Kirk Russell - Shell Games

Or she’d found a way to keep Kline from killing her, Marquez thought. She had an idea and begged and argued that she had this net worth via her husband. Gave them facts they could check. He looked at Stuart, his dark hair receding to mid-skull, a delicate almost feminine quality to his features. According to Petersen they’d known within minutes of meeting that they were meant for each other.

“I don’t care about the money,” Stuart said. “Let’s respond, right now. I know the FBI will be involved, but I want to give them a signal that I’ll pay. Let’s try to move the hand-over time forward. Let’s suggest this afternoon. I have to make calls though. I need to go to my car and get a phone number, and I’ll call my banker.”

“Hang on a minute, Stuart.”

Marquez’s phone was ringing and when he saw it was Keeler’s number he excused himself and walked out to his truck, sat there looking at a line of beige motel doors as Keeler explained what was evolving.

“How long will it take you to get here, John?”

“Three hours.”

“We’re going to schedule a meeting around that.”

“You’ve spoken to Douglas?”

“Yes, and they want a response made from here, but they want to talk to you first.”

“I’m on my way.” He hung up and went inside to get the lap-top and let Stuart know they’d call him from Sacramento. But looking at Stuart he didn’t see why he shouldn’t sit in. “I may have to talk you into the room, but why don’t you follow me.”

Stuart’s white Camry sat uncomfortably close behind him all the way to Sacramento. He led him into the meeting and Stuart must have thought it out on the ride because he conducted his own defense for being there, arguing that they needed him to verify authenticity and for his knowledge of her habits, the things no one else could know about his wife. For words she might use to pass a message in the communication. Then, succinctly and without drama, he presented his theory about how the idea might have been hatched by someone who’d read the newspaper in Redding or learned of the dollar amount of the award by word of mouth.

Chief Baird deferred to the FBI and they made the decision to let Stuart remain in the room, on the condition that he left during parts of the discussion, which turned out to include questioning about whether Petersen’s pregnancy could be via another man and the possibility she’d staged the event and run off with her lover. And they were interested in Stuart’s money, that the amount he’d made on this last award was nearly the same as the demand. But Marquez caught Douglas’s eyes and knew this part was an exercise. Douglas knew, they all knew.

Now, as they took a coffee and bathroom break, Douglas slid into a chair next to Marquez. He touched him on the arm, leaned over and said quietly, “You know what’s coming.”

“And we’ll say yes.”

“I don’t know how yet, but we’ll be there with you.”

The door closed and the meeting started again. It was 11:20 now, forty minutes from the deadline. Douglas turned to Marquez after Stuart had been asked to leave the room.

“Okay, John, what’s your guess? Where’s this ransom going to deliver?”

“Someplace where he controls the access, someplace not too easy to get to.” Marquez recalled how Kline had used an old mining area in Mexico. He’d bought off the local Federales, and the mines were in dry mountain country honeycombed with dirt roads, con-necting shafts, and scattered entry points with rock overlooks. He went on, “Kline used to prefer the night, but I don’t know how he operates anymore. You’d have to tell me.”

“He still likes the dark.”

“He’ll ask for a hand delivery and take that person or persons hostage until he’s sure he’s away safely. We had a case where he snapped one of those neck rings the Colombians were making for a while around the neck of the wife who delivered a ransom.”

“For those of you who don’t know,” Douglas said, “that was an explosive device that could be detonated remotely and blow the victim’s head off at the shoulders.”

“He won’t relinquish control until he’s sure. That’s the bottom line,” Marquez said. He could feel their eyes on him. The room quieted and everyone waited on his answer.

“Then why don’t we insist on a wire transfer or something of that nature?” Chief Baird asked.

Douglas answered, “It’s like John said, he won’t give us the option.” Douglas turned back to Marquez and asked the question he already knew the answer to. “Are you willing to deliver the money?” Marquez nodded. Douglas glanced at his watch. “Okay, I’ve got five minutes to noon. Anything else? Anybody, any last comments? John, anything?”

“Send it.”

The e-mail was short, said they agreed to the terms but needed to verify she was alive. At one minute to noon Douglas talked to the FBI tech, confirming they were ready to go. He hit “send” and Marquez watched the antivirus icon appear and then disappear as the e-mail went. For minutes no one moved, until Baird pushed his chair back, stood up and then rested a hand on Marquez’s shoulder. Marquez sat with the FBI agents for another hour, met briefly with Keeler and Baird, then drove home. They wanted him to wait there to be easily available.

Once home he checked e-mail every ten minutes. The house felt too small and the waiting inadequate. Then, shortly after 4:00 the response came to Marquez’s mailbox, to an address he used outside the department, mostly for private e-mail. Petersen knew that address and he had to assume they’d gotten it from her. He read the new message then forwarded it before opening the Web site it gave. The message read: $2,000,000 cash to be loaded in waterproofs and Marquez will deliver via Zodiac. Must have a range of 100 miles. Confirm Web site, confirm delivery terms agreed. www.officerinview.net

Marquez clicked onto the Web site as the phone rang. Douglas. The FBI was already looking at her. Petersen was naked and seated in a chair. Her face carried plum-colored bruises, her arms and legs were taped to the chair. The backdrop was black and he couldn’t read anything in it and realized she was trying to smile. They must have told her she had to smile, and he couldn’t distance himself, couldn’t separate himself as he listened to Douglas’s analysis. He’d brought this on her. Take anything and everything that he’d ever done with Petersen, any of the busts, the surveillances, anything positive they’d ever done together and she would’ve been better off never having met him. He’d brought this to her.

“It’s intended to shock us into compliance and confirm that she’s alive,” Douglas said, “but it doesn’t confirm she is. The signal is bouncing but the Web site is transmitting real time. However, this may be a digital tape they made yesterday. It doesn’t tell us she’s alive.”

Marquez heard the front door open and he came to his feet, startling Katherine as she came in.

“What do you make of the Zodiac?” Douglas asked.

“It allows him a lot of flexibility. I can run up on a beach or out to sea and a hundred miles is a long swing.”

“He knows we’ll track you every which way, so what’s he thinking?”

“I don’t know.”

Katherine gripped his hand hard as she looked at the screen.

“I don’t have to tell you she may already be dead,” Douglas said.

No you don’t have to tell me, Marquez thought.

“And there’s no guarantee he’s going to let you deliver and go,” Douglas continued.

“You sound like the guy I buy boat insurance from. After we do a deal he makes sure I know what’s not covered.”

“You’ve got a family and we can make up an excuse. We’ll get a volunteer, someone that shoots very straight and swims well.”