Silver Justice

by Blake, Russell

  “Thank you, Brett. I appreciate it. And I completely understand what you’re saying. But we’re all wired differently, and the work will really help.”

  “Good. Call me if you need anything at all. I’ll be around today and tomorrow, and then I’m off to a conference in D.C. next week. Closed doors, so I’ll only be available in the evenings. Meanwhile, you can also have full access to Art. He’s expecting your call.”

  Brett gave her Art’s cell number. “Give Art an hour – he’s going to be in a briefing first thing this morning. I’ve got to go give it, so I won’t be around, either. I’ll keep you posted on any progress. Again, I’m sorry this is happening, Silver.”

  “Yeah. It sucks.”

  “It does indeed.”

  Chapter 19

  Kennedy had regained consciousness a few hours earlier, lying on a bed in a completely dark room with no windows. She’d felt her way around, exploring what she could absent any light – it seemed bigger than her bedroom at home, and very different. The air smelled dank and musty and abandoned, and the only furniture in the room was the bed – a single width mattress on a box-spring with no frame.

  The cold metal door was locked. She twisted the knob and alternated between pushing and pulling, but no matter what she did, she couldn’t get it to budge. She debated slamming against it and making as much noise as possible but then thought better of it. She didn’t want to risk angering whoever had locked her in.

  She listened intently but didn’t hear anything other than a dim humming she couldn’t identify, emanating from somewhere on the other side of the door. Wherever this was, she’d never been anywhere like it before. Her trembling fingers brushed against the coarse finish on the walls. Rough cement with a damp feel. At least it wasn’t freezing or boiling hot.

  Her wrists hurt from the cuffs, and her head was pounding. Dizziness came and went along with waves of nausea. Her mouth was dry and tasted like she’d chewed on metal in her sleep, and she was sore all over. Creeping anxiety gnawed at her stomach, aside from the fear she’d awoken to, and her eyes felt like they were going to pop out of her head.

  The last thing she remembered was struggling with the intruder, fighting to break free from his superior grip. Then everything had gone dark, and the next thing she knew she was on the bed, thirsty and needing to use the bathroom.

  Something scuttled across her arm. She screamed reflexively, brushing it away with revulsion. Visions of spiders, their mandibles twitching feverishly as they sensed blood pulsing just below the surface of her skin, froze her in place. Kennedy had always been terrified of the dark. This was her worst nightmare come true. She shuddered at the thought of insects creeping towards her, unsure of how to protect herself from them.

  Kennedy started bawling out of fear and dread of whatever was to come. She wanted her mother and to be someplace safe. Her cries reverberated off the cold, uncaring walls as she shrieked her terror and frustration at them. She threw herself down on the bed face first and howled into the pillow until she drifted off again, exhausted by her outburst.

  The humming continued without abating, her only company in the dark confinement.

  ~ ~ ~

  Kennedy bolted upright, woken by the sound of the door lock being slid open. She instinctively shrank back to the farthest corner of the bed, pulling her knees to her chin.

  Light streamed through the opening as the heavy steel door swung wide, and then a man filled the space. He walked into the room and reached overhead, and she instinctively flinched. His hand gripped a short cord dangling from the ceiling, and he pulled it with an audible snap. A single bulb illuminated.

  Kennedy peered up at him, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the new light. He turned and studied her, rubbing a hand over the closely-cropped, quarter-inch stubble on his head. Their eyes locked, and she felt a chill run through her.

  “You probably have to go to the bathroom by now,” he said, his voice sounding gravelly in the confined area.

  Kennedy nodded fearfully.

  “All right, then. Follow me.”

  He turned and moved towards the door. She remained where she was.

  “You going to come, or should I leave you in here to do your business on the floor?”

  That got her attention. The lesser of two evils was to accompany him.

  She stood up gingerly, her legs still wobbly, and trailed him out of the room, through a basement area with a boiler. A small utility door stood open, beyond which she could make out a toilet and an old, cracked, enamel wall sink.

  “You have five minutes. Make it worthwhile.” He pointed to the bathroom.

  Kennedy went in and closed the door, searching frantically for a way to reach the small window near the ceiling. The light only just penetrated the grimy glass and looked like it might not even open.

  “And don’t get any ideas about the window. I have a couple of very mean, very hungry Rottweilers circling the grounds. You wouldn’t make it ten feet.”

  The man’s voice was clearly audible through the door. While she attended to her necessities, she could hear him moving around and the sound of cabinets being opened.

  Three minutes later, she opened the door and stepped out.

  The man held out a bottle of water and an energy bar.

  “Here’s breakfast. How do you feel?” he asked as he handed them to her.

  She didn’t say anything.

  “I’ll bet kind of crummy. That’s from the drug I used. But the water and the food should help. All right. Come on. Back to your room with you.”

  He pointed to the doorway.

  She shook her head, her eyes fearful.

  “This isn’t a negotiation. I tell you what to do, and you do it. That’s the rule. Now, back to the room. I’ll come back in a while to let you out to use the bathroom again and bring you more water.”

  She hesitantly shuffled towards the door, then paused and turned. “Can you leave the light on?” she asked softly.

  He stared impassively at her for a few moments. “I suppose that wouldn’t hurt anything,” he said and then gestured again.

  She nodded, then turned and trudged back into the room.

  The door closed behind her, and she heard the bolt slide back into place. She’d taken care to catch a good look at the lock as she went by. It looked very strong.

  Kennedy unwrapped the granola bar and tried a bite.

  At least it wasn’t stale.

  ~ ~ ~

  Agent Heron approached Vaslav’s customary table framed by two other men, all three wearing suits. Vaslav’s men remained seated. Heron pulled up a chair from one of the surrounding empty tables and slid it next to Vaslav’s.

  “Is the coffee any good?” he asked.

  “Not bad. Better than most of the other shit served around here.”

  “Huh. I’ll have to give it a try sometime.”

  “My treat.”

  Heron looked at him with humorless eyes. “Want to take a stroll?”

  “You read my mind.”

  They both stood. Vaslav made a small motion with his head at the seated bodyguards, who blinked back at him and stayed where they were. Vaslav set the pace, fishing in his trousers for a pack of cigarettes. He paused a few feet from the café and lit one with a gold Dunhill lighter, exhaling a stream of gray smoke into the air with satisfaction.

  “Give me some good news, Vaslav. I could use some good news.”

  They resumed their stroll.

  “I believe that I can find out who was foolish enough to attempt to take out a contract on your colleague, but I’ll need some assurances first.”

  “Believe? Assurances? Vaslav, I don’t think you understood me very well at our last meeting. I thought I was clear.” Heron sighed. “I guess now you’ll need to see a demonstration to confirm I was serious. Too bad for you, because once that ball starts rolling it can be impossible to stop.” Heron slowed.

  Vaslav cursed silently. He was trying to stall for more time, but Heron was
playing hard ball.

  “My friend. Not so fast. I’m close to having the information you seek. But I can’t get it unless I have some guarantees that doing so won’t bring about negative consequences for those who are providing it.” Vaslav’s face crinkled as he took another pull on his cigarette. “It doesn’t matter whether you bring me down in their eyes. I will just be replaced with someone else. But if they are going to give up information that will impact their relationships, they need to know that they won’t be prosecuted for any part in this regrettable incident.”

  Heron shook his head. He leaned in close to Vaslav. “I’ll crush you like a bug, you shit. The same agent’s child was kidnapped last night. That turns the heat up in an altogether more intense way. If your people had anything to do with that, nothing, and I mean nothing under heaven, will keep the U.S. government from going scorched earth on all of you. I mean sky-raining-fire, biblical end-of-days kind of shit, my Russian friend. Think Al Capone-level, it’s-over-for-you kind of shit,” Heron snarled.

  Vaslav appeared genuinely shocked. “I swear I know nothing about this latest development. And I don’t think it’s anyone I am involved with. There is no way even the most foolhardy would go to that extreme. These are businessmen, not suicide bombers – they do not wish to eradicate themselves. Look, I can get you the name of the party who ordered the hit, but in return, I have to get a guarantee that nobody on my side will be prosecuted for making the stupid mistake of taking the contract without checking into the particulars of the target. That’s what I’m told happened.”

  “I find that impossible to believe.”

  “Perhaps, but in the end, the offer is the same. They take the position that it was a regrettable indiscretion, but that all is well, as you say, that has ended well, correct? The shooter has paid the ultimate price for failure; nobody really got hurt other than him, and this way you can go after the driving force who set the contract into motion in the first place. As to the child, I have nothing to do with it, and I can speak for everyone I know that they wouldn’t compound their mistake in this way. Perhaps it would even help you to find her if you knew the identity of the person who ordered the hit. If it is the same person, then you could apply pressure. Does this make sense?”

  Heron was very good at reading people, and he could sense two things coming off the Russian: fear and sincerity. He believed that they hadn’t grabbed the girl. It would guarantee their extermination. No business would do that.

  “Suppose I believed you. How long would it be before you had a name and enough details to make it stick?”

  “Would you entertain immunity in exchange for testifying?”

  “No. No way. But right now, I’m not so worried about testifying as I am in knowing who went after her. Once we know the who, then we can look at the viability of making a case.”

  “Very well. I will go to my people and share our discussion with them. Give me a few days. I’m sure they will agree. It will just require some internal argument. There are some who believe my operations should be left to your devices rather than potentially exposing other, more powerful players to inconvenience over this.”

  “You can have forty-eight hours. That’s it. There will be no further extension. But, Vaslav, a word of warning. If anyone in your group is even remotely associated with the kidnapping, all bets are off. Unless the little girl shows up at a police station, unharmed, before today is at an end, the kidnapping is a declaration of war that could never be rescinded. Do I make myself completely clear?”

  Vaslav took a last puff of smoke and dropped the butt into the gutter, where it hissed in a pool of oily water as the ember died. He thought about the ramifications of kidnapping the family of a federal agent, of the devastation the act would cause to the parents, and how he would react if it was his child.

  When his eyes met those of Agent Heron, they were unflinching.

  “Crystal.”

  Chapter 20

  The day passed uneventfully, but there had been no call, which was disturbing to everyone involved in the investigation. In most kidnappings, a ransom demand usually came in within twenty-four hours. If it didn’t, the crime took on a more ominous tone. If a child was kidnapped for money, there was a chance they could get the child back unharmed. But when abductions had no clear motive, the odds dropped drastically.

  Art had stopped in with two agents and a psychiatrist. They had spent hours with Silver, waiting for the call that never came. Art was seasoned and proficient, and his demeanor gave away nothing, but she could tell that he was getting more worried as the day wore on. When he finally left with the team, he told her he would be back the next day if she needed him, but Silver declined. The techs had wired the phone line so it could be remotely traced from headquarters, so there was no point tying up personnel at her flat. Besides which, she wanted to be alone. Richard had called and offered to come by to keep her company, but she was overloaded and didn’t want to be around anyone, so she begged off, promising to call him the next day.

  She went into Kennedy’s room, sat on her bed, and began crying for the little girl who’d been torn from her without warning. Silver fingered the quilted bedspread she’d gotten for Kennedy when she was five, keening as she spied her school bag in the corner, her clothes neatly hung up in her open closet, an outfit for the next day set out on the overstuffed chair by her window.

  What kind of monster would do something like this? The thought echoed in her mind, over and over. Silver laid her head on Kennedy’s pillow, stained by the small amount of drool that seeped from her daughter’s mouth as she slept – something she’d done ever since a baby. The bed shook as sobs racked her body, and she moaned raw anguish into the mattress.

  When Silver opened her eyes, she realized an hour had passed. She pulled herself to her feet and dragged herself into her own bedroom. She flicked on the lights and then padded back through the flat to the front door, checking to ensure that the two deadbolts were locked and that the chain and the sliding lock were also secure.

  Silver returned to her bedroom and kneeled down at the base of her closet, spinning the combination lock on the floor safe with practiced finesse. Two to the left, one to the right, a half turn, and then depress the lever and swing the door open. She reached inside and extracted her Glock and chambered a round, then put it on her nightstand next to the bedside lamp.

  Her vision blurred, and she realized that the combination of stress and too little sleep was wearing on her. She headed to her bathroom, opened the tap and poured herself a glass of water, and then returned to her bed, where she gratefully swallowed one of the sleeping pills the therapist had given her then crawled under the covers, emotionally and physically exhausted.

  ~ ~ ~

  The following morning, Silver awoke to a grogginess that was a residual effect of the pill. She felt a little better after a shower but didn’t fully rejoin the living until her third cup of coffee.

  No calls had come in, and a quick check with Art confirmed that no new leads had surfaced. Agents were working the neighborhood all day, and he agreed to check in if anything came up. Silver set the phone down on the dining table as she stared out the window with the realization that every minute nothing new transpired her daughter’s odds of survival declined.

  Her next call was to Richard, whom she’d avoided being alone with since that night. She wasn’t ready to process what had happened between them; the added weight of the kidnapping had colored the whole thing negatively. It wasn’t fair to either of them to associate her daughter’s disappearance with their night together, but she did, and she wasn’t sure she would ever be able not to. He answered on the second ring.

  “How are you, Silver?”

  “Digging out. Waiting for something to happen. Going a little stir-crazy. How about you?”

  “Sitting in meetings with Sam as he asserts control over the task force. Hours of brain suck.”

  “Anything new come up?”

  “He’s really intereste
d in pursuing his theory about this not being the work of a single perp. He has everyone scrambling to follow up on the idea that it’s somehow connected to either the Ponzi scheme or the terrorist funding.”

  “That’s not a surprise. Did anything come back on the photos of our mystery man that were circulated?”

  “Nope. But I’m not sure how much priority Sam gave those with everything that’s happened since. I know they got sent out, but you know if you don’t follow up, they get tossed in the round file by the end of the day. Everyone’s got other things to do than rack their brain for a possible ID of a grainy black and white.”

  “And what about the interviews that were done with the men connected with the fires?”

  “Nothing. The New Jersey runner is still unconscious and in critical condition, and the prognosis is that he’ll be on machines for the rest of his life. We managed to get a warrant to search his digs, but other than some drugs and a pistol with the serial number filed off, there wasn’t much. If he is the killer, he’s either got a second place, or he’s the most methodical evil genius in history. Given the condition of his apartment, I think it’s safe to say he isn’t our man.”

  “And the others?”

  “The report on the old guy was negative. The agents conducted an interview but walked away from it believing he’s clean. The third suspect has an alibi for two of the nights – we’re in the process of checking it out.”

  “What if it isn’t someone related to the victims? Have we looked at boyfriends of the daughter who was killed? Or maybe close school friends?”

  “Seth is driving that effort, but my guess is no. Since Sam took over, there’s not a ton of time to follow up on that line of inquiry. He’s made clear the direction he believes will be the most fruitful, and I don’t think anyone wants to cause any friction with the new boss in the first few days he’s running things.”