by Noel Nash
Zellers contacted Shepherd. “Talk to me. I need to know his route to school each morning.”
“He always took the quickest way.”
“Come on, Shepherd, I have no idea which way that is. Help me out.”
“Oh, okay. He went down Fern Street, took a right onto Madison and then a left onto Victory. At least that’s what I have in the file here.”
“Where’d you get that info?”
“The senator’s security detail. They pre-approved the route. Though if it were up to me, I would’ve gone a block further to Pinkston and taken a left there instead of Madison and then—”
“That’s enough, Shepherd. We’ll take it from here.” Zellers hung up and plotted the route using his GPS.
“Tell me where to go,” Hammond said.
“Turn right onto Madison. I doubt they would’ve tried to snatch him on a busy street like Fern.”
Hammond nodded and navigated their vehicle onto Madison and slowed down. “What are we looking for?”
“An orange Diamondback Grind Pro bike,” Zellers answered. “It’s like a BMX.”
“Now you’re talking my language.”
The two men scanned the neighborhood. The kidnappers were professionals and wouldn’t leave the bike in an open area. Zellers and Hammond scanned the usual suspects —sheds, tall grass, bushes— any place that wouldn’t be immediately conspicuous.
“Wait, slow down,” Zellers said. “Over there.”
Hammond brought the vehicle to a stop and they both clambered out. Zellers strode toward what he believed was a tire sticking out from a thicket in an empty lot. “That’s it,” he said.
Hammond quickened his pace to join his colleague. In a matter of seconds, both of them were standing over Luke’s bike. “Call‘em,” Hammond said.
Zellers was already dialing. “We found Luke’s bike.”
“Where?” Matthews asked.
“In an abandoned lot off Madison, just three blocks from the school.”
“What else do you see?”
“There are some tire tracks here,” he said as he snapped his fingers at Hammond to begin inspecting them.
“Can you tell what direction they left in?”
“It appears as though the vehicle left in a hurry back toward Fern, but I can’t tell which direction.”
Hammond stooped over the tire tracks and took several pictures. He then emailed them to Shepherd.
“Okay, got it,” Matthews said. “Shepherd’s telling me he got the pictures of the tire tracks. He’s going to analyze this and try to figure out which vehicle they belong to.”
“Assuming they haven’t changed the tires already.”
“Zellers, your optimism is overwhelming.”
Zellers and Hammond continued to scan the area for other clues. Nothing.
“You there, Zellers?” Matthews asked.
Zellers adjusted his earpiece. “What’ve you got?”
“Nothing too specific,”Shepherd said.“They likely belong to a mid-sized sedan, but I can’t narrow it down any more than that.”
“What do we pay you for?”Zellers quipped.
“For this,” he shot back. “There’s a GetGo gas station on the corner that has surveillance of its pumps. Based on all the intel I have, he was taken somewhere between 8:15 and 8:20 if he left for school around the same time each morning. If you see a mid-sized sedan pulling onto Fern, you should be able to locate the car.”
“Good work, Shepherd. You’re still overpaid.”He hung up.“Let’s go look at some film.”
***
THE GETGO STATION MANAGER cautiously eyed Hammond and Zellers. “I can’t let you just look at my tapes without a warrant.”
“A young man’s life is at stake here and you want to quibble over a warrant?” Hammond said.
“Sorry. It’s company policy.”
Zellers, listening in over Hammond’s comlink, was already in action. “Can you spoof the number, Shepherd?”
No answer — just furious pounding on the keyboard in the background.
“Shepherd?”
“Done. Sorry it took so long. I just had to create a patch through the main server and—”
“I don’t need an explanation, just instructions.”
“Oh, right. Uh, call me and I’ll patch you through.”
Zellers dialed the number and waited for Shepherd’s command.
“You’re on,”Shepherd said.
The phone inside the GetGo rang and a clerk answered it. Zellers asked to speak to the manager.
“Herb!” he heard the shout pierce his ears. “Someone wants to speak to you.”
A pause for several seconds. “This is Herb.”
“Herb, this is Grant Cooper,” Zellers said, disguising his voice with some husk and bass.
“Oh, Mr. Cooper. What can I help you with?”
“It’s more like what you can help the gentleman in your store with,” Zellers said. “I’ve already received a call from one of our FBI field offices that you’re impeding an investigation of national security. If you value your job, I suggest you do as that man requests.”
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” The manager hung up the phone and returned to Hammond.
Satisfied with his performance, Zellers grinned as he overheard the frazzled manager tell Hammond that his boss just called and ordered him to grant him access to the store’s surveillance footage. Then some footsteps and a brief tutorial on how to access the previous morning’s tapes.
***
“WHAT AM I LOOKING for here?” Hammond said.
“I don’t know,” the manager said.
Hammond glared at the man and then pointed at the com piece in his ear. The man slinked out of the room.
“You there, Shepherd?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah, I’m here. Look for the timestamp between 8:15 and 8:20 — and then tell me what you see.”
Hammond scrubbed the video back and found the time stamp. “Got it.”
“And?”
“And, I can’t tell a whole lot from the video. Just cars turning into the neighborhood. Lots of mini-vans. Why anyone drives one of those contraptions is beyond me. They’re ugly, slow and expensive to operate.”
“They’re actually much cheaper to operate than a four-wheel drive SUV or a large sedan — about 12 and 10 cents cheaper per mile, respectively.”
“Shepherd?”
“Yeah.”
“Get a life.”
“I’m just—”
“Forget it. I just don’t need a lesson in operating costs among American vehicles right now, okay?”
“What do you need?”
“Actually, I know exactly what I need. I need you to enhance a picture of the only mid-sized sedan to pull out of Madison and head west onto Fern. If you can get a closeup on these plates, we’re golden.”
Hammond grabbed a screen shot and transmitted it to Shepherd. And waited.
“Got anything yet?”
“I’ve got a profile on all the Toyota Camrys with an Ohio license plate.”
“That’s not helping.”
“Just give me a second.”
Hammond listened as Shepherd pounded the keyboard into submission.
“Bingo. I’ve got the plate and it’s a silver 2010 Toyota Camry that was reported stolen two days ago. I’m putting the license plate into the system now and starting a search.”
“A search for what?”
“For where it went.”
“Okay, we’re headed back to meet you.”
***
MATTHEWS CALLED SENATOR DANIELS on his burner phone to give him an update.
“He’s going to be all right, don’t worry,” Matthews said. “He’s a bright kid.”
“I’m just afraid that they’re going to force my hand. I can’t jeopardize his life, you know that.”
“I understand. We’re doing all we can. I’ll keep you apprised of any new developments, but this is our first solid lead. We still have no
idea who is behind this, but we’re going to keep digging.”
Matthews hung up and awaited the return of Zellers and Hammond.
“Got anything, Jones?”
“Well, we’ve got no leads other than the car they were in. For all we know, they could’ve ditched it by now. But I started thinking—”
“And?”
“And what if the car wasn’t really stolen. They just reported it stolen. We’re not inclined to look into who owned the car — and it’s not like the police are out there searching for a stolen Camry. Who knows how many of those are stolen each day?”
“There are 2.1 Camrys stolen per day,”Shepherd chimed in.
“Thanks, Data,”Jones snapped.“If they think that the senator is complying with their demands, they know they’ve got basically free rein to do what they want.”
“Then why report the vehicle stolen?” Matthews challenged.
“In the remote case that they do have someone searching for them, the police are less likely to cast a suspicious eye on the person whose vehicle was stolen, seeing them as a victim, not a criminal.”
“Good work. Look into it and let me know what you find.”
Several minutes later, Hammond and Zellers strode through the door.
“I hope you bums found out something while we were out there doing all the dirty work,” Zellers said.
Jones looked up from his research. “We found out how many Camrys are stolen each day in the U.S. from genius over there.”
“Oh, that ought to help us find Luke, huh?” Zellers said.
“No,” replied Matthews, “but I do know that there hasn’t been any activity from the Columbus PD since it was allegedly stolen.”
“Worthless,” Zellers said.
Jones stopped and looked up again. “Hammond, fix me something to eat. I’m starving.”
Hammond stopped and glared at him. “Would you like for me to wear an apron for you, your imminence?”
“If it’ll get you cooking faster? Yes.”
Hammond scurried off to the kitchen and clanged several pots and pans together, getting Zellers’attention.
“Go help him,” Matthews said. “He might be our favorite chef, but he’d be lost if you weren’t there to hold his hand and make sure he didn’t burn the house to the ground.”
Zellers chuckled and headed toward the kitchen.
“Better them than me,”Jones quipped.
“Yeah,” Matthews said. “I prefer to eat food that hasn’t been seared black and tasteless.”
“That was only one time.”
“You’ll never live it down.”
Matthews walked over to Shepherd’s desk.“Got anything yet?”
“You won’t believe this. The guy who owns this vehicle works for Ophion Investments.”
“And who exactly is Ophion?”
“No, what exactly is Ophion? They’re an investment group based out of Denver that specializes in environmental advancements.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“That’s what the website says, but they’ve been involved in some high-level action on Wall Street over the past few months. They’ve been buying up land and small oil fields along a corridor between Oklahoma and Texas.”
“Any correlation between them and the senator?”
“Not sure yet, but I just started digging around on their server and came across some encrypted files.”
“Found anything yet?”
“Not yet,” Shepherd said as he cracked his knuckles and gave Matthews a wry smile. “But this security is child’s play. I’ll have it hacked in no time.”
“Get goin’. We don’t have any time to lose.”
CHAPTER 9
SENATOR DANIELS PACED across his office. He only stopped when he reached the window that provided a view of the nearly empty courtyard. Without a thought, he began chewing on what was left of his fingernails.
The intercom on his phone beeped, snapping him out of his stupor.
“Is there anything else you need, Senator?” asked his assistant.
“No, you’re free to go home. Thanks for all your work today.”
“My pleasure.” Click.
Daniels slumped into his chair and checked his watch. It was 6:05 p.m. and Sarah Roberts was late. Not that he was thinking much about the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. His thoughts rested with Luke. But he couldn’t help thinking about Sarah when he thought of Luke.
When Daniels met Sarah two years ago at an art gallery opening, he almost felt guilty for his schoolboy crush on her. And based on their first interaction, he couldn’t believe she even gave him her number.
“See anything you like?” he asked.
“I’m more of an impressionist kind of gal,” she said, glass of Chardonnay in one hand and twirling her brunette ringlets with the other.
“I tend to like realism myself.”
“Realism? You must be a practical man.”
“Practicality comes with the territory of public office, but I like to know that what I’m seeing is the real thing.”
“So, who’s your favorite? Rembrandt? You’re not that unimaginative are you?”
“Actually, I prefer Thomas Winslow.”
She stepped back, surprised by his response. “That’s a nice change of pace. What’s your favorite painting of his?”
“The Reaper. It’s what I aspire to in life as all it seems like I do is sow and water and plow — but never reap.”
She stuck out her hand. “Sarah Roberts. And I can assure that I’m as real as it gets.”
Daniels spent a week mulling whether he should call her. He felt as if allowing that part of his heart to come alive again thirteen years after his wife’s death was almost cheating on her. Barbara had meant everything to him. He finally resolved that Barbara would want him to be happy, so he called Sarah. And instead of trying to woo her with some romantic date, he invited her to a Clippers minor league baseball game with Luke. Sarah didn’t seem annoyed at all and took to his son quickly. She even attended a couple of his lacrosse games when Roberts was sequestered for the afternoon with a committee meeting.
Daniels looked at his watch again: 6:10 p.m. He couldn’t tell Sarah— the news would break her heart. And he couldn’t tell Sarah— they might really kill Luke. If he could get through the night without her questioning what was going on, he’d consider it an Oscar-worthy performance.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Come in,” Daniels said.
Sarah Roberts glided into the room, shimmering in her black evening gown. Grinning wide, she twirled around and shot a look toward Roberts seeking his approval. “Well, what do you think?”
Mouth agape, Daniels stood in silence for a moment.
“Put your tongue back in your mouth. I think I already have the answer to my question.”
Daniels smiled.“I’m going to be with the best-looking woman at the fundraiser tonight.”
“Just tonight at the fundraiser?”
“Tonight at dinner before the fundraiser, at the fundraiser or any time after that wherever we go.”
“Nice save. Are you ready?”
He glanced down at his watch and smirked. “I’ve been ready for quite a while now. I was just waiting on you.”
“I hope it was worth it.” She smiled, teasing him with an alluring glance.
He walked next to her and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
She nodded and they headed toward the door.
Then Daniels’phone buzzed.
“Excuse me,” he said as he looked at the number flashing on the screen. “I need to take this real quick. Can you wait out there while I finish up this call?”
She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “Is everything all right?”
He nodded. “It’ll only take a minute.” He retreated into his office and shut the door. “Hello?”
“Senator Daniels, it’s good to hear your voice. I was wondering if you’ve received our letter yet
.”
“Who is this?”
“One question at a time. You answer my questions and maybe I’ll answer yours.”
Daniels loosened his collar and tie. “I got your stupid letter, okay. Now where’s my son?”
“Patience, Senator. I’m not done asking all my questions.”
“Now you listen to me—”
“No, Senator, you are going to listen to me and do what I say if you want to see Luke alive again.” A pause. “Now, have you contacted the authorities?”
“You told me not to.”
“That’s not an answer. Did you contact the authorities?”
“No.”
“Good. I at least know I’m dealing with an honest man. We know you haven’t because we’re monitoring all your communication and tailing you. If you get any wise ideas about bringing the authorities into this, the deal’s off and we’ll do with Luke as we see fit. Understand?”
“I wanna talk to my son.”
“I’m sorry — did you say you understand?”
“Yes, now let me talk to Luke! I want proof of life before I do anything for you.”
“Very well then.”
Daniels heard some scuffling along the floor and a few voices mumbling — at least three distinct voices.
“Dad?” Luke’s voice quaked.
“Son, are you okay?”
“Yeah, Dad, I’m good, but please help me. I—”
Silence.
“Sorry, Senator. I’m sure you understand that I can’t allow you to have a lengthy conversation with your son. But remember the parameters of our arrangement as it regards to help. The only help you’re going to give him is the kind where you acquiesce to our demands. Is that clear?”
Daniels gripped the phone and set his jaw. “If you as much hurt one hair on his head, I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself.”
“Just stick to the arrangement, Senator. I’m a man of my word. And I mean that in every sense.”