James Grippando - The Abduction

Howe glanced at the Secret Service agent, who seemed to have overheard. “I’m not concerned about the number of viewers, Buck. I want broad coverage so the kidnappers will see it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Two minutes!” shouted the program director. “Two minutes to silence.”

“You’d better take your place,” said LaBelle.

The general walked across the set, then seated himself behind the desk. A makeup artist powdered his face, then quickly disappeared. Howe sat pensively, orienting himself to the camera, lights, and TelePrompTer.

“Fifteen seconds,” shouted the director.

He licked his lips, calming his nerves.

“On the air!”

The general paused two seconds, then spoke directly into camera 1.

“Good evening, my fellow Americans. As you all know, the Howe family has suffered a terrible tragedy. Kristen Howe, my daughter’s only child, was abducted yesterday morning. This afternoon, my wife and I received a ransom demand of one million dollars.

“What the media did not report to you, however, is this: The kidnappers threatened to kill their hostage if the ransom demand was made public.”

Howe turned in his chair. Camera 3 moved in for a closer shot.

“I don’t know how the ransom demand became public. It certainly wasn’t leaked by the Howe family. I trust it wasn’t leaked by law enforcement. I’m told that the FBI is currently investigating whether it was leaked by someone in the attorney general’s office. We will simply have to wait and see. For the moment, however, I have just three things to say.

“First, to my opponent, Allison Leahy. If the ransom demand was leaked by you or your supporters for political gain, this is the most despicable act ever committed in the history of American politics.

“Second, to the cowards who have put a price on the head of an innocent child: I don’t have a million dollars, and I wouldn’t give it to you if I had it. Unlike my opponent and her millionaire husband, my wife and I subsist on a modest military pension.

“Third, to the American people…”

The general rose, then walked to a projection screen at the back of the set. It lit up as he reached it, revealing a wall of photographs, floor to ceiling, each an individual photo of a child. The camera panned the photographs, then returned to General Howe.

“Every one of the young children you see on this wall is missing, the victim of a child abductor. It happens every hour of every day, in every community in the country. In 1990 the Justice Department estimated that as many as 4,600 children were being abducted by nonfamily members each year. Three hundred children were either detained for a long period of time or murdered. Ten years later, the problem is only worse. Much worse.”

He walked to another screen. It too lit up-more photographs, men of all ages.

“Each of the men on this board is a known child abductor. More to the point, each of these men is currently roaming the streets of America, preying on young children. We know who they are and what they’ve done. Law enforcement simply does not have the resources to find them and bring them to justice.”

He faced the camera.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I devoted my life to protecting the national security of this country. Nothing threatens our national security more than a direct attack against our children. Politicians talk about the war against crime. I know what it means to be at war. Believe me. We are not at war. But we should be.

“Although the military has shrunk in size over the past ten years, the United States of America now has the most skilled and highly trained army ever assembled on the face of the earth. We should put it to use.

“Tonight, I’m calling upon President Sires, in the final weeks of his service as commander in chief, to sign an executive order that will authorize and direct the use of military personnel to assist in the search for and apprehension of child abductors. If I am elected president, I promise you I will sign such an executive order. In the interest of full disclosure, I also promise that there will be no more important assignment than the apprehension of those responsible for the abduction of Kristen Howe.

“Thank you. May God bless America. And its children.”

Tanya Howe sat motionless before the television set in her living room. Her breathing quickened as the rage swelled within. Her eyes nearly burned a path across the carpet as she turned and glared at her mother.

“He just murdered my daughter.” Her voice combined anger and disbelief.

Natalie blinked uneasily, struggling to answer. “Your father is a very smart man, Tanya. He knows what he’s doing.”

“No, I know what he’s doing.” She glanced at the FBI agent monitoring the phone. “I want you out of here,” she told him.

Her mother rose. “Tanya, please. Don’t overreact.”

She shook with rage. “The kidnappers have threatened to kill Kristen if the cops are involved. And so what do we do? We have the FBI sitting in my living room and my self-centered excuse for a father declaring war on national television. I’m not overreacting. I’m taking control. Somebody has to.”

Natalie took her hand. “I wish you would just wait.”

“Wait until she’s dead?” she shouted, shaking free. “No, Mom. I’m not waiting.”

She grabbed the agent’s coat and threw it at him, then ran to the door and flung it open. “Get out of my house! Take your guns, your radios, your tanks, your bazookas, and whatever the hell else it is that you and General Howe think it will take to wage war and get my daughter killed. Get out!”

Cold air rushed through the open door, sending a chill through the room. The agent looked at Natalie. “We have to abide by the wishes of Kristen’s mother,” he said, then glanced at Tanya. “We’ll check back in the morning to make sure your decision is final.”

She slammed the door shut as he crossed the threshold. She stood frozen for a moment, alone in the foyer. Her eyes locked on a pair of small, muddy sneakers behind the door-Kristen’s shoes, laying right where she always left them, despite her mother’s nagging.

Tanya picked one up and clutched it. Her shoulders began to heave. She slumped against the door as the tears began to flow.

Allison had watched the general’s broadcast from her townhouse in Georgetown. She was on the telephone immediately, checking with David Wilcox and others to see if anyone in her camp knew about the ransom demand. If the leak had come from within the Leahy campaign, she wanted to deal with it immediately. She left it to her aide to arrange a morning meeting at campaign headquarters, then she retired to her library to prepare a response to the general’s broadcast.

Just after 10:00 P.M. the doorbell rang. Her maid answered in the company of a Secret Service agent. Allison was on her way to the kitchen for a coffee refill when she saw Harley Abrams standing in the foyer. She stopped in the hall.

“Come in,” she said.

Harley handed his coat to the maid, then followed Allison into the library.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

They sat facing each other in matching leather armchairs. Harley scanned the room, seeming to admire its carved mahogany paneling and marble fireplace. Or maybe he’d gone off the deep end and was checking for hidden microphones.

She crossed her legs and stirred her coffee. “I’ve been feeling somewhat torn about our meeting in your office today. The last thing I wanted you to think was that I played Emily’s audiocassette for sympathy. That was sacred to me, like showing you my soul. But I was getting pushed out unfairly. I knew the only way to earn your trust was to show you in dramatic fashion that I’ve walked in Tanya Howe’s shoes.”