Dark Deceptions (13 page)

“And besides, even if we can’t trust Annie, I’ve got things covered,” Jason said, pulling the receiver out of his ear. “She’ll
be wired to the gills.”

“How so?” Annie said, stepping back into the room.

“You’ll be wearing these.” Jason held out his hand, revealing two intricately carved earrings, silver drops sporting pearls
at the ends. “They’re a one-way transmitter. As long as you’re wearing them, we’ll be able to hear everything that you and
Rivon say. And I’ll be able to relay it all back to Sunderland so that Hannah can record and analyze it.”

“I see,” she said, her eyes narrowing in thought. “Covering your asses in case I make a break for it?”

“Never hurts to err on the side of caution.” Nash shrugged.

“True enough,” she said, her words hanging almost tangibly between them.

“So what did Rivon have to say?” Drake asked, cutting through the tension.

“I thought Jason was monitoring the call?”

“He was,” Nash admitted. “But Drake and I weren’t listening in.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. This is just so damn hard. I feel like I’m being yanked all over the place. First by Rivon.
Then by all of you. I just want to get Adam back.”

“That’s what we want, too,” Jason assured her.

“And all of this,” Drake said, waving at the earrings and the schematic, “is just the easiest way to make that happen. So
tell us what Rivon had to say.”

“He’s agreed to a meeting,” she replied. “And he wants to do it tonight.”

C
arl Schurz Park lay enveloped in the dark shadows of a moonless night, the shoreline of Queens eerily illuminated across the
churning waters of the East River. Annie walked slowly, her gait casual, but inside her heart was pounding. So much was riding
on this exchange.

The park, bustling with locals in the daytime, was deserted now. In the distance, parked along a side road, Annie could just
make out the bulky shape of the utility van where Drake and Jason were waiting to monitor her meeting with Rivon. A part of
her wanted to toss the earrings in the nearest trash can. If nothing else, just to prove that she was in charge.

But the cold hard truth was that she’d lost all semblance of control the moment Nash had leveled his gun at the back of her
head. He was out there now. Waiting, watching. His presence should have made her feel more secure. But it didn’t. Not one
little bit.

A gust of wind blew off the water, whipping through trees, leaves rattling in protest. Annie shivered, thinking of Adam. Somewhere
out there her little boy was waiting. And she’d be damned if she’d let anyone get in the way of bringing him home.

Located in the Eighties on the Upper East Side, the dimly lit park was hilly and narrow, with pathways that rendered it almost
mazelike, complete with dead ends, blind corners, and hidden grottoes. Rivon had chosen a circular courtyard honoring Peter
Pan as a meeting place, the draw, no doubt, the statue’s tree-shrouded isolation at the park’s northeastern end.

As if to intensify the mood, tendrils of mist curled along the edges of the path, shifting and turning as she moved. Moisture-laden
trees, amplified by the fog, loomed larger than life, their crooked branches reaching up into the night.

“If you’re listening, this isn’t exactly my idea of a good time,” she whispered, immediately feeling stupid. Next time, she
was insisting on a two-way radio, regardless of the risk.

With a sigh, she glanced down at her watch, the illuminated dial showing that it was almost eleven. Speeding her pace, she
made her way through the park, passing basketball courts and swing sets, leaving behind pavement for the rock-studded woods
that covered the north end of the park.

At the top of a rise, she stopped and watched as a barge made its way up the river, green lights winking through the mist.
Turning back to the park, she walked slowly down the stairs that led to Peter in his grotto, the shadows deepening as she
descended, her senses on high alert.

Here in the dark, it was almost possible to imagine that she was actually in Neverland. She was more than familiar with Peter’s
story. She’d read the book to Adam. And of course, they’d watched the movie. Even collected all the Disney characters. Adam
loved Peter, Wendy, and the Lost Boys. He’d even liked Smee. But he’d been so afraid of Captain Hook, he’d moved the little
plastic figurine to the back of his bookshelf, Hook’s nose firmly pressed into the corner. Annie’d laughed at the time, but
here in the dark, she wasn’t so sure that Adam hadn’t had the right idea.

At the bottom of the stairs, the courtyard yawned black, the bronze statue rising up above the mist like one of Peter’s mermaids
on her rock in the sea. Shaking her head to break the fantasy, Annie let her eyes adjust to the gloom, then searched the circular
clearing for signs of Rivon. At first glance, the grotto seemed empty, bordering bushes and trees stark against the sharp
outcrop of stone that surrounded the clearing. Benches lined the circle, Peter serenely holding court in the center.

Then a shadow on the far side separated itself from the wall. Rivon. Annie’s fingers closed around the gun in her pocket,
the cold metal comforting. There was only one way in or out of the clearing, and using instinct honed by years of training,
Annie moved cautiously around the circle, careful to keep from turning her back. Rivon watched her move, his features obscured
by the gloom.

“You’re certainly taking your time,” he said, as she came to a stop in front of him, her hand still on the gun in her pocket.

“I always err on the side of caution.” She nodded at the entrance, now off to her right. “Anyone with you?”

“No. Although I’d have preferred to come with an army. Never have liked this city. No matter how much they pretend to clean
it up, it still always seems dangerous.” His gaze darted nervously around the courtyard.

There was irony in his statement, but she didn’t have the luxury of examining the fact. “How is my son?” she asked, trying
to hold her voice steady. No sense in alerting this goon to her fear.

“He’s fine.”

“Is he eating? Has he been sleeping? He doesn’t function well when he hasn’t had enough sleep.” The words came tumbling out
as she watched Rivon, praying for some kind of news.

“I told you, he’s fine,” Rivon said, his hooded gaze darting around the clearing. “But he won’t be if you don’t hold up your
end of the bargain.”

“Right,” she said, steeling herself, digging deep, calling on the woman she’d once been. “Did you bring the plans I asked
for?” She’d already decided it was best to make that seem the more important concern.

“Yeah. Right here.” He offered a manila envelope. “The floor plan is old. But there haven’t been any major renovations.” She
nodded, pretending to care. In actuality, she already had the plans. Updated. In point of fact, Dominico was actually quite
fond of redoing his apartment.

“And the blueprints of the buildings across the way?” She shifted slightly, constantly checking the pathway and bushes for
signs of company.

“They’re in there, too. All but one. But I’ll have it for you the next time we meet. When I bring you the gun. Do you have
the plans?”

“Yes.” She held out Jason’s portfolio. “We should go over a few things.”

“Fancy presentation,” he noted, opening the folder.

“I like to be thorough.”

He nodded, producing a penlight to study the drawings.

Annie held her breath. She was fairly certain Rivon didn’t have the technical know-how to spot the embedded device, but the
knowledge didn’t make her any less nervous. One mistake on her part and her son was dead.

“The key changes are to the scope.” She pointed to a diagram lower on the page, moving in closer to make sure that her earrings
were picking up the conversation. “You can see what’s needed here and here. A long-distance telescopic, preferably with laser
sight—thirty to forty power. And a free-floating barrel with a threaded muzzle. In addition, I’ll need the cheek piece customized.
The specs are here.” Again she pointed to a diagram on the schematic. “And finally, I need the whole thing to break down in
seconds and some kind of backpack to fit the pieces. So that it’s easy to carry in and out without being noticed.”

“Not asking for much, are you?” Rivon said, his tone sarcastic.

“If you want me to take out Dominico, this is what I’ll need to get the job done.”

“And if we can’t find one?”

“You can have it built. There are military versions that can serve as a starting place for the modifications. Both American
and Russian made. And there are any number of gunsmiths capable of making the necessary changes. But you’ll need to be careful.
This kind of weapon sets off all kinds of alarms if the transaction goes public.”

He frowned down at the document in his hand. “I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

“How long do you think it will take?”

“A couple of days. Maybe longer. I’m not an expert on sniper rifles. I’ll get back to you with an ETA.”

“And what about my son?”

“I told you he’s fine. Quite the little gamer.”

She shifted nervously, fingering her gun, the desire to take Rivon out overwhelming. But there was nothing gained in his death.

At least not yet.

“You promised me something to show that he’s still okay.”

Rivon reached in his upper coat pocket and produced a cell phone. After clicking several keys on the keypad, he handed it
to her, the screen filling with the image of her son. He was sitting at a game console, clearly enthralled with the characters
on screen. A half-eaten sandwich lay at his elbow. The camera panned slowly and then moved in for a close-up. Adam looked
tired, but healthy, his hair clean and his clothes new. She fought off a sob as she traced the line of his jaw, her fingers
remembering the silky softness of his hair. “How do I know this is recent?” she asked.

“The newspaper,” Rivon said, pointing to a white square on the table beside Adam. As if on cue the camera zoomed in on the
cover. “See, it has today’s date.”

She squinted down at the tiny screen, the lines of the newspaper coming into focus, confirming that it was in fact today’s
Post.
Two seconds later, the screen went blank. “I want to see it again.”

Rivon frowned, his annoyance apparent, but he shrugged and leaned over to restart the video sequence.

Annie studied the visual, trying to find something in the shots that might yield location, but her eyes kept locking on her
son. The video ended, and her heart wrenched as if Adam had been taken away from her all over again. “I want to talk to him.”

“Not a problem. Just kill Dominico and you can talk all you want.” Rivon snatched the phone from her hand.

She clenched her fist to keep from snatching the cell from his hand. Better to play along. Keep him believing she was playing
the game by his rules.

“So we’re good,” she said instead.

“I think I have what I need.” He patted the portfolio. “I’ll call if there are any questions.”

Behind them, near the entrance, the bushes rattled ominously, a spray of gravel skittering across the path. They both swiveled,
Rivon producing a gun.

“What the hell was that?”

“The wind,” Annie said, squinting into the shadows to be sure.

“Sounded like more than that to me.” He took a pace forward, still holding his weapon. Annie followed behind, moving cautiously,
her fingers closing again on the gun in her pocket. Not certain who she’d shoot if it came to it, Rivon or an intruder.

The bushes rattled again as something fell from the steps above them.

“Who’s there?” Rivon called, his voice swallowed by the mist.

Annie leaned down and picked up a piece of cement, a chip off the balustrade above them. “I’m telling you it’s just the wind,”
she said, tossing the chunk of debris.

Rivon stared upward for a minute or so and then lowered his gun. “Yeah, well, I’m sure you’ll understand if I don’t take your
word for it. Anyway, we’re through here. I’ll go first. We don’t want anyone seeing us together.”

“Might be better if you put the gun away as well.”

Rivon scowled at her, but slid the gun into his waistband. “I’ll be in touch as soon as we’ve got the weapon.”

“You do that,” she said, holding her ground as Rivon walked away, instinct screaming that he was her only link to Adam. That
she shouldn’t let him walk away. Better to take him down. Try to trade his life for Adam’s. But intellectually she knew it
wouldn’t work. The people holding Adam didn’t give a rat’s ass about Rivon’s life. He was nothing more than a means to an
end. An expendable one at that.

Better to let him go. Let A-Tac do their thing.

She glanced down at her watch, waiting an agonizing five minutes before bidding Peter Pan and his grotto adieu. She walked
up the steps, careful to keep a close watch for any sign that she was being monitored. If things had gone as planned, she
should be on her own, Nash and Drake already on their way to finding Adam.

At the top of the stairs, the air grew colder, the wind wilder as it raced between the undulating branches of the canopy of
trees. Quickening her pace, she retraced her steps past the basketball court and playground.

In the distance, she could see that the van was gone. The street empty. Beyond that the East River flowed. Backward now as
the tide reversed itself. She crossed in front of an equipment building, its walls momentarily blocking what little illumination
the park’s lighting provided. She stopped to give her eyes a chance to adjust to the gloom, and as she did so she heard the
telltale sound of a footstep behind her.

Drawing her gun, she pressed her back to the wall, listening for something to help her identify the direction of the intruder.
Silence hung heavily as she held her ground. If someone was indeed behind her, he had to round the corner of the building
before he’d be able to see her. Which meant that she had a two- or three-second advantage.

Holding her breath, she inched forward, leading with the barrel of her gun. Then froze on her side of the corner, waiting—listening.