I scanned the corridor for an alternative. Spotted a sign pointing to the Internet Café. Better.
The café only had four computers, three of them occupied. The two people on the right side of the room were older men; one was answering emails, the other reading CNN online. At the computer on the left, a teenage girl flicked between three social networking sites. No one looked to be going any place soon.
I strode to the free computer in the far corner. CNN guy looked up as I passed. I nodded hello, kept walking, not wanting to be getting into any kind of conversation.
I sat down in front of the keyboard and moved the mouse to wake the computer from hibernation mode. The thing was real slow. I glanced over my shoulder towards the archway into the corridor.
At the prompt, I typed in the guest ID code from the stolen card and pressed return. The screen opened at The Ice Palace homepage. Easing the device from my pocket, I plugged the cable into the USB port and heard the drive whir into life.
A folder opened on-screen. My first feeling was disappointment. There were only four files: three videos, saved with the date as their file name; and one spreadsheet. Immediately after, I felt guilt. I knew what each of the videos most likely contained. Children. How could I wish that there were more?
I didn’t want to watch them, surely I did not, but I had to know the extent of Emerson’s sick trade. Scott had known, and he was dead. JT had known, and he could be too. If I knew, even if somehow the data got lost, at least I could tell the cops. I tried not to think on whether I’d survive, and what happened if I never got Dakota safe.
Taking hold of the monitor, I twisted it towards the wall as far as the security cage around its base would allow. Gripping the mouse a little tighter, I double-clicked the first file. A video clip appeared in a small pop-up window at the bottom of my screen. I turned the audio to mute. Pressed play.
The date on the timestamp was early May. A girl of maybe ten or eleven, with short brown hair, wearing a cute, yellow flower-print dress was walking along a narrow pathway. Behind her I could just make out the sign for Percy Penguin’s Ice-Skating Rink, and a couple of plastic penguins over by the entrance. It looked like the rink was empty. I guessed it’d been closed for maintenance.
The child seemed to be alone. As she disappeared around a bend in the path, the camera switched to another view. A middle-aged man in a security-guard uniform stepped into view. He approached the child, leant down to her and seemed to be asking her something. I gripped the mouse harder. Felt my pulse thumping against my temple.
Moments later, the girl nodded. The man smiled, held out his hand. She took it, skipping alongside him, away from the camera and out of view.
The next image was taken ninety-two minutes later. The child was slumped against a plastic penguin beside the still-empty ice rink. Head bowed, arms wrapped around her knees. A woman rushed into the shot, approached the girl, and shook her gently by the shoulder. The child tried to stand, looking real wobbly. A man joined the woman. He was pushing a stroller and had another two small children following alongside him. As he knelt to speak to the girl the video ended.
I stared at the screen, my mind spinning. Because I knew what Scott and JT had discovered I could imagine the horror that child had been through in the missing ninety minutes. But what Scott had captured on film, that wasn’t proof. It was circumstantial for sure, but nothing more. Hating that I was hoping for something worse in the next video, I double clicked the second file.
I got my wish. Near made me sick. The second video was a mixture of CCTV footage from the public areas spliced with film taken by what I reckoned was Scott’s hidden camera.
It showed a brightly lit room with heaps of toys lining the shelves along the walls. But it wasn’t the toys I was looking at, it was the man wearing the head of a character costume: a grinning orange-and-black tiger face that jarred with the paleness of his naked body. On her knees in front of him, with a dazed expression on her face, was a blonde girl of twelve, maybe thirteen. She was touching him. The cartoon tiger head kept grinning, leering, and nodded, just slightly, as he coaxed the girl’s mouth closer.
Sick son-of-a-bitch.
I gagged. Tasted bile, and coughed violently. Blinking away tears as I closed down the file.
CNN man, sitting over to my right, looked at me real strange.
I waved his concern away. ‘Allergies,’ I said, wiping my eyes. ‘Get me every time.’
I stared at the monitor. Tried to get my breathing back to normal. Doubted I’d ever feel normal again.
That’s when I noticed it. The filename of the last video wasn’t just a date, it was a name too: KAT. I had to open it. Didn’t want to, but I owed it to JT to check the evidence Scott found on what happened to Kat. So I hunched closer to the screen and pressed play.
Kat had been taken from a different area of the park. Dressed in jeans and a black tee, her long black hair pulled back into a pony, Kat was exploring the very place I’d been standing less than an hour ago: the ice cave.
I held my breath. Watched as the group of kids gathered around the cave’s entrance moved away, leaving Kat alone. She moved to the back of the cave, investigating behind the faux-ice boulders, hidden from sight. I wanted to yell, to warn her. Tell her to get the hell out. Knew that it wouldn’t make no difference. What was done was done.
She was taken real fast. A muscular guy strode out from behind the screened-off area at the rear of the cave. He wore cargo pants and a khaki shirt, a staff ID clipped to his pocket. Three strides and he was on her. She barely had time to turn around. He grabbed her shoulder in one hand and injected something into her neck with the other. She crumpled into his arms.
Picking her up, he carried her to the elevator, and in less than thirty seconds, start to finish, he and Kat had disappeared into the tunnels.
I stopped the video. Didn’t want to watch what happened next. Couldn’t bear it. There was enough on the device to make Emerson’s sick business public. The data could bring down the whole Winter Wonderland operation, and surely open investigations into all Emerson’s parks. No wonder he’d wanted to silence Scott Palmer so bad.
I clicked on the spreadsheet. Scrolled through the list of names, dates, and Scott’s notes on how he thought they were connected. These were the people Scott was investigating, the ones he believed were involved in Emerson’s business. There were more than thirty names, all men. Some I recognised: a sports personality, a junior congressman, the judge from that high-profile serial-killer trial in Miami a few months back. The local chief of police.
But no mention of Emerson. There was nothing on the device that would incriminate him personally. All we had was Kat’s sketch. Emerson could plead innocence and, if a jury believed him, not a thing would stop him setting up another sick scheme just like this one as soon as the dust settled.
The horrific images I’d just witnessed kaleidoscoped in my mind. I wanted to howl with rage. Smash the monitor. Instead I gripped the table. Told myself to stay focused. But the louder voice, screaming in my head, repeated again and again: he’s got Dakota, he’s going to make her do that.
Whatever it took, Emerson had to be stopped.
I checked the time. Shit. Eight minutes had passed. I’d been sitting at the computer too long. I needed to transfer the files and move. I glanced towards the archway; still no guards. Good. But I knew my luck couldn’t hold for ever.
The plan had been to email the files to my own account so we could recover them later, once Dakota was safe, and take them to the cops. But now, with JT gone, and security on to me, or as near as dammit, I needed a back-up plan. I wondered what JT would suggest. Thought about his rules, and about our situation. Realised I’d – we’d both – made a huge mistake.
Don’t make assumptions.
Back in West Virginia, the text had said to give back the device or they’d kill Dakota. Here, in the Gingerbread Grotto, Dakota had pleaded for us to give it back or they’d press the magic button. Emerson
’s men wanted the device, for sure, but they’d never once said they’d give her back once they had it. That had been my assumption.
We’d been shot at multiple times. They’d killed Scott. Now we had the device, and had seen the evidence, we were as great a threat as him. Not one of their actions pointed to them having any intention of reuniting me with my child. Hell, Emerson’s man at Thelma’s told me he didn’t know about any kid.
My fingers trembled against the keyboard. I had to do more than email the files to myself. If we didn’t make it, if I didn’t make it, I had to be sure someone would get Dakota safe. The video files were the way to get their attention, prove the threat was real. Question was, who should I send them to?
It had to be someone who would act. Not Quinn – I couldn’t trust him with this. His eye was on JT’s bond money, and until he had it nothing else would be his priority. He didn’t even check his emails regular. I needed someone real thorough. I had to be sure.
Only one name came to mind: Alex Monroe – the Fed. I’d not met him, but something about his voice made me feel he was sincere. Could I trust him? Involving someone else was a risk, for sure. No cops, I’d been told. If Emerson and his men caught wind of it, they’d kill us all. But I had to take the risk. I needed to know that, whatever happened to me, Dakota had a chance.
I clicked on the internet browser and pulled up the FBI website. Quinn had told me the Fed hailed from Virginia, the Richmond office. I found the field office email address, copied it, then logged into my own account and pasted the Richmond FBI email into the To field.
The cursor flashed in the subject line. Decision time.
The clock at the bottom of the screen showed another minute had passed. I glanced over my shoulder towards the archway. Two women stood there, looking bored. The older one, who looked like she’d had a little more Botox than she could handle, looked pointedly at the sign on the wall. It told me there was a ten-minute limit for using the computers. All four of us were close to that, but the other three wouldn’t worry if Botox woman caused a scene. For me, the stakes were a whole lot higher.
I nodded to the woman, forced a smile. Mouthed, ‘One minute.’
She nodded, seemingly placated for now. That’s when I noticed movement in the corridor behind her. There was a man just the other side of the archway. I didn’t have a clear view of him, but as he turned I caught a glimpse of his blue shirt. There was a name badge clipped to the top pocket. Security.
Shit. If those women grew more tired of waiting, they’d ask the guy to move us on. I couldn’t risk him getting a good look at my face; he could have been given my picture. I was all out of time.
I copied and pasted the files from the device to the email. Watched the progress bar as the data copied across. Twenty percent. Thirty percent. I glanced back to the archway. The man was still standing in the corridor. His body language looked relaxed, too relaxed to be part of the herd of guards looking for me.
I checked the progress bar: sixty percent, seventy. Cussed under my breath. Willed the computer to work faster.
As the files transferred I typed in the subject line: ‘Urgent Attention of Special Agent Alex Monroe. From Lori Anderson. HELP ME’.
I heard the crackle of a radio. Glanced back at the archway. A second man had joined the security guy. They’d turned to face the café. Botox woman was talking at them, flapping her scarlet talons towards the computers, towards me. I was out of time. I had to get out.
The files were still transferring. Ninety percent.
In the body of the email I typed: ‘Daughter, DAKOTA, kidnapped. Randall Emerson owner DreamWorld responsible. Blackmailing me for these files. Paedophile gang in amusement parks. Scott Palmer got evidence – attached. Now dead. Body in Gingerbread Grotto – Winter Wonderland, near Fernandina Beach, FL. THEY ARE GOING TO KILL MY DAUGHTER. HELP ME.’
The files finished transferring. I pressed send. Unplugged the device, and stood up.
As I walked to the archway I knew my shoulders were stiff, that I was moving too fast to look casual. I forced myself to slow down. Nodded to Botox woman and her younger sidekick. ‘All yours, honey.’
Botox woman pushed past me. ‘Took you long enough.’
Real charmed, I’m sure.
The security guys were chatting; they didn’t even turn as I stepped out into the corridor. I kept moving, heading for the elevator.
Reaching it, I pressed the call button then peered through the gaps in the cage door, down on to the lobby. Well, damn. Six security guards were stationed along the exit. Another by the stairwell, more still by the elevator exit below. If I tried getting out that way, I knew I wasn’t gonna make it. I needed a different route.
I turned away, followed the corridor and tried to figure out my next move. I took a right at the end. Stepped up my pace. Ignored the pain in my leg. If I couldn’t escape above ground I’d only one other option: get back to the tunnels.
Up ahead I spotted a ‘Crew Only’ door. From there I hoped I’d be able to get to the crew elevator. I pulled the crew keycard from my pants pocket. If I used it, I’d alert security to my position. Without it, I had no chance of getting back to the tunnels.
I swiped the keycard over the card reader. Got a red light, no beep. Shit, what if they’d deactivated the card? I pressed it against the reader again. Red light.
There was movement at the other end of the corridor. The two security guards from the Internet Café were heading my way fast. Their shoe leather squeaked against the cream floor tiles as they ran. The one in front had his taser out of its holster, ready.
My pulse jabbed at my temple. I fought the urge to flee, touched the keycard against the reader, kept it in place a little longer than before. ‘Come on you fucker, come on…’
Green light. I heard a clunk as the lock released. Tugging the door open, I leapt through. As it swung shut behind me, I heard the guards shout for me to stop.
I started running.
42
The crew corridor stretched ahead of me, long and narrow. No windows, no doors, just yards of grey utility carpet and taupe walls. I was trapped, like a goldfish in a barrel of uniform-wearing piranhas. I had to find a way out.
I sprinted along the corridor, searching for an elevator or stairs, anything that would take me back underground. My lungs were heaving. I pushed on. Took longer strides.
Twenty yards ahead I reached an elevator. Pressing the call button, I bent over and tried to catch my breath. I closed my eyes a moment. One stage of the plan was complete. But I had to stay strong, stay free. Next I would find Dakota.
I heard footsteps. Pressed the call button again and again. Looked back along the corridor in the direction I’d come. Heard male voices shouting.
The elevator doors opened. I ducked inside, pressed the button labelled LB. Hoped to hell that was where I’d find the tunnels. Out in the corridor, the footsteps thundered closer, the angry voices grew louder.
I jammed my finger against the door-close button, held it down, cussing under my breath. Real slow, the doors began to close.
With nine inches to go I saw him, one of the security guys who’d been chatting in the corridor. He wasn’t chatting anymore. Now his face was red from exertion, mouth open, breathing heavy. He stormed towards me, drew his taser.
I stepped back as far as I could. Kept my finger on the door-close button.
Five inches.
He lunged at the doors. His face contorted with effort, like the worst sex face ever. He thrust the taser into the gap, pulled the trigger. I threw myself to the right; the taser probes missed. Jumping forward, I shoved my thumb and index finger in the guy’s face. Jabbed them hard into his eyes. Kept my other hand wedged against the door-close button.
Security guy yowled from pain and anger. Recoiled.
The doors shut tight. I could still hear security guy’s whimpering as the elevator started to descend. I leant back against the cold wall and tried to figure out my next move.
; Meet at the car, JT had said. I owed him that.
My cell buzzed in my pocket. I yanked it out. A number I didn’t know was flashing on the screen. Was it Emerson’s men ready to arrange a meet? There was only one way to know for sure. I pressed answer. ‘This is Lori.’
‘Thought about what you said,’ a male voice wheezed. ‘You know, it’s mighty rich, all that self-righteous bullshit you yakked on about.’
I could hear the bleeping of a machine. That, and the wheezing, helped me figure out who I was speaking with. ‘Merv? I’m a little busy.’ I glanced at the floor counter, wondering how long the cell-phone signal would hold out.
‘That price on his head. It’s all ’cos of you, and you let him carry it. So you don’t have no right to come to me and start preaching some shit about what I done.’
‘What did you do?’
He didn’t speak. Still, I heard him. His breathing, quick and shallow, rattling in his chest with each inhalation.
I used my stern-momma voice. ‘Merv?’
‘So what if I wanted me some extra? He was going down anyways. Didn’t matter who did what.’
It sure as hell mattered to me, but I held my tongue, couldn’t risk spooking Merv, not when he’d called me special. ‘Who knew about the ranch? Who did you call aside from Quinn and the mob?’
‘Shit, girl. Listen. This ain’t no man you want to be messing with. He wicked bad, real nasty. I doing you a favour not saying, you best believe.’
‘Just tell me.’
‘Something JT done messed bad with this man’s game. His boy said they wanted to talk but, after all the shit at Yellow Rock, I’m thinking they want JT gone. Some questions, for sure, but then…’
I felt sick. Merv was right. Fucked-up, weird-assed, bat-shit crazy right. But still right. If they’d gotten rid of Scott and JT before I’d arrived, it wouldn’t have mattered where the device was hidden, the only two people on to Emerson would have been dead and his nasty little secret safe. Now I knew things were different. I said nothing about that to Merv though, wouldn’t do no good. This situation was too many twisted layers of wrong to start explaining. ‘Give me a name.’
Deep Down Dead Page 26