Randy White: Dead Silence

There is a airless quality to a room filled with people in shock, a pheromone tension that depletes oxygen and leaches sweat. Small sounds echo. A cough is an occasional mask of the unchecked sob. Airports have a designated room. This room at the Waldorf was too richly lighted for the dark space it had become.

Hooker stood in the back, his expression attentive, not somber-a man accustomed to conflict. He nodded at me, then used his eyes to steer my attention to a computer.

On the screen was a photo of the teenage boy, Will Chaser. His abductors had used a flash. The black background was a garbage bag, possibly in the trunk of a car. His mouth was taped, cheeks inflated, and his brown eyes bulged as if surprised by the sudden light. They’d just removed his blindfold.

It was a close-up, head and shoulders. The pearl buttons of his western shirt matched the boots and cowboy hat I’d seen earlier. So did the untanned line on his forehead where black hair spilled over, thick as a brush. Because the boy’s chin was thrust forward, I guessed his hands were taped behind his back.

Looking at the photo, the image of Bern Heller sparked behind my eyes, then dissipated due to clinical indifference. In the Darwinian paradigm, a self-culling mechanism is requisite.

The image was replaced by the face of Will Chaser, the country boy newly arrived in the big city, all polished and brushed. I’d been amused by his tough guy posturing. “A goat ever kicked your ass, mister?” He’d said that when I’d hollered, “Kid!” Just off the plane, a teen who’d been miniaturized by skyscrapers, atomized by crowds, reduced to a speck, but he still had enough Oklahoma grit on his boots to fire back at a stranger.

No more tough-guy attitude. Not now. Adults go into shock when taped, gagged and blindfolded. This was a small-town boy. In the photo, he looked helpless as an infant.

As I followed Barbara across the room, the police captain, a woman named Tiffany Denzler, frowned her disapproval, saying, “Another outsider, Senator? This briefing was intended to be confidential.”

Hooker and I, the outsiders. Or maybe she meant staff, too. The captain had a point. Any of us could have ties with the bad guys.

Turning to the FBI agent, Denzler added, “I wouldn’t allow it, normally. I’m not sure I’m going to allow it tonight,” her tone less differential, her body language letting the room know that she was in charge-a bird-sized woman claiming more space, the way she stood, elbows out, hands on her familiar gun belt where there was a 9mm Glock, right side, in a speed holster.

The cop’s attitude changed when Barbara released my arm, saying, “Captain, were you sent to make decisions? You’re here to follow orders, that’s my understanding.”

“If that’s your understanding, Senator, I’m not going to burst your bubble-”

“A wise choice, Captain Denzler. You would disappoint the police commissioner and the head of your NYPD Captains Union-they’ve been very supportive in our phone conferences. The commissioner spoke well of you.”

Denzler cleared her throat. “Senator Hayes-Sorrento, if you expect us to find these people we can’t share information with every out-of-town visitor who happens to be in the neighborhood-”

“Visitors, Captain? How many of the kidnappers do you have in custody?”

Denzler said, “Pardon me, Senator?,” to give herself a second before she answered, “I have one suspect in custody. He hasn’t been charged yet because-”

“He’s not your suspect, you didn’t catch him.” Barbara motioned to me. “This gentleman did… and almost died. And the man in the back of the room got me out of one hell of a dangerous spot. You haven’t met Sir James Montbard and Dr. Ford. When you do, take a moment and thank them. If you’re smart, you’ll ask for their input.”

Barbara’s voice softened but not her tone as she added, “I don’t expect miracles. I know the numbers and they’re not encouraging. There are twelve thousand taxis and limos in this city. And, what, forty-some thousand taxi and limo drivers? It’s impossible to search every vehicle. Or to seal off the island. The NYPD is as good as it gets. But you personally, Captain, haven’t done a goddamn thing to impress me. Until you do, don’t presume to give orders. You will treat my staff and associates with respect. Is that understood?”

It was like a balloon deflating, the way Denzler looked in her starched uniform, arms at her sides now, while the FBI agent took an imperceptible step, distancing himself. The cop’s eyes moved from me to Hooker as if seeing us for the first time. “I didn’t realize, gentlemen. I apologize. I read the report on the abduction and what happened at the park. Outstanding, the way you responded, especially for civilians.”

Hooker said, “High praise indeed,” sounding sincere but smiling.

Barbara had moved close enough to put her hand on the policewoman’s shoulder but didn’t. The positioning suggested endorsement yet withheld approval. The woman knew how to manipulate people and control a room.

“The important thing, Captain, is that we work together. You’re the expert. We’re the amateurs. We need your help.”

“Senator, I think we got off on the wrong foot-”

“Don’t we all occasionally? I should have discussed protocol with you privately. But let’s get down to business”-Barbara was pouring herself a glass of wine-“so please continue with your briefing. Hold all questions until you’re done?”

Denzler replied, “That works for me,” sounding grateful and eager to please.

Senator Hayes-Sorrento poured a second glass of wine. As she offered it to me, I gave her a look: Impressive.

The woman shrugged, her eyes looking into mine: Part of the job.

Nice eyes. Gray-green with flecks of gold. Power flecks, my friend Tomlinson calls them. Sensuality transceivers.

I hadn’t noticed before.

While Denzler briefed us, the FBI agent’s cell phone buzzed. He went outside to take the call. When he returned, his projected detachment told me it was important. But not too important it couldn’t wait, because he took a seat and listened with the rest of us while the policewoman told us the latest.

At 8:45 p.m., the kidnappers had e-mailed a ransom note to three general Internet addresses used by the NYPD. Nearly an hour later, the photo arrived sent as an attachment.

The note was written in precise English, but the syntax suggested it was composed by someone whose native language was Spanish. Probably male. He had written “interned” instead of “buried.” He had written “the air cylinder in testament produces” rather than “the oxygen tank will produce.” The name William Chaser was used in the subject line of the photo, but the note referred to their captive as “she” or “the politician.” The note had been written in advance of the abduction, anticipating the senator, not a teenage boy.

Denzler said she couldn’t show us the note or the exact wording. Instead, she had created a computer document outlining key points. I understood the purpose but found it irritating.

The kidnapper’s note said the Minnesota teenager would be put into a box, then buried. The box contained an air cylinder with enough oxygen for approximately thirty-six hours. A tube running from a canteen would be taped to the boy’s mouth, so he would have a limited amount of water.

If certain demands were met, the kidnappers would post the GPS coordinates of the box on a popular third-party website. It didn’t name the site. If the American government responded before eight a.m. on Sunday, the boy might live. If there was an attempt to negotiate, or to pursue, the boy would die.

The kidnappers had effectively placed the boy’s life in the hands of the people they were extorting. They claimed to be Castro Revivalists and wanted Cuba to return to National Socialism. They called themselves the Bearded Ones.