Greg Iles - 24 Hours

A sound like a muffled drum suddenly echoed through the car. She thought Hickey had switched on the radio, but he hadn’t. The woman in the trunk was beating on the backseat.

“I’m glad she didn’t start that shit while we were at the booth,” Hickey said.

“Help!” screamed the muted voice. “I can’t breathe! Please let me out!”

Karen shut her eyes and prayed for the woman to be quiet. If she kept screaming, Hickey was liable to pull over and shoot her. The speed and intensity of his acts in her driveway and in the garage had sickened Karen. As a nurse, she had seen the effects of violence, but never the acts that produced the damage. Real violence was so unlike what she’d seen in movies that it was hard to grasp. Slashing Hickey’s thigh had been a reflex, an act of self-preservation. But he acted with a merciless dispatch that made her feel worse about the whole human race. The realization of what she had avoided by stabbing Hickey suddenly came home to her with searing clarity. Those other mothers had actually been raped by the man, had suffered the horror of becoming sexual whipping posts for all his repressed anger and resentment. And they had endured that horror for twenty-four hours. It was unimaginable.

The knocking behind Karen went on, but the cries decreased in intensity until they became a keening wail, like that of a small child.

“Traffic update!” Hickey cried.

“What?”

“I thought you might like to know, that helicopter ’s still hovering over the airport, three miles back. Amateurs, baby. Amateurs.”

“Are we going to get Abby now?”

He laughed. “We’re going somewhere, June Cleaver. That’s one thing you can count on. We got an appointment with destiny!”

Despite his belief that Agent Chalmers might try to keep him a virtual prisoner in the bank, Will had returned to the vice president’s office on the second floor. He had the ransom (Moore had personally packed it into the briefcase at his feet), but he could not make a decision about what to do next until he knew the outcome of the FBI’s attempt to arrest Hickey at the airport. If Hickey somehow managed to escape, Will couldn’t trust him to tell the truth about Abby or anything else over a cell phone.

When the call from SAC Zwick finally came, Agent Chalmers lifted the phone, listened for a few moments, then turned paler than he had when the SWAT team had found nothing at the cabin. In his mind’s eye, Will saw a nightmare scenario: FBI agents drawing down on Hickey on an airport concourse, Hickey putting a pistol to Abby’s head, an FBI sharpshooter shooting wide, Hickey pulling the trigger. Chalmers went on listening to Zwick, but Will couldn’t wait.

“Tell me!” he demanded.

Chalmers held up his hand.

“What happened?”

“I’m putting you on the speaker, Frank.” Chalmers hit a button on the phone. “Go ahead.”

“What happened?” Will asked. “Is my wife all right? Was my daughter there?”

Zwick’s voice came from the bottom of an electronic well. “We think your wife is fine, Doctor.”

“You think? What about my daughter?”

“We don’t know.”

“What do you mean? What happened?”

“Hickey and your wife pulled into the long-term parking garage, but they never came out. We found your Expedition with one door open. Right now, we don’t know where they are. We’re searching the airport, but it’s just possible they got out of that garage in another car. We have a photo of Hickey from Parchman Prison, and we’re faxing it down for the garage attendants to look at. We got a photo of your wife from the Clarion Ledger, and that’s on its way down, too. We’re also getting the parking lot security camera tapes.”

“What about your helicopter?”

“Nothing useful. A lot of cars left that garage during that window of time.”

“Jesus, you don’t know anything!”

“Doctor, there’s no way Hickey can-”

“Can what? It looks like he can do any damn thing he pleases!” Will stood and lifted the briefcase that held the ransom.

“What are you doing?” asked Chalmers.

“Going back to the car and waiting for Hickey’s next call. And I want you to stay right here.”

“That’s not an option, Doctor,” Zwick said from the speakerphone.

“You want to bet?”

“The only way you can participate in the resolution of this situation is our way. Otherwise, we’ll have to arrest you.”

“For what? I haven’t done anything.”

“I’ll have the Gulfport police arrest you for reckless driving. You’ve got a hooker in your car. How about prostitution?”

“What do you want me to do?”

“By now Agent Chalmers has some special equipment at his disposal downstairs. A tracking device, which you can carry in your pocket, and which will allow us to follow you from a very discreet distance. We can wait for Hickey to arrange an exchange, then be ready to take him down at the safest possible moment. We also have an undetectable wire. With the wire, we’ll know just when that moment is, and we’ll also have everything Hickey says on tape.”

“Undetectable, my ass. A wire helps you guys at trial, but it doesn’t do squat for my wife and daughter. And they’re my only priority.”

“This is nonnegotiable, Doctor.”

“You think so?” Will reached into his pocket and brought out Cheryl’s pistol. “Ask Agent Chalmers if it’s negotiable.”

“Bill?” said Zwick.

“He’s holding a gun on me, Frank. Looks like a Walther automatic.”

“You just committed a felony, Doctor,” Zwick informed him. “Don’t make this worse for yourself.”

Will laughed outright. “Worse? Are you out of your mind?” He backed toward the door. “You guys had your chance. Two chances. And you blew it both times. It’s my turn now.”

Agent Chalmers held up both hands to show that he had no intention of going for Will’s gun or his own. “At least take the tracking device. Forget the wire. I wouldn’t wear it either.”

“Shut up,” Zwick snapped.

“Where is it?” Will asked.

“I’ll call downstairs and have it waiting for you.”

Zwick said, “Agent Chalmers, as soon as he leaves that room, you will call downstairs and order the agents down there to arrest him.”

Chalmers looked into Will’s eyes. “They’ll have to shoot him to stop him, Frank. I say we let him go.”

“Goddamn it.” The speakerphone crackled for a moment. “All right, just give him the tracker. Jennings, you’re making the biggest mistake of your life. But if you’re dead set-”

“I’m out of here,” Will said. “Please don’t try any cowboy stuff. I’ll call you if you can help.”

He aimed the gun at Chalmers all the way to the stairs. Then he gave the FBI agent a salute, turned, and bounded down the steps.

In the lobby, he made a beeline for the door. The secretary who’d led him up to Moore’s office saw the gun and screamed, but a business-suited man by the front doors held up his wallet and yelled: “FBI! Everyone stay calm! It’s all right!”

As Will neared the door, the FBI agent held out a small black box with a blinking red LED on it. “GPS,” he said. “Military grade. We can track you down to the square foot you’re standing on. Don’t lose it.”

Will stuck the unit in his pocket, went through the automatic doors, and raced for the Tempo. When he hit the driver’s seat, Cheryl said, “Where the hell have you been? I’m peeing prune pits out here.”

“You’ve got a real way with words, you know?” He cranked the Ford, backed up, then pulled out of the lot and onto Highway 90. Traffic was heavy, but he didn’t see any obvious pursuit vehicles.