Judging from the proximity of his voice, Sloane estimated that Ted was about halfway across the chapel. She wasn’t sure if Kim and Sam were with him, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
She knocked. “Mr. Benton?”
There was a flurry of motion from inside. “Who’s there?” Ted demanded. “And how do you know my name?”
“A few of the guests recognized you,” Sloane said calmly. “They’ve called the authorities. I wanted to talk to you first. My name is Sloane Parker. I’m a guest here at the hotel.”
“And why would I talk to you?”
“Because I used to work for the FBI. I’ve seen situations like yours. And I understand what you’re going through. I want to help you all get out safely.”
“Well, that doesn’t look like it’s gonna happen. Especially if the cops and the FBI are on their way.”
“You want your wife and son with you, is that right?”
“They’re my family, so, yeah.”
“You love them very much. You want to protect them. Am I still on track?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you really think that holding them in a locked room with a gun in your hand is the best way to keep them safe?”
A pause. “I just want to get us out of here.”
“I understand that. And I believe it can be done. But not at gunpoint.” Sloane heard Sam’s sobs. “Your son sounds frightened. Can’t you let him wait in the hall while we talk this out?”
“You’ll turn him over to the police,” Ted stated flatly. Angrily.
“No, I won’t. The outside doors are locked. He’ll stay right here and wait. The only problem is that he’ll still be scared. He’ll want his mom. So why don’t you let your wife and son both come out? You can talk to them through the door and make sure they haven’t moved.”
Sloane could hear his wheels turning.
“Is this a trick?” he demanded at last.
“How can it be?” Sloane asked. “You’re still holding Claire. I’m not about to jeopardize her life by grabbing your family and trying to run away.”
“You’re not gonna jeopardize your own life, either. I’m sure you’re armed. And you’re playing games to keep me talking till the cops get here.”
“First of all, I’m not armed. I told you, I’m no longer FBI. And why would I play games? To put all of you in danger? That would be counterproductive.”
Pausing, Sloane moved to the next step.
“You’re the one with the gun, Ted. I’m just a regular person who believes that families should be together. If you don’t believe me, unlock the door and check for yourself. I’m wearing a bathing suit and an open shirt. In two seconds you’ll see I’m unarmed. If I’m lying, you can shoot me. If I’m not, send Kim and Sam out and take me instead. You’ll have two hostages to bargain with.”
Another silence.
From inside the chapel, Sloane heard Kim implore, “Please, Ted. I won’t do anything stupid. You and I both love Sam. Neither one of us would risk his safety with gunfire. At least open the door and see if the woman is legit. We’ll stay back until you’re sure.”
“And if she is?”
“Then Sam and I will wait right outside the door. You can keep calling out to check if you don’t believe me. And when all this is over, you and I will talk.”
That seemed to catch him off guard. “You’d actually consider going with me by choice?”
“Like I said, we both want Sam to be happy. And if you’re willing to go to such dramatic extremes…how could I not be open to what you have to say? It all depends on what happens when you talk to this person.”
Good girl, Sloane thought silently. She glanced at her watch. Five minutes to go.
“What do you say, Ted?” she asked. “Will you do this for your family? Let me in so we can talk.”
“And when the cops show up?”
“I’m former FBI. I can talk to whoever’s in charge. They’ll listen to me. And they won’t put my life in danger. You’re a lot safer if they know you’re holding me at gunpoint than you are if I’m standing out here in the hall.”
“Fine.” That obviously prompted his cooperation. “Stand behind me,” he ordered his ex-wife and son.
A rustle as they complied. Sloane took that time to drop her tote bag and snatch her BlackBerry, changing the ring status from silent to loud.
“I’ve got a gun on Claire Hedgleigh,” Ted announced to Sloane through the door. “So if you try anything…”
“I won’t.”
A hard click, and the door opened a little—enough so Ted could scrutinize Sloane, and Sloane could see the woman Ted grasped before him, his pistol pressed to the side of her head.
“Turn around,” Ted ordered.
Sloane pivoted slowly, hands raised, so he could see she had nothing to use as a weapon.
“Why do you have a BlackBerry?”
“To talk to the FBI and tell them to hold their fire. I’ll put it down as soon as I’m inside. I won’t touch it unless you let me.”
That seemed to satisfy him. He angled his head slightly. “You two wait outside,” he told Kim and Sam. In one motion, he flung open the door, pushed his family out, and yanked Sloane in. He slammed the door shut, then leaned past her and flipped the bolt.
“Put down the phone,” he commanded Sloane. He waited until she’d complied. “Now talk. My plan was to take my family and get away before the cops got here. Now this bitch—” he jabbed Claire’s forehead with his pistol “—screwed everything up. How do I get out of here without killing her?”
“To begin with, you think about your wife and son.” Sloane was assessing him as she spoke. He’d been drinking, but he wasn’t drunk. He was average height and build. With her skills in Krav Maga, she could take him easily. All she needed was the right opportunity.
“You’re not a killer,” she continued. “You proved that by releasing the guests. Plus, your son is obviously fond of Claire. How do you think he would react if you shot her? He looks up to you. You’re his dad.”
That caused a slight softening of his jaw.
“Let me negotiate with the FBI,” Sloane suggested. “I’ll convince them to hold off while you reunite with your family.”
“And then what? They’ll storm the place and take me away the minute I’m not holding you and Claire at gunpoint.”
Sloane drew a slow breath, as if she were struggling with a big decision. “If I were still with the Bureau, I’d say yes. But I’m not. And, like I said, I think families should be together.” Another pause. “I assume you have an escape route?”
Ted nodded.
“Good. Then use it. That phone is going to ring any second. At that point, I’ll know the agents are in place. I’ll keep them talking. You take your family and run. I’ll buy you enough time to get away. In return, you leave Claire and me here, unharmed. Fair enough?”
He scrutinized her warily for a long time. “Yeah,” he said at last. “Fair enough. But I’ll be taking my gun with me. So if you decide to change your mind…”
“I won’t.” Sloane’s gaze flickered to Claire, hoping against hope that what Derek had just told her about the clairvoyant was true. If there was ever a time to pick up on life-or-death energy, now was it.
Claire gave an almost-imperceptible nod.
At the same time, Sloane’s phone rang. No surprise. Her ten minutes were up.
Quizzically, she looked at Ted, waiting for permission.
“Get it,” he directed.
She squatted slightly, reaching behind her and groping for her phone. On cue, Claire whimpered as if in pain and sagged. Reflexively, Ted’s head snapped around toward Claire.
In two lightning-quick strides, Sloane was on him. Simultaneously, her arm came up and she tur
ned sideways so the trajectory of the gun would miss her if Ted took a shot. With her right hand she grabbed the top of the gun’s barrel while her left hand came up under the slide and grip, completing the trap. She snapped the gun up and back, intentionally breaking Ted’s trigger finger.
He gave a scream of pain and released Claire, who darted away the instant she was free. With Claire out of danger, Sloane yanked the gun from Ted’s hand, moved back and rotated the weapon until it was aimed directly at him.
“On the floor,” she ordered. “Slowly. Hands behind you.”
“You lying bitch!” he managed, clutching his throbbing hand.
“I said get down. Now.”
Her laser stare convinced him. He did as he was told.
“Claire, answer my cell,” Sloane instructed, walking over and straddling Ted from behind, shoving the gun in his back as she grabbed his wrists. “Tell Agent Fitzpatrick I’ve neutralized the offender. His team can take it from here.”
* * *
Derek made his way through the crowd, pulling Sloane to him as he gave a relieved but exasperated sigh.
“Only you,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around his wife. “A honeymoon hostage negotiation at gunpoint. I don’t have to tell you how many Bureau rules you broke.”
Sloane leaned back, her lips curved into a teasing smile. “I’m not back at Quantico yet. So breaking the rules doesn’t count. Only the outcome does. I’d say things turned out right.”
“And I’d say you’re going to age me before my time.”
A twinkle. “I know a way to keep you young.”
“Yeah, me, too.” Derek shot her that sexy grin of his. “Shall we get back to the honeymoon, Mrs. Parker?”
“Lead the way, Mr. Parker.”
* * * * *
SPIDER’S TANGO
William Simon
The premise is brilliant. When I realized what the conflict was, I thought, “Oh, my God!” It’s scary on numerous levels. ~ SB
Here’s a piece of advice you won’t find in any manual, leaflet, monograph, self-help book, or national talk show: when an agent with the FBI’s Violent Crimes Unit opens an email, then spends the next ten minutes vomiting in the men’s room, do not under any circumstances lean across the desk and look at the screen…
* * *
At 4:00 a.m., the FBI’s Cyber Crime Division looks like any other office space, despite the inventive imaginations of Hollywood screenwriters. Computers and computer equipment dominated the floor, but it’s hardly the high-tech toy-land television would have us believe.
“What’s going on?” I asked as I walked in, Visitor badge clipped to my hastily snatched laptop bag, after receiving an abrupt cell phone call from the man standing in front of me.
“Kidnapping,” Jeff Keyes, the Special Agent in Charge of the office replied. “Missing child.”
My nerves twisted. Missing children were the worst.
“You have the manpower to handle that,” I said, referring to a time not so long ago when the CCD consisted of individuals who could turn a computer on and not much else.
We came to a stop in front of a double cubicle. Four monitors connected to four computers, their screens flashing with data. A woman with ash-blond hair was there, her fingers flying across the keyboard.
She paused and stood.
My heart kicked into an off-key but sincere version of the William Tell Overture. I couldn’t help smiling.
“Supervisory Special Agent Elizabeth Canton,” Jeff said. “Nicholas White.”
Her eyes flashed. “Nicholas.”
“Beth, it’s nice to see you.”
“You’ve met?” Jeff asked.
Beth looked at him, then back to me. “I knew him when his last name was Bianco,” she said. “He’s my ex-husband.”
Jeff’s eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t know you’d ever been married.”
“For about three hours,” I said before Beth could reply. “In college. It was a long time ago.”
“Elizabeth’s the Behavioral Analysis Unit Coordinator out of Quantico,” Jeff explained. “She was here yesterday, giving a class.” He broke off and nodded his head at a younger man who walked in. “This is R. P. Bristol, Violent Crimes, recent transfer from Washington.
“Nicholas is an outside consultant,” Jeff told them both. “The Bureau uses him for, uh, special incidents.”
“I’ve heard your name,” Bristol said to me as we shook hands. “One of your cases is textbook at Quantico.”
Beth rolled her eyes, turning back to the screens. Something I couldn’t quite decipher played across her face as she pretended to ignore me completely.
The tension in the air between us was hard to miss. She was probably struggling with the urge to leap over the cubicle and have her way with me.
As the song says, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
“We’ve narrowed the video feed to the city, but no farther,” she said, all business. “Running through a tri-proxy, and from there it’s random. The Vesuvius, Buckingham’s and Altair’s, all three hotels offer free wireless. Then it all rotates again. It hasn’t landed long enough to grab it.”
A crude map of Las Vegas came on-screen. A red line kept moving, breaking off and starting over, an electronic Mobius strip.
On the left monitor a photograph came up on-screen, a posed school photo.
“The victim?” I asked.
“She and her parents came through the city yesterday, on the way to visit grandparents. As near as we can tell, the abduction occurred this morning, around 2:00 a.m.,” Beth said.
The child’s face rang a bell, but I couldn’t quite place it.
“Thirty minutes ago, this showed up on the internet,” she said.
I looked at the screen.
The little girl was in a Winnie the Pooh sleeper, sitting in a chair. The video quality was excellent. A wide leather strap held her in place.
She looked so tiny, so terrified.
The focus shifted to reveal an adult, height indeterminate, dark pants, white dress shirt and a full-face Frankenstein monster mask.
“Step right up!” he crowed as the features of the mask remained frozen. His voice was distorted but understandable.
“For auction tonight,” he continued. “One fresh young thing, guaranteed! Opening bid is forty million dollars! Think about it,” the creature went on. “For a mere forty million, you can own everything! Absolutely everything! You control it all, baby, all! If any police are watching this, don’t waste time trying to get a voiceprint. You won’t get a thing.”
“The website didn’t exist until half an hour ago,” Beth said. “The video plays, the address changes. Plays again, another change.”
An agent yelled into the room, “It’s happening!”
A television screen in the conference room showed an empty conference room waiting for people to arrive. “Nicholas—” Jeff turned to me “—this is closed circuit, direct link from Washington, eyes only. You understand?”
I nodded. On the screen, a distinguished-looking man came into the room, his eyes raw from lack of sleep. Or from crying.
I realized why I had almost recognized her, and glanced over at Jeff.
He nodded and whispered, “His granddaughter.”
A voice came over the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States.”
* * *
“‘Any attempt to invoke the Twenty-Fifth Amendment, she dies,’” the President read from a sheet of paper in front of him. “‘Any anything, she dies.’”
“What’s the Twenty-Fifth Amendment?” someone in the back asked.
“The President has the ability to remove himself from office if he deems it necessary,” Beth explained.
“I remember now. It was a big society wedding, lots of press. What about the Secret Service?” I asked.
“Three agents assigned to the family are dead. The Service is looking to drink this guy’s blood when they get their hands on him.”
“What’s he trying to do?” I asked, jerking my thumb toward the other monitor.
“He’s selling her,” Jeff told me. “To the highest bidder.”
At my puzzled look, he continued. “This isn’t a child-porn thing,” he said, referring to past incidents we’d worked on together. “He’s gotten bids from al Qaeda, Red Brigade, Afghanistan and Beirut.”
“Terrific.” A terrorist group holding the president’s granddaughter hostage.
“I spoke with the director personally—she classed it Code Black. You were my first phone call.”
Code Black was Bureau slang for Gloves Off. It was a major step for an organization that prided itself on following the rules.
“Thanks. I think.”
“We’re good…you know that. You helped put together the Cyber Crime Division at Quantico,” Jeff said. “But this is beyond words.”
Agent Bristol was in front of a computer screen. “We’ve got an email, guys,” he said as he clicked the mouse before anyone could stop him. “It’s headed ‘If You Think I’m Kidding.’”
Bristol turned pale, his eyes bulging. Making an odd noise in the back of his throat, he flew out of his chair and sprinted for the men’s room.
No one said a word.
I’ve done a few stupid things in my day. According to Beth, doing stupid things is a specialty of mine.
In the interest of maintaining my status as Idiot of the Year, I leaned over and looked at the screen.
* * *
This is evidence, I told myself, using it as a mantra. This is data, nothing more. Only evidence. This is just evidence.
I jammed my hands into my pockets so no one would see them trembling.
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