Mark Gimenez - The Abduction

And Elizabeth Austin had grown up alone.

“I don’t want to be an only child.”

John squeezed Sam’s shoulder and fought back tears. He had come into Sam’s room to comfort his five-year-old son. Sam had finally begun to grasp the reality that he might never see Gracie again. As had his father.

“I don’t want her room or her stuff,” Sam said. “I just want her to come back. I miss her.” He wiped his nose on his shirtsleeve. “That guy on TV, he said she’s probably dead.”

“She’s not dead,” John said, trying to sound convincing. “She’ll be back soon, buddy.”

“But you don’t know that for a fact, do you?”

“Huh? Well, no, Sam, I don’t know that for a fact.”

“So you’re just saying that to make me feel better ’cause I’m just a stupid kid.”

John beheld his kindergartner son, indisputable evidence that cloning works.

“Sam, A, you’ve got a one-sixty IQ, so you’re not stupid, and B, I’m saying that because I believe Gracie will come home.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you believe she’ll come home?”

Cripes, Sam was like Microsoft after a competitor!

“Uh, well, because I have faith.”

“In God?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s it.”

“So you believe in God?”

John hesitated. Fact is, he wasn’t sure he did believe in God. As a kid, Little Johnny Brice had often begged God to save him from the bullies’ beatings, but God never did. And John R. Brice hadn’t spent much adult time thinking about God, what with getting the Ph. D., hacking code for a killer app, and now working the IPO. And he went to church with the kids only because Mom would be disappointed in him if he didn’t. A week ago, if Sam had asked such a question, he would have automatically clicked into avoidance mode and responded to Sam like a big brother: “Hey, buddy, God is one of those deep philosophical choices that each humanoid must make for himself or herself, kind of like whether to go Windows or Mac. But look, man, don’t worry about that serious stuff now, wait till you’re older, you know, after your own IPO. Hey, let’s go to the kitchen and get down on some Rocky Road ice cream, dude.”

And that was the role he had played all these years for the kids, which was, in fact, the role he preferred: big brother, pal, buddy. Nothing more had been required of him. And besides, with Elizabeth around, the man-of-the-house role had already been taken.

But now, looking into Sam’s eyes, he could see that Sam needed something more from him. At the office, John was the Big Kahuna because he always had the answers to the toughest technical queries posed by his employees. But their questions paled next to Sam’s: Is there a God? The answer couldn’t be found in the online Help menu. John wanted to say, Shit, dude, I don’t have a freaking clue! But his five-year-old son didn’t need the big brother mode; he needed the mature adult fatherly mode. So John lied.

“Of course I believe in God.”

“But you don’t know if there really is a God, do you? I mean, like, you don’t have any evidence that proves He exists beyond a reasonable doubt, right?”

“No.”

“But you believe God is real?”

“Yes.” The second lie required less consideration.

“So you believe Gracie’s coming home because you believe in God and God takes care of kids, right?”

“That’s right.” No consideration at all.

“See, that’s why I decided God is bogus.”

“Sam, don’t say that. God’s not bogus.”

“Well, if God is spending so dang much time taking care of Gracie now, why’d he let that cretin take her in the first place?”

John gave up. “I don’t know, Sam.”

Sam frowned and said, “You think that cretin wants more than twenty-five million bucks to let her go?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Sam stared up at John for a moment, then said, “Your face looks better. From when Mom smacked you.”

“Please take the money.”

Elizabeth touched the image on the computer screen and gently traced the outline of her daughter’s face. She had logged onto the FBI’s website, the Kidnapped and Missing Persons Investigations page at www.fbi.gov/mostwant/kidnap/kidmiss.htm. Two columns of pictures and names of children abducted in Saginaw, Texas; Deltona, Florida; Santa Fe, New Mexico; Oregon City, Oregon; Jackson, Tennessee; Oklahoma City, Oklahoma; Chicago, Illinois; San Luis Obispo, California; Las Vegas, Nevada.

Where in America are children safe?

She clicked on the image of her daughter. She saw the same photo of Grace enlarged on a page that read: http://www.fbi.gov/mostwant/kidnap/brice.htm

KIDNAPPING

Post Oak, Texas

GRACIE ANN BRICE DESCRIPTION

Age: 10

Place of Birth: Dallas, Texas

Sex: Female

Height: 4’6”

Weight: 80 pounds

Hair: Short Blonde

Eyes: Blue

Race: White

THE DETAILS

Gracie Ann Brice was kidnapped after her soccer game at approximately 6:00 P.M. on Friday, April 7, at Briarwyck Farms Park in Post Oak, Texas. She was last seen wearing a soccer uniform, gold jersey with “Tornadoes” on the front and a number 9 on the back, and blue shorts, blue socks, and white Lotto soccer shoes, and a silver necklace with a silver star. Gracie may be in the company of a white male, 20 to 30 years, 200 pounds, blond hair, blue eyes, wearing a black baseball cap and a plaid shirt. He asked for Gracie by name at the park.

REMARKS

Gracie Ann Brice has a muscular build, light complexion, and short hair. Her elbows may have recent abrasions.

The parents of Gracie Ann Brice are offering a reward of $25 million for information leading to her recovery. Individuals with information concerning this case should take no action themselves, but instead immediately contact the nearest FBI Office or local law enforcement agency. For any possible sighting outside the United States, contact the nearest United States Embassy or Consulate.

Elizabeth grabbed both sides of the monitor and put her face against her daughter’s image.

“Take the money! Let her go! Please!”

A child abducted by a stranger warrants a featured slot on the network morning shows and a mention on the evening news. But when the victim’s mother puts a $25 million bounty on the abductor’s head, dead or alive, that’s lead story news.

Under orders from headquarters, FBI Special Agent Eugene Devereaux had given live interviews on the network evening news, back to back to back. He had protested that he was too busy trying to find the girl, but he had been informed that his orders came straight from Director White himself. The Bureau brass liked its agents-particularly articulate agents like himself-on national TV. Good for PR. And next year’s budget requests.

Devereaux sighed; his investigation had become a goddamned $25 million sideshow.

He was now in the command post, slouched in his chair and alternating between his left and right buttock so as not to put additional pressure on his inflamed prostate while reviewing the latest leads. He had yet to read one that rang true.

“Prostate?”

Devereaux looked up to see Colonel Brice standing there.

“Recognize the butt position,” the colonel said.

“You, too?”

The colonel nodded. “Try saw palmetto.”

“Saul who?”

“Saw palmetto. Berry from the palmetto tree. Relieves the pain. You can buy it in any health food store.”

“I heard about those places.”

The colonel gestured at the stack of leads. “Anything?”

“Yeah, over two thousand sightings,” he said. “Couple more days, we’ll know where every blonde, blue-eyed girl in the Southwest lives.”