Greg Iles - 24 Hours

He could not help but smile. As cryptic as this phrase would appear to Hickey, he was sure Karen would understand it. She’d had a crush on Robert Redford for years.

“What are you typing?” Cheryl asked.

At Will’s request, she lay on the sofa a few feet away, sipping from a can of Coke. She had complained when he asked her to stop drinking rum, but she seemed to realize that she needed to be clear-headed for whatever might happen in the next few hours. The question of why she seemed to be cooperating had occupied a great deal of Will’s thoughts. Was it fear of more succinylcholine injections? Desire for the money he had promised, and the freedom it offered? Or had she come to believe that Hickey did mean to kill Abby, and wanted no part of it? The answer was probably a combination of all three, in proportions she herself did not understand.

Will plugged his Dell into the data port of the hotel phone and logged on to AOL through their 800 number. His mailbox was empty. He sent the e-mail to Karen’s screen name-kjen39-then logged off. Seconds after the program disconnected, the phone began to ring.

It was only 4:15-halfway between the scheduled check-in calls. Will motioned for her to answer.

She picked up, said, “Yeah?” then handed the receiver to Will. He expected to hear the voice of Harley Ferris, but it was his answering service, making sure he’d gotten the pager message. The operator said something encouraging about “that little girl who needs the liver transplant.” Assuming this was part of a cover story Karen had fabricated, Will made appropriate noises and hung up.

Almost immediately, the phone rang again.

“That has to be Ferris,” he said, grabbing the receiver. “Will Jennings.”

“Harley Ferris, Doctor. Our computers show a call just after four a.m., processed through the tower that serves the Hazlehurst area. It came from one of the landlines at your house.”

Will’s pulse kicked into hyperdrive. “Did you get any idea of the receiver’s position?”

“No. Even if we’d had a tracing van there, it would have been tough. The call lasted less than fifteen seconds, and the phone was switched off afterward.”

“What about the phone number? Do you have the name of the person who rented the phone?”

“Yes. But without police involvement, I can’t do anything with it. I can’t even tell it to you. I’m assuming it’s an alias, but only the police could tell us that.”

“I’m not asking you to give me the name, okay? But tell me this. Was it Joe Hickey?”

“No. Look, it’s time to bring the FBI in on this. Our security people have good contacts with the local field office-”

“You gave me your word, Harley. Not until morning. What about your tracing vans? Where are they?”

“They’re up in Tunica County, working with the state police on a fraud operation that involves casino employees.”

Will gritted his teeth. Tunica County was practically Memphis. That meant a minimum of three hours before the vans could get to Jackson, much less Hazlehurst. “That’s eight a.m. before they could even start tracing.”

“Exactly. I told one crew to hit the road and come on, but you’re right about the time. That’s why-”

“No police. Could this equipment be flown down?”

“It’s four-thirty in the morning!”

“I have pilot friends who’d get out of bed right now and go get it.”

“Some of this gear is hardwired into the vans, Jennings. Listen. .. there’s a guy who used to work for us, an engineer. He’s retired, but he keeps his hand in. I’ll give him a call. He’s probably got enough equipment in his garage to do a trace from his truck.”

Will’s heart surged. “Do you think he would?”

“He’s a good man. We’re probably looking at an hour or more to get him and his equipment on site, but that beats the Tunica crew by a long shot.”

“Does the FBI have the equipment you need?”

“I wish I could tell you they did, because I want you to call them. But the fact is, when the Bureau needs cell phones traced in Mississippi, they call us.”

“Damn it.” Will tried to think logically, but fatigue was starting to take its toll. “You’d better call that engineer.”

“Doctor,” Ferris said in a compassionate voice, “You realize that we may not be able to trace this phone in time, even with a vehicle down there? If the calls don’t run any longer than fifteen seconds, it’s a crapshoot.”

“We’ve got to try. It’s our only option. You’ve got to trust me on that. My daughter’s life depends on secrecy.”

He gave Ferris the numbers of his answering service, the direct SkyTel line, and Cheryl’s cell phone. “I should be here,” he said, “but there’s no telling what could happen before morning. Call me as soon as you know anything.”

“I will,” Ferris promised. “I hope God’s paying attention tonight.”

As Will hung up, he felt Cheryl’s hand on his arm. Despite what he’d done to her earlier, she was watching him with empathy.

“Do you think Huey would really kill Abby?” he asked.

She bit her lip. “It’s hard for me to imagine it. But if Joey pushed him hard enough… he might. He can’t take pressure, you know? He sort of flips out, like Dustin Hoffman in the bathtub in Rain Man.”

Will felt an enormous weight descend on his shoulders. If Ferris’s people traced Huey’s phone, they would have to be very careful about their next move. If they responded inappropriately, Abby could die simply because a mentally handicapped man lost control of himself for a few seconds.

“How are we supposed to get her back?” he asked. “I mean, what did Joey tell you? After you and I pick up the ransom from the bank, what are you supposed to do?”

Cheryl hesitated, still fighting some internal battle. “I call Joey,” she said finally. “Then we meet at the motel in Brookhaven.”

“You’re supposed to bring me along?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you always brought the husband?”

She hesitated again.

“Cheryl-”

“No. This is the first time.”

Will shook his head. “I told you this time is different. Joe thinks I killed his mother, and he wants to kill Karen and Abby in front of me.”

“That’s not it.”

“Yes, it is. Only I can’t believe he’d put himself, Abby, and the money in one place. If he does, he’s vulnerable. He has to assume that I could torture the name of the motel out of you, which means the FBI could come down on that place like the wrath of God.”

“It’s the truth,” she insisted. “The Trucker’s Rest Motel, in Brookhaven.”

“That may be what he told you. But that’s not how it’s supposed to go down. I’ve got to know where Abby is. You must know something more, Cheryl. Think.”

She shook her head in exhaustion. “I think you should just pay Joey the money. That’s the way to get your kid back. That’s the way the others guys did it.”

“I’m not the other guys.” He picked up her Coke can and downed what was left for the caffeine. “I’m down for special treatment.”

“I thought you didn’t like gambling. Betting against Joey is like betting against the house.”

Not with you up my sleeve, he thought. But he said, “It’s that kind of thinking that keeps you where you are, Cheryl.” He turned and arced the Coke can into the wastebasket from fifteen feet. “When everything’s on the line, you’ve got to go for it.”

Karen downloaded Will’s e-mail at 4:25 A.M. Getting into the study to check it wasn’t difficult, because Hickey had finally passed out on the bed. The combination of Wild Turkey and the etouffee omelet had proved too much for him.

She stared at the message, trying to read between the lines. The first part was clear enough. Will had received her message and understood its meaning. He promised that Abby would make it and told Karen to trust him. But the next line stumped her. Do you believe the condor is an endangered species? It had to be some kind of code. Will had been worried that Hickey might see the message, so he had used something only she would understand. Or that he thought she would understand. Did “endangered species” refer to Abby? And what did a “condor” have to do with anything? A condor was a type of bird. A large bird. Could Will be referring to his airplane?