Damage Control

by Gordon Savage

  As we headed toward Reston, I told Phil everything that had happened. When I finished, he said, “Wow, you were lucky to make it out alive.”

  “Don’t I know it!” I shivered involuntarily.

  “Gardner must have targeted you when the news identified him and Bednarik as persons of interest.”

  That comment sent an electric shock through me. I hadn’t been paying attention to the news. “When was that?”

  “Yesterday’s noon news. Romero called a press conference yesterday morning to announce the police were opening a murder investigation of the bombing. Dwight Simpson of the Trib asked if there were any suspects. Romero said there were two unknown suspects. Then a reporter who was sent to report on the shooting —You remember that, right?—talked to Munson and found out who we were looking for.” He paused. “Come to think of it both reporters mentioned our names in connection with the investigation …”

  His expression scared me. “What?”

  “That means Gardner knows about me. I don’t think they would come after me directly, but if they go after my family …” He raised his voice. “We have to get these bastards rounded up fast.”

  I immediately pictured his wife wearing a vest loaded with C4. No wonder he was concerned. “Agreed, but shouldn’t you warn your wife—now?”

  He stared straight ahead at the expressway and ground out, “I have to, but what do I tell her? I don’t want to panic her.”

  “Tell her to grab the kid and head for the hills. Panic is the least of your worries.”

  He glanced at me. “I suppose you’re right.” He pulled out his phone. “Damn, I didn’t turn it on when we left the office.” He pushed the power button.

  When the phone had warmed up, it chirped, announcing a voice mail. “Phil,” Angela’s frightened voice said, “Where are you? Call me right away! Hurry!”

  Phil pulled over to the side of the road and turned on the light bar. As soon as we stopped, he speed-dialed Angela. She was crying and talking a mile a minute as well. “Phil, they’ve got Lacey! She didn’t come home after school and some man called…”

  Phil began trying to interrupt. “Angela, slow down. Angela.”

  “… and said if we want her back, you have to help them get …”

  “Angela, slow down.… Angela.”

  “… out of the country and you have to do it right away and …”

  She finally cut off. Phil calmly spoke in measured words. “I know, Angela. Take it easy.”

  “Take it easy? Take it easy? They have Lacey, and they’re threatening to kill her!”

  I could tell he was struggling to maintain his calm. “Did they say when they would call back?”

  “No. Please get home now.”

  He put his hand over the phone’s microphone and looked at me with a helpless expression on his face. “I’ve got to do this.” I didn’t even have time to nod. He went back to the phone. “Hang in there, sweetheart. I’m on my way.” He put the SUV in gear and pulled out into traffic. A car swerved around us, and the driver, who apparently didn’t care that the light bar was flashing, shook his fist at us.

  Angela continued, “Hurry. And don’t call the police. They said they’d know.”

  Maneuvering into the left lane, Phil tried to calm her. “Angela, listen closely. I know who called, and they wouldn’t dare to get close enough to our house to tell the police were there. They know I might spot them. Call the police, now. Follow their instructions to the letter. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

  He hung up and spoke to me. “I can drop you off here, or you can come with me.”

  “Reston’s a long walk. I think I’ll stick with you.”

  A brief, pained smile flickered across his face. “Oh, sorry, I forgot. I can give you subway fare.”

  “Just trying to lighten the mood. No, I want to come along. Maybe I can help out.”

  As he turned into one of the emergency crossings, he said, “What I don’t understand is how they found out about my family so quickly.”

  “Gardner is a consummate hacker. He probably found you in a government database. Your dependents would be listed. … How old is Lacey?”

  He pulled out and headed back to DC. “Fourteen.”

  “So she has her own phone and a Facebook page, I’ll bet.”

  He nodded.

  “Piece of cake. I could probably do it. He could easily find her school, and he or Bednarik would have picked her up when it let out.”

  We drove in silence for a while, speeding down the left lane and avoiding the cars that ignored our emergency lights and had pulled out to take advantage of the suddenly wide open left lane. I quietly reminded him that he should probably check in with his dispatcher.

  While he was talking to them, I thought about Gardner and Bednarik, trying to come up with anything to help us locate them. Bednarik’s family had moved to somewhere in western Pennsylvania. I could probably track them down, but I figured it would take longer than we had. And they probably wouldn’t or couldn’t give us any useful information.

  Gardner had disappeared after the drive-by only to show up at my place last night. I was pretty sure he hadn’t gone back to the dorm. I did have his girlfriend Cheryl’s name and number. Maybe she had some useful information. I pulled up her number from my memory and tapped Phil on the arm. “Borrow your phone?”

  She answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “Cheryl, this is Samantha Pederson. Have you heard anything from McKenzie since the shooting?”

  “Just once. He said he had to keep out of sight for a few days, that he would call me when it was safe.”

  Hoping for something useful, I asked, “Notice anything odd about the call?”

  “He used a disposable phone. I didn’t recognize the number. I was hoping you were him.”

  “I was thinking of odd noises or maybe even a background image if he was using video.” I know, unlikely with a burner phone.

  She paused before answering. “No video. All I can remember was traffic noises. He was on a busy road. Oh wait, I heard a train whistle too.”

  I asked, “I know this number isn’t the same as his disposable number, but you thought it might be him. I hope that doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten the number of his disposable phone. Do you have it?”

  “Hold on while I look it up.” I heard her humming as she checked her phone’s log. When she came back, she gave me the number, finishing with “You never know with disposable phones; he could have changed numbers.”

  I managed to laugh convincingly. “You’re right. Thanks.”

  I hung up and dialed the disposable’s number. A recorded voice informed me the phone was unreachable and didn’t have voice mail set up. I handed the phone back to Phil. “That wasn’t particularly useful.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe the tech guys can trace it.”

  I peered at him. “I hate to burst your bubble, but the magic wands they have on TV don’t really exist. Or maybe I should say, ‘They don’t work nearly as well.’”

  We were both silent for a while. I started trying to figure out how they expected Phil to get them out of the country. Then I realized where Phil was driving. “Georgetown?”

  “It’s nice to have a wife that makes more than I do.” There was no humor in it.

  Chapter 41

  Roger Saltz, Channel 6: “I’m reporting from the Homeland Security parking lot where I am speaking with Homeland Security Officer Philip Kaminski.

  Kaminski: Since this is part of an ongoing investigation I have to stick to what happened last night and this morning. You’ll have to get any other information from the front office. Last night Ms. Pederson was kidnapped and forced to wear an explosive vest. She was taken to the L’Enfant Plaza Metro station early this morning and left there with instructions that if she attempted to escape, her captors would set off the explosives remotely. She went into the men’s room so the blast would be confined, which apparently triggered a countdown timer. She warn
ed the men who were there to leave, which they did, and she managed to get out of the vest before the timer set off the explosives. My colleagues brought her in to get the details of what happened and released her. That’s all I can tell you.”

  Saltz: “Yesterday it was announced that you and Ms. Pederson had identified two suspects in the Reid bombing. Did this kidnapping have anything to do with those suspects?”

  Kaminski: “I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to discuss anything to do with the Reid explosion. The information office will have more on the explosion later. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

  – Channel 6 News

  Day 17, 4:45PM

  The police and FBI had already arrived when we turned onto his street. Phil showed his ID to a cop and said, “She’s with me.” The cop pointed to an open parking space.

  Inside Phil’s home the police and the FBI were setting up. Angela met us at the door. She was a tall, slender brunet dressed in a really sharp suit: gray wool skirt and jacket, red blouse, and Jimmy Choo pumps. She held a crumpled tissue, and her eyes were red. She was struggling to keep it all together, but the tear stains on her face showed she had been crying – still was. A fresh tear rolled down her cheek.

  I looked the room over. All their furniture – couches, chairs, end tables – had been moved back against the walls, and the police were setting up a folding table in the middle of the room. The street side of the room had a large bay window with a seat. The other walls had tasteful paintings on them. The one closest to me looked like a Monet, but when I looked at the signature, it started with “NOT” in front of “Monet.” It sure was a good copy. There was a fireplace on the back wall, and the mantel held several framed photographs. One was a picture of a girl in a bright yellow cheerleader outfit. I was sure it was Lacey. She had her mother’s looks except for Phil’s green eyes.

  Technicians were stringing wires and carrying in computers and oversized monitors, setting them up as quickly as they could. Another technician was passing out wireless headsets. I took one and was holding it when the phone rang.

  Everyone jumped, including me. One of the FBI agents signaled for Angela to come over and answer the call. “Dr. Kaminski, try to keep them on the phone.” He handed it to her. I turned on my headset and slipped it over my ears.

  I clearly heard Angela. “Hello.”

  The voice on the phone said, “Is your husband home?” It wasn’t Gardner’s voice, so it had to be Bednarik. Grabbing a piece of paper and hurriedly scribbling “Bednarik” on it, I showed it to the agent. He nodded and took the paper.

  The agents continued setting up the equipment. One of them hurriedly scribbled “Proof of life?” in bright green letters on a computer tablet and showed it to Angela. She said, “Yes, my husband is here, but first I want you to prove you have my daughter. Let me talk to her.”

  After a pause, a terrified sounding girl cried into the phone, “Mom?”

  Angela spoke hysterically, “Lacey, is that you? Are you alright? …”

  Bednarik interrupted, “There. Now put your husband on.” No question, it had to be Bednarik. Now I recognized his voice from the night before.

  Angela surprised me. She had looked as if she was ready to crack, but she responded, “Wait, I didn’t get to talk to her! … Was that really her? Put her back on the phone. I want proof she’s real and not a recording.”

  The voice answered, “You’ve heard her. Put your husband on.”

  As Angela listened to the other end of the conversation, I could see her stiffen and grow angry. “No, you listen to me. How do I know you’re not lying to me? Let me talk to her, now.” I was impressed. That took a lot of nerve.

  A shaky voice came back on the phone. “Mom, it’s me, Lacey.”

  Angela’s face brightened fleetingly. “Lacey, what do you call your grandmother on the Garrick side?”

  “I … Meemaw.”

  Angela looked both relieved and frightened. She covered the phone’s mouthpiece. “It’s really Lacey.”

  The man’s voice came back. “Now, let me talk to your husband. No more stalling.”

  She handed the phone to Phil and took his earphones.

  Phil put the phone to his ear but didn’t say anything. The agents looked puzzled.

  “What the hell? Are you there or not Kaminski?”

  Phil spoke in a steady voice at a rigid pace. “I’m here. Am I speaking to Bednarik?” There was a collective gasp from almost everyone in the room. I hoped the men on the other end hadn’t heard it, but I mentally applauded Phil.

  “So you do know who we are. You don’t think I’d let junior handle the negotiations, do you? The kid’s too much of a hot head.”

  “Was there ever a question, Coach? Before you give me your demands, tell me why you killed Reid and all those media types.”

  “Are you recording this?”

  “No, I’m not recording this.” —A white lie. He wasn’t but the FBI was—“When you’re arrested for kidnapping, the police and FBI will have plenty of time to get the truth out of you.” He paused to let that reality soak in. “I just want to confirm my suspicions. You did it because the football players who were cheating with Reid’s help became ineligible when he quit supplying test answers, right?”

  He listened to the silence for several seconds before continuing. “How do you think your wife and daughters will react when they find out you killed innocent people because you had resorted to cheating and it backfired?”

  Everyone in the room heard Bednarik’s expletives whether they were wearing headphones or not. When he stopped, Phil said, “Okay, let’s get this over with. What do you want from me? … Wait, I need something to write this down. Hold that thought.”

  One of the agents handed him a notepad and a pencil. “Okay, go ahead.” Maintaining the illusion that no one else was listening, he took the time to write “Gulfstream.” He said, “So you want a fully fueled Grumman Gulfstream at Reagan? How do you propose to return my daughter?”

  “We’ll let her off when we get to Caracas. The Venezuelan government doesn’t extradite to the U.S.”

  “You’ll let her loose when you reach Caracas? …” Phil almost smiled. “You do realize how much of the Venezuelan economy is based on gasoline, don’t you? And you’ll be going there representing the country that caused their economy to collapse. You have heard of teleportals? Oh, that’s right. You blew up a pair of them, along with a bunch of people. Do you really want to bet that Venezuela won’t extradite you?”

  We all heard Bednarik again. “You son of a bitch. Get us that airplane or your daughter dies.”

  Phil pulled the phone away from his ear and mouthed, “Sorry, Honey” at Angela. I watched the dawning terror in her eyes. He waited.

  “Well?” Bednarik shouted.

  Phil put the phone back to his ear. He sounded deadly serious as he said, “Coach, I’m going to explain the situation to you very carefully, and I want you to pay attention. First, if any harm befalls my daughter, and I mean any, I will personally track you and Gardner down and make you suffer till you beg me to kill you. Second, I have no way to get you an airplane. My only source would be the government, and the government doesn’t negotiate with terrorists. You crossed that line when you left Ms. Pederson to blow up in the Metro.”

  There was a prolonged silence on the phone. Then Bednarik roared, “You just signed your daughter’s death certificate.”

  Phil continued to speak in that deadly tone of voice. It sent chills up my spine. “You might want to reconsider that threat.”

  It wasn’t long before a calmer voice said, “Agent Kaminski, this is your lucky day. I’m McKenzie Gardner, and I will be letting your daughter loose. You’ll have two hours, starting now,”—Phil glanced at his watch—“to find her and get her out of her explosive vest. In the meantime, if I see any indication that the coach and I are being followed, I’ll trigger the timer on the vest, and you’ll only have thirty seconds. Good luck.” The phone went dead.


  Phil looked around. His face was deathly pale. “How are we supposed to find her?”

  ◆◆◆

  Day 17, 5:30PM

  The FBI agent seated at the computer hooked to the phone line said, “You did a great job keeping them on the line. They were using a disposable phone, but I was able to triangulate it to the vicinity of the Pentagon Memorial.”

  The agent in charge, a heavy-set man wearing a uniform gray suit and non-descript tie, came over. “I’m agent Grady.” He looked calm and collected as he handed Phil his card. “I hope you know we’ll do everything we can do to get your daughter back alive.”

  Phil swallowed hard. “I know you will, but an explosive vest …”

  Grady had an immediate answer. “We’ll take care of it.” He appeared confident, but I knew better.

  Phil said nothing.

  Grady continued, “You clearly know who the kidnappers are. Can you describe them?”

  Phil seemed to come out of a daze. He said, “I can do better than that. I have pictures of both of them on my phone.” He showed Grady the photos.

  “Great. If you’ll transfer those to Marco’s computer”—He nodded at the seated agent—“We’ll send them out to every available agent in DC. We’ll put several unmarked cars in the area of the monument on the lookout for them and her. You don’t happen to know what they might be driving, do you?”

  Phil turned to look at me.

  I took the prompt. “Bednarik has a black Porsche Boxster. Gardner drives a beater, an old Plymouth I think. But they used a blue van with Drovers Plumbing on the side to transport me to the Metro. I wouldn’t be surprised if you find it abandoned somewhere near where they put Lacey. And I would guess that both of them are on foot where they can watch her.”

  Brady nodded. “That should help.” He leaned over and spoke to the agent at the computer.

  Phil added, “You did get that threat about anyone following them? You need to be aware that they’re the ones who blew up the Reid building.” After Grady raised his eyebrows in surprise, Phil continued, “And, they were the ones who put the vest bomb on my partner”—Here he pointed at me—“in the subway this morning.”