Racing Through Darkness

by G. K. Parks

  “Maybe you aren’t missing anything.”

  “Has O’Connell called?”

  “He called four hours ago, remember? There was nothing from the museum. He even let Thompson go over it again, but neither of them found anything. Alex, there’s nothing to find.” The words were disheartening.

  “Three girls go missing, and it all happens without any prior planning or at least none that can be tracked through school or museum footage. That can’t be right.”

  “Didn’t you say they were pros? Wouldn’t they know better than to stakeout the scene of the crime?” He had a point, but it didn’t help us get any closer to the Four Seasons. Leaning my elbows against the desk, I put my face in my hands. This was getting me nowhere. “Clearly, I’m not making this any easier. Maybe you should have stayed at your place in the peace and quiet.”

  “Your equipment’s better,” I said through my hands.

  “That goes without saying.” His lips brushed my ear. “The only potential argument could come from individuals with a different sexual preference, but still, I’m sure they would recognize perfection.” He was being lecherous and juvenile as usual.

  “You really think you’re something, don’t you?”

  “Hey, you’re the one complimenting my equipment.” Laughing, I rolled my eyes at his argument. “Consider getting some sleep. Last night in the car didn’t count for much.”

  “Good night,” I called as he left me with my work.

  * * *

  Opening my eyes, it was still dark out, but Martin flipped on the light and sat on the edge of the bed, holding out a cup of coffee. Sitting up, I tried to remember all the reasons why it was necessary to get out of bed. I took a sip from the offered mug.

  “Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked. “When did you even come to bed? I looked at the clock. It was after three, and you weren’t here.”

  “I don’t know. Last night was a waste. There was nothing to be found. All the background checks came up spotless. I don’t have access to financials because that would require help, and I can’t ask for any. Whatever Mercer has, he’ll have to share.” Getting out of bed, I rummaged through my luggage for a change of clothes.

  “Do you want breakfast?”

  “No. I don’t have time. I’ll just shower and head out, but I’ll take some coffee for the road.”

  “You got it.”

  Forty-five minutes later, I was prepared to leave Martin’s and meet with Mercer. The call should be coming in sometime this afternoon, but if he wanted to move in beforehand, we’d have to do it soon. Slipping my back-up into my ankle holster, Martin watched from the kitchen table.

  “Yesterday was insane. It’s an awful situation with O’Connell’s niece being abducted, so I get that you can’t steer clear. But he’s in the hospital, recovering from a gunshot. Do your best not to follow suit.” He caught my eye. “I’ve gotten that phone call before. Once was more than enough.”

  “I’ll be careful,” I promised before kissing him goodbye.

  * * *

  The ride to Mercer’s apartment gave me time to focus. The provided proof of life was what tipped him off on the girls’ location. But what if it wasn’t a modified storage container? Honestly, they could be in an abandoned warehouse, an old building, a shitty apartment, the back of a truck, anywhere. Knocking on the door, Mercer opened it, looking as if he’d slept like a baby the night before. The desire to punch his lights in wasn’t easy to quell.

  “Parker.” Back to one word sentences, he gestured inside.

  “Did your friends arrive yet?”

  “No.” Clearly, asking yes and no questions wasn’t the way to go with Julian Mercer.

  “When is the call supposed to come in, and what are you planning to do between now and then?” He opened his mouth to speak, but predicting the outcome, I interjected, “Don’t say it’s none of my concern.”

  “It’s not, but if you’re all I have at my disposal, then you might as well serve some purpose.”

  The plan was infantile. He wanted to scout the cargo area near the wharf for signs of suspicious movement or activity. If the location could be positively ascertained and there was a decent chance of freeing the hostages, we would take it. If not, then he would go to the Estes’ estate and wait for the call. At that point, the game would be determined based on the retrieval instructions.

  “What solid proof do you have they are near the wharf?” I asked.

  “The shooting.”

  “That’s not proof. In fact, that’s reason to assume the girls have been moved to a different location.” My argument was sound, even if he didn’t agree.

  “It’s the only lead we have.” Unfortunately, he had a point.

  Following him in my car, I instinctually knew our outing would be a bust. If these guys weren’t on any of the surveillance footage, then they wouldn’t leave their operation in a compromised location. No, they moved elsewhere. They were too smart not to.

  Mercer instructed that I wait in my car while he looped the area, looking for activity. As my car idled, I dialed O’Connell’s cell. Jen answered on the second ring and said he was asleep. At least someone was.

  “I hope it’s okay I brought him a laptop yesterday,” I mumbled in lieu of an apology.

  “Alexis, it was the only thing that calmed him down. He’s been a basket case, and he won’t talk to any of his police buddies. Should I be worried?”

  “No,” my voice was firm, “it’ll be okay. I’ll stop by sometime tonight if it isn’t too late. If not, tell Nick I’ll call when I know something.”

  Disconnecting, I stared out the windshield at the hundreds of cargo containers. We were looking for a needle in a haystack, the wrong haystack. Instead of destroying the environment any more than necessary, I shut off my engine and tried to figure out where to go from here.

  “Parker,” I answered; a blocked number was calling my phone.

  “They aren’t here.” Mercer was up to three word sentences. Amazing. “The Estes family is expecting us. Follow me.” He disconnected, leaving no choice but to trail him out of the city to a large country estate over an hour away. Thank goodness GPS navigation could get me back to the city without being dependent on Mercer, the merry mercenary.

  We were positioned outside a gated fence, complete with guard post. Martin should consider investing in one of these. Hell, a moat and drawbridge might be even better. Mercer showed some credentials and made a few gestures in my general direction before the guard opened the gate and waved us through. The driveway looped to the front of the house.

  “Don’t speak,” Mercer ordered as we walked to the front door where a man dressed like a Secret Service agent, complete with earpiece, wanded us, confiscated our weapons, and then passed us off to another man. The second man led us down a corridor to the veranda where a middle-aged couple was seated. “Senor Estes,” Mercer gave a curt nod, “has there been any communications?”

  “No.” The man glanced in my direction. “Who have you brought?”

  “She is representing the third kidnapped girl,” Mercer said. “She does not matter.”

  She can hear you, I thought bitterly, but I kept my mouth shut. Estes didn’t seem thrilled by my presence, and the rest of his conversation with Mercer was in Spanish. Besides catching the word muerta, dead, being thrown around, I wasn’t sure what was going on. Eventually, the Secret Service poser escorted me from the room and into the foyer.

  “Nice place. I must say this is the classiest joint I’ve ever been detained, and let me tell you, I have quite a list to compare it to.” The man didn’t seem amused by my monologue. “I’ve been meaning to ask, did you steal the suit and earpiece from the Secret Service?” He offered a dead-eye stare. “Oh come on, at least tell me you speak English. I’m wasting my best material over here.”

  “I’d hate to see your worst.” Although it was a response and probably a joke, his facial expression never changed.

  “Can I get some co
ld water to throw on that burn?” I smirked, but he wasn’t willing to play along. “Sir,” maybe respectful would work better, “have you always been employed by the Estes family? Or were you hired after Adalina was taken?” His eyes reflected something akin to disbelief, but he didn’t respond. My sparkling personality and interrogation skills were both going to crap.

  “Parker,” Mercer barked from down the hallway, “quiet.” Now wasn’t the time for a confrontation, even though I would have loved to have it out. He jerked his chin toward the room, expecting my obedience. When this was finished, there were a few things we’d be discussing.

  Inside, electronic monitoring equipment was hooked to the phone line. Computers were waiting to run traces, and there were enough computer geeks to make me wonder if anyone was left in Silicon Valley. Mercer was walking the interior, passing along instructions and making sure everyone knew what to do. Picking a spot on the wall, I leaned against it.

  Less than an hour later, the call came in. The room went alight in activity, and once everything was turned on, the call was answered. Like Mercer said, the voice was indecipherable.

  “Since you failed to comply with our rules, the ransom has been doubled. You have another twenty-four hours to procure the funds. In twelve hours, a location will be delivered for the exchange. Failure to obey will result in Adalina’s demise.” The call ended without further preamble. It didn’t last long enough for a location to be determined.

  “We’ve pinned it to somewhere in the United States,” one of the techs provided. “North of Kentucky, east of the Mississippi River, and south of Maine.” Great, we had it down to a three hundred mile radius, maybe.

  “Bollocks,” Mercer mumbled and strode from the room. That was as close to out-of-control as he was willing to go. If it were me, there would have been a nonstop string of expletives and something smashing into a wall. Maybe I had self-control issues. “Parker, come.” Maybe it would be Mercer I’d smash through a wall.

  “Should I roll over and play dead too?”

  “Senor Estes,” he ignored my comment, “get the remainder of the funds together. No action will be taken until the drop. A plan will be devised and executed on your command. Adalina is still a valuable commodity. We believe she will not be harmed.”

  “Gracias,” Estes said.

  I caught sight of his wife still sitting on the veranda. She didn’t say a word or acknowledge any of what was going on. The familiar twitch was set off in my brain, but being kept on such a short leash wasn’t helping matters. Parker, Adalina is not your concern, only Catherine is. My internal voice reminded me. Mercer led us from the estate, collecting our weapons on the way out.

  “Mercer,” I wasn’t backing down now that we were on even ground again, “what the hell are you planning to do?” He didn’t respond. “Are you still planning to take down these sons-of-bitches at the exchange?”

  “Perhaps.” He got into his car and shut the door, driving away before I even started my engine.

  Eight

  Tagging along after Mercer wasn’t a priority. There was a twelve hour window before instructions would be given, so I had until tonight to get my ducks in a row. But was I on a collision course with disaster and unable to locate the emergency brake? Heading back to Martin’s, I collected all of my belongings, my surveillance disks, and then went straight to the hospital. The police presence was gone. It was Monday, and everyone was back at work. Checking in with Jenny, O’Connell was still asleep, and I was running out of ducks.

  Surrendering to fate, I let myself into my apartment. Starting at my computer, I conducted a thorough search on the Estes family while the museum surveillance played in the background. Multitasking could be counterproductive sometimes, but since the surveillance was useless, it didn’t hurt to keep it going, just in case. The Estes’ gold mining operation was thought to be worth millions, and with smart investments, the family practically controlled the entire country. It made sense why Adalina was taken, but if she was the intended target, how did Catherine get caught in this?

  The identity of the third abductee was still unknown. Giving in, I dialed the number O’Connell provided for Mercer, but the disconnect message played through. Of course he ditched the phone when Nick was no longer a viable asset. Paranoid freak. Leaning back in my chair, I shut my eyes. It would be a long day and an even longer night. Perhaps an endless night if Mercer decided on a tactical retrieval.

  Setting the alarm for four p.m., I went to bed. This wasn’t my operation, and the puzzle was missing more than half the pieces. Honestly, there was nothing else I could do, and if things went south, I needed to be functioning at one hundred percent. It was before four when the pounding against my front door began.

  “Nick?” Opening the door, I reached out and grabbed his arm, helping him inside. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Goddamn, Parker. Why can’t you live on the first floor? Those six flights almost put me in the ground.” He was winded and didn’t look so good.

  “They released you from the hospital?”

  “Not exactly.” He took a seat on my couch and propped himself against the pillow. “I have to get back before they realize I left. I convinced Jen to work her regular shift, and then I snuck out. Catherine needs me. You need help, and I dumped this in your lap.”

  “And it wouldn’t have been simpler to read Heathcliff or Thompson in?” He shot an intense look my way, and sighing, I told him what happened so far today.

  “There was nothing on the surveillance you brought, and you didn’t find anything on your own. You have to get in Mercer’s good graces. He knows more than you do, and if he’s planning an assault,” O’Connell looked glum, “Catherine doesn’t need to be in the crosshairs.”

  “What do you know about the first girl who was taken and released? Anything on the Estes family or their business? Whatever Mercer’s told you, it’s time to share.”

  O’Connell didn’t know much. The intel led to the wharf, but it didn’t include any details on the other hostages besides number and gender. It was all a blur. I wondered if that was because he wasn’t focused on the other things, being so caught up in saving Catherine, or if being shot impacted his recollection. During his rendition, he coughed a couple of times and clutched his side.

  “You should get back to the hospital.”

  “I’d rather be in a body bag, knowing Catherine is safe, than back there not doing a damn thing.” His conviction was startling. He was always more practical than this.

  “We’ll all end up in body bags if Jen finds out you left. What good will that do?”

  He was stubborn and managed to pull himself off my couch and over to my computer. Running through the police databases for anything useful, he was looking for references to kidnappings, any mention of a team with aliases involving the seasons, Mercer, the Estes family, Jeremy Tolbert, the school’s administrator, and anyone else he could think of. During his continued searching, there was another knock at my door. When you’re popular, you’re popular.

  Thompson stood in my doorway, annoyed. “Is he here?”

  “Great deductive skills, Detective.” I stepped aside and let him in.

  He cast a dark glare at O’Connell. “What the fuck, man. What the fuck?” Thompson was outraged. “I stop by to see how you were doing, and you’re gone. I asked some CNA where you were, and she said you were still checked in, but here you are.” Thompson turned his anger on me. “Did she spring you?” I was getting tired of being referred to as if I wasn’t present.

  “C’mon,” Nick got up unsteadily, “I’m fine. See?” He wasn’t fine, and Thompson steadied him. “Maybe my walk to stretch my legs should come to an end right about now.” O’Connell glanced at me. “Parker?” I nodded. It was up to me now. After helping Thompson get Nick down the six flights of stairs and into the unmarked cruiser, I went back upstairs and checked the computer.

  The searches turned up some interesting facts on the Estes’ financial front.
Most of their assets were tied to the business. How did they get the two million liquid so fast? And now they were expected to have another two million in twenty-four hours. It didn’t seem humanly possible. Loans would require time, as would selling stocks or moving funds around. Since I couldn’t call the forensic accountants at the OIO, I dialed Martin Technologies.

  The accounting department was perplexed by my line of questioning. Trying to play it off as part of the new protocols in place and the need for the company to be prepared for all types of situations, I was bounced around from person to person. As I waited for someone to take me off hold, I unpacked my luggage. Might as well make the most out of my limited time.

  “James Martin,” Martin answered, sounding oddly personable for a CEO.

  “I called accounting, and they sent me to you. Let Wallace-Klineman have all your employees and start over.”

  “Alexis?”

  “I have a question about how easily and quickly company funds can be liquidated. We’re talking millions.”

  He blew out a breath. “Off the top of my head, I’d say minimum a week.” He paused to determine the reason for my question. “Are you planning to sell my company out from under me?”

  “Dammit.” Maybe the Estes family had inaccessible bank records, a secret account, or buried treasure. Either that or they didn’t bother to get the money and had no intention of paying, meaning the play to rescue Catherine was going down a lot sooner than I expected.

  Hanging up, I called Mark at the OIO. O’Connell might hate this, but I was out of options. Continuing to be vague and knowing damn well if Mark decided to track the location of my phone, he’d know I wasn’t at the beach, I asked if he could pull every bit of information on the blocked call I received earlier today, including locations and a full list of phone records. He was even more confused than usual but said he’d do it.