She’d had plenty of crisis training. Now, she wished she’d paid more attention. But, she remembered one lesson. “Let them see you as a human being. It makes it harder for them to kill you.”
She noticed neither one of the young men – at least they sounded and talked young – seemed to know who her father was. All they talked about was “ho’s” and “gettin’ paid.” The boss came in occasionally. She recognized his voice from the first few hours. He was tall, slender, and wore enough gold around his neck to be mistaken for a traveling King Tut exhibit.
“Good evening, Miss Radha,” the man said. She saw a wide smile cracking through his ski mask.
“You know my name and see my face,” the young girl said in a small voice. “I cannot say the same about you.”
“This way is better,” the man said. “If you see my face, it will make it difficult later to let you go unharmed.”
“So, you are going to let me go?” Katrina asked.
“That is my intention. As long as your father does what he is asked, there is no reason for us to kill you.”
Katrina felt a momentary weakness in her spine, but she didn’t show fear. “What do you want from me?” she asked in her desperation.
“We want nothing from you,” Tango said using his best English. He knew how to travel in cultured circles but concentrating so hard on his language made his head hurt – and pissed him off. He felt like a traitor to the streets. “We simply want a little money from your father, so that I and my friends can get out of the streets and have a better life.”
“You couldn’t think of a better way?” Katrina asked. “Can’t you just sell dope like every other thug in America.”
Cackles erupted.
“Bitch got some ‘tude, bro!” One of the masked young men said. He was laughing so hard his nose was running.
“We be thugs,” the other one said.
The tall one moved closer. “Believe me, I have tried everything,” Tango said. “But remember what I said about the shovel. Your presence has presented us with a golden opportunity to dig out way out of poverty – to save ourselves and the ones we love. I have been born and raised on the streets of New York, and if I don’t do something, they will surely kill me.”
“Is my father doing what you ask?” Katrina asked.
“He called the police – I told him not to, but I knew he would. I would have been surprised if he hadn’t. But, my people tell me he’s getting the money together. I am a reasonable man, Ms. Radha. Even a man like your father needs a little time to assembled ten million dollars.”
Katrina could tell the tall man was picking his words very carefully, like a student speaking a foreign language. His sentences seemed memorized – rehearsed – like lines in a play.
“And, you will let me go?”
“Yes, once I have the money, I will have no other use for you,” Tango said. “You are my ticket out of here, and as soon as your father pays the money, I will let you go.”
“But, my father is here on a mission,” she said carefully. “This is the most important work in his life. I don’t think he will pay you the money. He will always put the peace of our homeland before his or my life.”
“What do you mean by that?” Tango asked. She could tell the new information threw him a little.
“My father is a diplomat. His life’s work is peace between India and Pakistan,” she said. “It’s all he cares about.”
“And the life of his only daughter? Do you really think he will leave you to die?”
“I don’t know,” Katrina said. “I truly do not.”
She saw confusion and rage behind the mask. The façade dropped for a moment. “You better hope to shit that mother…” Then, the shield came back. “Pardon me. I did not mean to be crude. I encourage you to pray that your father makes the right decision … for me … and for you.”
Tango started to leave, then looked over his shoulder. “Ms. Radha,” he said.
“Yes,” she said.
“Mind your tone in the future. Calling me names has never ended well for anyone.”
Tango turned and walked out, desperately reining in his emotions. When he got to his car, he pulled out a .9 mm and slammed the butt against the hood of his Beemer.
“Fucking middle eastern camel jockey better pay up or I am gonna fuck the little bitch up!”
***
Jimmy sat up in bed and stared at the clock – 4:15 AM. He saw the photos in his mind – the first where the fake cab pulled away, the woman with the stroller blocking the license plate – the second one with the car veering to avoid a group of school children who were screwing around on the curb and jumping into the street. What wasn’t blurred beyond reconstruction was obscured by little torsos. And, the third picture – the car in profile – zooming away to the east – away from Bed Stuy and towards the docks.
-16-
“I’ll see your five and raise another five.”
“Cards?”
“Two.”
Ferguson sat back. “I’m good,” he said.
Dressed in jeans and a Washington Nationals jersey, Scott Ferguson looked like any other, casual card player. The two-day stubble on his chin heightened the look.
Cards slid across the green felt. Ferguson heard a quiet curse from the next table.
Someone just took a beating, he thought.
“Bets?” the dealer asked.
“Another five.”
Scott slid five black chips into the middle of the table. “I’ll see your five hundred and raise another thousand.”
“Call.” The stubby man across the table grinned. “I got your ass now, boy. Trip jacks.”
Ferguson shook his head. “Damn,” he said. “Thought you were bluffing. I only have two small pair – eights …”
He put two eights on the table.
“And … eights.”
The others around the table howled in delight.
“Shit, Gene, he stole that line from Maverick – remember that movie with Mel Gibson and the lesbian Jodie Whatshername? Hahaha … James Coburn used the same line … ‘two small pair.’ Oh, you got your ass kicked Gino!”
“Gino” stood. “I’m out,” he said. He extended his hand to Ferguson. “You’re a hell of a card player, son.”
“Thanks,” Ferguson said. “Got lucky.”
The game broke up and Ferguson wandered outside.
“Any luck.” Special Agent Anderson slide up beside Ferguson.
“I’ve been in there all night,” Ferguson said. “Didn’t see anyone who looked remotely Middle Eastern. I thought this was supposed to be a hang-out for suspected terrorists.”
Anderson looked at his shoes. “Must have been bad intel. Sorry you wasted your evening.”
Ferguson shrugged. “Wasn’t a complete waste of time. Made four grand.”
“Well, you have to give it back, right?”
“Just the seed money,” Ferguson said. “I earned the rest.”
***
Detective Davis had looked at Jimmy’s pictures until his eyes burned.
“Don’t see anything new,” he said.
He sat and flipped through a thick file marked “Tango Cash.”
“You got anything to do with this, my brother?” Davis asked out loud.
The roadmap was pretty typical … truancy … court-ordered school attendance … petty crimes … a couple of minor possession beefs … a little B & E … one charge of GTA, dismissed for lack of evidence. All sorts of little things – nothing major.
Nothing remotely close to kidnapping.
Davis noticed something else. He called down to the Records Office and asked for a dozen files. When they came, he poured over them – they all belonged to young men identified in the Cash file as “Known Associates.”
Every one of them who’d been with Tango more than eighteen months was in prison … except one: Jordan Allen Stewart, a.k.a. Jordy.
&
nbsp; The others were doing some serious time – prostitution rings, dope smuggling, assault – two were in for murder – one for killing a cop.
“Hello,” Davis said. He saw the pattern very clearly. Cash stood at the top; everyone else took the fall.
I bet they are well taken care of when they get out.
Davis had a hunch. He looked through Jordy’s file. It has to be in here somewhere.
He worked through the first two pages. Bingo!
He read the line. “October 2014 to June 2015, employee, Castlebridge Construction.
He tapped out “Castlebridge Construction” on Google, got a phone number, and dialed.
“Castlebridge Construction, how may I direct your call?”
“Good morning, this it Detective Clyde Harris, NYPD.”
He could hear a short intake of breath – everyone always freaked with the police called.
“How may I help you, Detective?”
“I just need to know what sort of work you do.”
“Commercial construction.”
“Steel frame stuff – not residential.”
“That is correct. Would you like to speak to Mr. Castle?”
“No, just one more question.”
“Yes, Detective?”
“Do you use heavy equipment?”
“Oh yes, cranes, excavators, backhoes, all sort of contraptions. In fact, some of your folks were down here not to long ago when we had some of our pieces stolen.”
Davis smiled. “Thank you, ma’am. You have been very helpful.”
“My pleasure, Detective.”
He hung up and smiled. He opened Tango Cash’s file, took out a 5x8 head shot, and tacked it on his corkboard.
“Coming for you, my man,” he said. “I am coming for you.”
***
“Hassan, it is time to go.”
Syed was shaking him gently. “You fell asleep – good – you need your rest for the negotiations this afternoon.”
Hassan rubbed his scalp. “I can’t do this,” he said. “Go without me. You’ll be fine.”
Mahmoud stood in the corner of the room as he had all afternoon while his boss and friend slept. “It will not work without you, old friend,” he said. “You are not the face of the movement – you are not the voice of the movement – you are the movement. If you are not there, the talks will collapse.”
“Give me a minute.”
The two men walked out. Hassan walked to the window. Country – or family.
Why cannot I have both?
It is the will of God – I am his servant.
He wiped the tears from his cheek, looked out over the city, and said, “Kitten, where are you?”
***
“Where’s Katrina Radha?”
The man seated across from Special Agent Ferguson stared at him with a blank expression.
“I have no idea who you are talking about, sir. I am a tea merchant. All I do is import and sell tea – fine tea – from all over the world. But, every time there is any threat, someone from the government, my government – did I tell you I have been a citizen for ten years – someone comes to me and asked me about my connections of El Qaida – or the Muslim Brotherhood – or the Taliban – or whatever Boogie Man you are chasing that particular week. I pay my taxes. I vote. I attend worship every week. I am a member of the PTA. I play volleyball at the YMCA, but every year, someone with a badge comes to my door and says, ‘Let’s go downtown.’ Why won’t you leave me alone?”
Ferguson waved the man away from the table and went over to a group of agents.
“Any luck?”
“Nothing.”
“Nope.”
“Nada.”
“Zippo.”
Ferguson’s face turned red. “Somebody has to know something about this. There’s no way this is a local caper. Too much international stink on this. Okay, re-interview everyone. I mean everyone. Even Mr. Lipton, the tea man over there.”
He ignored the groans and went outside. He hadn’t smoked in ten years. Seemed like a good time to start back.
-17-
Friday came. The last day of the countdown. Tango was agitated and worried.
This was not supposed to last so long. The dude was supposed to send the money and get the girl back.
Tango Cash was a criminal, but he’d always drawn the line at murder. There was always another way – people getting dead was bad business.
He’d never tried anything quite like the Katrina kidnapping before. The ATM caper was bold, but relatively risk-free. With all the alarms cut and all the machines prepped by several very well-paid inside men, the job was basically moving very heavy furniture. All he did was coordinate and take the cash. His fingerprints weren’t anywhere close to the crime.
But he was butt-cheek deep in this one. He’d driven the “cab.” It was his voice on all the communications with the father. Tango had not even thought about buying voice altering stuff until after he’d sent the first video – then it was too late.
His bags were packed. Brazil was ten hours away on a chartered jet. Once he had notification of the money, he’d be in the air in forty-five minutes – sipping umbrella drinks within half a day – tops. The girl wouldn’t be a problem. He’d drop her off on the side of the street on the way to Teterboro. Throw a little fear into her. Something like, “Bitch, you count to a thousand before you take that blindfold off. We got someone watching you. You screw it up, you’ll never know what hit you.”
Then he’d tell her “There’s a cell phone hidden in a storm drain five hundred yards south” or some shit like that. She’d be looking for half an hour before she figured out she’d been played. By then, Tango’d be flying high and out of US air space.
He’d thought about taking one of the girls with him – maybe the pole dancer from the club.
But he decided he wanted a new start. Besides, he’d seen pictures of the women in Brazil – fine looking women. Ole Tango’d be up to his gold-chained neck in women – women and money.
He wasn’t even worried about his crib. Place might be worth a few coins, but with ten million in the bank, he could let one of the boys have it. He didn’t care about his business. He wasn’t going legit – he was going to retire. He knew no one would miss him. On the streets, it was here today – gone tomorrow. Brothers got sent to prison so often, no one got sentimental – went to prison or got waxed … zipped … dead.
He walked into the warehouse carrying a camo duffle. “Set up the camera,” he said. “Time to send daddy a message.” He looked at Katrina – she seemed to get smaller every day, a young woman resigned to her fate.
“You don’t think he’s going to pay, do you?” he asked.
“I honestly do not know,” she said. “He is on a very important mission. He might not have even gotten the message about my abduction.”
“Oh, he got it,” Tango said. “My peeps in the hotel tell me he’s got the 5-0 and the Feds and everybody else all over the place. You just better hope he has his banker on speed dial.”
Jordy raised a hand. “Ready when you are, boss.”
Tango opened the duffel and removed a wicked looking machete and a whet stone. He began to sharpen the weapon’s bladed with measured strokes – the only thing he remembered from his brief time in the Boy Scout troop some do-gooders tried to start at the Community Center when he was ten. He didn’t earn any merit badges, but he could sharpen the shit out of anything with an edge.
“Turn it on,” he said to Jordy. “Time for Tango to get paid.”
***
Jimmy had been looking for hours, searching the docks. New York Harbor is massive, handling almost 3.5 million containers annually. The bike could only go so fast.
Jimmy’s rubbery legs were betraying him – and beginning to cramp. He stopped and took a long pull from his water bottle.
“She’s here somewhere. I know she it,” he said.
The voice startled him. “Nolan, I thought you were going to let me do my job.”
Jimmy looked into the stern face of Detective Clyde Davis.
“It’s a free country,” Jimmy said. “I can go wherever I want.”
“Yes, you can, but why here?” the detective asked.
“I’m too tired to lie and this it too important,” Jimmy said. “I’m trying to find Katrina. I remembered something from one of the pictures. The taxi…”
The Detective interrupted, “The taxi wasn’t headed toward the Marcy Projects. It came this way.”
“Yes,” Jimmy said. “You noticed it, too?”
“I’ve spent more time on those pictures than I care to remember. You still think your old buddy Tango is behind all this.”
“I can’t come up with a better theory.”
“No. In fact, I am beginning to think you might be right.” Davis raised his hands in mock surrender. “That’s why I’m here. I think Cash has her in this area.”
“What about a ship, Detective?”
Davis shook his head. “I called the Harbor Master. He asked every captain to search his own vessel – we can’t board you know. All sorts of diplomatic red tape. But the captains don’t want trouble. They know where their bread is buttered. There are approximately fifty ships in port right now. We heard back from every one of them – no luck.”
“Then I guess we have to do this the old-fashioned way,” Jimmy said. “One warehouse at a time.”
Davis shot him a tight smile. “Now, you’re thinking like a cop.”
-18-
Radha’s computer dinged. The delegation was on the way to the Summit.
Hassan read the message. “We have to send the money now,” he said.
“Another message?” Syed asked.
In answer, Hassan pushed a button, the rotated the screen for Syed and Mahmoud to see. A tall, black man (judging by his hands), stood next to Katrina. She was seated, bound, and gagged. The shot was tight – they could see nothing of her surroundings.
Family Ties Mystery Series Box Set Page 32