by Ed James
The man was pulling something out of the trunk. A golf bag. He dumped it on the ground with a sigh.
“Hello?” The female voice in Holliday’s ear sounded like she’d died. So cold, her voice level.
“It’s Mason.” Holliday pushed away from the van and walked down the street, keeping an eye on the golfer. “We need to meet.”
“Who is this?”
Holliday stopped, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. “I’ve got Mason, Layla.”
“So?”
Something bit into Holliday’s ankle and he fell forward, landing hard on the asphalt, cracking his cheek off the curb. Someone kicked him in the side. Another pair of hands tugged a hood over his head. He was lifted clean off the ground and pushed into the van.
He felt a jab in his neck. “No!”
Everything went black.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Carter
Carter knocked on the door and took in the neighborhood while he waited. A long row of single-bed homes, the road at the far end curving around to meet the freeway. What a place to live.
“You know, I’m hoping she’s involved.” Elisha sucked in a deep breath as she looked through a window. “Hoping she’s his accomplice, that she’s guarding Avery.” She seemed to shiver. “Everything else… He could’ve killed her, could have her locked up alone, could’ve sold her to—”
“Elisha, focus on the here and now. Okay? We’ve no reason to think this boy’s mother is involved.”
But they both lost something that day. They both wanted answers. It made sense to Carter too. Still—keep focused.
He knocked again, the feeling deep in his gut that they’d never see the girl again. “FBI!”
Elisha thumped the door.
No response, again.
She stepped back and waved a hand at the nearby agent holding the battering ram. “Get us inside.”
He stepped into place.
Carter drew his pistol.
A loud crack and the door tumbled off its hinges onto the floor.
Carter stepped inside first. “FBI!”
A dark hallway, three of the doors shut.
Carter walked over to the open door.
Someone lay on the bed. A man, on his front, trussed up like a turkey, hands and feet bound together. Salmon-pink polo, gray slacks. Not moving. Blood caked the back of his shaved head, tiny dots of red stubble poking out of the follicles. Gashes taken out of both cheeks.
Looked close enough to Mason Wickstrom’s old service photo.
Carter charged over and put a finger to his neck, checking for a pulse. He got one. He scanned the bonds, looking for a way through. Thick yellow nylon rope. Impossible to snap with your hands. “Get me a knife!”
“Mmmf!” Wickstrom was trying to say something.
Carter opened Wickstrom’s jaw. Something red in his mouth, looked like cotton. He pulled it out. A towel, soaked with blood.
“Holliday!” Wickstrom was gulping in breath like he’d just surfaced from the deep. “Holliday!”
Elisha appeared in the doorway with a pair of scissors. “No knives. Hope these will do.”
Carter took the scissors off her and started snipping at the bonds. “Where is Holliday? Does he have Avery?”
Wickstrom spat blood on the bed. “You tell me.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Mason
The FBI agent saws at the ties around my feet with a pair of scissors, taking long hacks at them. The amount of grunting he’s doing, it’s not going as well or as quickly as he’d like.
All I can do is lie on the bed, belly down, trussed up like a free-range chicken at a farmers’ market. Facing up to the crimes I committed. Every slice into the bonds cuts through my bones, like he’s sawing my leg off. Everything hurts now, not just my wrist or my head or the gunshot wound in my arm. The back of my head, it’s like—
I jerk awake again. The pain is just too much.
It’s over.
Despite the agony, I wouldn’t change anything, wouldn’t trade safety for the knowledge of what happened to my boy.
I found my answers, but Layla didn’t get hers. She took Avery, but where? Hung me out to dry. And I still don’t know why. Maybe she figured it was best to get out of here, maybe she’s using her fake passport right now.
I’d done most of the running, and she’d left me when she got the answer she needed. Not the one she wanted.
Shit, maybe she’s in custody, maybe the FBI have her.
They found me here, after all. Have they got her?
Letting Holliday get the upper hand like that, turning my back on a snake like him… A desperate, poisonous snake. He realized I’d lost Avery, snuck in here and took me out.
I’m such a jackass.
The agent breaks through the ties and frees my legs. I can relax now, a tiny amount. He grabs my left wrist and carefully rests the scissors against the bonds. “Need you to sit up, sir.” He hauls me up and props me against the wall. “My name is Special Agent Max Carter of the FBI. You’re going away for a very long time. Child abduction, murder, you name it. Mason Wickstrom, you have the right to remain silent.”
His words wash over me. I don’t even look at him. Part of my brain, the one still wired with all that training, tells me to wait. Four other agents in the room, standing around. Take him out, then get away. Normally I’d like my odds, but I’m sore and tired, and my skull’s cracked…
“… one will be appointed for you.” Then he’s back to sawing away at the yellow twine. He’s going much slower than with my legs, taking his time, making sure he doesn’t cut me. “You’re going to help me find Avery Holliday. Whatever you’ve done to reconcile yourself with kidnapping small children, whatever you’ve gained out of it, a mother is missing her daughter. Okay?”
He’s slipped—he doesn’t know about Layla. Meaning he doesn’t have her.
So, do I play along? Help him find Avery? Or do I protect Layla?
I kidnapped two innocent children to use as leverage against Holliday. We were going to return them when we had our answers.
Holliday was right here with me. I was going to give her back.
But he’s right. I need to help him find Avery, return her to her mother. Problem is, I don’t know if Layla still has Avery.
Where has she gone?
The burner I gave Holliday was the only lead I had. I forgot about it in the rage, only remembering when Holliday got me. But I told her they took her son, and she thinks Holliday’s involved in this.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
No.
No, no, no.
She couldn’t.
Not Layla.
I swallow hard, but it’s hours since I last drank anything. My lips are dry, my mouth like a Basra backstreet. I make eye contact with him. His head is perfectly still despite the sawing motion. And I realize that I’ve no idea how I can help.
Carter breaks through the twine and beckons over an EMT. “Can you check that wound, please?”
The guy does as he’s told, resting on his knees behind me, the bedsprings crunching. His gloved fingers work my scalp, making it burn with pain.
“How long before I can get him in an interrogation room?”
“He needs to go to the hospital.” The EMT stops his probing. “He needs an X-ray. This looks like a fractured skull to me. Possibly even brain damage.”
“So, how long?”
“You’re talking days.”
“I don’t have days.” Carter stands there, thinking about it. Then he gives the EMT a nod. “Give me five minutes while you get the ambulance ready. Okay?”
The EMT thinks as hard as Carter did, but does as he’s told, leaving me alone with the agent.
Carter pulls over the desk chair and sits, crossing his legs. Very casual, like two buddies hanging loose on a back stoop, sipping ice-cold beers. “Once you’re out of the ER, I’m going to charge you. Then you’ll be taken to a maximum-security prison while you await t
rial.” He turns to look at me and I can see years of pent-up anger and rage simmering away. This guy does this shit for a living, hunting down people like me. Day in, day out. Soon enough, he’ll snap. I hope it’s not today.
“What do you want?”
“Don’t think you’ll ever be free again, Mr. Wickstrom. I know enough of your military record to make sure that I’ll have a very strong guard outside your hospital room. Child abduction is four years. I know, right? Should be life. But you’re facing two counts, and most judges will make you serve that sequentially. But then you murdered Harry Youngblood and Franklin Vance. Normally, that’d be twenty to life, each. But in this state? Two murders counts as a spree killing, so you’ll face the death penalty. They’re trying to get rid of it, as you probably know, but they haven’t. Better hope the governor likes you. Abducting a senator’s kids? Probably pushes the odds against you.”
I slump back against the wall. Can’t say anything. This is the price I have to pay for what I’ve learned.
“Right now, Mason, my highest priority is finding Avery Holliday. I hope there’s some semblance of a human being left inside your head, enough to help me find a small girl and return her to her parents.”
It’s like he expects me to say something.
“Now. If you cooperate, we can make it life in prison. Commute the death penalty.”
Maybe he’s right. Holliday’s wife doesn’t deserve this, just like Avery and Brandon didn’t. One kid in the ER, another missing. I could do some final good, reuniting the girl with her mother.
Baby tears tickle my nostrils, not quite formed, but stinging anyway. “I want to help, but I honestly don’t know where she is.”
Carter processes it, slowly, looking deep in my eyes. “Did Holliday get her back?”
“No.” I let out a breath, a wave of pain across the back of my skull making everything clench. “We got back here and she was gone.”
“Could Avery have left on her own?”
“No. My—” I break off. “We were keeping Avery here. She was supposed to be an insurance policy.”
“Your accomplice was looking after her, right?”
“Right.”
“Layla al-Yasin, yes?”
So, he knows.
Do I give her up? Or do I let her go, let her live her life while I pay for both of our sins. I did the damage, so I should pay for what I’ve done. But should she?
He leans forward, resting on the chair’s front two legs. “It is Layla al-Yasin, right?”
He already knows, doesn’t need me to confirm it. “I’ve no idea where she’s taken Avery.” I rest my head against the wall, but the pain flares all over my body, jerking me forward. “I came back here with Holliday, left him outside. I swear I was going to give Avery back to Holliday, then leave the state. Disappear. But I came in here, and she was gone. Next thing I know, Holliday attacked me.” I rub at the fissure on the back of my head. “He hit me with a frying pan, then tied me up. Started torturing me, interrogating me, asking where Avery is. But I don’t know. I don’t know where Layla went or why.”
“You lost touch with her.” Carter gets up and starts pacing around the room. “Is there anything you can think of that might help us track down Holliday?”
“I just can’t think of anything.”
He stands up tall, fists in his pants pockets. “Was Holliday helping you?”
“He was. And you know why. Helped me get my answers, helped me connect the dots. If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have found the men responsible for my son’s death.”
“Harry Youngblood?”
Hearing his name hits me hard. “It was an accident.”
“Like Brandon was an accident?”
“That cop shot him. You were there. You saw it. Youngblood jumped me, I had a loaded gun on him. It went off and I had no choice. And I was going to return the boy. I brought him with me to show Holliday that we meant business, but also that he’d get his kids back if he just played along. Then… what happened, happened and…” I can’t look at him anymore. “You ever felt such bad guilt that the only thing you can do is block it out of your mind?”
“I haven’t, no.” Carter sniffs. “But Frank Vance’s death looked very deliberate to me. You executed him.”
“You tell me he didn’t deserve it.” I let him see the pain and hurt, let it control my face, my muscles, let all of it out. “He deserved it. Vance and Youngblood both deserved it. Both of them. My son died because of their greed. Vance killed my son. That day, Jacob died trying to save his friend. Frank Vance held him, shook him, and my boy’s heart gave out. He murdered my son!”
The emotion hits me like it’s been shot with a hundred rounds from an AR15. Everything I’ve been blocking out. All the pain, not even crying at Jake’s funeral. All the rage, all the anger, all the shock. A wave of grief rolls over me, pulling me under. I shut my eyes, but all I can see is Jacob in his coffin, Grace’s hand tight around mine, her nails biting into my flesh.
“I just need to find Avery and reunite her with her parents, like you—”
“Vance showed us the money trail from some shell company in the Caymans or somewhere. The CIA paid them to take Faraj.”
“The CIA?” Carter lets out a slow breath, like he’s been down this mental avenue already. “Have you got any evidence?”
“I did. Vance gave us a document showing the payment from the CIA. I left it in his car, a black Cadillac. Should be outside, but maybe Holliday took it.”
Carter clicks his fingers and one of his agents leaves the room. “That’s a start. Now, let’s focus on Avery’s whereabouts, huh?”
I want to help, I just can’t think how.
And then I see it.
On the floor behind the door, resting against the wall. Layla’s laptop, the cheap thing she got from Walmart. Wiped, some Linux thing installed on top. Ultra-secure.
I suck in a deep breath, and something rattles in my lungs. “Bob Smith.” I manage another breath. “It’s not his real name, I don’t think anyway. It’s the username of some guy Layla found online. Don’t ask where, because I don’t know. That’s her area of expertise. She worked at Microsoft and Amazon, knows her shit.” I spit blood on the bed. “She set up a chat with him for the three of us on Signal.”
“Signal is that app that journalists use to protect their sources, right?”
“That’s one use for it, yeah. Layla says it’s just like WhatsApp but not owned by Facebook. It’s completely secure, end-to-end something or other, so nobody can even see who you’re talking to.”
“End-to-end encryption. And it breaks if you’ve got access to either end of the pipe.”
“Right.”
“So how are you—”
“Listen, I’ve got an idea.” I suck in a breath, tasting blood. “There’s a group chat, the three of us, but I’ve been chatting to Bob Smith solo on there. I think Layla speaks to him too.” I nod over at the laptop. “Pass me that.”
Carter thinks it through for a few seconds, but a female agent comes into the room. “No sign of a Cadillac, Max.”
“So Holliday’s taken it.” I look at him, pleading. “Pass me the laptop. I might be able to get in. I can help you find Avery.”
He snaps on rubber gloves and picks it up. “This is against protocol...” He sets it on his lap and taps the keyboard. “You know her password?”
“No.”
“So how did you think you could help?” Carter reaches into his pocket for something. Looks like a thumb drive. He sticks it in the side of the machine and drums his fingers on the lid. “Okay. I’m in.”
So much for her ultra-secure Linux build. “Can you see Signal?”
“It’s already open. There are two message threads here.” Carter swings the laptop around. “This the one you want?”
I was right. There’s a string of messages between Bob Smith and LayLadyLay. Layla. Discussing the operation in detail, worrying that I’m not up to it. Then her most recent m
essage…
Shit.
Mason called
It’s over for him, but I don’t have answers
My boy’s still out there!
Mason wants to let her go
What do you think?
NO
I have plans for her
I need you to meet me
Are you sure?
Positive
It’s OK
I’ll help you find Faraj
Get out of there now
I’ll get someone to secure Holliday and Mason
Wait for a silver Audi
Do not speak to Mason or Holliday
Okay?
OK
Good
Wait for my instruction
Then fifteen minutes later:
They’ve arrived. Silver Audi A3.
I can see it
Bye
Carter is off, talking into his cell on speaker. “Tyler, need you to run a check on a cell number.” He read it out, slowly. “It’s for a ‘Bob Smith,’ but I doubt that’s his name.”
Keyboard sounds click out of the speaker, all shrill and tinny. “Okay, sir, it’s a burner.”
Carter shakes his head, snorting hard. “Another one?”
“Cell was switched off long ago. Dead end, sir.”
“Okay, Tyler, need you to get in here and— Shit!” Carter kneels in front of the laptop, his mouth hanging open. He looks around at me. “Are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
He’s got his cell out, pointing it at the screen. “Someone’s deleting Layla’s messages.”
“It’s her. She’s doing it. It’s our protocol to make sure you—”
“Enough.” Carter’s on his feet, the phone against his head now. “Tyler, get me a trace on her cell.”