Greg Iles - 24 Hours

The ring of the telephone floated through the spacious sitting room. Will said a silent prayer, then walked over to the end table by the sofa and picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Will, it’s Harley Ferris. We didn’t get it.”

Will stood motionless, not speaking or even thinking, the way some people reacted to the news that an emergency room X ray had turned up lung cancer. As if by not making any move at all they could stop the terrible reality rushing toward them with the implacable indifference of a tidal wave.

“Why not?” he asked. “What happened?”

“The calls are just too short. We’re very close in absolute terms, but we’re talking about undeveloped land. Thick Mississippi woods. Waist-high underbrush. As far as the logging road you mentioned, there are dozens cut through there, all turning back on each other. And there are a hundred shacks in those woods.”

Will could imagine it all too easily: typical Mississippi backcountry.

“Doctor, what we need now is a battalion of national guardsmen to line up shoulder to shoulder and march through those woods. And an FBI Hostage Rescue Team to bring out your little girl after the guardsmen find the place.”

Will put his hand over his eyes. It would take hours to organize that kind of search. Karen would be sending the ransom wire in less than an hour. Abby’s captor would almost certainly leave the cabin before then, to meet Hickey at some prearranged rendevous. Hopefully, he would be taking Abby with him. They might have left already, Will realized, just after Hickey’s last check-in call.

“Doctor?” Ferris prodded.

“I’m thinking.” The only assumption Will felt comfortable making was that Hickey would keep Abby alive until he was sure he had the ransom money. He wanted revenge, but there was no reason to risk losing two hundred thousand dollars when it was an hour from being in his possession. And if he killed Abby too soon, he would lose leverage he might need if Karen or Will balked at the last minute.

Maybe that’s the only card I have left, Will thought. Hesitate at every step until I get confirmation that Abby’s alive. It would be a game of chicken. Hickey could order Huey to hurt Abby in order to force Will to proceed, but he couldn’t tell Huey to kill her. Not if he wanted the money.

“Doctor?” Ferris snapped. “I’ve got to say this. I don’t believe you’re thinking rationally.”

“Keep your tracing team on the job, Harley. I’m going to get them another shot at that trace.”

“How?”

“Just tell them to keep their eyes and ears on their screens.”

“What about the FBI?”

Will ground his teeth and looked out at the gulf. The cool air that had settled over the land during the night was taking on the yellow density of a Mississippi summer morning, as the sun baked it and sent it skyward again. Skyward…

“My God,” he breathed. “Cheryl!”

“What?” Ferris asked.

Cheryl came to the wide door that divided the sitting room of the suite from its bedroom. All she wore was a towel on her head.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“What kind of car does Huey drive?”

“An old pickup truck.”

“What make? What color?”

“Last time I saw it, it was baby-shit brown. Which is green, I guess. With lots of primer on it. It’s one of those old Chevys. You know, with the the rounded cab.”

“Listen to me, Harley. If you’ll make me a promise, you can call the FBI.”

“I’m tired of your conditions. I already regret-”

“She’s my daughter!” Will shouted, blood pounding in his temples. “I’m sorry. You’ve already done more than I had any right to expect. But I’ve just learned what type of vehicle the guy in Hazlehurst is driving. And the sun is up now. If the FBI could get a chopper up over that area, they might be able to find it pretty quick.”

“You’re damn right they could!” Ferris cried. “And if they can’t, the state police can. They can put out a statewide APB for the vehicle, too. If that guy tries to move with your little girl, they’ll be on him like you know what.”

“No state police. Highway patrolmen aren’t anywhere close to trained for something like this. A hostage standoff with a five-year-old? It’s got to be the FBI. A chopper out of Jackson could be on station fifteen minutes after takeoff.” Will was excited, too, but he knew the realities. ER work in small towns had taught him that while helicopters were much faster than ground vehicles, the time required to prep them for flight often meant that conventional ambulance runs were faster, even over distances of eighty or ninety miles. But Ferris’s enthusiasm knew no bounds.

“I’ll handle everything,” he said. “I’m so goddamn relieved. You just leave it to me.”

“The FBI is going to ask you a hundred questions about me. You can’t answer them. That’s my condition. You can’t even give them my name. If you do, they’ll have someone out at my house in ten minutes, and that could get my daughter killed.”

“Damn it-”

“The kidnapper is at my house right now, Harley. He can kill Abby with one phone call. The FBI’s job is to find that vehicle and that cabin. That’s it. In ninety minutes you can tell them all you know, but for now, nothing. Just the vehicle.”

“Jennings-”

“Don’t give them my phone numbers, either. If they called at the wrong time, that could get Abby killed, too. If I think of something that can help them, I’ll call you and you relay it. Understood?”

“I don’t like it. But I understand.”

“Use your head, Harley. Before every step you take, remind yourself that there’s a five-year-old girl out there, scared out of her mind.”

“I’ve got two of my own. College age now, but I remember what it’s like.”

“Good. And tell the FBI to put a paramedic in that chopper. With insulin. My daughter’s a juvenile diabetic.”

“Jesus. Insulin, I’ve got it. Well… I’d better make that call. Godspeed, boy.”

“Harley?”

“What?”

“You don’t want to know what kind of vehicle they should be looking for?”

“Shit, I forgot. What is it?”

“A green Chevy pickup with lots of primer on it. The old kind, with rounded cab.”

“Got it. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Will heard the click as Ferris disconnected.

Cheryl was still standing in the door, but at least she had wrapped the towel around her torso. Will saw the bruises on her neck and arm, where he had injected her during the night.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I woke up with the flu,” she said. “My bones ache, and all my muscles are twitching.”

“That’ll pass.”

She cinched the towel tighter around her breasts. “Um… there’s something I didn’t tell you.”

A shiver of premonition went through him. “What?”

“This is the last job. Joey’s last kidnapping.”

“He said that?”

“Uh-huh. He’s been talking about it all year. He’s had his money in the stock market a long time, and he bought some land down in Costa Rica. He’s never been there, but he says it’s a ranch. A Spanish ranch. Like zillions of acres with gauchos and stuff. For a while I thought it was, you know, bullshit. But I think maybe it’s real.”

She had held back more than he thought. But this new information only confirmed what Will had thought all along. This kidnapping was different from all the others. Hickey meant to kill Abby-and possibly Karen and himself-then vanish for good.

“You calling in the cops?” Cheryl asked.

“Not exactly.”

“Are we still going to pick up the money?”

“Absolutely. And it’s all yours.”

She looked skeptical. “Once we get it… are you going to let me go?”