From the corner of my eye I spotted the woods. FBI snipers were somewhere in the dense brush. Then again, LeJeune had said Stokes’ men would be there too. I wouldn’t count on help from that direction.
A minute later, the second van’s doors opened again. A figure got out from the front passenger seat.
“Is that Stokes?” LeJeune asked.
“I can’t tell,” I said. I’d met him only once. It was a stocky figure, though; it could have been him.
“Able, you got your camera out? Try and get as many shots as you can.”
“Roger that,” a voice said in my ear. “But they’re not gonna be very good.”
“Don’t worry about that. Just get them.”
The back door of the van slid open and another figure got out. Rachel.
“Okay. Daughter is out,” Luke said. “The men in the other van are out too.”
“By the way, cher, the home office says we have eyes on us.” He spoke into his cell. “Are you seeing anything out of the ordinary?” There was a pause. Then: “Good. Start walking again, Ellie.”
I took a few more steps forward.
The man who may or may not have been Stokes went around to the back of the van, opened the door, and removed something bulky. I narrowed my eyes, trying to see what it was, but I was too far away.
LeJeune caught it too. He talked to the satellite monitor. “What’s going on, Skylight?” A pause. “Well, get your fucking eyes closer. Luke? You see anything?”
“Not yet.”
The man took whatever he was holding and carried it back to where Rachel stood.
“What’s going on, guys?” I asked.
“Looks like he’s putting something on her,” Luke said. Then after a pause, he cried out. “No. It can’t be.”
“What? What is it?” A fresh wave of tremors shot through my hands.
Luke started to say something but suddenly went quiet. I whipped around. LeJeune was making the zip-it motion with his fingers. I shaded my eyes from the glare of the Maglites. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Turn around,” LeJeune said in my ear. I did. “Now, Ellie, I don’t want you to react. You understand? Pretend I didn’t say a word.”
“Why not?” My voice was high and scratchy and tentative.
“He’s putting a suicide vest on her.”
Chapter Sixty-six
Saturday
I screamed in terror. “No! Get it off! Take it off! Someone!” I started to shake uncontrollably. “Not my baby. Not this.”
“Steady, Ellie. Keep it together,” LeJeune’s voice said in my ears. But all I wanted to do to was throw myself in Luke’s arms. This wasn’t part of the plan. He’d make it go away, wouldn’t he?
I yelled into the mic. “How can I? He’s going to blow her off the planet. LeJeune, do something. Shoot the motherfucker. Right now!”
“Calling his cell.”
I whipped around. After a few minutes, he shook his head and pocketed his cell. “Like I thought…He’s using a burner.”
“Fuck. What are we going to do?” I cried. I wrapped my arms around my chest. It was the only way to keep myself from sinking to the ground. I squeezed my eyes shut. This was the stuff of crazy Islamic jihadists or ISIS. The sort of desperate action you’d expect from brainwashed individuals with nothing left to lose. This didn’t happen in America’s heartland. This had to be a surreal nightmare that would disappear when I opened my eyes.
Except it wasn’t. And it didn’t.
I squinted, trying to see how Rachel was handling it. She was too far away and it was too dark to make out much, but her body language said it all. Rigid. Uncompromising. Arms and legs moving stiffly, like a marionette. She had to be terrified.
“Listen to me, Ellie,” LeJeune said. “Remember I told you to expect the unexpected? This is it.”
I glanced toward the woods, half-expecting to see the FBI snipers taking aim.
LeJeune read my thoughts. “We can’t take them down. What if they hit Rachel instead? Plus, it would start a firefight, and no one, including you or your daughter, would walk away.”
My voice cracked. “What are we going to do?” I was sobbing.
“You’re going to have to deal with it.” Nick’s voice was laced with tension.
“I’m going to ask them to put it on me instead.” And with that I started walking forward briskly, waving my arms.
LeJeune talked into my ear, and his orders made me realize our two-way communications were being overheard by the rest of his team. “Take your marks, Officers, but don’t shoot. Got that?”
I heard a chorus of “Got its” and “Ten-fours” in response.
“You can do this, cher. We got your back.”
I forced myself to take a deep breath. And then another. I tried to shove my fear to the back of my brain. My mission was to get Rachel. Give him the goddammed drive. I started forward again. As I did, the man who could be Stokes got back in the lead van.
“He’s back in the van,” Luke said.
“Directing traffic,” LeJeune said.
“I’m going to kill that asshole,” Luke said.
“Calm down, Luke,” LeJeune said. “Ellie, you okay?”
I wasn’t, but I nodded. One of Stokes’ men and Rachel were waiting at the opposite end of the airstrip.
LeJeune shouted, “Bring her halfway.”
An arctic breeze suddenly flared, and I wanted to wrap my wool muffler around my neck. But I figured any unexpected movement on my part might backfire and start a firefight. I shoved my hands into my pockets.
The man led Rachel toward the middle of the airstrip. As she got closer, I could see a glazed, frozen look on her face. She resembled a manikin in a department store, her casual manner on the phone the night before long gone. As we came within one hundred yards of each other, the goon drew something out of his side. A pistol.
“Do you see that, Nick?” I breathed.
LeJeune shouted out again. “I thought there would be no weapons.”
“Boss changed his mind,” the goon said.
“Take the vest off the girl.”
I swear I saw a smile appear on the man’s face as he shook his head. “Boss says take it or leave it.”
LeJeune whispered in my ear. “Balls of steel, cher. We’re almost there.”
“Yeah, and then he’ll pull the cord, and she’ll be blown to bits,” I whispered back.
“Have faith. By the way, Luke says he loves you.”
I halted. That Luke would tell LeJeune to say that, and that LeJeune actually told me, made a difference. I suddenly felt more centered. Less alone. More than a dozen people, including the man I loved most in the world, were looking out for us. Maybe it would work. Still, I vowed to never again watch any movies or shows about terrorism.
I approached the man and Rachel steadily but with caution. Rachel was dead quiet but kept walking stiffly, as if she knew any wrong move would end in disaster. Then she stopped.
My heart banged in my chest. What now?
She leaned toward the man and asked something. I couldn’t hear what it was.
He nodded and pointed forward. She started walking again. My mouth went as dry as a desert. I wanted to scream, “Stop. Just stop.” I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
It seemed like forever, but eventually we were only about fifty feet apart.
The man stopped. So did Rachel. I did too. The man looked familiar. I realized he was one of the men who’d been camped out at my neighbors’, the Schomers’. In the pickup. It seemed so long ago. As if it was another life.
Now the goon raised his pistol and aimed it at my chest. Time stopped. I gagged. “Any wrong move, I shoot. And that’s the signal for the boss to activate the vest.”
I managed a weak nod.
“Give me the drive.”
“Let Rachel go first.”
“It doesn’t work like that. You first, Ms. Foreman.” I could have sworn he was smirking under his breath.
There was silence for a moment, and I knew that, like LeJeune’s voice in my ear, Stokes was talking to his man. “We planned the meet-up here. Let you talk to your daughter on the phone. Both good-faith gestures. Your turn.”
I looked back at Luke and LeJeune, wondering if I should make the move. Then I realized the goon was right beside Rachel. He didn’t want the vest to blow up any more than I did.
I stepped forward slowly. “It’s in my pocket. I need to put my hand in and get it out.”
He nodded. Oh, how I wished I had my father’s Colt in there instead of the drive. I would shoot the bastard, no questions asked. Instead, I slipped my hand in and brought out the two-inch piece of plastic that was now the only thing standing between my daughter’s life and her death. I wanted to fling it at him, grab Rachel’s hand, and fly back to the hangar. But I couldn’t. I stepped forward. He held out his hand; I gave him the drive.
That was it.
I wasn’t expecting a thank-you, or any gratitude, but I didn’t expect what he did next. He holstered his weapon, whirled around, and sprinted back to the van, leaving Rachel and me in the middle of the strip.
“Oh, baby!” I went toward her with outstretched arms.
“Don’t, Mom. Don’t move a muscle. Do you hear me? Stokes is going to push the remote.”
I froze and stood stock-still. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
Rachel stared at me, her eyes wide with panic.
I heard running steps behind me. “Don’t move, Ellie.” LeJeune.
“Rachel, you too.” It was Luke. “Don’t turn around. We have to get that thing off.”
“Hurry!” I shouted. “His guy is almost back at the van!” His other men were piling into the vehicles. One of the engines started up.
Luke went to Rachel and shone a flashlight at the vest. Then he looked up at her. “Where’s the clasp? How did he fasten it on you?”
“There’s a hook at the top and bottom. On the inside.”
“Good girl,” Luke said. “Now just stand still. I’ll do the rest. It’ll all be over soon.” He handed the light to LeJeune, who aimed it at the vest.
I followed Stokes’ men with my eyes. “Oh shit. The last man is climbing in the van. You’ve got to get it off. He’ll explode it any second!”
The wind was picking up. I shivered. I needed my little girl. She needed me. We were only a few feet apart, but it could have been miles.
Luke managed to unhook the clasp at the top of the vest. “Almost there. Hang on, everyone.” He went to work on the bottom. As he was looking for the hook, the second van roared to life.
“Luke, hurry! Please! It’s now or never!”
Luke found the clasp, unhooked it, and carefully took the vest off Rachel. She ran into my arms.
“Get rid of it!” LeJeune yelled.
Luke wound up as if he was going to serve a volleyball, took three running steps and heaved it toward the side of the airstrip away from the woods.
“Okay, everyone. Run!”
The four of us sprinted like professional runners. We were almost back to the hangar when the vest exploded. The force of the blast threw us to the ground. I crawled over to Rachel, covered her body with my own, and watched a giant orange fireball rise into the night sky.
Chapter Sixty-seven
Saturday Night and Sunday
The next morning I decided to drive to the drugstore in Lake Geneva to buy a night-lite. Luke, Rachel, and I had arrived back at Luke’s at about four in the morning. Rachel hadn’t said a word since she’d been released, and the look of terror on her face told me everything. She refused to let me get farther than a few feet away from her, so we both crawled into a bed in one of Luke’s guest rooms. She wouldn’t let me turn out the light and wriggled as close to me as she could. I held her for what seemed like hours until I finally heard the deep, even breathing of sleep.
Between the overhead light and the stress of the past two days, there was no way I could sleep. Trying not to disturb Rachel, I climbed out of bed around seven and went downstairs. Luke had brewed a pot of coffee and was drinking it at the kitchen table. Dark circles gouged the pockets under his eyes, and he had the roughness and stubble of someone who hadn’t slept or showered. A pad of yellow legal paper lay in front of him, and he was making notes that, from across the room, I couldn’t decipher.
I went to him, put my hands on his shoulders, and kissed the top of his head. “Thank you,” I whispered. “For everything.”
He didn’t turn around but reached up and squeezed one of my hands. I buried my head in his neck and nuzzled his cheek.
“It’s not over, you know,” he said. His voice was raw.
“You didn’t sleep, either.”
He shook his head.
“What are you doing?”
“Making notes.”
“Why? For interviews with the FBI and the cops?”
“Among other things.”
I straightened up, went over to the coffeepot, and poured myself a cup. “What other things?”
“He’s not going to get away with it.”
I faced Luke. “He already did.”
“That’s not what I mean, Ellie.” I inclined my head. His tone was one I hadn’t heard in years: heavy and solemn and freighted with smoldering anger. It reminded me of the first time we’d met. When he’d been accused of murder.
“What are you going to do?”
“How’s Rachel?” he asked, dodging my question.
“She refuses to let me leave her side. But she’s finally asleep. With the lights on.”
“So why are you leaving her?”
A trace of irritation came over me. I wasn’t leaving her. Then again, we were both exhausted, physically and emotionally. We were apt to say things we didn’t really mean. At least I was. I forced my irritation down. “I’m going to the drugstore to pick up a night-lite. Do you need anything?”
“Why don’t I go instead?” He stood up. “I’ll get some groceries too. What should I get?”
“Whatever you want.” I crossed the room again and put my arms around him, relieved that I didn’t need to leave my little girl.
He hugged me back. “You know, there are going to be a pack of people here this afternoon. Do you think Rachel’s up to it?”
“If she’s not, they’ll just have to wait until she is. They can talk to us instead. She’s in bad shape, Luke.”
“I’ll tell Jimmy. He’s already called.”
I stepped out of his embrace. “I’ve been wondering about something. Do you think the vest exploded because you threw it off the airstrip? Or did Stokes activate it when they were speeding away?”
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to wait for the forensics analysis.”
“Will it make any difference? I mean, no one is going to blame you for doing that, are they?”
“Just let them try.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. In a way, I was reluctant to revisit what had happened the previous night. Not because it would bring back the terror of the events. I was afraid of my own rage. It had been building ever since we got Rachel back. A clear, pure rage. I wanted to tear Stokes from limb to limb. I knew I could do it. He had put my daughter through hell. Threatened the most vulnerable person in my life. And scared the shit out of a lot of other people. If revenge could ever be justified, this was the time. In fact, the strength of my feelings scared me.
Luke shrugged into his jacket. “Okay. I’ll be back in a while. If anyone calls, just let it go to voice mail.”
“I’m going to lie down with Rachel. Don’t forget the night-lite.”
Chapter Sixty-eight
Monday
Gary Phillips was not looking forward to his meeting with Stokes. The security chief had asked to meet him in an out-of-the-way alley in the South Loop, near Manny’s Delicatessen, at seven in the morning. Phillips had been reluctant to agree, and now that he’d taken a cab over, he wor
ried a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. It was a habit he’d picked up in college, and he’d thought he’d licked it. But it came back, especially during stressful times. And a visit from the FBI alleging that Delcroft’s security chief had kidnapped a young woman, on top of the other crimes he’d committed, had been plenty stressful. No wonder Stokes was lying low.
Phillips’ only rationalization for coming was that he needed to know exactly what Stokes had done in order to manage damage control. He stamped his feet. It was a sunny day, with a metallic blue sky, but it was cold. He pulled out his leather gloves, put them on, then turned up the collar of his North Face parka.
He checked his watch; Stokes was always prompt no matter where they were meeting. He gazed around. Like some Chicago alleys, this one was cracked concrete with a pothole in the center. The back doors of a dozen small offices and stores, separated by chain-link fences edging the property lines, opened onto one side. A few small buildings, warehouses probably, occupied the other side. A set of green Dumpsters sat at each end, both releasing rancid odors. The husk of an old Chevy on blocks lay in one yard.
A cab pulled up to the south end of the alley and the back door opened. A burly figure emerged. Stokes. The man made his way over leisurely, as if they had all the time in the world. When they were close together, he said, “I got Parks’ flash drive.”
Phillips let out a breath. They were back to that. Murder in the first degree. Now kidnapping. And attempted murder. At least he’d called his lawyer.
“I had a visitor over the weekend. At my house in Winnetka.”
“From the FBI, I’ll bet.”
“Exactly. They’re looking for you. What the fuck did you think you were doing kidnapping the Foreman girl?”
“It was—necessary.”
“And the suicide vest? Are you completely insane? Do you know how much shit the company will have to shovel to contain this?”
“I realize you think it was over-the-top, but I considered it a matter of national security. We had to know exactly what Hollander was doing with Gao. Now we do.”
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