Jump Cut

by Libby Fischer Hellmann

  LeJeune nodded. “Good move, Lieutenant.”

  “Of course,” Jimmy said. “Much better.” He said he’d have my car towed to Luke’s when they were finished.

  I sucked in a breath. “Oh my God, I forgot to tell you something critical!”

  The lawmen and Luke looked over.

  “The driver was impersonating a police officer. He was wearing one of your campaign hats. And they had lights and a siren on the car.”

  Wickham narrowed his eyes.

  “Yes, but the car wasn’t a patrol cruiser. It was just—just a car.”

  Wickham reviewed his notes on his iPad. “You said it was a dark four-door sedan.”

  “That’s right. I forgot about the siren and lights.”

  “I’m glad you remembered.” He got on his cell and punched in a number. He walked a few steps away from us, and I heard him discussing what I’d said.

  I started to shiver again. Luke put his arm around me. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “We’ll find her.”

  I gave him a perfunctory nod.

  Wickham came back just as we heard the chop of helicopter blades above.

  “Crap,” LeJeune said. “Fucking media vultures.” He turned to Wickham. “Look, I’m just here in an unofficial capacity right now. Miss Foreman’s a personal friend. But I’d like to run this thing up the chain of command and have us deal with it. What do you think?”

  Wickham took a look at me, Jimmy, and Luke, then back at LeJeune. “I don’t have a problem with that.”

  I sagged in relief. I almost threw my arms around him.

  LeJeune’s response, naturally, was more subdued. “Great. We’ll work with your crime lab people, of course.”

  Wickham nodded.

  “One favor.” LeJeune pointed upward. “Can we keep this cluster fuck quiet? I mean, I know you have the alert out, but could you tell the media this is just an accident and you’re investigating?”

  The hint of a smile flashed across Wickham’s face. “No worries there.”

  At least something was going right.

  LeJeune shook Wickham’s hand. “Thanks, man. In the meantime, cher, let’s you and Luke and I go to that truck stop up yonder and get you some food.”

  Chapter Sixty

  Thursday

  Twenty minutes later Luke, LeJeune, and I walked into a truck plaza not far from the “accident.” The neon lights splashed across the place were too bright, and the country music blaring from overhead speakers grated. I concentrated on breathing. In. Out. In.

  LeJeune led us into the restaurant area, which was a kind way to describe the dozen wobbly tables, plastic chairs, and sticky booths. There was only one other couple at a table, he with a grizzled beard and big gut, she in turquoise sweats and big hair that hadn’t been in fashion since Farrah Fawcett. But the place was warm, and we—at least I—needed a respite from the horror.

  It was a cafeteria-style eatery, and without asking, LeJeune got up and returned with sandwiches, chips, and coffee. “Don’t tell me you don’t get anything for your taxes. This is on the feds, my friends.”

  “Thanks.” I still had the blanket draped over me; I pulled it closer.

  “So before we start, I need you both to know something,” LeJeune said.

  Luke, who had been holding my hand since we left the highway, let it go and cocked his head toward LeJeune. I unwrapped the cellophane around my sandwich.

  “You remember I was investigating the IED that destroyed your hacker friend’s office, right?”

  I nodded. “Zach Dolan.”

  “I was pulled off the case.”

  I looked up. “Why?”

  “Good question, cher. Someone ran it up the flagpole and it came back tagged with some bullshit about national security. It was handed over to the military.”

  “DIA?” Luke asked. He and I exchanged glances.

  LeJeune watched us. Then: “Apparently, I’m missing something here. Care to fill me in?”

  I took a bite of my sandwich. It tasted like paper and cellophane. I forced myself to chew, then washed it down with coffee. I could use the caffeine. I had no plans to sleep until Rachel was back.

  “A lot has happened since Dolan’s office was destroyed.” I explained everything from Parks to Stokes to Hollander to my conversation with Grace Qasimi and her subsequent “accident.” Luke added more information about his relationship with Grizzly.

  “There’s one more thing,” I added when Luke finished. “I lied to you about not making another copy of the flash drive. I’ve had it with me since Parks died.”

  “You think I didn’t know that?” He squinted. “What the fuck did you start, Ellie?”

  “That’s not fair, Nick. It started when I got fired from a job. I was just trying to find out why, so I made a phone call. Anyone would have done the same thing.”

  Neither Luke nor LeJeune replied. In fact, they traded looks that, in other circumstances, might have been considered smiles.

  “Am I wrong?”

  “Most people,” Luke said, “who get fired from a job go home and nurse their wounds with a fifth of vodka. Or bottle of wine.” But he put his arm around me when he said it.

  “Things just kind of escalated,” I said.

  “I get it.” LeJeune bit into his sandwich. “Well, this sucks.”

  I wasn’t sure if he meant the sandwich or the situation. Or both.

  “What do we do now?” I asked. “Can you put out an APB on the SUV?”

  “Already done, but if they’re as clever as they should be, we won’t find it.”

  “What else?”

  “There’s not much to do except wait.”

  “For him to contact me.”

  LeJeune nodded.

  “I just can’t sit around and wait for some asshole to call.”

  “You have to, Ellie,” Luke said. He looked over at LeJeune. “Does it matter whether she’s at home or with me in Lake Geneva?”

  “Probably not. Everyone uses a cell these days anyway.” He took another bite of his sandwich—I couldn’t tell if it was beef or ham—and chewed thoughtfully. Then: “Given what you’ve just told me about all these spy games, I’m not sure you have all that much to worry about.”

  I exploded. “What are you talking about? Some creep, probably Stokes, kidnapped my little girl! You’re making it sound like some kind of prank. Maybe if you had kids of your own, you’d understand. I really—”

  LeJeune cut in. “Calm down, cher. And listen to me. Yes, he crossed the line when he took Rachel. No argument there. But I would bet my badge that this is all for show. He wants to let you know he has the upper hand and can make things happen.”

  Luke nodded. “He wants to bust your balls.”

  “Great. So now we’re playing the who’s-more-macho game.” I glared at them both. “Like I said, it’s not your daughter.”

  “Which is why you’re going to hand over the drive,” LeJeune said.

  My gut reaction was to argue. “I don’t see why I should I let him get away with it.”

  “Because if you don’t, Rachel really could get hurt,” LeJeune said. “He’s got you over a barrel.”

  “Which he’s probably enjoying,” I said.

  “Ellie,” Luke added, “you were talking about giving it back to Delcroft anyway.”

  “Yeah, but it would have been on my terms.”

  No one said anything.

  I slumped against the back of the booth, unexpectedly exhausted. I looked from LeJeune to Luke. “You’re both right, of course. He can have the damn drive. I just want my baby back.”

  “So,” LeJeune said. “No more waging the battle of justice. Tilting at windmills, bearing the torch of democracy?”

  I shook my head. Tears welled in my eyes.

  He tilted his head. “You know something? I think I like you better when you’re feisty.”

  My tears dried up, and I shot him a narrow-eyed glance.

  Luke spoke up. “You know, there’s
another issue we haven’t talked about.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “What if it isn’t Stokes who kidnapped Rachel? What if it was the Chinese government?”

  “Possible.” LeJeune pushed his sandwich away and opened his bag of chips. “But unlikely.”

  “Why?”

  “About a year ago the US indicted six Chinese citizens here in the country for stealing technology.”

  “Luke and I were just talking about that.”

  “But the litigation is moving at a snail’s pace. Very few cases have come to court. And no one expects them to.”

  “Which means the Chinese have carte blanche to do whatever they want? Maybe Stokes is taking orders from the Chinese. Along with Hollander.” I slid closer to Luke. “What if Rachel ends up in Beijing?” I stopped. “You know, LeJeune, your bedside manner needs work.”

  LeJeune flipped up his hands. “Look, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t lay out all the possibilities. Sure, it could be the Chinese, but the way it went down feels more personal. Less political. And you have to ask what the Chinese would get out of kidnapping your daughter.”

  “Revenge for the indictments we just talked about.”

  “They would have done it differently, Ellie,” Luke said. “Think about it. All China wants is DADES. They don’t give a damn what happens to the people who they bought it from. Including their own citizens.”

  “Except they paid a boatload of money for it,” I said.

  “Right,” Luke said. “And from the contents of the flash drive, it appears they already got what they paid for.”

  LeJeune picked up a spoon and tapped it on the table. “It’s a long shot. We can’t force them into our legal system. Their passports are their get-out-of-jail-free card.”

  I leaned back. “You know something? With everything you’re both saying, I’m having trouble separating the good guys from the bad.”

  “Welcome to my world,” LeJeune said. “There are a lot of players in this game, and someone is going to be outplayed. I’m here because I don’t want it to be you. Or Rachel. Don’t forget—everything points to Hollander as the guilty party. American citizen. Ex-military. Now a traitor. When this gets out, America will go nuts. Like they did over Snowden. But this will be worse, because it’s a fait accompli. It’s done. They’re going to crucify her.” He paused. “But I have a team out looking for Stokes.”

  “You’re not going to find him,” Luke said. “He’s already holed up somewhere with Rachel.”

  “I know that.” He threw the bag of chips down in disgust. “But I can still pay a visit to his employers.”

  “You’re going to Delcroft?” I asked.

  “Damn right I am.” He glanced out the window. “Tomorrow morning.”

  “Do you really think they’ll tell you anything useful?” Luke said.

  “We’ll find out. And even if we don’t, they’re going to have to deal with the fact that their so-called security chief is a felon.”

  “If he’s the one who kidnapped Rachel,” I said.

  “Read the tea leaves, cher,” LeJeune said.

  I set my coffee down. The china cup clinked against Formica. “You can read whatever fucking tea leaves you want. As long as you get my daughter back alive.”

  Chapter Sixty-one

  Thursday

  We arrived at Luke’s just before midnight. LeJeune followed us to the house and coached me on how to handle Stokes’ call. Afterward, we settled in Luke’s kitchen. The room had a gas fireplace at one end, and Luke turned it on. An ugly couch in tartan plaid sat in front; I always kidded Luke about it—only WASPs with absolutely no taste would have it in their home, much less their kitchen. He would reply that I must have known his parents.

  Tonight, though, there was no ribbing. I was drained, but a feverish urgency wouldn’t let me relax, much less sleep. Luke and LeJeune switched from coffee to beer and camped out on the couch, but my full-blown case of shpulkes kept me pacing back and forth.

  “You’re sure he’ll call?”

  “Of course he will, cher. He’s just waiting for you to reach that panic stage where you’ll do or say anything to get Rachel back.”

  “In that case, he should have called hours ago.”

  “Got a present for you,” Nick said. He pulled out something about the size of a quarter from his jacket pocket and tossed it on the coffee table.

  Luke leaned over. “The tracker.”

  LeJeune nodded. “He’s known where you’ve been for a while.”

  “That includes the Baha’i Temple and the library, doesn’t it?”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  I told him about the man who’d shown up while Grace Qasimi and I were talking. And the video clips about the Uyghurs that disappeared from the Internet.

  LeJeune pulled out his cell and made a few notes. “I don’t know about those videos, but do you know how to reach this Qasimi woman?”

  “You can’t,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “She was killed on the Eisenhower Expressway a couple of hours ago.”

  LeJeune’s eyebrows went sky-high.

  “I don’t think it was an accident.”

  “Because…”

  “Because of what I just told you. She was Gregory Parks’ fiancée. She was the one who told me about the Uyghurs. And that Gregory was a double.”

  LeJeune chewed his lip. “What about friends? Relatives? You know anyone who knew her?”

  “She obviously knows someone up at the Dragon Inn North. She got them to pass me a message.”

  “Good. I’ll start there.”

  Panic swirled in my belly. “Wait. You’re not leaving, are you?”

  He smiled. “Luke can handle you.” He shot him a sidelong glance. “Probably a lot better than I can.”

  My eyes went wide at LeJeune’s—well—I would have to call it modesty. That was the first time I’d ever seen it. Had I not been so miserable, I might have had a comeback. Instead I let it go.

  “There’s one more thing, guys,” I said. “What do we do about Dad? I haven’t told him yet. But if I don’t, he’ll never forgive me.”

  Both men were quiet for a moment. Then Luke said, “I wouldn’t say anything yet. If you don’t hear anything by tomorrow night, then we can reassess.”

  “I agree,” LeJeune echoed. “The fewer people who know what’s going on, the better. More controllable.”

  I stopped pacing. “Controllable? How do you control a kidnapping? You just finished telling me he holds all the cards.”

  “True.”

  “So we have no options.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. He needs the flash drive, right?”

  I nodded.

  “In fact, he has to get it. Or so he thinks.”

  I nodded again.

  “That may mean we can dictate how and when.”

  “And put Rachel in more jeopardy? No way.” I went to my bag and started digging inside for the flash drive.

  LeJeune let out a strained breath. I could tell I was trying his patience. It had been a long night. “Not necessarily.”

  I kept fishing for the drive in my bag. LeJeune watched me. He looked like he was going to explain when I threw my bag down on the couch. “Oh crap!”

  “What?”

  “The flash drive. It’s not here. In the rush to get away, I think I left it back home. And Stokes knows from the tracker that I’m not there. What if he breaks in to get it? Then he doesn’t need Rachel at all. He could do anything he wanted with her,” I wailed. “Christ! What are we going to do?”

  LeJeune got to his feet. “Don’t worry about that, Ellie.”

  “What do you mean, don’t worry? Of course I’m—”

  “I have six agents outside your house right now. No one is going to break in unless it’s us.”

  “Really?” For the first time all evening, I allowed myself a deep breath. “Thank God. Thank you.”

  He nodded and zipped up his
jacket. “But I’m going to get it. You want to give me your key?” He paused. “Unless you’re okay with a B and E, Bureau-style.”

  I almost smiled. Almost. “Yup.”

  “What do you mean ‘yup?’”

  “You will have to do a B&E. The assholes took off with my keys.”

  LeJeune sighed. “Of course they did.” He squeezed his eyes shut then opened them again. “Don’t worry. We’ll be careful.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “The best thing you can do is try and get some rest,” he went on. “He’ll call. But it won’t be tonight. It may not even be tomorrow. But he will.”

  Luke came over and put his arms around me. “Listen to him, Ellie. He knows what he’s doing.”

  I swallowed.

  “Where is it?” LeJeune asked. “The drive.”

  “Probably in my desk drawer. Upstairs in my office.”

  “Okay, cher. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  Chapter Sixty-two

  Friday

  I’d rehearsed what to say to Stokes so many times that the call, when it came the next night, was almost an afterthought.

  My memory of the twenty-four hours prior was hazy. There were alternating periods of grief, terror, and guilt. I recalled a flood of tears, hours on the bed in a fetal position, Luke’s arms around me. I remembered the sweet smell of Rachel’s baby skin after she’d had a bath. The way she went all out for soccer when she was fifteen. How she nearly ran me over when her father taught her to drive. I might never see, hear, or touch my little girl again, and it was my fault. If only I hadn’t become so obsessed with that damn flash drive. When would I learn? Thoughts like those would restart the tears, and the cycle would begin anew.

  There were a couple of calls from LeJeune, one telling me he’d picked up the drive, another saying he had interviewed Gary Phillips at Delcroft but didn’t learn anything significant.

  “I’ll say one thing for those corporate guys,” LeJeune said. “They toss the bullshit around better than most anyone else. Except lawyers.”

  Jimmy Saclarides dropped off my Camry in the driveway. The crime lab techs had been all over it but hadn’t retrieved much beyond shards of broken glass and the detritus of bank receipts, grocery lists, and Starbucks cups. He was ready to leave, but Luke asked him to stick around.