James Grippando - The Abduction

“All right,” said Allison. “Then you open it. But be careful not to get your fingers all over it. I know you don’t want the FBI involved, but someday we may want the lab to analyze it.”

“I watched the FBI agent open my package. I’ll be just as careful.”

Over the phone, Allison could hear the envelope tearing open. She held her breath and waited.

“It’s open,” said Tanya. “It’s a photograph. A young girl. Blond hair. Fair complexion. She’s wearing a plaid jumper, like a school uniform.”

“How old does she look?”

“I don’t know. Maybe eight or nine.”

Her excitement swelled. “Where is she?”

“Can’t really tell. Looks like there may be a school in the background. Like somebody took the picture from across the street while she was on the playground. She’s definitely not posing for the picture. It looks more like somebody took it without her even knowing it. There’s another photograph here, too.”

“What is it?”

“It’s another picture of the same girl, only a lot more close up. It really zeroes in on the side of her face. Not her cheek, but the part that’s closer to the ear. Like where a man would have sideburns.”

Allison swallowed hard. “What do you see?”

“Just her profile. Same happy expression, just like the other picture.”

“Which side of her face is it?”

“The left.”

“Do you notice anything? Birthmarks, moles, anything like that?”

“Yes, actually. She has four little moles right in front of her ear. Fairly distinctive. If you took a pencil and connected the dots they’d form a perfect little square box-like the markings on a pair of dice.”

Allison went cold. Her eyes welled with tears as she brought a hand to her mouth. She could barely speak. “Dear God in heaven. It’s Emily.”

Harley entered the observation room without knocking. On reflex, Allison stuffed her cellular phone back in her purse. From the look on his face, she could see the interrogation had gone as far as it was going to go. She sucked back her emotions, struggling to make her own face a little less revealing.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

Her eyes were moist. She knew she had to say something to explain her distraught appearance-something short of the truth, since she’d just promised Tanya she’d exclude the FBI. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said as she dabbed her eye with a tissue. “I guess I’m starting to feel a little sorry for myself. That’s all.”

He closed the door and leveled a suspicious look. “I don’t buy it. Allison Leahy doesn’t sit around weeping, feeling sorry for herself. What’s wrong?”

She checked her runny mascara in her pocket mirror. “Wrong? Nothing. A botched ransom delivery. A dead seventeen-year-old on the subway. All in a day’s work.”

“Look, we all feel lousy. But it’s not like these punks were innocent bystanders.”

“Those kids had no idea the guy who hired them was Kristen Howe’s kidnapper. They were set up, just like we were.”

“That’s probably true. The kidnapper was smart enough to know that whoever went into the subway to get that suitcase wasn’t going to walk out with a million dollars. He knew you would disobey his orders and have FBI protection-at least on the first run. These punks didn’t know it, but they weren’t hired to retrieve a suitcase. They were hired to walk into a trap and teach you a lesson: next time, leave the FBI at home.”

Harley paused, expecting a response. Allison didn’t even seem to be listening. Something other than the subway had to be bothering her.

He glanced at the open cellular phone sitting at the top of her open purse. “Who were you talking to on the phone?”

She looked down. The power was still on. The flip cover was open. No use denying it. “None of your business. That’s who.”

“Is that what upset you?”

“Damn it, Harley. I said it was none of your business.”

Her tone forced him back a step. “I’m sorry. I’m just concerned, that’s all.”

“We’re all concerned. It’s a miracle Kristen is still alive.” She kicked herself, realizing what she’d just given away.

Harley pounced on it. “So you have heard from Tanya. You know about the photo and the message on the back.”

She grimaced. A slip like that wasn’t like her, but after eight years of hoping and waiting, she was still shaking from the news about Emily. “Yes, yes. I just spoke to Tanya, if you must know.”

“Did she tell you what was in that second envelope-the one the kidnapper addressed to you?”

“Yes. And that’s between me, Tanya, and the kidnappers.”

He shook his head. “I guess I can understand that reaction from Tanya. But I’m not sure I understand it from you.”

“I’m totally committed to getting Kristen back alive.”

“So am I. But that doesn’t mean I’m willing to cut myself off from the FBI and take marching orders from the kidnappers.”

“Maybe I don’t have a choice.”

“Or maybe you’re reacting more like a mother than an attorney general.”

“Kristen is not my child.”

“No. But Emily is.”

Allison glared. “What do you know about Emily?”

“Nothing. But I do know you. The tears. The sudden willingness to shut out the FBI. You wouldn’t be acting this way if your own personal stake hadn’t risen.”

“You think I’m that self-centered?

“No. It’s just human nature. There’s a limit to what we’ll do for someone else’s child. There’s no limit to what we’ll do for our own.” He stepped closer and leaned across the table, looking her in the eye. “There was something in that envelope about Emily, wasn’t there?”

She stared for a moment, then looked away. “I really can’t discuss that now,” she said as she rose and gathered her purse.

Harley touched her forearm, stopping her. “I want you to know something, Allison. If you were to share any information with me in total confidence, it wouldn’t leave this room. You have my word on it.”

She gave him an assessing look. He seemed sincere, but she saw no reason to commit now. “Why don’t you keep the ransom money here in the vault. I’ll be in touch.” She started for the door.

He stopped her again. “Allison, please. Don’t take this guy on alone. The kidnappers may have seemed a little disorganized at first, but all that’s changed. Even the voice on the phone has changed. It’s as if somebody new has taken charge. He beat us in Nashville. He beat us again this morning. He’s not winning because the FBI is stupid. He’s winning because he’s one smart son of a bitch.”

She looked him in the eye. “Then I guess I’ll just have to be smarter.” She opened the door and hurried out, leaving Harley alone in the room.

The crowd outside the FBI headquarters grew larger every minute. The onslaught had begun just as soon as television coverage showed Allison’s caravan disappearing into the FBI garage. First on the scene was the pack of reporters who had been waiting outside the Justice Building, unaware until the broadcast that Allison had sneaked out of her office through the Marilyn Monroe escape route. They simply moved their traveling ambush across Pennsylvania Avenue, from Justice to FBI. Hordes of others were just minutes behind the initial wave of media-hapless latecomers in an industry that increasingly operated on real time.

Cameras were trained on every known exit to the building. Allison knew the FBI could still get her out undetected, but she didn’t want another stealth exit. The whole world knew she was inside. If she didn’t face the cameras, she’d be branded a coward. After a year of campaigning, “coward” was a label she couldn’t accept, not even in a campaign that may have already made the move from bleak to hopeless.