave Emma in any case. Now here's what we'll do first thing. You're going to call Louey in Germany and get him back here. It's very possible he's involved. How? I don't know, but it's possible. We need to talk to everyone."

  "I can try," she said and walked to the phone. Three minutes later, the speaker on, they were listening to the phone ring at the Bristol Hotel Kempinski in Berlin.

  Ramsey asked, "It's what? Six A.M. there?"

  "Something like that." She asked for Louey Santera's room.

  The phone rang three times, then, "Mr. Santera's suite. Rudy here. May I help you? It's just past dawn here, by the way."

  "Good morning to you, too, Rudy. This is Mrs. Santera. I don't know if Louey happened to mention it, but his daughter was kidnapped. Please put him on the phone."

  There was a miserable silence.

  "Now, Rudy."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  After a three-minute wait, Louey Santera said, "Molly, that you? What the hell's going on? Is Emma all right? I heard she was safe."

  "Yeah, she's just fine. However, all is not what it seems, Louey. You've got to come home right now.

  Today."

  "I can't. I have a concert tonight. Three more before I come back to the U.S."

  "Look, Louey, this is important. It's about your daughter's life. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

  "Dammit, Molly, I could probably come back by the end of the week, but not before then. I-"

  "Today, Louey," said Mason Lord, his voice soft and very gentle.

  "Who's that?"

  "Hello, Louey," Mason Lord said. "This is your ex-father-in-law. How are you feeling this morning? It is morning, isn't it?"

  "Yes, damn you, it's morning. So Molly went home to Daddy, did she?"

  "I suggest you get yourself back here, Louey. You can make the Lufthansa flight from Frankfurt to Chicago."

  "I can't, I-"

  "Today, Louey. There are many things we need to talk about. Perhaps you have some explaining to do."

  They heard a woman's voice in the background. "Who is that, Louey? Why are you breathing so hard?"

  Molly laughed. "Bring her along, Louey. No one wants you to get lonesome." She hung up.

  Ramsey looked ready to burst into laughter. He said, "If it were between a grand jury and your father, I'd bet any day on your dad getting him home."


  "Oh yes," she said, and yawned. "He's good at scaring people's socks off."

  "I like your hair," he said, surprising both of them.

  She blinked at him. "My hair? What did you say? You like my hair?"

  "Yes," he said. "I do. It's substantial, your hair. I like all those curls. It's good hair."

  "Well, I like your hair too."

  He began to laugh. She joined him. The door opened and Mason Lord looked in. "What is going on here? Why are you two laughing?"

  Molly just shook her head. "Will we be picking Louey up at O'Hare?"

  Mason Lord looked back and forth between them. "I think Judge Hunt should pick Louey up. That would catch the little bastard off guard."

  Ramsey merely nodded. "I'd be delighted. I've got lots to say to Mr. Santera. I'll use my old prosecutorial style."

  "My daughter," Mason Lord said precisely, "doesn't have nice hair. She looks like a grown-up Little Orphan Annie. She has her grandmother's hair."

  He'd had it. Ramsey walked up to Mason Lord. He got right in his face. "Why don't you tell Molly how happy you are to see her after three years? Why don't you tell her that she's got brains and grit and you're about the luckiest guy alive to have her for your daughter?"

  Mason Lord turned on his heel and left the bedroom. Ramsey knew he'd gone too far. Mason Lord was enraged, nearly over the edge. But when he turned in the doorway, it wasn't Ramsey he went after. He said, his voice low and vicious, "Don't bother wasting your time sleeping with her. Louey said she was a cold lump in bed. No fun at all. Of course I had to have him disciplined when it got back to me what he'd said, but there it is anyway."

  Molly didn't fold at all from the hurt of his words. Instead, she said, her voice filled with amusement,

  "Well, Louey's the expert, isn't he? Bottom line, Dad, I'm really glad I didn't get some disease from him."

  She saw her father pause a moment, and then he was gone from her view.

  Ramsey said, "The two of you are quite the duo. Look, Molly, you're an adult. I know it must hurt when he goes after you, but kiss it off. It's not important. There are lots more important things to think about and the most important is standing right there."