Charlotte Bennardo - Blonde Ops A Novel

Dante frowned. “Where are they now?”

“We don’t know where they were going, only that they’re traveling underground. In the sewers.”

Dante looked shocked.

“They only left minutes ago. I’m pretty sure they want to get her out of the city,” I said. “Probably to an airport or a boat or something.”

He spun around, studying the area. “These streets all around are too narrow for cars, everyone must walk. If he brought her out here, everyone would recognize the American First Lady,” he said, thinking aloud, and confirming what I thought.

Kevin nodded. “They definitely took her underground. We saw the shoe scrapes.”

“They need a road where they can drive away. The closest street would be…” Dante’s finger wagged as he concentrated. Suddenly he looked at me and grabbed my hand. “I think I know where they are—hurry!”

He pulled me with him. I looked over my shoulder at Sophie and Kevin. “Coming?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Kevin said dryly. He and Sophie stayed close behind as we pushed through the crowds, ignoring stares and curses when we bumped and jostled people out of our way.

My heart ached with Taj’s betrayal. I tried not to think about the clues I’d missed, the plotting and planning that was happening right under my nose.

“Here,” said Dante as we approached a cross street, a narrow one-way lane lined with cars. At the top, at a little distance from the other vehicles, we saw a sleek black van: nondescript, large enough to hold at least five people. The vehicle, unlike the other cars on the street, was occupied. An arm dangled from the driver’s-side window.

We hunkered in a doorway, all mashed together.

“We can take him, there’s four of us,” Kevin whispered.

Finally, all of this adventure had gotten to him and he was thinking he was a superhero. Dante brought him crashing down to reality.

“You can run faster than he can shoot?” Dante asked doubtfully. “No, it’s not safe for Bec and Sophie. We must wait for the polizia .”

The question was, if this was the getaway van for the kidnapping, how could it still be here? Taj left before us … Ah! But he was going underground with a bound prisoner. They’d have to climb ladders and go around fallen walls. Who knew how long that could take? I peeked around the corner again. No way could one of us walk over, check out the situation, and report back to the group. That wouldn’t be suspicious!

But the question remained. If that was the van, what was taking Taj so long? Time was against them, they had to move fast. Soon the whole world would be scouring the country looking for Mrs. Theresa Jennings, American First Lady, political, cultural, and fashion icon, one of the most recognizable women in the world.

He would have to disguise her first, and that would eat up some precious minutes.

“I will call polizia ,” said Dante, pulling out his phone and stopping my logic train.

“Hold on,” I said, stilling his hand. “We can’t. If the police get here before Taj he’ll run scared, and we might lose him. I think that Taj might be trying to disguise Mrs. Jennings. Like you said, everyone knows her. The authorities have to be looking for her now. If that van is the getaway car, Taj could be here any second. We don’t have much time. I have an idea. Quick!” I held out my hand. “Give me your phone!”

He passed it to me and I scrolled through the settings.

“I thought you said we weren’t calling the police,” Kevin said.

“I’m not. I’m calling a car.”

“What?” Sophie laughed.

“You wanted me to show you something,” I said, brandishing the phone. “Well, here’s something. Watch this.”

I showed her the settings screen. “First, you put the phone in promiscuous mode.” Sophie raised both red brows. “Not that kind of promiscuous,” I said, scowling. “When your phone is on its normal mode it only gets signals sent to you—texts, e-mails, you know.”

She nodded.

“You put it in promiscuous mode, and it’s open to everything—you pick up all the signals in the area—Internet connections, phones, and cars.”

I flicked my finger across the screen. “And look. Here they are.”

Sophie, and now Kevin and Dante, examined the list of numbers that came up.

“These are the numbers I’ve picked up. The ones with the 00876 prefix are phones. Prefix 0388 are land-based wi-fi connections, like for an apartment or business. And 00271 are cars—we’ve picked up five of those. One of them has to be that van.”

“There’s more than five cars on the block, genius,” Kevin griped.

Holding my temper in check, I replied, “But it looks like only five are newer cars—ones that would have things like satellite radio, a built in GPS—platforms that have to be connected to the Internet. We’re only interested in the van, not the others,”

“So … you’re going to … call the van?” Sophie said, working it out.

“Actually, I’m going to text—but it’s going to be a bit of trial and error. I can’t tell from the list which one is the van.”

I copied the first car number, opened messaging, pasted it in, and tapped in a text. A few feet from us, there was a click.

“What was that?” Dante said.

I sent the text again, and the car, a Fiat, made the sound again. “That was me. I locked the door. Cross that number off the list.”

“That is amazing,” Sophie said with delight.

“I take back what I said.” Kevin shook his head. “You are smart.”

“I’ll try the next one.”

I flashed the lights on a Lancia and rolled down the window of another Fiat. Only two more possibilities.

I sent the text to the next number. The arm dangling out of the van jerked back.

Pay dirt!

We were too far away to hear if the van’s door unlocked, but it was an excellent chance we’d found the right vehicle. To be sure, I made the lights flash on the last number on the list: a Porsche. We were good to go.

“I have the van’s number,” I said.

“Yes!” Kevin, Dante, and Sophie whispered, but then they turned to me. “Now what?”

“Watch.”

I fired off a string of text messages, one after the other.

Passenger window down.

Headlights on.

Headlights off.

Headlights on.

Wipers on.

Lock doors.

Unlock doors.

I could see the head of the person in the van dart this way and that—he had no idea what was happening.

“And now, for the grand finale.”

The van’s horn blared out. Kevin shook his head and Dante laughed.

“Wait for it,” I said as I hit send.

The horn sounded again. And again. And again and again and again.

“Oh my God, what did you do?” Sophie put her hand over her mouth.

“I told the horn to beep fifty times. Now, if I were him I would…”

Yes! He got out of the car and opened the hood. The beeping continued.

“Dante, I think you and I should help him out,” said Kevin. “You up for it?” He flexed his appreciable biceps.

“Yes!” Dante replied, his face stony.

“Just make sure it’s the right guy!” I warned.

Kevin nodded meaningfully, then he and Dante casually walked into the street and started making their way toward the van. His head under the hood, the driver didn’t see them coming. When they reached the bumper, I grabbed Sophie’s arm and tugged her along. The van was parked right in front of a manhole. So far everything added up: sole van on the street, manhole for access, only street wide enough for cars and vans.

We came around just in time to see that, yes, this was Taj’s accomplice—and even better, to see Dante grab him from behind so that Kevin could deliver a stunning blow to his jaw, knocking him out cold. Kevin yelped and shook his fist.