Forsaken: A Fallen Siren Novella (5 page)

“Why ask for two when you can get twenty or more, especially when you could be looking at a life sentence for murder. This doesn’t feel right.”

Perhaps Maitlan is right: this isn’t about money at all, it’s about revenge.

An eye for an eye.

“I have to try,” Maitlan tells Zack. “If something happens to me, so be it. I have to try.”

Zack grabs an earpiece from the table and fits it over Maitlan’s ear. “Let’s take this one step at a time. You need to make it to the bank and back in an hour.”

Maitlan nods. “The money’s ready, two million in non-consecutive, used, hundred dollar bills. The bank’s just over two miles from here. I can jog there in twenty minutes, maybe a few minutes longer depending on lights and traffic. It’ll take what, five minutes to transfer the money into the backpack? They already have a car waiting to take me back. I’ll have it drop me around the corner. I can do this.” His tone is hopeful.

Zack grasps his shoulder. “You won’t be alone. We’ll be listening. You do not go directly to the Boathouse. You come back here first. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” he says. Then he’s gone.

He’s barely left the room and Torres is on the phone. “Maitlan’s going to be exiting the building— ”

Zack grabs her cell. “Belay that.” He hangs up.

Torres rounds on him. “You know this isn’t a typical ransom drop. Two million is pocket change for a man like Maitlan. Something else is going on here.”

Zack nods but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he walks over to O’Neill. “Anything from the lab yet?”

After a few keystrokes the agent looks up at Zack. “Ballistics hasn’t matched the bullets to anything we have on file. Two weapons. Both 45 Semi-Autos.”

“Gang members gun of choice,” Zack mutters. “Available at any street corner near you.”

O’Neill nods grimly. “The babysitter was shot in the back. Two bullets. Both discharged from the same weapon.”

I remember the crime scene tape and the blood stains in the hall. Duplicates of the photos in the dossier are taped to the wall in front of me. My eyes land on the photo of the teen—a beautiful girl who will never graduate from high school, never go to college, never have children of her own.

Another reason to get these guys.

Bradley chimes in, “According to Jackson, she was on the phone with someone when they entered. She screamed. Tried to run. Turns out it was her boyfriend. Phone records show he called back six, seven times and sent a few text messages before dialing 911. Jackson’s report came in seven minutes prior. He wasn’t out for long, resourceful old bastard. He was able to make it to the kitchen and cut through the cable ties with a knife. The gunmen were in and out in minutes.”

The agent leans back in his chair, his expression pensive.

“I don’t buy that it’s not about the money,” he says after a beat. “If they wanted to pop the kid, they could have done it. If they wanted Maitlan, they could have waited and come in later. I say they knew Maitlan was gone and—”

“What if it’s not about what they want? What if they’re working for someone else?” I ask.

“There’s a lot we don’t know. But one thing I do know is that there’s no risk to Maitlan until he has the money in hand. We’re not going to have him followed to the bank. We’re going to be waiting for him when he comes out. I’ll be waiting for him, standing in for the driver.” Zack picks up another earpiece from the table and places it in his own ear. “I’ll get him back here safe and sound.”

Chapter Four

“I’m in position.” Zack’s words fill the room. “Maitlan just went into the bank.”

Torres is pacing. “If he’s right about the money being ready, he’ll be on his way back in just a few minutes. What’s the plan,
boss
?”

While Zack was making his way to the bank, I prompted a full review of everything we knew about the case with Torres and her crew. That is, everything except the private conversation Zack and I had with Maitlan in his office. As expected, Maitlan was able to provide Torres with a long list of enemies. A list that has been getting shorter as Torres and her team have worked through it. If the ransom drop goes bad and we reach a dead end, we’ll
have
to fill the team in on Maitlan’s suspicions. And we will have wasted precious time chasing false leads. I’m uneasy about this, but it’s not my story to tell and at this point we don’t know what’s true.

“I’ve got Maitlan, we’re on our way back. I say we put him in a vest, send him in with a wire,” says Zack.

Maitlan’s protests come across loud and clear. He didn’t expect to see Zack in the car and he’s not happy. He may be used to getting his way, but this time Zack cuts him off at the knees.

“Roger, we’re in play now. I respect you, but you’re out of your depth here. You asked for me to come. I came. Let me do my goddamned job.” He doesn’t wait for Maitlan’s buy-in. Instead he directs a question to Torres. “Agent Torres, you have any other ideas?”

The instant Zack asks her advice, her attitude softens. “You were right about the amount of tourists in that area. It would be easy to station a few agents near the Boathouse. A traditional wire is too risky. It’s something they could easily search for.”

“Maybe a receiver sewn into the waistband of his trousers.” I suggest. “That way if we lose sight, at least we can track him.”

“We’re just around the corner, should be there in a few. Make it so, Number One,” Zack says.

I move closer to the speaker. “I’m glad you finally got the pecking order straight.”

In my minds eye I can see his eyes roll. “It’s a
Star Trek
reference.”

I smile. “I know. I’m just jerking your chain. Your hour is up. Where’s Maitlan’s closet? I need to find something appropriate for a ransom drop.”

As soon as I’m given directions I head for the master suite.

“Emma!” Torres calls out.

“Did we just get the go ahead to position agents there? We don’t have much time.”

“That’s my read. It’s a restaurant, right?”

“Yes, and a popular one. Even around that time of day, it will be crowded.”

“Do it.” I’m off. In less than a minute I’ve found his closet and grabbed another pair of sweatpants. I search through the drawers in the adjoining bathroom for a sewing kit. I score on the second try; the middle drawer is filled with miniature shampoo bottles and soaps from hotels, and a half-dozen tiny sewing kits. I grab one and race back to the conference room, trying not to think too hard about why a multi-billionaire hoards hotel grooming products.

The guys have already returned.

Maitlan skins off the hoodie then, one-by-one, he pulls the extra sweaters over his head, piling them on top of the backpack at his feet. The two-million-dollar ransom.

Zack wastes no time. After a glance at the clock on the wall, he straps Maitlan into a bulletproof vest. “You have forty minutes to make it to the Boathouse.”

Torres slides the receiver across the table. “State of the art GPS. It’s no bigger than a quarter and flexible. Sewn into the waistband, it will be undetectable.”

I’m doing my best to thread the fucking needle from the sewing kit, compliments of the Ritz in Atlanta, and failing miserably. Torres pulls out a Swiss Army knife, grabs the pair of sweats and after a few swipes has ripped open the seem. “Give me that,” she says. “We don’t have all day. Looks like it’s been a while since you made a Halloween costume.”

“Halloween costume?” I hand over the pair of sweats and the kit from the Ritz.

“My daughter wants to be a ninja. My son a dinosaur.” She threads the needle on the first try. I watch as it dips in and out of the fabric. “The dinosaur costume is going to be a bitch. I started on it last weekend.”

It’s the first personal thing Torres has shared. I smile.

Zack makes one final adjustment to the vest then pats Maitlan on the chest. “As soon as Torres is finished, you need to change into these sweats. We’ll be able to track your every move. If you don’t want a tail, you have to make this concession.”

Maitlan pulls the last sweater back over his head. “You’re not leaving me a choice.”

There’s a pause while the two men stare at each other.

“No, sir, I’m not,” Zack replies, handing him the hoodie. “Trust me.”

Finally, Maitlan nods. “I do.”

Torres hands him the pair of sweatpants she’s been working on. She flexes the waistband. “See? It’s undetectable.”

He takes them from her and kicks off his running shoes.

“Let’s get a map of the area up where we can see it,” Zack asks. There’s a large flat screen at the end of the conference room. It takes Torres less time to get the images of Central Park up on the screen than it takes Maitlan to strip off his ragged sweats and step into the other pair.

Zack steps up to the monitor to get a closer look. “We need to map out your route.” He points to a flashing red dot. “This is you right here.”

Maitlan slips his shoes back on, laces them up. Then he joins Zack and begins to trace a route with his finger. “I’ll go back up Fifth Avenue to the 72nd Street entrance. It’s the most direct route to the Boathouse. Should take me twenty-five minutes.”

Zack nods. “Okay. Better get going. We’ll follow you on screen.”

And on the ground, I think. Certain that as soon as Maitlan leaves the board will light up with agents stationed in and around the Boathouse.

Maitlan once again slips the hood of his sweatshirt up to cover his head and without a backward glance or another word, he grabs the backpack and heads out the door.

I watch the dot as it slowly moves. See a half-dozen blue ones light up. I don’t like having to watch from the sidelines, feeling so useless. Zack seems to like it even less.

“These are ours?” he asks, finger sweeping over the screen, connecting the dots.

Torres nods, eyes glued to the map.

“What do you think the chances are this is a legitimate drop?” I ask.

Zack shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. The fact that this is happening in broad daylight is bothering me.”

“There’s a lot about this bothering me,” I throw in.

“If it is legit, chances are it won’t happen at the Boathouse,” continues Zack. “They have to know a two-hour window would allow us enough time to get our people in place. This probably isn’t the final location. Do we have eyes in the sky?” he asks.

Torres shakes her head. “Only the ones on the ground right now. There’s a chopper on standby, but I’m keeping it out of the immediate airspace. Let’s open up com.”

“We’re on speaker,” says Bradley.

I grab another cup of coffee, sink into a chair, listen as they check in. If Maitlan is wrong about Eve, and the money is really what the kidnappers are after, Robby may be back home before the day is over. I wish I was more confident that was the case. But I can feel it in my bones. There will be another call. To think this will be it…that the kidnapper will show up to exchange the money for the boy is unrealistic. There are too many people around. Too many ways for a cop to be hidden in plain sight.

Finally, a message comes through from the field agent closest to the tree. She identifies herself as Perez and tells us that shortly after Maitlan’s arrival, his cell phone rang. He has it to his ear. He’s listening.

Zack places a hand on Bradley’s shoulder. “Patch into his cell phone,” he says.

Perez’s voice comes back. “Target just tossed his cell in the trash. Looks like a burner was taped to the underside of the lid. Target’s pocketed it and is on the move. I can follow with the stroller.”

“Do it.” Zack joins Torres who’s tracking Maitlan on the flat screen. “But keep a safe distance.”

I join them as Maitlan’s indicator heads down Park Drive.

Another agent’s voice comes through. “It looks like Target is heading back toward the 72nd Street entrance”

We watch as he turns west at the junction instead of east. In a few minutes he’s made another turn. A crackling message comes through.

“I think Target’s heading for the Bandshell.”

I tap the location of the Bandshell on the screen. It’s closer than the Boathouse was to Maitlan’s penthouse. “Can we get a couple agents in position there? These two look close.”

“Perfetti and Campbell,” Torres says. “They’re on bikes.” She speaks into her headset. “Do you have Target in sight?”

“Target in sight,” one of the agents replies. “We’ll be passing Target any minute.”

We watch as Perez falls back a bit and the other two agents take the lead. Within a minute they’re in front of Maitlan and heading for the Bandshell. The same agent is still keeping up a running commentary. “There are a few street performers in the area, a small crowd around them. We should be able to blend in.” A minute passes before they lay eyes on him. “Target’s in front of the Bandshell. A call is coming in.” There’s a brief silence, then, “Target’s heading back on Park Drive, looks like he’s going south.”

“Perez, do you have the Target?” Zack asks. “How is he holding up?”

“Not good from the looks of it. That backpack has to be getting pretty heavy by now. Target is sweating profusely. Probably part nerves, part exhaustion.”

“Not to mention the extra layers of clothing.” I look over at Torres. “Where do you think he’s heading?”

“Not sure,” she replies. “He’ll be passing the Visitors Center soon. If he doesn’t stop there, it might be the carousel.”

I feel a sudden spark of hope. “If there is going to be a swap, that would be a logical place to do it. The place is always teeming with kids. Robby wouldn’t be conspicuous.”

Torres quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t reply. I can tell she isn’t feeling the same burst of optimism I am. Zack, too, remains silent, stoic.

I check the clock on the wall. Maitlan’s been gone well over an hour and he’s been on the move most of that time. “It’s going to be dusk soon.”

Zack starts to reply when Perez interrupts. “Target is past the Visitor’s Center. I’m betting on the Carousel. Can you get another agent there?”

“No one’s close enough. It’s on you. Looks like he’s coming up on it now. Any sign of Robby?”

“Shit. Target is on the phone again. I’m hanging back. Target’s yelling in the phone. It’s attracting attention. People are stopping, staring. Should I move in?”