The Abduction

by James Grippando

  “I think my objectives are clear. It’s time this country protected its children.”

  “I’m not talking about your declaration of war against child abductors. I’m talking about your declaration of war against this administration.”

  Howe bristled. “I’m not sure I follow you, sir.”

  “Lincoln, I’ve worked hard over the past eight years to become the education president. I’m proud of my record. As a lame duck president, my record is all I have. Education is my legacy.”

  “With all due respect, the use of military forces to combat child abduction has nothing to do with education.”

  “No. But the challenge you issued last night to this administration is a direct attack on my legacy. You put me on the spot on national television and asked me to sign an executive order that directs the military to round up child abductors. I’m sure plenty of people at home are thinking, yes, let’s do it. They forget about the Nazi concentration camps. They forget what our own country did to Japanese Americans during the Second World War. They suddenly need to be reminded that using the military against civilians has a rather catastrophic track record in the course of world history. Your rhetoric puts me in a no-win situation. If I sign this order, the final and most memorable act of my presidency will in the long run leave me branded as the reactionary fool who pandered to hysteria and tried to turn the United States into a fascist military state. You know I’m not going to do that. But by the same token, I don’t want to be remembered in the short term as the bleeding-heart liberal who was soft on child abductors.”

  “I’m sorry you see it that way.”

  “No you’re not,” he said sharply. “No one who has devoted his life to defending this country’s freedoms could be sincere about a plan to turn the military against its own citizens.”

  “You think I was bluffing?”

  “I know you were. Using the military this way is probably illegal, but let’s put that aside. There are two ways we can handle this. One is for you to go back on television and bad-mouth me for refusing to call out the military in aid of your granddaughter and other defenseless children.”

  “That has definite appeal.”

  “And it has definite consequences. I would naturally be forced to respond in kind.”

  “Not to be crass,” said Howe, “but just how do you intend to hit a man whose granddaughter has just been abducted?”

  “This is highly confidential, but my sources tell me that the FBI is actually considering the possibility that the abduction of Kristen Howe was planned and executed by your supporters. Possibly even with your blessing.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Howe said in an icy, clipped tone.

  “It’s not bullshit if it’s leaked from the White House.”

  “Mr. President, you know that’s not the truth.”

  He smiled wryly. “The truth? That’s such an elusive concept. I had a strategist once who had an interesting definition of it. The truth, he said, is that which cannot be proved false.”

  The general stiffened.

  President Sires leaned back in his chair. “Just four more days till the election, General. You think in four days you can prove that neither you nor your supporters had anything to do with an abduction that may single-handedly propel you into the White House?”

  He glared. “What are you proposing?”

  “Personally, I like alternative number two: You and I simply agree to say nothing more about this. I make no further comment on your granddaughter’s abduction. And you say nothing more about me signing an executive order to call up the military.”

  “Surely the press won’t just let it die.”

  “And our response will be firm but reasonable: In the interest of Kristen’s safe return, I will not comment on the investigation strategy at this time. You think you can say that, Lincoln? Or do you want to see just how leaky that White House plumbing can be?”

  “Is your legacy really that important to you?” he asked in disbelief.

  “Is becoming the next president really that important to you?”

  Howe grimaced, then rose from his chair and looked out the window. Finally, he drew a deep breath as he turned and faced the president, looking him straight in the eye.

  “In the interest of Kristen’s safe return,” he said in the voice of an obedient soldier, “I will not comment on the investigation strategy at this time.”

  Repo was out of breath as he raced in from the cold. The kitchen door slammed behind him. He leaned against it, clutching the plastic bag of groceries. He hadn’t wanted to leave Kristen alone with Tony and Johnny any longer than necessary, so he’d sprinted down and back from the convenience store at the corner. He checked the clock on the stove. The entire trip took only fourteen minutes.

  Three times longer than it took those goons to kill Reggie Miles.

  A wave of concern washed over him. He dropped the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter and pulled off his jacket, hat, and gloves.

  “What did you get?” asked Tony as he entered the room.

  Repo pushed the bag beyond Tony’s reach. “Just a few things.”

  “Let me see.” He grabbed the bag and looked inside, then made a face. “Froot Loops? Hey Johnny, look at this. Repo went out and bought us some Froot Loops.”

  Johnny strutted around the corner, smirking. He was wearing jeans and a muscleman’s T-shirt. “Froot Loops? Hell, I’m a Lucky Charms man, myself.”

  Repo said, “It’s for the kid, asshole.”

  “For the kid? You ran out in the freezing damn cold to buy cereal for the kid? What, you trying to get your cock sucked or something?”

  “Don’t even joke about that.”

  “What, you afraid Tony and me might get there first?”

  Repo grabbed him and pushed him against the refrigerator. “I said don’t!”

  “Hey!” shouted Tony, breaking them apart.

  Johnny stepped back and shook it off. Repo was seething as he backed away slowly.

  Tony tossed the cereal box on the counter. He looked at Johnny, then glared at Repo. “You went down to see her last night. I heard you going down the stairs.”

  “What about it?”

  “And now you’re out buying her favorite cereal.”

  “She’s gotta eat.”

  Tony laid his hand on Repo’s shoulder. His voice had a paternal yet threatening tone, like the Godfather. “You disappoint me, Repo. I always told everybody that Repo was the kid to watch. Young but dependable. Lots of promise. I brought you in on this job because I thought of you like Johnny, my own brother-like family. We’re like a little family, the three of us. Except that Johnny and me, we’re the only ones in this family who committed murder. That means we got more at stake than you do. And now you’re getting chummy with the girl. That makes me very nervous. It makes me wonder, you know, if maybe Repo is going to sell the rest of the family down the river.”

  “I’m not going to sell anybody out.”

  Tony shook his head. “You’ve lost our trust.”

  Repo shifted nervously. “What are you saying?”

  “You gotta earn it back.”

  “How?”

  Tony’s expression changed. The jaw tightened. The eyes became dark, menacing slits. “As soon as we get the money, the girl dies. And you’ll be the one who kills her.”

  25

  Downtown Washington seemed awash in shades of gray. Overcast skies were a perfect match for the old limestone buildings and marble monuments. Trees stood leafless in Lafayette Square, the impeccably landscaped park north of the White House, directly across Pennsylvania Avenue. As the black limousine pulled from the White House driveway, Lincoln Howe glanced at the circle of protesters in the square. Their signs and slogans decried American exploitation of child labor in foreign countries. He thought of the way President Sires had just obsessed over his legacy, then thought of his own televised speech last night against child abduction. Suddenly it clicked. He had yet to be elected, but
he’d already settled on a legacy of his own: Lincoln Howe, the children’s president.

  The thought pleased him.

  “How did the meeting go?” asked LaBelle. He was seated in the rear, across from the general.

  “Just fine.” The clipped tone made it clear he didn’t want to talk about it.

  The limo stopped to allow the protesters to cross Pennsylvania Avenue. General Howe’s gaze turned toward Lafayette Square, fixing on the huge bronze of Andrew Jackson on horseback in the center. “The Battle of New Orleans,” he muttered in a hollow voice.

  “Excuse me?” said LaBelle.

  “One of General Jackson’s most famous military victories.” He shot a look of disapproval. “Don’t you know anything about the war of eighteen-twelve?”

  “Only the year in which it was fought, sir.” He checked his watch, mindful of the general’s tight schedule.

  “Buck?” he said pointedly. “Did you know that black soldiers fought in the Battle of New Orleans?”

  He paused, sensing a purpose for the digression. “No, sir. I didn’t.”

  “General Andrew Jackson himself promised to give a tract of land to every black man who would join his army of irregulars and fight the British. They signed up in droves. They fought bravely. Many of them died.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you know what they got for their sacrifice?”

  “Land, is what I thought you said.”

  “They got nothing. Those courageous black soldiers got nothing but lies and empty promises-straight from the lips of a distinguished general in the United States Army who went on to become one of this nation’s most respected presidents.” He shook his head, steaming yet again over his meeting with the self-proclaimed education president. “Legacies,” he scoffed. “They’re all such bullshit anyway.”

  For once, LaBelle could think of nothing to say.

  The telephone rang. It was General Howe’s personal line, limited to a handful of callers. He swallowed the bitterness in his throat, then answered on the second piercing ring.

  “Sweetheart, it’s me,” his wife said.

  The general glanced up. LaBelle busied himself in his papers, pretending not to listen. Howe spoke softly into the phone. “Where are you, Nat?”

  “Still in Nashville. Tanya and I have been talking. She’s very upset.”

  “Can’t the doctor prescribe something?”

  The line crackled with her sigh of frustration. “That’s not the issue.”

  “I’m sorry. Tell me.”

  “Well,” she struggled, “it seems Tanya wants to pay the ransom.” She paused, then added, “And I do, too.”

  He went rigid, gripping the phone. “Let me get something straight. Does Tanya have a million dollars?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Check our bank book. Do we have a million dollars?”

  “No. But you can get it. Surely if you call in some favors we can raise the money.”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “But, Lincoln. Please.”

  “Nat, I went on national television last night telling the kidnappers I would never pay their ransom, even if I had the money. I can’t back off that position less than twenty-four hours later.”

  “Is that all you’re concerned about? Looking tough to voters?” Her voice was shaking.

  “This has nothing to do with votes. It’s simple negotiation strategy. We have to be firm. I told them no dealing, and I meant it. Trust me on this.”

  “I’m scared. We’re both scared. I have this horrible feeling that they’ll really kill Kristen if we don’t pay the money.” Her voice trailed off. She was sobbing into the phone.

  He swallowed hard, toughening his voice. “Natalie, get hold of yourself. I said no. Don’t fight me on this.”

  She sniffled, then drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry. What do you want me to tell Tanya?”

  “Tell Tanya-” He paused, unable to find words.

  “That you’re doing it for Kristen?” she suggested.

  “Yes,” he said flatly. “Tell her that.”

  Allison had been so busy she’d actually forgotten to eat lunch. One of her first official acts as attorney general had been to shut down the private dining room with its personal staff that filled the north end of her office suite, reasoning that the Justice Building had a perfectly fine cafeteria right in the basement. She called down for soup and a salad, and at three o’clock her secretary plopped it on her desk with a can of Diet Pepsi. The phone rang just as she popped open the soda, causing her to start and spill it all over. A garden salad with raspberry-cola vinaigrette dressing was strangely tempting, but she pushed it aside, figuring she had about enough caffeine coursing through her veins anyway.

  Her secretary popped back into the office. “It’s Harley Abrams on line three.”

  Allison snatched up the phone. “What did you find out?”

  “I just heard from our Miami field office. They can’t find O’Brien.”

  “What do you mean they can’t find him? They’re the FBI.”

  “They checked his condo. Nobody home. They went down to the marina. Apparently he has a boat rental place there.”

  “Right. Mitch used to be a criminal defense lawyer in Chicago, but he burned out and took time off a few years ago to sail all over the world, all by himself. When he came back, he just quit practicing, moved to Miami, and started renting out sailboats.”

  “Well, he hasn’t rented one in over two weeks. It’s a little difficult to nail down specifics with a guy who lives alone and works for himself, but the last time anybody saw him was a few-days before Halloween.”

  “Maybe he’s on another sailing trip.”

  “Maybe. But the timing is somewhat suspicious.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “I don’t know. But there’s one thing I’d like you to do. I know there’s at least one huge difference between the abduction of your daughter and this kidnapping-namely, you never got a ransom demand. But this O’Brien thing has me intrigued. I could have somebody else do this, but you know more than anyone about your daughter, and we’re running out of time.”

  “I can do it. What?”

  “I’d like you to get your hands on the files, the newspaper articles, everything you have on Emily’s abduction. And I want you to look-look real hard-for parallels with this case.”

  “What kinds of things am I looking for?”

  “I’ll make a checklist and fax it over.”

  “Okay. I’m getting pressured to start campaigning again, but I can certainly put it off for this. I mean, if you really think-oh, forget it.”

  “If I think what?”

  Her heart swelled, but she was almost afraid to ask. “Harley, let’s just assume there is a connection. We both know the statistics on child abduction-how the passage of time affects recovery. But put the dismal data aside and just listen to your gut. After all these years, do you think there’s a chance we could still find Emily?”

  He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Let’s go one step at a time here, okay?”

  She nodded wearily, glancing at an old photograph of her and Emily on the credenza. “Right. Just one step at a time.”

  Tanya and her mother sat in silence in the family room. The drapes were drawn, and the television was off. A lamp on the end table provided the only lighting. The mantel clock ticked above the redbrick fireplace. Tanya stared nervously down at her hands. A neighbor’s dog barked across the street, making her jump.

  Her mother looked on with concern. “Sweetheart, why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

  She looked up, eyes glassy. She just shook her head.

  The telephone rang, giving them both a jolt. Tanya rose and grabbed the phone on the end table.

  “Hello,” she answered.

  “General Howe broke the rules.” The voice was deep and garbled, altered by some kind of mechanical device, like the anonymous informants who appeared as silhouettes on television news shows.
r />   Her eyes widened. “Who is this?”

  “I’m national chairman of the Save Kristen Coalition. I’m calling for contributions.”

  “Is this a crank?”

  “Would a crank know that Kristen’s school ID was on the back of the ransom demand?”

  Tanya shivered at the realization-it was him. On impulse, she hit the record button on her answering machine, taping the call. “Please”-her voice shook-“don’t hurt my daughter. You can have whatever you want. Just let her go.”

  “I told you what I want. A million dollars. By tomorrow morning. And no cops.”

  “I want to give it to you. Really I do.”

  “That’s not what your father said on TV last night.”

  She winced, silently cursing her father. “Don’t listen to him. Just deal with me, all right? I’ll get you your money, and I’ll keep the cops out of it. I promise. Just don’t hurt Kristen.”

  “What do you mean, you’ll get the money? Do you have it or don’t you?”

  “I don’t have it, but I can get it. I just need a little time.”

  “You’ve got until tomorrow morning.”

  “I need more time.”

  “Bullshit. No stalling.”

  The harshness came through, even with the distortion. Her hand was suddenly trembling. “I’m not stalling. A million dollars is a lot of money.”

  “I said tomorrow morning.”

  “I-I don’t know.” She could hardly speak. “Okay. Tomorrow morning. I’ll have it.”

  “You’re lying.”

  She swallowed hard. “What?”

  “You can’t raise the money by tomorrow morning. Not without your old man’s help.”

  “No, I can do it. Really. I can.” She waited, but there was no reply. A surge of desperation erupted inside her. “Didn’t you hear me?” Her voice cracked. “I said I’ll do it. I will. God, yes, I will!”

  “I don’t believe you can.” The reply was so calm it chilled her. “And you know what, Tanya? I don’t trust you, your father, or anyone in your whole damn family. So why don’t you stingy black bastards just keep your million dollars. Truth is, the world is going to be a whole lot better place with one less Howe in it.”