by Rebecca York
That information was enough for the police to request a search warrant
and rush it through the courthouse procedure.
By six that evening, Abby was riding with Detective Angel toward the
apartment complex.
He'd had to pull some strings to get her approved; technically, she was
a psychologist assigned to the case.
Allowing her to come along was a tribute to the fortitude she'd worked
so hard to project-and to the working relationship they'd developed.
Please, God.
Let this be the one.
Abby laced stiff fingers together in her lap as she watched the
run-down commercial properties along the Jones Falls Expressway fade
into more residential areas.
As the police car turned up Northern Parkway, she glanced gratefully at
Angel.
When she'd first met him at the hospital, she'd thought he was cold.
Over the.
past two days, she'd come to understand that he needed to stay
detached, just the way she had to with her patients.
In a way, it was a role reversal for her.
She was the needy client, and he was the competent professional.
He was also a man putting in twenty hours a day trying to find
Shannon.
He slowed down as they turned onto Putty Hill Road.
'.
'The place is in the next block on the left.
The apartments were garden-style, mid-sixties vintage.
They found Hal Stuwarski, the manager, pacing nervously in the parking
lot outside the office.
He was a small, stringy man with curly red hair.
"Mr. Stuwarski, this is Dr. Franklin, and I'm Will Angel with the
Baltimore City police."
What took you so long?"
"We had.to get a search warrant."
"Yeah, I guess I wasn't thinking about all that legal stuff."
Abby wished he'd stayed inside and pretended that this were just a
normal day.
But it was too late to tell him that now.
I i I'll need your master key to the apartment," Angel said.
"Sure thing."
The manager detached a key from the dozen or so that hung from a ring
on his workman's belt.
"I'll take you over to her place."
Outside, another police car had pulled into the parking lot.
Angel motioned for the two uniformed officers to join them.
He stationed one guard by the door to the unit and then turned to
Abby.
"I'll be out again as soon as I can."
"I'm going in with you."
"I can't put a civilian in jeopardy. You know you've got to wait
here."
"Will, you're supposed to be relying on my professional judgment.
Let me make an appeal to the woman. I may be able to talk her into
letting Shannon go." Angel seemed to realize that it was either give
in or handcuff her to the railing." Okay.
But stay in the back and do what I tell you.
The apartment was on the third floor.
As Abby followed the men up the stairs, the strong smell of garlic,
onions and olive oil wafted down.
By the time they'd reached the third-floor landing, the stale odor was
making Abby nauseated.
Holding her breath, she watched Angel rap loudly on the door.
Police.
Open up, please.
No answer.
After trying again with the same result, he motioned Abby to stand back
and used the master key to unlock the door.
Both men drew their service revolvers.
"No, no guns!"
Abby choked out.
"Shannon might get hurt."
Angel gave her a long look and then nodded to the officer.
They reholstered their weapons before moving cautiously into the living
room.
Disobeying orders, Abby inched to the doorway, her ears straining for
the sound of her baby's cry.
But she heard nothing.
Heart pounding, she stepped across the threshold.
The room was as bare as a desert nomad's abandoned campsite.
A faded Indian rug on the floor with a hibachi grill in the center were
the only furnishings.
And the oniongarlic smell lingered in the air.
"Mrs. Hamadi?"
Abby called 'frantically.
There was no answer.
"The place is empty," Angel confirmed as he emerged from the bedroom.
"There's still food in the refrigerator, and it looks like the hibachi
was used this'morning," the uniformed officer reported.
"Smells like it, too. I think we just missed her."
Disappointment swept over Abby like a flash flood.
The only way she stayed on her feet was to slump back against the
wall.
She'd been so psyched up to confront the woman who had taken Shannon,
so sure she could convince her to give her child back.
But now .
Around her, the men were starting a more thorough search.
Angel was in the kitchen.
The other man was in the bedroom.
Abby pushed herself erect and went to check out the bathroom.
The counter and medicine cabinet were empty.
So was the trash can -as if the apartment had been swept clean of
evidence.
But as she put it back in the corner, her eyes spotted a little ball of
fuzz on the floor.
She picked it up.
No.
It wasn't fuzz, it was fine black hair.
Just like from Shannon's little brush!
Something seemed to break apart in her chest as she smoothed the silky
strands between her fingers.
"Shannon was here!"
Abby clasped the evidence in her fist as she dashed back into the
living room.
"Hmm, looks like baby hair. We'll send this to the lab" I Angel said
as he got out a small plastic bag.
"I know Shannon was here," Abby insisted.
"You may be right. We'll question the people in the .ieighborhood.
If we're lucky, somebody saw the two of them leave."
ABBY KEPT up a show of optimism until she locked the door behind
Detective Angel.
This was the only occasion since the kidnapping when the house had been
empty.
Every other time she'd gone out, she'd asked a friend to stay by the
phone, in case they received a ransom message.
But she'd been so sure she would find Shannon that she hadn't made the
usual arrangements.
Now she was thankful she was alone.
Pretending to be strong in front of her friends took too much energy.
As soon as no one could see her, her whole posture changed.
Head down and shoulders hunched, she started slowly for the stairs.
Her legs felt as if someone had strapped ten-pound exercise weights to
her ankles, and she had to grip the banister to pull herself along.
What was the use of going up, anyway?
she wondered.
There wasn't a chance of getting any sleep when she reached her
bedroom.
But if she stayed downstairs she'd feel as if she should eat something,
and she couldn't face food, either.
Probably she should let Jo or Noel know she was home.
But conversation was also beyond her.
In the end, she decided a darkened bedroom was her best option.
As she plodded down the long, empty
corridor, she was struck with a
vague sensation that something was wrong.
Stopping in her tracks, she dragged in a lungful of air.
Her house smelled a little like Mrs. Hamadi's apartment.
Like olive oil and garlic.
Knowing that her senses were playing tricks on her, she started walking
again.
But the vague odor seemed to grow stronger.
After switching on the light, she turned toward the bed and froze.
In the middle of the spread, where she couldn't possibly miss it, was a
square envelope.
Abby's heart leapt.
Steve.
It was from ' in Steve!
He'd come home, found her gonearid left some vital information.
Flying across'the room, she snatched up the envelope.
It was heavy and rigid, like ' the kind that contained a wedding
invitation or a birth announcement.
And it smelled funny.
With shaky hands, she lifted it to her nose and sniffed.
Olive oil and garlic.
Quickly she slit the flap and pulled out a folded sheet of paper-and a
picture of a baby lying on a striped blanket.
Shannon!
And not one of the pictures she'd taken.
A new one.
Against all odds, had Steve somehow found their child?
Was this the proof?
As her eyes scanned the first line of type, the photograph fluttered
silently to the carpet.
Mrs. Claiborne, You must quickly contact your husband if you ever want
to see your daughter alive again.
Chapter Five
Abby didn't know her knees had given way until she found herself
sitting on the edge of the bed, the paper grasped in her rigid
fingers.
Her gaze flickered to the signature at the bottom of the page.
"Amarjit Singh. For the Indian Liberation Army.
In a panic, Abby realized she was no longer holding the picture that
had come with the note.
Frantically, she began to search over the bed and then the floor.
Finally she found the photograph'lying beside her right foot.
mining over, she snatched it up, cradling it protectively in her hand
as she studied her daughter's tiny face, her raised arms and legs.
Shannon was all right.
She was still all right.
Then she forced herself to read the rest of the message.
The language was stilted, but the meaning was unmistakable.
Medical examination determines Shannon Claiborne can survive a lengthy
journey.
By the time you are receiving this communication, your daughter will be
out of the U.
S.
of A.
She is being held by the ILA.
We will return her to you in exchange for the shipment of materials
stolen from us by your husband's partner, Oliver Gibbs.
If the transaction is failing to materialize within ten days, the
little girl's life is forfeit.
She will also be killed if you attempt to convey this information to
the CIA-or fail to disconnect your dealings with the local police.
More instructions for you and Steve Claiborne are following.
Shivering violently, Abby read the words again.
Then, raising her head, she looked around the room.
Someone had broken into her home while she'd been off with Angel.
Someone had come upstairs, right into her bedroom, and left this
terrible threat.
Were they still here, waiting to see what she would do?
She sat very still, listening, but the house was as quiet as a tomb.
All she could hear was the roaring of blood in her own ears.
And, really, it made no sense that whoever had left the note would
still be lurking around.
They didn't want to confront her face-to-face.
They wanted something from Steve-in exchange for Shannon.
The words of the message sank in more deeply, and Abby felt as if every
molecule of air had been siphoned from the room.
Gasping for breath, she got up and staggered to the door.
My God, Steve had been right all along, and she hadn't believed him.
Afraid that she was going to faint, she slid down to the floor and
lowered her head between her legs until the feeling of dizziness
passed.
Then she cautiously got up and grabbed for the phone.
As she started to dial, she remembered that the police had put a tap on
the line.
She considered what she was going to say before calling Jason
Zacharias.
Noel answered.
"Abby! Has something happened?
Is there any word on Shannon?
She swallowed a little gulp.
"I thought J wouldn't mind staying here alone, but I'm starting to feel
nervous with Steve gone. Could you and Jason come over?"@ " Of
course.
We'll be there as soon as we can.
"Thanks."
Abby sat and waited, fighting her panic by forcing herself to study the
oddly worded note for clues.
It was written by someone who didn't speak English very well.
Or someone who was pretending that they didn't.
She knew they'd already lied about one thing.
Shannon had not been out of the country when this message had been
delivered.
Mrs. Hamadi had been at the Greenway Apartments shortly before the
police arrived, and Shannon had been there with her.
When the doorbell rang, Abby scrambled off the bed and headed for the
front hall.
Looking through the side window, she breathed a sigh o.
, f relief when she saw both Jason and Noel standing on the porch.
After stepping inside, Noel gave her a fierce hug.
Jason patted her awkwardly on the arm.
"Something happened. What?" he asked as soon as the door closed.
Abby regarded him quizzically.
In many ways, he was like her husband.
They were both tough, and smart, and had learned about life the hard
way.
But Jason was more controlled, less impulsive than Steve.
And he wasn't a man who let his private thoughts show-unless he wanted
his views known.
"How did you know something happened?" she asked him.
"You've let your friends help you look for Shannon. You haven't asked
for help getting through the night."
Abby nodded tightly.
"Come into the den. I want to show you something."
When the couple was seated on the couch, Abby handed over the
message.
" Oh, Abby - " Noel breathed.
" I'm so sorry."
"Jason, did Steve tell you where he was going?" she asked.
"Borneo."
Borneo?
She couldn't even place the country on a map.
If it was a country.
"Are you sure? How do you know?"
' He had to log a flight plan.
'That's right.
"But I've got more than his destination. He gave me a sealed note and
told me not to open it unless there was an emergency."
Jason pulled a business-size envelope from an inside jacket pocket.
Abby stared at it.
"He gave that to you, not me," she whispered.
