by Allan Topol
He could have easily given her directions without looking at the map, but looking down was much more fun. God, her tits were beautiful. There was still a half hour till school got out. Maybe he'd wake Charlie to cover the Hartwell kid while he rode down to Georgetown with this broad. After all, city employees should be nice to out-of-town visitors.
He reached over and pointed to the map himself, touching her hand. Goddamn, her skin felt warm. He was so enthralled that he never saw her other hand reach into the raincoat pocket and emerge with a Taser. Before he could react, she fired a shot into his stomach. He could feel himself losing consciousness. He knew what would happen. He would be paralyzed for about two hours. Then he would be okay. In the meantime, he was powerless to do a thing about it. He also had the vague sense that she raised the gun and fired a second shot at Charlie in the backseat, but by then he was fading fast.
She opened the car door and pushed his body across the seat. The keys were in the ignition. She drove to the corner, turned right, then right again into an alley. Beneath a clump of trees, she parked the car, partially hidden by a garage. This was Cleveland Park, an area inhabited mostly by professional families and kids who had lots of activities on Saturday that didn't end until late in the day. Chances were, nobody would notice the police cruiser for at least the next hour, which was all she needed. Even if they did, they would ignore it, figuring the police were on some type of stakeout.
Before exiting the car, she glanced around quickly. The alley was deserted. She stepped out of the police cruiser and walked back to her own car.
With another ten minutes until school was out, she drove a block and parked on Newark, facing downward on the sloping street, directly across the street from the route Elana walked home with Amy. In fact, just as she parked, she saw Elana walking up the hill, coming to collect Ben's precious little Amy.
For two cents she'd kill the girl to teach Ben a lesson, but that wouldn't get her what she wanted. No, she had a much better idea. She would kidnap Amy, take her to Connecticut, and lock her in an old deserted farmhouse near Westport until the world's greatest prosecutor finally decided to stop his meddling and accept the confession that had been dropped in his lap. The beauty was that Gwen wouldn't even have to bother with a note or phone call, which could be traced, because Ben would know exactly why Amy had been taken and what he had to do to get her back. Given his experience as a prosecutor, he might even cooperate quietly, for fear that the FBI would get the child killed, as they often did in kidnapping cases.
Gwen kept her eyes on the mirror outside of her door, which showed the sidewalk across the street. She waited patiently for Elana to walk back down the hill with Amy. They would walk right into her trap.
* * *
Art Campbell was at the Washington Savings and Loan, DuPont Circle branch, investigating a robbery that had just taken place, when he decided to call officers Clements and Watts to make certain that everything was OK as they accompanied Amy and Elana home from school. First he dialed the special cellular phone he had given them for this job, but there was no answer. He asked the precinct to patch him through to their regular car phone. Still no answer.
Alarmed, he didn't wait for any further confirmation. Leaving another detective in charge of the robbery investigation, he bolted from the bank.
In a few seconds he was in his unmarked car. The red light went up on the roof. The siren was blaring as Campbell roared across P Street and up Massachusetts Avenue at sixty miles an hour.
* * *
Gwen watched a few other children accompanied by housekeepers pass by. Then she saw them. Elana was on the outside, closer to the curb. They were holding hands and singing a Spanish song. In her other hand, Amy clutched her yellow metal lunch box.
When they were almost directly across from her car, Gwen made her move. She opened the door and ran across the street with a .357 Magnum with a long silencer in her hand.
The instant Elana saw her coming, she knew that this was the blond woman she had overheard Mr. Hartwell talking about. What could she do? Running with Amy in tow was hopeless. Quickly she said to Amy, pointing, "Go up to that house right now, ring the bell, and go inside." Meantime she hoped to delay the blond woman long enough for Amy to get inside.
Sensing Elana's anxiety, Amy immediately obeyed. Once the child released her hand, Elana turned to face the onrushing blonde.
A weapon, I need a weapon, she thought desperately. Without any other choice, she reached down into the grass along the sidewalk and grabbed a handful of dirt and pebbles.
Gwen knew exactly what Elana was doing. To counter it, she ran straight at the housekeeper. When she tossed the dirt and pebbles, Gwen closed her eyes. Scattered shot hit her right in the center of her face. Gwen's eyes stung, but she kept on coming. In the next instant Gwen smashed the gun against Elana's face. She heard bones shatter, and the woman collapsed. Still, she tried desperately to grab Gwen's right leg. With a yank, she pulled free of Elana's grasp. Gwen aimed her toe at Elana's head, precisely where it would knock her out but not kill her. An unnecessary death couldn't possibly do any good. It might make the kidnapping exchange more difficult.
Terrified, Amy watched what was happening. She was standing on the wooden porch of a rambling old Cleveland Park house, clutching her lunch box tightly in her hand. Frantically, she kept pressing the doorbell, but nobody was home.
Stepping over Elana, Gwen ran up the wooden stairs toward Amy.
"Daddy!" the girl shrieked. "Daddy!"
Gwen made no effort to soothe the child. She could tell that Amy was too smart for that. Instead she scooped up Amy's rigid body. As she did, Amy swung her arm with all the strength she could muster, aiming the lunch box at Gwen's face. The metal corner struck Gwen on the bridge of her nose. She felt it break. Then a jolt of searing pain shot through her body.
Dizzy, Gwen put Amy down for an instant. "You fucking little monster!" she shouted. She snatched away the lunch box and hurled it to the ground below.
Then she grabbed Amy again, much harder this time. Blood was now flowing from Gwen's nose. With the gun still in her free hand, she raced back down the steps, wanting to get Amy across the street and into her car before any of the neighbors saw what was happening.
Gwen had made it midway across the street when she heard a man's voice from down the hill shout, "Police! Freeze!"
With her gun arm outstretched, she wheeled around to face the newcomer. Detective Campbell was standing in the street, about twenty yards down from her car. He had his service revolver aimed at Gwen's eyes.
"Drop your gun," he ordered. "Lay it down nice and easy. Nobody has to get hurt."
All the while he was walking slowly and doggedly up the hill, closing the gap between them.
Gwen had no intention of rolling over for some cop. She raised her gun and pressed the end of the barrel against the side of Amy's head. Too petrified to move, the child held perfectly still, a look of terror in her eyes.
"Stop right there," Gwen ordered Campbell. "Throw down your gun."
He kept advancing.
"Do it now," Gwen shouted, "or I'll kill her. Then I'll take my chances with you."
Campbell finally halted. He had no doubt that she meant every word she said. He tossed his gun onto the street and began moving away from her car.
When he had taken three steps, Amy began waving her arms wildly and screaming, "Daddy, I want my daddy!"
The child's thrashing made it hard for Gwen to hold her tightly. She moved her free hand to stabilize her grip on the child.
That was the break Campbell was looking for. Unarmed, he ran for them.
Gwen freed her hand and fired. The bullet tore into the detective's left shoulder. Blood spurted out in a high arc.
"That's just a warning," Gwen said. "The next one will kill you."
He stopped moving. His upper body was on fire with pain. The blood was spreading, staining the front of his shirt and soaking through to his jacket.
Suddenly, behind the blonde, he saw a gray Cadillac come barreling over the crest of the hill, too fast for a residential street. Campbell saw what was going to happen, and he charged them. Amy was screaming and thrashing in Gwen's arms. She got off another shot, but Campbell ducked. The bullet whistled over his head.
As the driver of the car saw the blonde holding the child, he slammed on his brakes. It was too late. The right front of the car slammed into Gwen. Instinctively, she tossed the child aside to protect her head, just as she had been trained to do. For an instant Amy was suspended in midair, screaming at the top of her lungs.
Campbell made a desperate lunge.
He caught the child just before she landed. Cradling her in his huge arms, they hit the ground together. Campbell's two-hundred-pound frame was poised to land on Amy's right leg, but he twisted away. Still, most of his weight came down on the child. He heard the awful crunching sound of her leg breaking, the child screaming. He had her head and face safe, though, buried tight against his blood-soaked jacket.
The blonde was lying on the street, unconscious, bleeding from the face. Campbell called for a police ambulance. With Amy crying in his arms, he stood over the blonde, ready to pounce on her if she moved.
Chapter 25
Ben drained the last of his espresso. "This evening's been great, Jenny," he said. "Really great." He meant it, too. Sitting at a corner table in the small, intimate Marquis restaurant on Mount Street, they'd recaptured some of the spirit of their past relationship. They didn't talk about Clyde Gillis, or Winthrop, or the case. None of those things existed for two hours. They caught up on each other's lives for the past five years. The sarcasm and wisecracks had stopped. They were getting to know each other again. They felt comfortable together. Maybe there was hope for them after all, Ben thought.
He reached across the table and put his right hand on hers. Frowning, she pulled it away and sipped a little of the wine in her glass.
Take it slowly, he cautioned himself. It's been a long time. Don't push her too hard.
After he paid the bill and they left the restaurant, they walked in silence on the deserted Mayfair Street, toward Claridge's. Suddenly, he thought of Amy and began worrying. He glanced at his watch, which was still on Washington time. Amy should be home from school by now. As soon as they got back to their hotel suite, he would call home and talk to her.
"What do you think we should do tomorrow?" Jennifer asked.
He considered their options for a moment. "If Amy's okay, let's fly directly to New York. We've got to find Alexandra Hart."
"I sometimes use a PI who's a former New York City cop. Mark Bonner."
"The one who took those pictures about the video and the Chinese embassy?"
She nodded. "He still has great contacts in the NYPD. He'll be able to find Alexandra Hart for us in no time at all."
A heavy mist had settled over London. They reached a corner and turned, three blocks from the American embassy in Grosvener Square. Parked at the curb was a dark green van with the legend A&A Plumbing Company printed in white letters on the side.
They were walking past the van when suddenly the double doors in back exploded open and two powerfully built men wearing black leather jackets, leather gloves, and ski caps over their faces, with cutouts for their eyes and mouths, jumped out. Ben and Jennifer, their senses deadened from alcohol and lack of sleep, never had time to react. One of the men grabbed each of them roughly from behind and looped an arm around their neck and a hand over their mouth. Quickly, they were hustled into the back of the van.
Two other men, similarly dressed, were waiting there. An instruction was shouted to the driver in front in Greek. The van began moving slowly. They drove for a couple of minutes. During that time, cloth gags were tied over Ben's and Jennifer's mouths. They stood Ben up against one side of the truck and tied his arms and legs tightly to the wooden racks along the side. Meanwhile, they pushed Jennifer down on her stomach, hard, against the dirty wooden floor of the truck. One of them pressed his boot firmly on the center of her back, keeping her flat against the floor of the truck. Her glasses had fallen off and were lying next to her, where a large boot smashed down hard on them.
When the van stopped moving. Ben watched with growing fear as one of the men put on a pair of boxing gloves. An experienced pugilist, he went to work on Ben's body, starting with his chest and working down. Defenseless and unable to cry out, Ben bit his lip as wave after wave of pain shot through his body.
When the thug began working on his stomach, punching hard, Ben threw up his dinner. That didn't stop the hard, stiff blows. Ben twisted his arms to get free, but the ropes were too tight. He started working on Ben's groin, pounding away with blow after blow. Finally, Ben passed out.
One of the thugs barked an order, which was the signal to untie the unconscious Ben. Roughly, a man pulled Jennifer to her feet. He raised the bottom of his mask to uncover his mouth. In English, he said, "You go home tomorrow morning, and take him with you. No snooping around London. You understand?"
She nodded weakly.
"We'll be watching your hotel. We'll be there to make sure you get on an airplane." He paused. "Otherwise, you'll suffer far more than tonight."
Her body convulsed in spasms of fear.
One of the men opened the rear double doors of the van. They pushed Jennifer and Ben out onto a small grassy plot and tossed her shattered glasses after her. Then the van sped away.
Jennifer saw that Ben was still unconscious. She had to get help for him. She wrenched herself to her feet and struggled to the corner. She managed to flag down a cab.
"My friend's sick," she said. "Take us to the nearest hospital."
* * *
It was two-thirty in the morning when they got back to Claridge's. The diagnosis on Ben was no permanent injuries or damage. It would take a while, but his body would heal from the pounding he had taken. They had filed the required emergency room police reports, saying that they were tourists who had been attacked and robbed by assailants on the street, whom they never saw well enough to identify.
While they were waiting for a doctor, Ben had taken Jennifer into a corner of the hospital emergency room. "I'm so sorry I got you into this," he said in an anguished voice.
She was frantic with worry about him. My God, they had hit him so hard. She could still hear the blows and see it in her head. "Please don't think about that, Ben. It's not your fault. I had as much to do with it as you did."
She fiddled with the broken, bent glasses in her hand. Suddenly it all became too much for her. She broke down and cried, a soft weeping, with tears rolling down her cheeks. Ben put an arm around her and held her tight. He wiped the tears from her face with his hand.
"I'm all right now," she finally said.
He looked down at her useless glasses. "You never needed those."
"I did, too."
"Not to see, I mean."
"That's true, but I needed them so men like you wouldn't think that because I'm pretty, I must be an airhead."
He summoned up a crooked smile. "You sure didn't fool me."
Confused, she said. "What do you mean?"
"The first time I met you, I had you pegged for an airhead all the way." He smiled, hoping for some levity.
It worked. She returned his smile, saying, "And I had you pegged for a total nerd."
They laughed together. "Boy, were we both wrong," Jennifer said.
"This isn't my idea of a great evening out in London," Ben said, wincing from the aches he felt all over. "We'll have to come back after all this is over and try it again."
Ben's words made her think about Slater. This was the second invitation she'd gotten to London in the last two days.
Ben groaned loudly. "God, my body's so sore."
"So what do we tell the doctor?"
He had already thought of that. "As little as possible. There's no point getting Scotland Yard involved," he reasoned. "That would only lead to alerting the administration in
Washington. Let's face it—there's no possibility that our attackers will ever be found. These people are pros. I'll bet you anything there's no A and A Plumbing. That van probably had magnetic signs on it that have already been changed. Besides, they never touched my face. They even wore boxing gloves to avoid leaving any marks on my body."
"Who do you think sent them?"
"We've got three choices. The Chinese government, our blond friend George Nesbitt, or..." He hesitated.
"Or what?"
"Somebody in our wonderful government back home."
A dark shadow crossed her face. "I don't even want to consider that possibility."
"Unfortunately, we have to. The silver lining in this cloud is that they were too late. They were supposed to get to us before we learned anything useful in England. In fact, we already got what we wanted from Peg Barton. Whoever sent them didn't know that, or they would have killed us."
His words made her tremble.
"For once," he added, "we were ahead of them."
A spasm of pain shot through his body, and Ben bent forward. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it, wanting him to know she was there. "A lot of good it did us."
Before they left the hospital, Jennifer checked a London telephone directory. Ben was right, of course. There was no listing for an A&A Plumbing Company.
The lobby of Claridge's was deathly still. The tall bald night clerk showed no emotion when the two Americans asked for the key to their suite. His guess was that they had been out losing their money at one of Mayfair's gambling clubs that catered to wealthy American tourists.
"Oh, and you have a telephone message, Mr. Hartwell," he said, handing Ben a small white envelope along with the key.
Ben's heart leaped, and he could feel his battered chest muscles tighten. Please, God, no, Ben thought. Don't let anything happen to Amy.
Ben ripped open the envelope. The message said, Call Ann as soon as possible. There was a Washington, D.C., phone number Ben didn't recognize.
He showed it to Jennifer. "Is this Ann's home number?" he asked frantically.