“Not that we are aware of. We questioned Kevin, our son, last night. And the people who usually drive them around town. No one noticed anything, correct Iain?”
The RSO nodded tiredly. “We would never have let her go outside the embassy walls if we’d suspected someone was surveilling her movements.”
“Did Kristen have a driver yesterday?”
Iain Bartlett nodded. “He dropped her off at a downtown shopping mall, and Kristen was supposed to call when she needed to be picked up again, although she mentioned to him she might get a ride home with Irene instead. Again, she knew to call.”
Catherine reached for and squeezed her husband’s hand. It made Lucy’s throat go tight. She couldn’t imagine how hard this would be on a parent.
Phillip went back to talking about social media. “Kristen might upload an image of an establishment after she’s left, but not while she was still there. And she was always cautious of giving away details of her connection to her mother online for this very reason.”
The FBI negotiator eyed the Diplomatic Security agent. “Is it possible she was tracked in some way?”
Iain shifted in his seat. “We screen people, devices, and accommodations regularly for electronic bugs. It’s an invasion of privacy, and we try to be respectful, but we don’t let it slide. If Kristen was bugged, it was planted very recently and most likely after she left the embassy yesterday.”
Which still suggested prior knowledge of the outing, or surveillance on the embassy itself. The latter would have to be professional and covert. It wasn’t as if the Americans weren’t actively checking for spying eyes and employing countersurveillance methods.
“Or they bugged one of the other girls if they knew they’d be together,” Phillip suggested.
Lucy was impressed with his critical thinking skills under the circumstances.
“That would suggest someone close to one of the families feeding information to the kidnappers. Could anyone track Kristen’s phone, apart from the Diplomatic Security Service?” asked Hawthorne.
Iain Bartlett shook his head. “The signal has military-grade encryption. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but its advanced and classified tech. Not something a low-level thug would have access to. And I taught her to watch out for anyone following her.” His face was pale, mouth strained. “I can’t believe this happened on my watch.”
Kristen was a smart cookie, and Irene had shown great courage in trying to protect her friend. This whole situation sucked.
Lucy made two more coffees and placed the cups on the table, along with a sugar bowl.
Powell ignored her and picked up the cup without comment. Max Hawthorne followed her movements with a slight smile. “Thanks.”
She fought against returning his smile. Kept her gaze averted and stepped back against the wall. He was observant. That made him even more dangerous.
Max’s eyes wandered back to the group at the table, but she knew he had made a note of her. Probably as a potential suspect.
It was to be expected, especially as it might be true, however inadvertently.
The FBI would be checking everyone’s bank accounts and background information. Despite her training, it was hard to not react to him. Maybe she should pop a Xanax.
“Does she have a boyfriend?” asked Max.
“No boyfriend.” The ambassador spoke quickly.
Phillip smiled softly and sniffed. “She’s a beautiful, seventeen-year-old girl. I’m sure there are plenty of young men out there who are interested. However, she wasn’t going steady with anyone we know about. She was earlier in the year, but they broke up.”
“It would be helpful to get a list of all her friends and contacts, here and abroad, including the ex. And information on the school she attends. I’d like to talk to some of the people who know her best outside of the family.”
“Of course. Miranda will collate everything and send it to you,” the ambassador said.
“Yes, ma’am.” Miranda tapped a note on her cell. Lucy’s pocket buzzed as Miranda put her cell back in her pocket. Lucy’s instructions had arrived.
Max Hawthorne sent Lucy a smile, and she blinked. He’d noticed too.
No one ever noticed.
She wanted to fan her cheeks dramatically. The guy was hot, observant, and had an accent to die for. Exactly the type of man that had plunged her into this nightmare in the first place.
“Did anyone trace her cell yet?” the ambassador asked with a strained voice.
Lucy knew the ambassador was pinning her hopes on the kidnappers somehow missing the presence of the phone on Kristen’s person and the authorities tracking it.
Not likely.
Powell cleared his throat. “Yes. The police found Kristen’s cell inside the van the kidnappers used to grab her, which was abandoned in La Boca.” He shifted uncomfortably. “They said they were sending it to their forensics department for analysis.”
Catherine’s hands clenched in her lap. “Fuentes was here and never said a word. I knew I couldn’t trust him.” She looked incensed. “I want that cellphone back. It belongs to my family and has private photographs and text messages on it. I want the FBI to examine it. Not the Argentine authorities.”
“Technically, it is evidence.” Powell squirmed.
Lucy figured he didn’t want to get caught between two powerful figures.
The ambassador leaned forward and pointed her finger at the guy. “Technically, it is personal property of the US Ambassador to Argentina. Make the call and make sure they realize it is an official diplomatic request with all that that implies if they don’t hand it over immediately.”
Max Hawthorne straightened. “We have a team of people at Quantico who can unlock it and gain access to her texts and photographs with your permission—unless you already know her access code?”
“Kristen changed her passwords and codes every time DSS checked it for spyware,” the ambassador said. “She knew they had to monitor it, but she wanted some privacy in-between times. Kevin might know her most recent codes though. They play a lot of online games together. The FBI can access everything, but whatever they find is not to appear online or be used in court without my permission.”
“Our permission,” Phillip corrected.
“Our permission. Sorry. Of course, that goes without saying.” Catherine nodded then stood. “What else can I do except talk to the kidnappers when they call?”
Max Hawthorne stared at Catherine Dickerson, clearly deciding how to respond. “You are not going to talk to the kidnappers, ma’am.”
The silence stretched out as everyone held their breath. The ambassador’s expression hardened.
“Giving them direct access to the family—especially one who is a high-ranking diplomat for the United States—is not a good idea.”
“I’ve spent years talking people into things they don’t want to do. I’ve spent years finding compromise.”
“Me too. Let’s role-play it then,” Max Hawthorne said easily. “Ambassador Dickerson, I have your daughter. Give me ten million dollars by tomorrow, otherwise, I’ll slit her throat from ear to ear and post the video of her bleeding out on YouTube for America’s enemies to savor.”
Catherine Dickerson’s expression froze for a moment, reflecting her horror. “That was harsh.”
Hawthorne shook his head. “I went easy on you compared to what these people could do, and you know it.”
Lucy’s stomach clenched. Someone in a city of thirteen million people must know something about the kidnapped young women. Why hadn’t anyone come forward?
“You’ll be the point of contact, then?” Catherine’s eyes brightened as her shoulders sagged, clearly torn between disappointment and relief.
Max Hawthorne canted his head to the side. “To begin with, I will talk to the kidnappers if they call, but we usually train a local to negotiate. A family friend or trusted employee. Someone who speaks the local language fluently, but who is not as emotionally vulnerable to threats
the kidnappers make. This time, the stakes are slightly different. All the phone numbers that can be used to reach you are being changed so we control access to you, your husband, and your son. And also, your email will be vetted before you see it. Your assistant can do this if she’s allowed to work independently. Otherwise, someone at State will handle it.”
“You’re shutting me out.” The ambassador’s voice held the bite of a northern winter.
“I’m taking away the ability of the hostage takers to directly influence the actions of a US Ambassador.”
“You think they’ll try to blackmail me into doing something contrary to the interests of the US?”
“It’s a distinct possibility that they’ll try. I know I wouldn’t want to be put into the position of deciding whether or not to give away State secrets or my daughter dies. It wouldn’t be fair to put anyone in that position.”
The ambassador stared hard at Max Hawthorne. The woman could make things very difficult for the negotiator if she chose, and everyone in the room knew it. He didn’t look away or flinch from her steely gaze. Lucy enjoyed watching them go toe-to-toe. She only wished it was for something less dramatic than the life of the ambassador’s daughter.
“Do you want to take a leave of absence from your duties, Ambassador Dickerson, and let the Deputy Chief of Mission take over temporarily?”
No one said anything. The only sound was the noise of traffic along Avenue Colombia.
“I do not,” Catherine declared firmly.
No way would Catherine Dickerson cede her power when she needed it most.
Hawthorne nodded as if he’d already known the answer. “Then I suggest we follow the Crisis Negotiation Unit’s playbook for the time being. We cannot predict the outcome of any one case, but the Bureau has extensive experience dealing with hostage situations. I am going to need a trusted interpreter for a few days to speed things along.”
Miranda looked at Lucy. Damn. “I can spare my assistant if she doesn’t mind. She speaks fluent Spanish.”
Lucy clenched her jaw. No matter the danger to Kristen, Lucy had important things to do that did not involve waiting by a phone with zero skills in negotiation. “I-I’m not sure I’m capable—”
Brian Powell spoke over her dismissively. “Your assistant doesn’t have the backbone to negotiate with street vendors, let alone kidnappers.”
Lucy blinked, even though he was theoretically correct. The Lucy he knew was spineless. One thing spineless Lucy had noticed was that the lower you were on the totem pole, the more assholish some people became.
Max Hawthorne shot her a concerned look. She bowed her head to hide the fact it was anger rather than humiliation pulsing through her.
After a brief pause, Lucy risked a glance back at the tableau who’d already dismissed her.
Hawthorne dipped his head toward the ambassador, and Lucy found herself watching him, intrigued, despite her training.
“Unfortunately, I can’t guarantee I’ll be here for the duration of the case. Long term—”
“What do you mean ‘long term’?” The ambassador spilled her coffee on the cup’s way back down to the saucer.
Hawthorne’s tone was steady. “It’s not unusual for cases like this to take weeks if not months to resolve. You know this.”
Lucy’s fingers curled into her palm at the thought of Kristen and Irene in the hands of unscrupulous men for that amount of time. The chance of them getting out of this unscathed seemed to be becoming slimmer and slimmer.
“You expect me to let these monsters hurt my baby for weeks or months while we sit here drinking coffee and doing nothing?” The ambassador’s voice cracked.
Powell flinched, but Max Hawthorne calmly held the powerful woman’s gaze.
“None of this is going to be easy, Ambassador. I can’t even imagine the pain and anguish you and your husband are going through right now or the fortitude required to withstand it. But you need to trust the experts at the Crisis Negotiation Unit on this. The very worst thing we can do for your daughter is rush the process or attempt an armed rescue mission until we have exhausted all other options and figured out what these people really want.”
“If it’s money they want, we can raise it,” Phillip Dickerson put in angrily. “I’ve calculated we can raise about seven hundred thousand dollars in the next couple of days if we liquidate all our stocks or beg and borrow from friends using our property as collateral.”
“Let me tell you something about kidnappers, Mr. Dickerson,” Max Hawthorne said patiently. “They want to squeeze you dry for every last cent they think they can get. If they ask for six million today and you say ‘okay, tell us where the drop-off location is’, chances are that by tomorrow they’ll raise the demand to twelve million. A trained negotiator lowers their expectations to reasonable levels, until they believe they really have every penny you can get your hands on.”
“We will sell everything we own—”
“Phillip, the US government won’t officially allow us to pay a ransom,” Catherine said woodenly as if she was starting to understand exactly how difficult it was going to be to get Kristen back unharmed.
“We might be able to get a nominal amount approved to compensate the kidnappers,” Max said quietly. “Enough to start tempting them, especially after a few days of living on the edge, scared the local SWAT teams are lining them up in their crosshairs.” He shifted his attention to Phillip. “The FBI will assist both remotely in the US and with local authorities to help figure out who took your daughter and if they have any criminal history regarding kidnap and ransom situations. See if we can discover any leverage or background that we might be able to use to get them to release the girls sooner and unharmed. I’d like to take a look at your daughter’s room before I head down to the scene of the abduction, if I may.”
Phillip nodded. He was clearly too emotional to speak.
Max’s voice was low and soothing. “I am sorry you are going through this, and I will do my very best to get Kristen and Irene home as quickly and safely as possible, but it will require patience and restraint on your part. I’d like to request we keep the information we discuss here private amongst ourselves and not risk any leaks to the media that might undermine our position.”
The Dickersons nodded.
Iain Bartlett stood. “That goes without saying for DSS.”
“Thank you,” Max Hawthorne said. “I realize this is not how you expected to spend Christmas Day.”
With a jolt, Lucy realized it was exactly one year ago today since Sergio Raminsky had been shot dead in DC, shortly after he’d assassinated the Russian Ambassador on the steps of Capitol Hill. She found herself shivering suddenly in reaction. She’d hated him, but she’d loved him too. A sea of regret and grief washed over her. She knew he hadn’t really loved her, but she had to wonder if he’d been forced to do what he did to her. The way she’d been forced to make choices she wouldn’t have even contemplated in the past.
Her throat ached with suppressed emotion. She hadn’t expected to be hit this way by the anniversary. She thought she’d pushed the man and the feelings she’d had for him firmly out of her mind…
“Lucy.” Miranda raised her voice to get her attention.
Lucy snapped up her chin and realized everyone was looking at her with an array of expressions that ranged from anger, to condescension, to almost pity. Max Hawthorne watched her with more intensity than her frumpy outfit warranted. So much for nobody noticing her.
She shook her head slightly. “Sorry, can you repeat that?”
“Are you okay?” Miranda asked with concern.
Lucy blinked. Was she okay? Ha. “Of course.”
Miranda repeated what she’d said. “Can you show Agent Hawthorne to Kristen’s room and then drive him wherever he might want to go in the city for the rest of the afternoon? Those other things can wait until later when you return.”
Lucy froze, her eyes sliding to meet the dark, intelligent gaze of Supervisory Special Ag
ent Max Hawthorne.
“If you don’t mind?” he added gently.
She dragged her gaze away from his and clasped her hands in front of herself, bowing her head so he wouldn’t read the truth in her eyes. Damn right she minded. “It’s no problem at all.”
That was also a lie. Max Hawthorne was definitely going to be a problem, and Lucy had better remember that her priorities did not involve FBI negotiators or getting lost in tragic memories of past indiscretions.
Her mission was here at the embassy. She didn’t have time for diversions.
Chapter Four
A door slammed somewhere in the house, sending a jolt of fear through Kristen’s veins. Her heart was set on a trip wire, and her pulse exploded whenever she heard a noise. She tried to calm herself. Whenever she panicked, she started to hyperventilate and then there wasn’t enough air to breathe inside the thick hood she wore. It was a sickening cycle of terror that left her wrung out and exhausted. She held back a whimper and tried to inhale a slow, lungful of air, rather than shallow, frightened breaths.
She heard the echo of footsteps from somewhere in the building where she was being kept.
The whoosh of her pulse in her ears slowly eased. She didn’t know what was worse—the smothering heat and cramped conditions, the thick, cloying cloth that suffocated her, or the fear that consumed her every thought.
She didn’t know what they’d done with Irene, but her friend wasn’t here with her. At one of the many vehicle swaps, Kristen had heard someone hitting Irene so hard that the other girl had stopped making any noise. Kristen had called out her name, but then had felt the prick of a needle, and she’d passed out.
She whimpered now and then stuffed the sound down into her lungs. She was alone in her small, cramped prison, some sort of locked, wooden cabinet that was as oppressive as an oven. Sweat soaked her hair and clothes.
Cold Cruel Kiss Page 4
