James Grippando - The Abduction

The agent lowered the cardboard and looked straight at Tanya. “It’s a photo,” he said. “It’s Kristen. I don’t think you should see it.”

“It’s phony blood,” said Tanya. “Read the message on the back.”

The agent flipped it over, careful not to let Tanya see the photo. He glanced back at the front side, taking an even closer look at the photo. He seemed relieved, but he was still firm. “I still don’t think you should see this. This is a very cruel psychological ploy.”

Tanya shook. “You mean the message or the photo?”

“The sender obviously intended for you to see the photo before you read the message. He’s one heartless and manipulative son of a bitch.”

“Is Kristen okay?”

“I believe so,” said the agent. “That’s what the message implies. But the photo was obviously staged to make you think otherwise.”

“Show me,” said Tanya.

“That’s not a good idea.”

“Show me,” she said.

The agent drew a deep breath. Slowly he turned the cardboard, revealing the Polaroid snapshot to her.

Tanya gasped-like she wanted to scream but had no voice. She only looked for a second. That was all it took. Anyone else would have needed time to confirm that beneath the blood-soaked clothing the girl in the bathtub was indeed Kristen Howe. Tanya knew that face in an instant-even splattered red. She closed her eyes and looked away, instinctively burying her face in her mother’s bosom.

Natalie stroked her daughter’s head, her voice shaking. “It’s not real, Tanya. It’s phony blood. Kristen’s still all right.”

The agent laid the photograph face down on the table. “I do believe it’s staged,” he said.

Tanya lifted her head and wiped a tear from her cheek. She glanced at her mother. It was an awkward moment, as if Tanya suddenly remembered that she and her mother needed a good talk to sort out the threat from Buck LaBelle.

“There’s more in here,” said the agent. With tweezers he removed another envelope from inside the larger envelope. It was sealed separately. On the front was scrawled another message: PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL, it read. DELIVER TO ALLISON LEAHY.

The three of them read it simultaneously. The agent looked at Tanya. “I guess I’ll take this.”

Tanya grabbed his hand. “No you won’t.”

“Excuse me,” he said. “The message says it’s for Allison Leahy.”

“It came in a package addressed to me. The instructions told me to leave the FBI out of this.”

“I don’t think it wise to follow those instructions.”

Tanya glanced at the television on the counter. It was still tuned to the subway coverage. One of the frightened passengers from the train was being interviewed. She glanced back at the agent. “I think I’ll take my chances without you guys. Give me the envelope.”

He grimaced. “It says it must be delivered to Allison Leahy.”

She snatched it from his hand. “I’ll make sure she gets it.”

From the small observation tank adjacent to the FBI interrogation room, Allison watched in solitude as Harley Abrams and another agent debriefed the two surviving gang members. The audio was fed to her through a small speaker. A one-way mirror allowed her to see all without being seen.

Harley had been working hard on the younger one-the one who had seemed most determined to steal Allison’s suitcase. The teenager was seated in a folding chair, slouching irreverently in the center of the yellow room. Harley stood directly in front of him, firing questions. The other agent sat at the small table against the wall. When they’d first brought him in, the kid wouldn’t talk. His tune quickly changed when Harley made it plain that he’d better start explaining if he didn’t want to be the number-one suspect in the Kristen Howe kidnapping.

Allison had watched his reaction carefully. He’d seemed genuinely shocked-as if Harley’s accusation was the first he’d ever heard of a possible link to a larger conspiracy. Twenty-five minutes later, the kid was still babbling.

He rolled back his head in response to another question, seemingly bored by the repetition. “Man, I told you five times already. I don’t know nothing about no kidnapping. All I know is that some dude paid Jessie a thousand bucks for us to follow the bitch in the blue coat onto the Metro at Judiciary Square.”

“And then what?”

“I told you.”

“Tell me again,” he said, pressing for inconsistencies in his statement. So far, there were none.

“We was just supposed to wait. If the bitch was still on the train between Sandy Springs and Forest Glen, the deal was we’d grab the suitcase. We’d get another five grand if we get him the suitcase.”

“Get it for who?”

“I dunno. Jessie know who.”

“Jessie’s dead.”

“That’s your fucking problem, isn’t it?”

Allison lowered her head. Harley had been over this same line of questioning several times. The answers were always the same. She could tell the kid wasn’t lying. They were just punks-sacrificial lambs sent by a kidnapper who knew the FBI was waiting in the wings. The only thing she disputed was the part about Jessie’s death. It wasn’t Harley’s problem. It was hers .

The phone rang in her purse-the private phone that only a handful of people ever rang. She answered quickly.

It was Tanya Howe.

“I’m sorry, Tanya. I promised I wouldn’t let you down, and I did. I’m still trying to figure out what went wrong.”

“The FBI- that’s what went wrong. Somehow the kidnappers know when they’re involved. I don’t know if they’re tipped off, or if the kidnappers are just savvy enough to sense when law enforcement is around. Either way, if I don’t keep the FBI out of it, Kristen’s going to die. That’s their final word.”

“Have you heard something?”

“Yes. I got a package this morning-after your disaster. A picture of Kristen. We think she’s still alive. A warning, too. No more FBI.”

“Tanya, this may be hard for you to swallow in light of everything that’s happened. But I personally don’t believe that you’re better off without the FBI. Trust me. You need them.”

“Forget it! It’s my call now. You can come with me or stay behind. But leave your army at home.”

“I don’t know what to say. Let’s assume the kidnapper gives us another chance. Let’s say Kristen’s alive, and they want me, personally, to deliver the ransom-just like before. I can’t say I’m eager to do it without the protection of the FBI.”

“Well, maybe you won’t have to do it.”

“Time will tell.”

“It may not take as much time as you think. I have a package here for you, too. It came with mine.”

“What’s in it?”

“I haven’t opened it. It simply says that I’m to deliver it to you. Where do you want to meet?”

“We don’t have time to meet. Just get the FBI to open it.”

“No.”

“Tanya,” she said sternly. “It’s my package. Do as I say.”

“It’s my daughter, ” she said in a shrill, shaky voice. “It’s time somebody does what I say. So listen to me. Your package came inside my package, and my package said to keep the FBI out of this. I’m keeping the FBI out. Period.”

Allison sensed it was futile to try to change Tanya’s mind-and part of her sensed that maybe Tanya was right. “Okay, Tanya. We’ll do it your way. But we don’t have time to meet. Somebody has to open that package and tell me what’s inside.”

“I’ll open it.”

“Too dangerous,” said Allison. “Could be booby-trapped.”

“The FBI scanned it already, when they scanned mine. It’s clear.”