“So Grayson knew about it.”
Grable nodded, looking at her again, and whispered, “Yes.”
“But you didn’t include him on the deal.”
“I never gave him anything. Nothing.” His voice cracked. “I bragged about how much I got. Bragged about it! To him!”
Scott and Kenzie exchanged glances, then Scott went over to the senator, sat down next to him and put his hand on his shoulder. “Taking money was wrong,” he said, softly, “and not cutting him in on it may turn out to have been stupid. But nothing you did justifies what Chambers is doing now. Nothing.”
When the senator looked up, tears were streaking his face. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped them away. “I never saw this coming. I thought . . . I thought he was so loyal to me, that he was just intense about politics, and that he wouldn’t care about the money. He had no family to support, no expensive hobbies. I just thought . . . I just thought . . .”
“All right, let me take it,” Kenzie said to Alicia, and the two women switched positions. “C’mon, Jackson423. Let’s deal.”
She was a new hire at the dispatch center, a young woman with a degree in psychology and an interest in law enforcement. She’d made it through the interviews, the background checks, the psychological tests, the mental quickness and multitasking exercises. And now she was on the job for the first day, a raw trainee. Her supervisor told her to listen to old recordings to hear how the dispatchers handled calls.
Jessica sat with her headphones on, intent on everything she heard. The ambulance calls, the police chatter, the fire department dispatches. Sure, she’d listened to scanners for a long time, but this was for real, this was what she’d soon be doing on her own.
One call puzzled her. A tiny little voice said just one thing, then she heard the voice of an adult male, who sounded angry—then the call cut off.
A shadow fell over her small desk. “Any questions?” her new supervisor asked.
She hesitated. She certainly didn’t want to appear stupid. But she couldn’t let go of the call. “Would you listen to this?” she asked, and she handed her headphones to Mr. Gravely.
He put them on his head, leaning forward because the wire was short. He listened to the recording twice. “What’s your question?”
“How do you handle something like that? A fragment of a call?”
“Let’s ask the dispatchers who took it.”
Together Jessica and Mr. Gravely walked into the heart of the center, where nine dispatchers sat at their stations handling traffic from all over the county. A huge electronic map hung on one wall. Mr. Gravely led her to a station where a gray-haired man in a white shirt was dispatching an ambulance. He touched the man on the shoulder, and waited.
When he was finished with the call, the dispatcher turned around. “What can I do for you?”
“Jessica here has a question.” He described the call. “I think you handled that. You want to explain what you did with it?”
Jim leaned back in his chair. “Sure. It was a kid, playing with a cell phone. We get that all the time.”
“How did you know it wasn’t a real emergency?” Jessica asked timidly.
“I called back. Talked to an adult. He told me it was his daughter who’d just learned about 911.”
Jessica frowned.
Catching her skepticism, Jim laughed. “Hey, if we dispatched a unit for every call like that we got, we’d need twice as many officers, just to keep our head above water.”
“I see,” Jessica said, but she really didn’t see, because in her heart, she thought that kid sounded like she needed help. Then again, maybe she had just watched too many episodes of CSI.
“All right?” Mr. Gravely asked.
“Fine,” Jessica responded, and she went back to her desk.
But the little girl’s voice gnawed at her. Bugged her. Chewed on her until her dinner break when she sat in the employee lunchroom, eating her special recipe chicken salad sandwich and her tortilla chips while staring at the TV suspended from the ceiling, watching the six o’clock news. “And now,” the anchor said, “for an update on the abduction of Senator Bruce Grable’s daughter, we turn to Peggy Tripp.”
The blonde reporter, standing outside a brick, two-story home, began her story. “It’s been three days now since little Zoe Grable disappeared . . .”
Jessica stopped chewing. She stood up. She began moving toward the TV.
“Ah, this is malarkey. Face it. The kid’s dead,” said another worker, laughing, and he pressed the remote and changed the channel.
“Wait, stop!” Jessica tried to say, but her mouth was full and by the time she had swallowed, the man had sat down again with his buddies and they were joking about something. No way was she going to approach that crowd.
Quickly she scooped up the remains of her dinner and threw it in the trash. Then she went back to her station, found the spot on the recording, and listened to it over and over and over until it echoed in her head.
“My name is Zo . . .” the little voice said. And Jessica’s heart began pounding, hard. Zo, as in Zoe?
“The IT guys tracing these messages have tracked them back to three different locations,” Scott said. He stood in the senator’s dining room with an unfolded one-hundred-mile radius map in his hand. “Senator, do you mind?” he asked over his shoulder.
“No. Let me help,” Grable responded, and the two of them taped the map to the wall.
“Look here, Kenzie,” Scott said. “The first message came from Hagerstown, the second, from right here in Georgetown, and they’re narrowing down this current location. It appears he’s using Internet cafés with free wireless.”
“So we don’t know for sure where he is now?”
“No, but I’ve e-mailed his picture to field offices and they’re coordinating with local police. Teams are headed to both known locations. We’ll know within fifteen minutes.”
“But if you get him, where does that leave Zoe?” Grable asked.
“One step at a time, Senator. One step at a time.”
Joie is always intense, Jackson423 posted, but when I think of her in this circumstance, I see her as helpless, crying, and scared. She’s all alone and she’s terrified.
That son of a gun, thought Kenzie, he’s tweaking Grable. Yes, but she’s so valuable to CISU, she responded under the Big Dog screen name. I don’t think it would take them long to come up with the money. One more episode, that’s all. Of course, then they’d have to come forward with the details about where CISU would find her.
Jackson423 responded, Oh, the mastermind of all this would have that all figured out. It would be someplace public, like a park. Foxstone Park for example.
“Oh, this is cute,” Kenzie said out loud. “Scott, come look at this.”
Scott came around to where he could read the computer screen. “Very clever,” he said.
“What?” Senator Grable asked.
“He’s naming the park that Robert Hanssen used as a drop for packages for the KGB. After all, he was the biggest embarrassment the Bureau has had. A thirty-year agent who’d been giving us up to the Russians for most of his career.” Scott shook his head.
“So not only is this guy tweaking you, Senator, he’s thumbing his nose at the Bureau. He’s smarter than all of us!” Kenzie said, sarcastically. “And a tad narcissistic, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, but he forgets the rest of the story. That’s the same park where we arrested Hanssen,” Scott recounted.
“Do we need to start watching it now?” the senator said.
“Let me think about that. Offhand, I’d say that would be premature, but let me consider it,” Scott said.
Kenzie began typing again. “I’m going to resist the urge to call him on it.” How long would this guy wait after he confirmed the money transfer before dropping Joie off? she typed.
The mastermind would want to ditch her real soon. Real, real soon. I’m thinking within four hours of confirming th
e transfer. But of course, he’s not going to get real specific. The feds would be all over him. He’d have to have a plan . . . like shooting her from a distance if he got an idea the feds were double-crossing him. All he wants, after all, is the money. He doesn’t care about anything else. Just the money, and not getting caught.
Kenzie changed persona. Hey, Brandigurl wrote, r u thinkin of writin this cuz it sounds good. Like a reel story. Ha ha.
He came right back at her. The story’s been written. I’m just waiting for the go-ahead to submit it.
Big Dog responded. Personally, I think you should set the ball in motion. It’s all going to come together. I have absolute assurance of that.
Awesome! Brandigurl wrote. Lemme know when it comes on. I can say, I knew you when!
Scott’s cell phone rang. He picked it up and talked briefly, then hung up. “Nothing at any of the locations,” he said. “The guy’s clever. He’s moving all over the area.”
“If he’s using Internet cafés, I doubt he’ll use the same place twice,” Kenzie added.
“I agree.”
Kenzie heard the senator sigh.
“Excuse me, Mr. Gravely?” Jessica’s stomach churned. Why was she being such an idiot on her first day, she wondered.
Her supervisor looked up. “What is it, Jess?”
She blushed. “I am so sorry to be such a pain. But that call I asked you about?”
He frowned and cocked his head. A silver-haired forty-something man, he’d been on the job for twenty years. Now, he was probably wondering why in the world HR had hired her.
But she took a deep breath and continued. “I was just in the lunchroom, and the news came on. And there’s a little girl they’re looking for? A senator’s daughter named Zoe Grable.”
“And . . .”
“And, the little girl on the call says ‘my name is Zo—.’ Then it cuts off. Could she be saying ‘Zoe’? Could it be the kidnap victim, sir?”
Her boss stared at her, and for a minute, Jessica felt afraid that he would laugh out loud. But he didn’t. He studied her face. He pursed his lips. His thoughts played across his face like a movie. And then he stood up. “I want to listen to that again.”
“Nothing else, eh?” Scott said.
Kenzie sat behind the computer, tapping a pen against her hand. “Nope. Nothing for half an hour.”
“Then he’s probably done for now.”
“Right. I assured him the money was coming. He told me he’d let Zoe go within four hours of the confirmation of deposit. Then nothing.” She sighed. “And now,” she looked at her watch, “it’s 6:20 and I’m thinking that’s all we’re going to get.”
“We made the top of the news at five and six,” Scott said.
“Are we getting anything out of that?”
“Lots of leads from our tip line. Most of them are nonsense. But there’s one,” Scott looked over his shoulder, “there’s one that sounds interesting.”
“What’s that?”
Scott looked around. The senator didn’t appear to be in earshot, so Scott continued. “A clerk at a children’s store at a mall in Frederick, Maryland, reported seeing a blonde woman with a little boy with her two days ago. The kid had remnants of pink nail polish on his fingers.”
Kenzie’s eyes widened. “Scott! Do you think . . .”
“I don’t know.”
Kenzie mulled that point. “Yes, but don’t some little boys, especially the ones with older sisters, sometimes want nail polish?”
“I honestly don’t know.” His cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID and answered it. “Hansbrough,” he said.
Kenzie turned to the computer screen while he spoke, checking for other entries from KickerG on the political blogs. Sure enough, she found two. When she looked back at Scott, his face looked animated. “We could have something,” he said.
“What?”
“A 911 dispatcher in Carroll County, up near Frederick, took a call from a little girl seven hours ago saying something like ‘My name is Zoe.’ They thought it was a kid playing with a cell phone, but somebody questioned it. A new hire, actually. They contacted the Baltimore FBI office and they’re e-mailing an audio file to me.”
Kenzie jumped to her feet. “Great! Take the computer, then.”
“What’s going on?” Senator Grable asked. Kenzie told him. The room remained absolutely silent except for the clicking of the keys on the keyboard as Scott typed. Kenzie saw him move the mouse and click it, and a media program came up. It seemed slow, very slow, and she thought her heart would pound right out of her chest while she waited.
Finally, the file began to play: “911 operator. Do you need fire, police, or ambulance?”
And then they heard the tiny little voice.
26
That’s Zoe!” Senator Grable cried out. He put his hands to his head and yelled. “That’s her! That’s Zoe!”
Kenzie grabbed his arm. “Are you sure?”
“Bruce! What’s going on?” Beth Grable came running.
“Let me hear it again!”
“It could be a hoax,” Scott cautioned, giving the senator headphones. He moved so Grable could sit down. Beth moved right behind him.
“It’s Zoe, it’s Zoe!” the senator cried, pulling off the headphones. “You’ve found her!”
“Let me hear it!” Beth cried, grabbing the headphones.
“What do we have on it?” Kenzie asked.
“It was a cell phone call, so the closest we can get to a land location is a particular tower. And who owns the phone number. We’re tracking that now.” Scott rubbed his hand through his hair. “I’ve got to call the boss.”
It felt satisfying, really, seeing his plan work out, step by step by step. Another twelve hours or so, and the money would be transferred and he’d be out of here. It had worked like clockwork. He had orchestrated everything beautifully.
As he drove along, his thoughts returned to another subject—what to do about Sandy. And Zoe. Rather than risk running into surveillance in a park, he thought why not just leave them at the house? Just drive off and not come back? By the time Sandy had figured out he wasn’t going to return, he’d be long gone. He shifted in his seat. He liked that idea better.
A good plan was flexible, after all. And his was a good plan.
But what about torching the house for the insurance money? Grayson frowned. What if they were asleep when he did it? They’d wake up, right? As soon as they smelled smoke? So the house would burn down, they’d get out, but he’d be MIA. Maybe presumed dead.
He liked that! Pulling into the driveway of his mother’s home, Grayson shoved his car into park. He’d driven all the way to an Internet café in Annapolis this time, a good two hours. Had to keep the monkeys jumping. Then, after he’d transmitted his message to the senator, he’d blogged elsewhere for a while, read some e-mail, and watched a pretty Asian girl at a table across from him. Now, at nearly ten p.m., he felt tired. It looked like Sandy was in bed. He hoped so. He didn’t want to put up with her yapping, and he had to figure out how to torch the house.
He opened his car door, grabbed his laptop case, and got out. The air felt thick with humidity. He wondered, momentarily, if it would be humid in Jamaica. He hoped not.
Grayson walked to the side door, the gravel from the driveway crunching under his feet. Sandy had left the light on for him. He jiggled his keys, found the right one, and inserted it into the lock. As he pushed open the door, a blow to the back of his head exploded in a blinding light in his eyes. He fell forward, his lap-top case clattering to the floor, and he heard the sound of his own voice screaming in surprise.
The first thing Grayson heard as he came to was Sandy’s voice. “Billy! What are you doing?”
He opened his eyes. His head hurt and felt so heavy. And he had the weirdest thought: Is this what he made that agent feel like? That blonde that he hit?
He couldn’t move his hands. As he struggled to see, the forms in the kitchen were blurry.
The lights were so bright! But gradually his head cleared. He was sitting on a kitchen chair, his hands tied behind his back. Before him stood a big man with tattoos and a bandanna on his head. Laughing. At him!
“What do you want?” Grayson managed to say.
The man looked beyond Grayson. “Sis, you didn’t tell me the kid is worth twenty-five grand.”
“Billy, what are you talking about?” Sandy came into view, dressed in her nightgown and a robe, her hair disheveled.
“Who is he?” Grayson asked her, but she ignored him.
Sandy shoved the big guy with one hand. “What do you mean?”
“The kid that’s with you. There’s a reward out for her—twenty-five grand. We saw it after we left, on a TV at the bar.”
“Billy, you can’t do this!” Sandy’s face looked red.
“Oh, yeah, we can. We turn the kid in, we get the reward. What’s the deal, anyway? Why is she with you?”
Don’t tell him, don’t tell him, Grayson begged silently. But he felt disoriented and he couldn’t get his words out quickly enough.
“All right, look,” Sandy said, crossing her arms. “Grayson knows the kid’s father. He owes Grayson money and it’s the only way to get it out of him . . .”
“How much money?” Billy asked.
Grayson groaned.
“A lot more than twenty-five K,” Sandy said, matter-of-factly.
“Yo, Bill.”
One of his friends appeared from behind Grayson. He wondered how many were there. How many would he have to outsmart? And how could he think with his head hurting like this?
“Yo, Bill, man, is this like, a kidnapping?” the dude said.
Billy moved forward suddenly, grabbed the front of Grayson’s shirt, and shook him. “You tell me, man, you tell me what’s going on. Or by God . . .”
Grayson’s heart pounded. His head spun. He pulled against the ropes tying him to the chair.
Sandy rushed forward and grabbed Billy’s arm. “Stop it! Stop! For crying out loud, Billy, stop.”
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