Fatal Dawn

by Diane Capri

  “Ross, Lynette. Please. We’re here now. I understand your position, believe me. And if we’d known about you earlier, we would have contacted you before. I’ve been looking for my son for thirteen years. I’m more than a little shocked to have found you now,” Jess said as sincerely as she truly felt.

  Lynette Tierney wrapped her arms around herself. “Steven was taken because of you.”

  “Twice.” Jess pursed her lips and nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  Lynette waved her hand in the air and dissolved in a puddle of tears again.

  Her husband put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her close. “The ransom. That’s… It’s… I can do the delivery. I’ve had a lot of training. I can handle myself.”

  “I wish you could. Or the FBI,” Jess nodded toward Fernandez and sighed. “The kidnapper has asked for me.”

  Lynette’s lip trembled.

  Ross shook his head. “But I’m his father. And I’m bigger. Stronger. No offense.”

  “I know. But that’s exactly why he’s asked for me. He thinks he’s more powerful than I am. He thinks it’s safer for him if I do it.”

  “But what are you going to do? I mean, if…”

  “Mr. Tierney, you don’t know me. Your concern is understandable and appreciated. Truly.” Jess swallowed. “But I’ll be fine.”

  “How do you know?” Lynette Tierney whispered.

  “I’ve been kidnapped before and escaped. I’ve brought criminals to justice, and I’ve been shot at before. Several times,” Jess said.

  Lynette stared at her, wide-eyed.

  “I don’t relish all this adrenaline. No one with any sense does. But he wants me because he thinks I’m weak. I’ll do everything I can to convince him he’s right. Because I’ve trained for this for thirteen long years.” She cleared her throat and put much more conviction into her voice than she actually felt. “I’m more than ready. And the FBI will be right there for backup.”

  She glanced at Fernandez. He said, “Absolutely.”

  Jess nodded. “I’m every bit as motivated as you are, Ross. Trust me. This guy won’t beat me again. I’ll bring…our son back.”

  No one spoke for a good half minute.

  Ross looked hard at Jess and then at Fernandez. “You’re going to get this guy, right?”

  “Once the handover is done. We give them time to separate, so Peter and Jess are clear. After that, we close in.”

  Lynette sniffed back tears. “Steven. His name…the name he knows, is Steven.”

  Jess nodded. “Steven, yes.”

  “When’s the handover?” Ross asked.

  “Eleven tomorrow morning.”

  “Where?”

  “Somewhere around Vista Hermosa. That’s all we know.”

  “It’s supposed to snow tomorrow.”

  “Hurts him as much as us, if it does,” Fernandez said.

  Ross thought for a moment. “You can’t fly a helicopter in those conditions.”

  “We’ll have as many people on the ground as we need,” Fernandez said.

  “Any aerial surveillance at all?”

  Fernandez shrugged. “Helicopter is all we’ve got. Assuming we can get it into the air.”

  Ross pursed his lips. “I may be able to get something.”

  Jess frowned.

  “Half our training these days is drones,” Ross said.

  “If he sees or hears anything…”

  Ross shook his head. “Night Crow RQ-88. Light gray, twenty-foot wingspan. Ten hours flight time at twenty thousand feet plus. No chance.”

  Fernandez leaned forward. “Is that legal?”

  “This is my son.” He took a deep breath. “Look. We’re a training base. We have to train somewhere.” He ripped the top from a box of cereal, wrote on it, and handed it to Fernandez. “My cellphone. The weather doesn’t matter at twenty thousand feet. We’ll be up before dawn anyway. Call me. I’ll be there.”

  Fernandez said, “Okay. Thanks.”

  Jess and Fernandez said their goodbyes and returned to the taxi and then to the Gulfstream. Ten minutes later they were in the air for the five-minute hop to the tiny Vista Hermosa Regional Airport.

  Jess had no time to process the feelings she’d experienced at the Tierneys’. She shoved them aside, for now, knowing the time was coming when she’d need to face everything.

  But not until Peter was safe.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Wednesday, November 29

  3:00 p.m.

  Vista Hermosa, Colorado

  Vista Hermosa Regional Airport’s schedule couldn’t be called busy. Only twelve inbound and outbound commercial flights in a day. There were only two airlines, one an independent and the other a sub-brand of a major carrier. They shared the same facilities, including the luggage trucks and orange cones that guided passengers between the aircraft and the terminal.

  From his place on the upper level of the parking garage, Gotting had a clear view of the orange cones. Passengers disembarked the aircraft, either walking casually with their hands free, or struggling with overstuffed carry-on luggage.

  The aircraft sat while a tanker refueled the plane. Then the process would happen in reverse. Passengers boarded, which was slower than deplaning. Eventually the aircraft door was closed, and the ground crew walked the aircraft out to the taxiway.

  The plane rolled straight onto the runway and took off. The sound of its propellers carried through the cold air.

  To pass the time, Gotting used an old map to write directions for a route into the mountains. The route was pretty simple, he just needed to get the road numbers down.

  Another aircraft came and went. He watched the process happen three more times before a private jet came in.

  The jet engines roared. Small puffs of smoke came from the tires as it touched down. It rolled to the far end of the runway before taxiing to the terminal.

  The fuselage boasted the image of a multicolored scarf waving in the breeze. Gotting recognized the logo. ShareJet, a business jet taxi service for the rich. He grinned.

  He leaned forward as the aircraft came to a stop. A door behind the cockpit opened. A man lowered steps from the aircraft. The rich didn’t wait for the rickety flight stairs ordinary people used.

  Jess Kimball stepped out. Gotting stared hard. He gripped the steering wheel like a vise. She’d begged for three million instead of five, and now she was traveling in a private jet.

  She walked down the steps. A man followed her. In his crisp, dark suit he could have been a banker or a lawyer, but Gotting knew he was FBI. The G-man scanned the tarmac from the moment he exited the plane until they disappeared into the terminal.

  Gotting backed out of his parking spot and headed around to arrivals. He parked two cars back from the airport’s only rental car location. A few minutes later, Kimball and the G-man headed out to a Ford Explorer and drove out of the airport.

  The Explorer was big enough that Gotting didn’t have to get close to follow it. He watched them all the way to the Faversham Hotel. It was one of those new places, mostly made of sheetrock, paint, and glass.

  Large windows offered a good view into the lobby. He watched them check in separately and take the elevator.

  Once they had disappeared, he drove back down the road and stopped at a parcel delivery place. He picked up a mailer with the word Express on it. He put the directions he had written earlier inside, sealed the mailer and wrote an address in the small box designated for the purpose.

  The girl behind the counter paid him no attention when he handed over the padded envelope. She typed the address into a computer and frowned. “You know this place is just down the road, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  She pointed. “Opposite the Faversham.”

  “I want a record of the delivery,” he lied.

  She shrugged. “Six dollars for delivery by ten a.m.”

  Gotting paid cash. She gave him a receipt with a twelve-digit tracking number.

  Two doors
down from the parcel delivery place was a sports store selling ski and snowboard gear. He checked his cash. He grimaced. He was running out of money just as he was about to get three million for the kid. The irony was painful.

  He browsed the sports shop. He hadn’t skied since his leg was mangled in prison. Snowboarding would allow both legs to work together. The boots wouldn’t force him to walk like a robot.

  He tested a couple of pairs of boots before settling on a pair that had a rough, crepe-like sole that he knew gripped well on snow. He bought the cheapest pair of goggles and a backpack. After he paid the bill, he was left with eleven dollars. Not enough for a ski jacket or a board, which left him with another task.

  He joked about the sad state of his closet, and the checkout clerk was happy to give him a handful of metal hangers left over from the summer sales.

  He sat in the parking lot thinking about what he’d seen. It shouldn’t have angered him that Kimball arrived in a private jet. After all, she’d arrived in Colorado much more quickly. But he shouldn’t have agreed to three million. He felt used and conned.

  After a few minutes, he decided. She thought she’d got the upper hand. She thought he could be pushed around. Maybe she thought she was going to get her boy back without paying the money at all.

  He grinned.

  Time she learned how weak she really was.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  Wednesday, November 29

  4:00 p.m.

  Vista Hermosa, Colorado

  Jess stood in the Vista Hermosa police transportation garage, a large metal building in an industrial park on the outskirts of town. High windows allowed light in and a roll-up door provided access. A couple of police vehicles were on ramps being repaired.

  The FBI and the Colorado Bureau of Investigation were well prepared. Fernandez had briefed her on the number and location of personnel from both agencies. But no large meeting of the entire team was scheduled, in case Gotting was watching.

  Three times, Fernandez had offered to replace Jess for the handover. He introduced her to a female agent with a medium build and curly blonde hair who had volunteered.

  Jess turned them down. An FBI agent was much better trained to deal with whatever happened, but Gotting knew exactly what she looked like. The smallest detail might push him to abort the exchange or hurt Peter. She couldn’t take the chance.

  Besides, Peter was her son. She’d spent thirteen long years searching for him. She was no vigilante, but she was prepared to pull out all the stops to rescue him. Certainly, more than she would ever expect someone else to do. She was Peter’s mother. This was her job. She wanted to do it herself.

  Even as she knew that preparation and planning would make the operation successful, she fought impatience. Tension tightened all of her muscles. She moved to a corner to work through a series of stretches. She was so close. Closer than she’d been to her son in way too long. Tomorrow seemed an eternity from now.

  The FBI vehicle for the handover was a dark blue Jeep Wrangler with a muscular V8 and hardtop. She walked over for her training.

  A man in coveralls and a black fleece cap introduced himself as Phil Collins. “Like the famous singer, except more hair and less money,” he said, grinning and patting his head.

  Jess gave a weak laugh. She knew everyone was trying to get her past the anxiety over Peter’s safety. She appreciated their efforts, although they didn’t seem to help much.

  Collins grimaced and turned his efforts to preparing Jess instead of trying to relieve her stress level. He walked to the back of the Jeep.

  “There are two guns. Glocks, since you’re familiar with them. One under the driver’s seat, the other under here.” He showed her the outside gun first. He patted under the right rear wheel arch. “Try to grab it.”

  Jess knelt and reached under the Jeep’s flared arch. She fumbled to locate the gun’s grip.

  “Dead center of the arch,” Collins said, but he didn’t reach in to guide her.

  Jess found the gun. It was wrapped in something slippery.

  “Keep your finger away from the trigger and give it a firm yank.”

  She did as he instructed and pulled the gun free. It was stored in a thin, transparent plastic bag.

  “Rip the plastic off if you have time. You’ll have better aim. Or fire immediately if you need to,” Collins said. “Not elegant or clean, but it’ll work fine. And you have seventeen rounds. Same as the Glock you’re used to.”

  “Not that we’re expecting you to fire at all,” Fernandez said. “But just in case you need it for self-defense.”

  She nodded.

  Collins took the Glock from her and opened the driver’s door. “Try the under-seat gun.”

  She settled herself in the driver’s seat. Without bending at all, she reached underneath the front of the seat between her knees and found it in one motion.

  “Easy,” she said.

  “The same type of gun, the same number of shots,” Collins said.

  Jess returned the Glock to its place under the driver’s seat. She closed her eyes and rested her hands on the steering wheel. In one smooth movement, she reached down, grabbed the gun, and aimed at the roll-up door, all without looking.

  She could confidently assure Henry that she could reach the gun with her eyes closed.

  Collins shook his head. “Don’t try to shoot through the windshield. The bullet will go wild and you’ll end up covered in safety glass. On top of which, in these temperatures, you’ll freeze after only a minute or two of driving time. Better to fire through the side windows.”

  Jess nodded. “Got it.”

  Collins patted the dashboard, identifying locations as he explained each piece of equipment. “We’ve mic’d the interior. We’ll try to listen, but reception isn’t always the best in the mountains. We have a recorder on board, which won’t help in the moment, but we’ll have it for evidence against Gotting when we’re done. The screen has navigation. Since you probably won’t know where he’s leading you ahead of time, leave it set to follow your location instead of trying to predict the route. Keep an eye on it all of the time. Pay attention to the roads around you, so you have an immediate idea of escape routes.”

  He pointed to a pair of gear levers. “Leave it in 4H, which means four-wheel drive, high range. It’ll be good on the roads in this snow, and if you do go off-road, it’ll work there, too.”

  “Manual transmission,” she said, with her hand on the shifter knob.

  “Six gears. You okay with a stick?”

  “Haven’t driven one in a while.” She grinned. “One of the benefits of being a penniless student. I couldn’t afford an automatic.”

  “Ah.” Collins smiled, too. “We don’t think you’ll be going off-road, but if you do, manual transmission is best.”

  “I understand.”

  “One last thing.” He stepped back from the door and gestured toward the Jeep. “This vehicle will cover all sorts of terrain. Big rocks and frightening slopes. But the kind of things you see on the internet? Leave that stuff to the professionals. If you’re faced with a thirty-degree incline or steeper, you need to be looking for a different route. It’ll do way more than that, but the margin for error will be overcome in a heartbeat. Roll this Jeep and you’ll be in a world of hurt.”

  “Got it,” she said again.

  Collins settled into the passenger seat. “Let’s go for a drive. Make sure you can operate everything.”

  She nodded, started the engine, and they put the Jeep through its paces. When they rolled back into the parking lot, Collins gave her two thumbs up.

  “Thank you, Phil. I’ll never listen to Genesis again without thinking of you.” She smiled, and he laughed as he waved and walked away.

  She stayed in the Jeep for a while, familiarizing herself with all the instruments, checking the position of the Glock, practicing her draw and aim with her eyes opened and closed.

  Fernandez came over to check on her. “Any questions?”


  Jess gripped the steering wheel, checking her sight lines through the windows, and practicing reaching for the gun one last time. Muscle memory and instincts were two invaluable weapons she couldn’t take for granted.

  This was it.

  After thirteen long, long years she would exchange millions of dollars for her son, armed and prepared. She’d worked every day investigating crime for Taboo. She’d been in tight places and up against ruthless killers before.

  But confronting Gotting was different.

  He’d lived in her building all those years ago. He’d watched her for a period of time and she’d never noticed him at all.

  He’d watched her for a long while. Long enough to know her habits and routines. Coldly, he’d identified her as an easy target. He’d found a way to steal her son and knew when and where to sell the baby.

  He’d planned the perfect crime. And he’d pulled it off.

  She hadn’t found him. All the best investigators, the best agencies, the sharpest tech available had failed.

  In the end, he’d exposed himself.

  Only greed motivated him. He cared about nothing else. He wanted the money. He’d do anything to get it. Of that, she was certain.

  He wouldn’t be satisfied for very long. If his extortion scheme worked, if he lived, he’d want more money.

  He’d find more victims. He’d blackmail another mother. And another. And another after that.

  Nothing would make him stop. Not as long as he drew breath.

  She squeezed the steering wheel. Whatever happened tomorrow, Peter would be saved. He’d always meant everything to her and he always would.

  But Gotting meant even less to her than she meant to him.

  Her never-ending manhunt was almost over. What would she do then?

  “Jess?” Fernandez prompted again, louder. “Any questions?”

  She shook her head and squared her shoulders. “I’m ready.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO