James Grippando - The Abduction

How about a hair sample? he thought. “Nothing, thank you.”

The technical agents had transformed the family room into a small-scale nerve center. The ivory leather couch had been pushed into the corner. In its place was a rectangular worktable loaded with state-of-the-art track and trace equipment. A thick power supply cable snaked across the carpet, feeding to a tower computer terminal under the table and a backup desk terminal. Two relatively young agents were busy behind the worktable. They talked their techie lingo while adjusting the color monitor and double-checking the phone line connection.

Tanya was seated on a bar stool at the kitchen counter. She was deep in conversation with an agent Harley had called up from the Atlanta office, Pat Collins, a black woman about Tanya’s age who had worked as a family counselor before joining the FBI.

“Is everything okay here?” Harley interrupted.

Tanya looked up. Her eyes were dark, vacuous pools, as if life itself had been slowly seeping away since the moment she’d lost her precious reason for living. “ Nothing is okay.”

Harley merely blinked. Over the years, grieving parents had snapped at him, screamed at him, even punched him. Never did he take it personally.

Agent Collins said, “We’ve covered everything at least once, some of it twice. I was just giving Tanya some tips on how to control her emotions on the line. When the call comes, she’ll be ready.”

The phone rang. Harley and his colleague exchanged glances, as if it were almost too weird. The technical agents jumped into action, throwing on headphones, adjusting their tracking and recording devices.

“It’s cellular,” one of them said urgently. “A clone. It bypassed the central office computer cutoff-just like the call to the AG’s house.”

A second ring pierced the tension.

Harley nodded to Tanya, confirming this was probably the real thing. “Remember to stretch. We need time to pinpoint the call.”

A third ring. Tanya breathed deeply, standing beside the phone, unable to sit down. She looked at her mother for support, then answered on the fourth ring. “Hello.”

“Tanya Howe?”

The distorted message came across deep and mechanical, just like yesterday’s call. But it somehow sounded different-like a different person. Tanya shuddered, confused and creeped out by the voice. “Yes, it’s me.”

On the other end of the line, Repo adjusted the bulky extension on the mouthpiece. He was behind the steering wheel in a parked car, speaking through a voice-altering device. “I’m calling to tell you your daughter is safe.”

“Where is she?”

“Stay calm. I’m keeping her with me until after the election. Someone wants her dead. I’m not going to let that happen.”

“Let me talk to her- please. ”

Repo ripped off the voice-altering equipment and tossed it on the dashboard, then shot a stern look at Kristen. “You have twenty seconds. No more.”

She nodded, then eagerly snatched the phone. Repo leaned across the console and kept a close ear, listening in.

“Mom?”

“Kristen!” Her heart swelled with joy and pain. She was pacing, suddenly oblivious to everyone else in the room.

“I’m okay, Mom.”

“Oh, sweetheart, thank God. Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“It’s so cold outside. Are you warm enough?”

“Fine, yeah.”

“Are they feeding you?”

“Yes. Froot Loops and stuff.”

“Do you know where you are? You don’t have to tell me where. Just, do you know?”

Repo shot Kristen a look, shaking his head.

“I can’t answer that, Mom. But everything’s okay. Really. Please, don’t worry.”

Repo pointed at his watch, signaling the time.

“Mom, I have to hang up now.”

“No!” She struggled not to lose it, but her thoughts scattered. Tears began to flow. Through misty eyes she watched the agents busy at their computers.

Blinking coordinates dotted the bright blue screen. She knew vaguely that they were tracking radio signals from cellular transmission towers, calculating angles and points of intersection, but the flashy high-tech gadgets only added to her confusion. Abrams shot her an urgent look, as if a few more seconds would do it.

“Kristen, I love you,” her voice cracked.

“Mom, please don’t cry.”

Repo grimaced, feeling for her mother. He checked his watch again. Forty seconds. Way too long. “Say good-bye,” he whispered frantically.

“I love you, too, Mom. I’ll be home soon. I promise.”

The line disconnected. Abrams looked at Tanya, then at the agents, bursting with anticipation. The computer screen blinked as two yellow dots intersected. It blinked again, superimposing a grid map over the coordinates. Data scrolled in a separate window, rolling like a slot machine. It stopped suddenly and flashed a range of possible addresses.

The techies leaped from their chairs, shouting in unison, “Got it!”

“Where?” asked Harley.

“Right here! Nashville.”

Harley snatched the phone and dialed headquarters.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!” Repo pounded the steering wheel as he spoke, his breath steaming inside the chilly parked car. Steady traffic cruised by in both directions on the wide city street, though no one could see in through the tinted windows.

“I knew I shouldn’t have put you on the line. You talked so long even Barney Fife could have traced that call.”

Kristen sank in the passenger seat, near tears, but she acted tough. “So sorry,” she snapped. “But my mom was crying. I couldn’t just hang up on her.”

He took a deep breath, then spoke in a softer but urgent tone. “It’s okay, forget it. It’s not your fault.”

“I want to go home.”

“You will. Just a few more days.”

“I want to go now. ”

“You can’t. We gotta go-like now. ”

“ You go. I just want to go home.”

He grimaced, frustrated, then pushed the power lock button to unlock her door. “You want to go? Go. You’ll be dead before the election, I guarantee it. It’s like I said, the cops can’t protect you. They’ll tell you with a straight face they can, but they can’t. I got a dead family to prove it. My mother had her throat slashed. My sister was shot six times, twice in the head. You want to end up like them, then go. Be my guest.”

She grabbed the door handle, thinking.

“Just remember one thing,” he said. “I may be no saint, but yesterday was the first time I’ve ever killed anybody. I did it to save you. Your own grandfather won’t even cough up a ransom.”

Her grip on the handle tightened. “You really think he’s involved, don’t you?”

“Whoever it is, you are far less important than the White House.”

She swallowed hard. Part of her said run, the other said stay. For the first time, she looked Repo squarely in the eye. It unnerved her at first, but he had familiar-looking eyes. Eyes she could trust. Eyes like Reggie Miles.

She took a deep breath, then released the handle. “We’d better get out of here.”

He started the engine. A quick check in the rearview mirror showed a police car round the corner just a block behind them.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Definitely not far. In five minutes they’ll have this city surrounded, probably set up roadblocks. We just need a place to hide out for a while.” He shifted into gear and merged into a wide, busy boulevard. “Duck down, Kristen.”

“Why? Nobody can see in through these windows.”

“Just get down.”

She slowly slid from her seat to the floor. Repo reached over the seat, popped open the glove compartment, and grabbed an extra ammunition clip. Kristen looked up nervously as he tucked it into the inside pocket of his leather jacket, next to the black pistol handle.