"Fine. If you want to take that chance, don't come." The voice sounded very confident. There was no earthly way Sidney would ever take that chance. The person on the other line knew that too.
"If you hurt her--"
"We're not interested in the kid. She can't identify us. After it's over, we'll drop her at a safe place." He paused. "You won't be joining her, though, Ms. Archer. Your safe places have just run out."
"Let her go. Please just let her go. She's only a baby." Sidney was trembling so much she could barely keep the phone pressed against her mouth.
"You better write down these directions. You don't want to get lost. If you don't show, there won't be enough left of your kid to identify."
"I'll be there," she said in a hushed voice and the line went dead.
She pulled back on the road. A sudden thought leaped across her mind. Her mother! Where was her mother? Her blood seemed to be pooling in her veins as she gripped the steering wheel. Another ringing sound invaded the interior of the van. With a shaking hand, Sidney picked up the phone, but there was no one there. In fact, the ringing sound was different. She pulled off the road again and desperately searched everywhere. Her eyes finally stopped on the seat right next to her. She looked at her purse, slowly put her hand inside and pulled the object out. Written across the small screen on her pager was a phone number she didn't recognize. She turned off the pager's ringer. It was probably a wrong number. She couldn't imagine that someone from her law firm or a client was attempting to call her; she was fresh out of legal advice. She was about to erase the message, but her finger stopped. Could it be Jason? If it was Jason, then it would qualify as the worst timing in the history of the world. Her finger remained poised over the erase button. Finally she put the pager in her lap, picked up the cellular phone and dialed the number on the pager's screen.
The voice that came on the other end of the line was enough to take her breath away. Apparently, miracles did happen.
The main house of the resort was dark, its seclusion made all the more stark by a wall of bulky evergreens in front. When the van pulled down the long driveway, two armed guards emerged from the entryway to meet it. The snowstorm had lightened considerably in the last few minutes. Behind the house the dark, foreboding waters of the Atlantic assaulted the land.
One of the guards jerked back as the van continued to roll toward them without any sign of slowing down. "Shit," he yelled as both men hurled themselves out of the way. The van tore past them, crashed right through the front door and came to an abrupt halt, its wheels still spinning, when it struck a four-foot-thick interior wall.
A minute later, several heavily armed men surrounded the van and wrenched the damaged door open. No one was inside. The men's eyes passed over the receptacle where the cellular phone would normally be kept. The phone was completely under the front seat, the phone cord pretty much invisible under the weak illumination of the dome light. They believed the phone had probably been dislodged upon impact rather than that it had deliberately been placed there.
Sidney entered the house through the rear. When the man had given her directions to the place, she had instantly recognized it. She and Jason had stayed at the resort several times, and she was very familiar with the interior layout. She had taken a shortcut and arrived in half the time her daughter's captors had allotted her. She had used those precious extra minutes to rig the van's steering wheel and accelerator with rope she had found in the back of the vehicle. She clutched her pistol, her finger resting lightly on the trigger as she stole through the dark rooms of the resort. She was ninety percent certain that Amy was not on the premises. The ten percent of doubt had led her to use the rigged van as a diversion so that she could at tempt a rescue, however improbable, of her daughter. She was under no delusions that these men would let Amy go free.
Up ahead she heard the sounds of raised voices and feet running toward the front of the house. She cocked her head to the left as a pair of footsteps echoed down the hallway. This person was not running; the tread was slow and methodical. She shrank back into the shadows and waited for the person to pass by. As soon as he did, she pressed the muzzle of her pistol directly against his neck.
"Make any sound at all, and you're dead," she said with a cold finality.
"Hands over your head."
Her prisoner complied. He was tall, with broad shoulders. She felt for his gun and found it in a shoulder holster. She crammed the man's pistol in her jacket pocket and pushed him forward. The large room up ahead was well lit. Sidney could not hear any noise emanating from the space, but she didn't think that silence would last long. They would soon figure out her ploy, if they hadn't already.
She prodded the man away from the light and down a darkened hallway.
They came to a doorway. "Open it and move inside," she told him.
He opened the door and she pushed him inside. One of her hands felt around for the light switch. When the lights came on, she shut the door behind her and looked at the man's face.
Richard Lucas stared back at her.
"You don't look surprised," Lucas said, his voice even and calm.
"Let's just say nothing surprises me anymore," Sidney replied.
"Sit." She motioned with her gun to a straight-backed chair. "Where are the others?"
Lucas shrugged. "Here, there, everywhere. There are a lot of them, Sidney."
"Where's my daughter? And my mother?" Lucas kept silent. Sidney put both hands on her gun and pointed it directly at his chest.
'Tm not screwing around with you. Where are they?"
"When I was a CIA operative, I was captured and tortured by the KGB for two months before I escaped. I never told them anything and I'm not telling you anything," Lucas said calmly. "And if you're thinking about using me to exchange for your daughter, forget it. So you might as well pull the trigger, Sidney."
Sidney's finger quivered on the trigger as she and Lucas engaged in a staring contest. Finally she swore under her breath and lowered the pistol. A smile cracked Lucas's lips.
She thought quickly. All right, you sonofabitch. "What color is the hat Amy was wearing, Rich? If you have her, you should know that."
The smile disappeared from Lucas's lips. He paused for a second and then answered. "Like a beige."
"Good answer. Neutral, could apply to lots of different colors."
She paused as an enormous wave of relief washed over her. "Only Amy wasn't wearing a hat."
Lucas started to bolt out of the chair. A second faster than he, Sidney smashed her pistol across his head. Lucas went down in a heap, unconscious. She towered over his prostrate form. "You're a real ass-hole."
Sidney exited the room and stole down the corridor. From the direction of where she had entered the house, she heard men approaching.
She changed course and once again headed toward the lit room she had spied earlier. She peered around the corner. The light from inside was enough to let her check her watch. She said a silent prayer and edged into the room, keeping low behind a long, carved wooden-backed sofa. She looked around, her eyes taking in a wall of French doors that was visible on the ocean side. The room was huge, with ceilings that soared at least twenty feet high. An interior second-story balcony ran across one side of the room. Another wall held a collection of finely bound books. Comfortable furnishings were placed throughout.
Sidney shrank back as far as she could when a group of armed men, all dressed in black fatigues, entered the room through another doorway. One of them barked into a walkie-talkie. By listening to his words, she knew they were aware of her presence. It was only a matter of time before they found her. Blood pounding in her eardrums, she made her way out of the room, keeping well out of sight behind the sofa. Once in the corridor, she walked swiftly back toward the room in which she had left Lucas, with the intent of using him as her exit card. Maybe they would not care about killing Lucas to get to her, but right now it was the only option she had.
Her plan ran into an imm
ediate problem when she discovered Lucas was no longer in the room. She had hit him very hard, and she briefly marveled at his recuperative powers. Apparently he hadn't been kidding about the KGB. She ran out of the room and toward the door where she had entered the house. Lucas would most certainly raise the alarm. She probably only had seconds to make her getaway. She was a few feet from the door when she heard it.
"Mommy, Mommy."
Sidney jerked around. Amy's walls continued down the hallway.
"Oh, my God!" Sidney turned and sprinted toward the sound.
"Amy? Amy? The doors to the large room she had earlier been in were closed. She hurled them open and burst into the room, her chest heaving, her eyes wildly searching for sight of her daughter.
Nathan Gamble stared back at her as Richard Lucas appeared behind him. He wasn't smiling. The side of his face was heavily swollen. Sidney was quickly disarmed and held by Gamble's men.
The disk was taken from her purse and handed to Gamble.
Gamble held up a sophisticated recording device and Amy's voice was heard once again: "Mommy? Mommy?"
"As soon as I found out your husband was on to me," Gamble explained, "I had your house bugged. You get lots of goodies that way."
"You sonofabitch." Sidney glared at him. "I knew it was a trick."
"You should have gone with your first instinct, Sidney. I always do." Gamble shut off the tape and strolled over to a desk situated against one wall. For the first time Sidney noticed that a laptop computer was set up there. Gamble took the disk and popped it in.
Then he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and looked over at her. "Nice touch your husband had on the password. All backwards.
You're sharp, but I bet you didn't figure that one out, did you?" His face crinkled into a smile as he looked from the paper to Sidney. "Always knew Jason was a smart guy." Using one finger, Gamble punched a number of keys on the keyboard and studied the screen.
While doing so, he lit up a cigar. Satisfied with the contents of the disk, he sat down in the chair, folded his arms across his chest and flicked cigar ash on the floor.
She kept her eyes fixed on him. "Brains run in the family. I know it all, Gamble."
"I think you don't know shit," he calmly replied.
"How about the billions of dollars you made trading on changes in the Fed Funds Rate? The very same billions you used to build Triton Global."
"Interesting. How did I do that?"
"You knew the answers before the tests were given out. You were blackmailing Arthur Lieberman. The mighty businessman who couldn't make a dime without cheating." She spat out the last words. Gamble's eyes glittered darkly at her. "Then Lieberman threatens to expose you and his plane crashes."
Gamble got up and advanced slowly toward Sidney; his hand an anger-laden fist. "I made billions on my own. Then some jealous competitors paid off a couple of my traders to secretly tank me. I couldn't prove anything, but they ended up with cushy jobs down the street and I lost everything I had. You call that fair?" He stopped walking and took a deep breath. "You're right, though. I caught on to Lieberman's little secret life. Scraped enough cash together to set up my little mole in luxury and bided my time. But it wasn't that simple." His lips curled into a wicked smile. "I waited until the people who had screwed me took their investment positions on interest rates and then I took the opposite one and told Lieberman which way to swing it.
After it was over, I'm back on top and those guys couldn't afford a cup of spit. Nice and clean, and damn sweet."
His face gleamed as he recalled his personal triumph. "People mess with me, I pay them back. Only a lot worse. Like Lieberman.
Nice guy that I am, I paid the sonofabitch over a hundred million dollars for doing his thing with the rates. How does he show his gratitude? He tried to take me down. Was it my fault he got cancer?
He thought he could outsmart me, the big Ivy League legend.
Didn't think I knew he was dying. I do business with somebody, I find out everything about him. Everything!" Gamble's face flushed for an instant and then he broke into a sly grin. "Only thing I regret is not having a picture of his face when that plane hit."
"I didn't think you were into genocide, Nathan. Men, women, babies."
Gamble suddenly looked troubled and took a nervous puff on his cigar. "You think I wanted to do it like that? My business is making money, not killing people. If I could have come up with another way, I would have. I had two problems: Lieberman and your husband.
They both knew the truth, so I had to get rid of them both.
The plane was the only way to tie them together: Kill Lieberman and blame your husband. If I could have bought every ticket on that plane except Lieberman's, I would have." He paused and looked at her. "If it makes you feel any better, my charitable foundation has already donated ten million dollars to the victims' families."
"Great, you score PR points off your own dirty work. You think money is the answer to everything?"
Gamble exhaled smoke. "You'd be surprised how often it is. And the fact is, I didn't have to do anything for them. It's like I told your buddy Wharton: When I go after somebody who screwed me, I don't care who gets in the way. Too bad."
Sidney's face suddenly hardened. "Like Jason? Where is he?
Where is my husband, you sonofabitch?" She screamed the words in an out-of-control fury and would have pounced on Gamble if his men hadn't held her back.
Gamble stepped directly in front of her. His fist slammed into her jaw. "Shut up!"
Sidney swiftly recovered, ripped her arm free and slashed Gamble's face with her fingernails. Shocked, he stumbled back, clutching his torn skin. "Damn you!" he yelled. Gamble pressed his handkerchief against his face, his eyes blazing at her. Sidney stared back at him, her entire body shaking with more anger than she had felt in her entire life. Gamble finally motioned to Lucas. Lucas left the room for a minute, and when he returned, he was not alone.
Sidney instinctively jerked back as Kenneth Scales stepped into the room. He stared at Sidney Archer with eyes that bespoke intense hatred. She looked over at Gamble. He looked down and sighed while he stuffed his handkerchief back in his pocket, touching his face gingerly. "I guess I deserved that. You know, I had no intention of killing you, but you just couldn't leave it alone, could you?" He ran a hand through his hair. "Don't worry, I'll set a big trust fund up for your kid. You should be grateful I think everything through."
He waved Scales forward.
Sidney shouted at him. "Oh, really? Did you think through the fact that maybe if I could figure it out, so could Sawyer?" Gamble stared blankly at her. "Like the fact that you blackmailed Arthur Lieberman by setting him up with Steven Page. But just when Lieberman was up for the Fed nomination, Page contracted HIV and threatened to blow the whole thing. What did you do? Just like you did with Lieberman. You had Page killed."
Gamble's response stunned her. "Why the hell would I have him killed? He was working for me."
"He's telling the truth, Sidney." She jerked her head around and stared at the source of those words. Quentin Rowe walked into the room.
Gamble stared at him, his eyes wide. "How the hell did you get up here?"
Rowe barely glanced at him. "I guess you forgot that I have my own private suite on the corporate jet. Besides, I like to see projects through to their completion."
"Is she right? You had your own lover boy killed?"
Rowe looked at him calmly. "It's not any of your concern."
"It's my company. Everything concerns me."
"Your company? I don't think so. Now that we have CyberCom, I don't need you. My nightmare is finally over."
Gamble's face grew red. He motioned toward Richard Lucas. "I think we need to show this little prick some respect for his superior."
Richard Lucas pulled out his weapon.
Gamble shook his head. "Just rough the little sucker up some," he said, his eyes glowing maliciously. The glow quickly ebbed as Lucas swung the pistol
in his direction and the cigar fell out of the Triton chief's mouth. "What the hell. You sonofabitch traitor--"
"Shut up!" Lucas roared back. "Shut your mouth or I'll blow you away right here and now. I swear to God I will." Lucas's eyes tore into Gamble's face and Gamble quickly closed his mouth.
"Why, Quentin?" The words floated softly across the room.
"Why?"
Rowe turned to find Sidney's eyes on him. He took a deep breath.
"When he bought into my company, Gamble drew up legal documents so that he technically controlled my ideas, everything. In essence, he owned me." For a moment he stared at the now docile Gamble with in-concealed disgust. Rowe looked back at Sidney, reading her mind. "The oddest couple in the world. I know."
He sat down at the desk in front of the computer. He stared at the screen as he continued to talk. The proximity of the high-tech equipment seemed to soothe Quentin Rowe even more. "But then Gamble lost all his money. My company was going nowhere. I pleaded with him to let me out of the deal, but he said he'd tie me up in court for years. I was stuck. Then Steven met Lieberman and the plot was hatched."
"But you had Page killed. Why?"
Rowe didn't answer.
"Did you ever try to find out who gave him HIV?"
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