“Too risky. We can’t contain it. Once the FBI or the media gets hold of O’Brien, it’s bound to come out that the guy failed the polygraph and-worse-that we still painted Leahy as an adulteress after we knew he had failed.”
“I still don’t understand why that fool offered to take a polygraph examination if he was lying about him and Leahy having sex.”
“O’Brien was a hotshot criminal defense lawyer. He’s probably seen a hundred lying clients fool polygraph examiners. He probably thought he could, too.”
The general stopped pacing. His eyes were aimed at LaBelle, but he was looking right through him. Finally he came back from the place his mind had taken him. “Have you talked to O’Brien?”
“Not since the polygraph.”
“Any idea where he is?”
“Not really.”
His glare tightened. “There’s only one thing to do, Buck.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“Find him. Before the FBI does.”
Natalie lay awake, wishing Lincoln would come back to bed. Tonight hadn’t been the reunion she had hoped for. He and Tanya had hardly looked at each other when he’d arrived, let alone spoken. Natalie had hoped he might get through the night just tending to his family, without interruption from the campaign strategists.
She should have known better.
The bedroom door opened. A shaft of light from the hallway cut across the dark room. Lincoln entered quietly and closed the door behind him. Natalie lay still beneath the covers, watching as he carefully crossed the room without switching on a light, listening as he tucked himself back into the twin bed beside hers. She saw him check the clock, then heard a deep sigh of exhaustion.
Her voice pierced the darkness. “You promised no politics in Tanya’s house.”
“I know. It was an emergency.”
She propped herself up on her elbow and looked right at him. “What kind of emergency?”
He rolled over to face her, fluffing the pillow. “Campaign emergency.”
“Lincoln, you broke your promise. I want to know why.”
“LaBelle thought it was urgent. Turns out it’s just more about those adultery rumors that surfaced about Leahy.”
“Good heavens. All that adultery stuff doesn’t even seem remotely important anymore.”
He rolled onto his back and sighed smugly, hands clasped behind his head. “You’re right, Nat. In less than two days your Lincoln will be elected president of the United States of America.”
He reached across the space dividing their twin beds, groping for her hand. She pulled away, out of his reach. “I meant the kidnapping,” she said sharply. “The adultery accusations seem silly compared to what happened to Kristen. Not compared to your election.”
He withdrew his hand. “I-uh. Of course that’s what you meant. I was just looking for a silver lining, I guess.”
She got up from her bed, then quickly put on her robe and slippers for a trip to the bathroom. She stopped at the door, looking back at him in the darkness. “Maybe it’s about time you stopped looking for the silver lining and started looking for your granddaughter.”
She waited, expecting him to say something. The lack of response made the room seem darker. She stepped out and headed down the hall.
Tanya sat motionless on the floor, right beside the vent to the heating duct. The air flow to the master bedroom was on a split duct. Part of it led to her room. The other led to the guest bedroom-the room she’d converted into an office. It had been Kristen’s room originally, but her daughter had insisted on moving to the other side of the house after she’d grown wise to the fact that, because of the ducts, her mother could hear everything in there just by putting her ear to the heating vent in the master bedroom. Kristen was a sharp girl. Much sharper than her grandfather.
Tanya glanced at the phone on the nightstand. She was tempted to phone Allison or Harley to help make sense of what she’d heard, but she had to organize her thoughts first.
Find O’Brien-her father’s order rang in her head. What did that mean? Find him and talk to him? Find him and silence him? Find him and kill him?
She took a deep breath, shuddering at the thought, struggling to stay focused. First, Mark Buckley. Dead on the highway after a threat from her father. Now Mitch O’Brien. Apparently hiding from the FBI, maybe hiding from her father, too. Or hiding from the men who worked for her father. Maybe the same men who took Kristen.
Her head was pounding with the horrible possibilities. It didn’t make total sense to her, but this O’Brien character seemed like a logical fit somewhere into the adultery scandal and scarlet letter photograph Allison had briefly explained to her on the telephone.
In all the confusion whirling in her mind, one thing that stood out was the last warning from Harley Abrams. He had pushed her to spy on her father. It was possible, he’d explained, that if Kristen’s taking was politically motivated, the kidnappers might now be content to let the election simply run its course, never following up on their demand for a ransom. That was Kristen’s most dangerous scenario. That made it imperative to do more than just sit around and wait. They needed some offense-something to draw the kidnappers out of hiding.
Her eyes drifted to the photograph on her dresser. The two of them, her and Kristen. The last picture of them together.
She wiped away the tears and rose to her feet. Anger filled her veins, but in anger she found strength. She put on her robe and stepped into the hall.
A crack of light shone from beneath the bathroom door at the other end of the house. Her poor mother and her peanut-sized bladder were undoubtedly making one of the four or five trips she seemed to make each night. Tanya hurried down the hall, taking extra care to be quiet as she passed the FBI agent sitting in the kitchen. She stopped at the bathroom door. She heard the turning of a magazine page. Definitely her mother.
She continued down the hall, past Kristen’s room. The door was closed; her room had been secured like a crime scene. She stopped at the door beside it, the room her mother and father were using. Quietly she opened the door.
The bedroom was dark, save for the glowing face of the alarm clock on the dresser and the horizontal shafts of moonlight that cut through the miniblinds covering the window. Her father lay on the bed by the window, a hulk of man beneath the heavy blanket. She stepped quietly toward him, stopping near the foot of the bed to look at his face. He was deeply asleep.
She moved closer, then knelt right beside him. He was lying on his side, his cheek on the pillow. She crouched down until they were eye to eye and stared into his face. She could feel him breathing. Finally he seemed to sense her presence. His eyes blinked open.
“Don’t move,” she said in a cold, harsh whisper.
He froze, as if she’d put a gun to his head. “What is it, Tanya?” he asked with concern.
“I heard your conversation with Buck LaBelle.”
His eyes became wider. The whites were huge in the darkness. He said nothing.
She whispered, “I think you would stop at nothing to get elected. I think you would kidnap your own granddaughter to get elected. And if Kristen isn’t home before the polls open on Tuesday morning, I’m going on national television to tell the voters what I think.”
“Tanya,” he gulped, “you’re making a horrible mistake.”
“Be still. Those are my terms.”
The door opened. Natalie stepped a foot inside, then stopped. “Tanya?”
She rose slowly, her expression pleasant. “Dad and I were just talking.”
Natalie came to them and sat on the edge of the bed. “That’s a good thing. You two should talk more.”
Tanya glanced at her mother, then back at her father. “Something tells me we will. It seems we have lots to talk about.”
“Wonderful,” said Natalie. “I knew this was a good idea.”
“It was a great idea, Mom.” She kissed her on the cheek, then crossed the room without a sound, stopping in the doorway.
“Good night, Father.”
The general nearly bit his tongue, careful not to say anything in front of his wife. “Good night, Tanya.”
The door creaked open, and then she was gone.
43
The telephone rang at precisely eight o’clock Monday morning. Allison was dressed and standing beside the phone, waiting and hoping for-if not expecting-the call. The shrill ring still startled her. She snatched up the receiver.
“This is Allison.”
A shaky, high-pitched voice came on the line. “This is Kristen Howe.”
Allison immediately hit the button on the phone that triggered the FBI intercept. “Kristen, where are you?”
A pause, followed by that disguised, mechanical voice-Kristen was gone. “Between a rock and a hard place. Same as you. Do you have the money?”
She checked the clock on the wall. Fourteen seconds. It sounded like another cellular phone, which meant that she needed to stall if the FBI was going to trace it. “Yes, I have it. But I want to talk to Kristen.”
“Go to the old Pension Building at ten A.M. Enter on Fifth Street. Go through the atrium, and exit on F Street.”
Allison bristled at the tone. The voice was disguised, like before, but it didn’t sound like Friday’s caller or the caller on Saturday. It sounded altogether different. “Put Kristen back on the line,” she said. “Just so I know for sure she’s alive.”
“Wait on the sidewalk outside the building on F Street. And bring the money.”
She grimaced. Whoever he was, the caller was no fool-no wasted words. “You want me to deliver the money?”
“Yes, you. Personally. Alone. No FBI.”
“I don’t think I can get out undetected.”
“Sure you can. A suspended attorney general doesn’t need an FBI escort.”
Smart-ass, she thought. “It’s not the FBI I’m worried about. The press is camped outside my door.”
“And Kristen Howe has a gun to her head. You think you got problems? Beat the media. Be there. Ten A.M. You’re late, she’s dead.”
She started to say something-anything-to keep him talking, but the line clicked. She checked the clock. Less than forty seconds. “Damn,” she muttered, knowing it probably wasn’t enough time for a trace on a wireless. She disconnected with her finger and speed-dialed Harley Abrams.
He answered immediately, having heard the entire conversation through the intercept.
“You heard?” asked Allison.
“Yeah,” he said. “You really got the money?”
“Not on me. Peter called his banker at home this morning. It’s at the bank.”
“Can you trust the bank to keep it confidential? A cash withdrawal as big as this isn’t exactly an everyday occurrence.”
“It’s structured to be not so obvious. Peter has been wire-transferring it in small installments over the past couple of days from several banks-some offshore-to nine different accounts held in the names of nine different companies he controls. Nobody but Peter’s banker will really know the money is going to us personally. I told Peter this has to be confidential.”
“You trust his banker?”
“Peter says he does.”
Harley paused. “You don’t have to pay it, you know.”
“We’ve already made our decision.”
“There’s a wrinkle,” said Harley.
“What kind of wrinkle?”
“I got a call from Lincoln Howe about twenty minutes ago.”
“And?” she asked urgently.
“Seems he’s had a change of heart. He told me that if the kidnappers make a ransom demand, he and his wife have decided to pay it.”
Allison froze. “Did he say why?”
“Just that some wealthy friends offered him the money, and he changed his mind. He’s not making it public. Nothing more than that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Allison, I’m being as straight as I possibly can. Howe told me not to tell you, and Director O’Doud gave me a direct order to abide by his wishes. If the kidnappers hadn’t renewed their demand, there wouldn’t have been any need for you to know. I’m telling you now because it affects you directly. You and Peter don’t have to pay.”
“But I still have to deliver. That’s what the kidnappers are expecting. If we change the plan, they’ll kill Kristen.”
Harley groaned. “That’s pretty sticky. If Howe is supplying the money, I’m not sure he’ll want you delivering it.”
“Then Peter and I will supply the money.”
“That doesn’t solve everything. It’s bad enough that you’re the point person on the phone calls. Making you the deliveryperson only compounds the problem.”
“What problem?”
“It’s like a case one of my mentors had back in the seventies, when Jimmy Carter offered to negotiate with a hostage taker who demanded to talk to the president. It’s just not smart to put someone with ultimate power in direct communication with a hostage taker. You can’t stall. You can’t say you have to check with your superiors before giving into their demands.”
“What power do I have, Harley? I’m suspended.”
“The kidnappers won’t care.”
“Look, we’re not going to make a unilateral change to the kidnappers’ plan and get Kristen Howe killed. Got it?”
“Hey, come on now. I’m on your side.”
She took a deep breath. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be harsh. But Howe’s sudden reversal on the ransom doesn’t sit well with me. Not twenty minutes before a call from the kidnappers.”
“Not much we can do before ten o’clock.”
“No,” she agreed. “But it might be worth five minutes to talk to Tanya Howe.”
Allison conferenced in Tanya Howe, who took the call in the privacy of her bedroom. It took only moments for Allison to give her the gist of the kidnapper’s demands.
“Did Kristen sound okay?” were Tanya’s first words.
Allison paused. She wanted to be straight but not a pessimist. “She sounded scared, but okay. To be honest, there’s no way for me to know if Kristen was actually on the line or if it was a recording. I asked to talk to her so I could hear her respond to a question, but he wouldn’t put her on.”
“So you don’t know if she’s alive?” said Tanya.
“We have to assume.”
“I don’t want to assume. I need to know my baby’s all right.”
Harley interceded. “We’ll know soon, Tanya.”
“When?”
Allison said, “They want me to deliver the ransom at ten o’clock.”
“And,” said Harley, “there’s something else you should know. Your father called earlier this morning. He’s agreed to pay a ransom.”
Tanya paused, seeming to catch her breath. “Don’t deliver it.”
“Come again?” said Allison.
“You’re being set up.”
“Set up?” asked Harley. “How?”
Tanya quickly explained her confrontation with her father last night-her demand to publicly accuse him of being involved in the kidnapping if Kristen was not returned safely before Tuesday morning.
“Don’t you see?” she continued. “This morning’s ransom demand and my father’s sudden agreement to pay it were both triggered by my threat last night. The kidnappers are offering to return Kristen before the election only because my father controls them. At the same time, he’s agreed to pay the ransom so that it looks like he had nothing to do with her kidnapping or her return. In my mind, this just slam-dunk confirms his involvement.”
Harley said, “I understand what you’re saying, Tanya. But it doesn’t necessarily follow that all of this was triggered by last night’s conversation. Remember, the caller on Friday said he would call Allison at eight o’clock Monday morning. So, at most, the only thing that was triggered by your argument with your father last night was his decision to pay a ransom-which, by itself, isn’t all that incriminating. I mean, if someone threate
ned to ruin my career and reputation unless Kristen were returned safely before Tuesday morning, I’d probably offer to pay a ransom for her safe return, too.”
“Harley has a point,” said Allison. “If your father were really behind this, I have to think that the last person he’d want to deliver the ransom would be me. If Kristen is returned safely, I could be hailed as a hero on the eve of the election. I could be right back in the race.”
Tanya scoffed. “Don’t you people get it? Kristen is not going to be returned safely. This is all a setup. You have to think the way my father thinks. Of course he wouldn’t create a situation where you might be a hero. He’s putting you in a position where things are going to go wrong-very wrong-and you alone are going to be responsible.”
Allison gripped the phone a little tighter, thinking. “All right, Tanya. Say it is a setup. But consider the possibility that it’s a setup going the other way. Not a setup to kill Kristen after I deliver the ransom, but a setup to kill her if I don’t. General Howe or his crazed supporters are betting I’ll do the cowardly thing and refuse to deliver the ransom. When I refuse, they kill your daughter. If that happens, your father knows I couldn’t be elected dog catcher, let alone president.”
All three fell silent. Finally, Harley said, “Either theory is equally plausible.”
“You’re a big help, Mr. Abrams.”
“Tanya,” said Allison, “please listen to me. I kicked myself eight years ago for listening to others instead of myself. But I didn’t have anyone who’d been through the same thing I’d been through. I’ve been through it. I’m still going through it. I wouldn’t tell you what to do if I didn’t feel in my heart it was the right thing to do. Trust my instincts on this.”
Tanya said nothing.
Harley asked, “Tanya, what do you want to do?”
Her voice shook, but her decision seemed firm. “Whatever Allison decides. That’s what I’ll do.”
“Thank you,” said Allison. “If I only get one vote this week, that’s the one I wanted.”
“Call me,” said Tanya. “Just keep me informed.”
“I will,” said Allison.
The Abduction Page 27