James Grippando - The Abduction

“I take it he didn’t like Mark.”

“He didn’t even know Mark. Never met him.”

“Then what was the problem?”

“Mark was white.”

The room suddenly seemed colder. Allison didn’t move. “That was a problem for General Howe?” she asked incredulously.

“I know,” she scoffed. “Seems hard to believe, doesn’t it? General Howe, Mister opportunity himself. Can’t handle the fact that his granddaughter is half white. Never sent her a Christmas present. Never a birthday card. To him, she didn’t exist. I no longer existed.”

Allison sighed, collecting herself. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you for telling me. I suppose it could change our thinking.”

“It sure colored mine. When I see my father shoot up in the polls, coming from behind to blaze into the White House, it’s hard not to think there’s a plan behind it. When I saw him on television, I could have strangled him. Such brazen exploitation. It’s a dangerous combination-a military man in the political arena. I hate to say it, but if you take the old military mindset to its ugliest extreme, Kristen is just one more expendable casualty in the march to victory. And the fact that her father was white makes her all the more expendable, at least in the general’s eyes.”

Allison’s throat went dry. Part of her couldn’t believe what she was hearing, the other part didn’t want to believe. Until now, she’d been on a road that was leading somewhere, possibly to Emily. A political scheme to elect Lincoln Howe was another route entirely.

“Tell me something,” said Allison. “Have you been in touch with Mark at all? Since the kidnapping, I mean?”

Tanya lowered her head. “Mark’s dead.”

“I’m sorry. When did he die?”

“Before Kristen was born. Before we could get married. Car accident.”

Allison froze, thinking.

Tanya stiffened. “The last couple of days, I’ve asked myself over and over again whether I’m being unfair to my father. Part of me just doesn’t want to think that he could actually allow something to happen to Kristen to get himself elected president. But whenever I have those doubts, I ask myself the same thing I’ve been asking myself for the past twelve years.”

“What’s that?” asked Allison.

“Whether Mark’s accident was really an accident.”

Allison looked her straight in the eye, trying to stay focused. “I don’t think we’ll find the answer to that before Monday.”

“Monday?” she asked, somewhat surprised. “You mean you’ll still pay the ransom?”

“Yes, I’ll still pay,” she said as she touched Tanya’s hand. And I’ll still hope, she thought, though Emily’s hand seemed farther away than ever.

Late Friday evening, Repo was stretched out on the couch, channel-surfing with the remote control. He fixed on a black-and-white rerun of the Dick Van Dyke Show, but he couldn’t hear it. The Delgados were belting down tequila in the kitchen as the same old Pearl Jam compact disc blasted on the boom box for the fourth time around.

Repo had been stewing in his thoughts, trying to figure out why the Delgados were in such a party mood. He’d watched the evening news to see if General Howe had possibly changed his mind about not paying the million dollar ransom. As far as the media were reporting, however, nothing had changed since the general had appeared on television Wednesday night. Still, he had the distinct feeling his partners weren’t telling him something.

The rock music grew louder. Repo glanced over his shoulder. Johnny was slamming down another shot, wincing from the bite of tequila and lemon.

Repo looked away, fretting. The girl had to be petrified with fear. She’d been shaky at dinner tonight, hardly eating anything. With the music blasting in the kitchen, it had to sound like a freak show to anyone stuck in the basement. No way she was asleep, not with this noise.

He shot another glance toward the kitchen. The Delgados were practically falling over each other, laughing. Repo rose from the couch and started down the hall. He moved quickly but quietly, hoping to get past them without incident. They were too wrapped up in the music and drinking to notice.

Repo opened the door to the basement, then scampered down the steps. He didn’t need the flashlight, since he’d left the lamp burning from his last visit. He’d heard somewhere that burning light bulbs emitted heat, and he figured that every little bit would help in the cold basement.

Kristen stirred on the mattress as he approached.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s me.”

She relaxed slightly-but only slightly. The silver duct tape no longer covered her mouth, as Repo had permanently removed it. He’d left her ankle free, too, so she could at least roll over. She was cuffed only at the wrist, and the blindfold was still in place-just so Tony wouldn’t think he’d gone too soft on her.

He sat on the chair beside her. “You didn’t eat much for dinner. I thought I’d check to see if you’re hungry.”

She shook her head, saying nothing.

He softened his tone, trying to put her at ease. “Maybe the menu’s the problem. Guess when you asked for Froot Loops you didn’t figure on having them three times a day.”

No response-not even a twitch. She’d clammed up again, even more than at dinner. He leaned forward, speaking in a calm, reassuring voice. “Listen, something is going to happen soon.”

She lay motionless, then swallowed hard. Her voice was shaking. “They don’t want to let me go, do they?”

He bristled, not sure what to say. “Don’t worry about them.”

“Why do-” she stammered. “Why do you want to help me?”

“I don’t know. You’re just a kid.”

“You like kids?”

“Not all of them. But you kind of remind me of someone.”

“Whitney Houston?” she said faintly.

He smiled to himself. The kid had a sense of humor-pretty amazing, under the circumstances. “Actually, you’re a lot like my sister. She was eleven.”

“ Was? What happened to her?”

The door flew open at the top of the stairs. A burst of light and loud music invaded the basement. A voice boomed, “Repo, get your ass up here!”

He cringed. It was Tony-obviously drunk, since he’d used Repo’s name. He drew a deep breath as he rose from the chair. “Real soon,” he said, speaking to himself as much as to Kristen. “Something’s gonna happen real soon.”

He started up the stairs, taking his time. Tony looked down impatiently from the top step. “Hurry it up, already.”

His speech was slurred, noted Repo. As he reached the landing at the top of the stairs, Tony angrily slammed the basement door behind him. He had a wild look in his eyes, one that suggested to Repo that the Delgados had been doing more than just shots of tequila.

Tony jerked his head, pointing toward the kitchen. Repo started down the hall. Tony followed. The kitchen floor was sticky with lemon juice. Spilled salt and lemon rinds covered the countertop. An empty bottle of tequila lay in a sink full of ice cubes. Johnny was dancing clumsily to the music, digging his hand into the box of Froot Loops. A bad case of the munchies, thought Repo.

Johnny shoved another fistful of cereal into his mouth, then tossed the empty box on the counter. A stupid grin covered his face as he grabbed the big kitchen knife they’d used to slice up the lemons. “Hey, Tony,” he slurred. “What am I?”

He swung the big knife over his head in a sweeping arc. Repo flinched, but Johnny whisked by him and stabbed the box of Froot Loops, sticking the blade right through the colorful cover drawing of Toucan Sam, pinning the box to the counter. He narrowed his eyes, speaking in a mock-scary voice. “I’m a cereal killer.”