Got the Look (16 page)

Hours later, her toe was still throbbing. She tried to take her mind off the pain by replaying favorite songs in her head or recalling her favorite places. She thought of her husband and wondered if he'd pay a ransom. She wondered if Jack Swyteck knew what had happened to her, and if he even cared. That kind of thinking only seemed to make her head hurt as much as her toe. She returned to escapism - recounting the ingredients in her favorite foods, then a lightning round of movie trivia. Name every film in which Humphrey Bogart played against an older female lead. The movie game seemed to help a little. Her toe was killing her, but she seemed to recall that a similar technique had been used to get a fifteen-year-old Brooke Shields to simulate an orgasm in The Blue Lagoon - though whoever was standing off-camera squeezing the unaware young actress's big toe probably wasn't using the tools of a psychopath. Mia surely wasn't going to be running anywhere soon, and it suddenly occurred to her that perhaps that was precisely the idea. Long ago, slave owners sometimes maimed runaway slaves to keep them from running again. Evidently, her captor had stolen an ugly page from U. S. history books.

A slave, she thought. Is that what I am?

The prospect chilled her, but that slave imagery stuck in her mind. The past several days had been unlike anything she'd ever experienced, but this wasn't the first time she'd felt trapped and helpless.

The door creaked open, and she was suddenly alert, listening. The blindfold prevented her from seeing him come toward her, but her hearing was sharper than ever before. She knew his footsteps. She braced herself as he drew near. This time, would he bring the bucket and the plate of food? Or would it be the lights, the camera, and and God only knew what kind of action.

Sit up, she heard him say, his voice thick with wadded cotton.

The pain in her foot suddenly sharpened, but only from anticipation. Slowly, she pushed herself up from the floor, as he'd commanded. And then she waited. She couldn't see him, and she heard nothing, but somehow she knew how much he was enjoying this.

Mia Salazar feels no pain, she told herself, sensing the heat of the white-hot spotlight. But she wasn't fooling herself.

She'd never known pain like this.

Chapter
21

The telephone rang just as Jack was falling asleep. He rolled to the edge of the mattress, fumbled for the phone in the darkness, and answered on the fifth ring. It was a voice he hadn't heard in a long time.

Swyteck, hey. It's your old buddy, Eddy Malone.

His grating voice alone was enough to give Jack insomnia. Ironically, Jack used to enjoy Malone's articles in the Miami Tribune, but that was in the bad old days when Jack wasn't speaking to his father and Governor Harold Swyteck was one of Malone's favorite whipping posts. Even when things were at their worst, however, Jack had never stooped so low as to feed Malone's repeated requests for dirt on the governor. Finally, after father and son reconciled, Malone stopped calling him, and he hadn't printed anything about the Swytecks since the end of Harry's second term. Nonetheless, a phone call from Malone just minutes before deadline could never be good news.

I'm hanging up now, so don't call back, said Jack.

Wait. I have it on good authority that you were sleeping with Ernesto Salazar's wife.

Jack sat up in his bed. Ordinarily he would have hung up, but after watching Mia's torture and knowing the danger she was in, he couldn't ignore anyone who claimed to know her secrets. Besides, there wasn't a criminal defense lawyer alive who didn't think he could handle a reporter - even the likes of Eddy Malone. Let's slow down a little, said Jack. Assume I choose to dignify that question with a response. What does it have to do with anything?

I'm not looking for a debate. A simple confirmation or denial will do.

Mia Salazar has been kidnapped. For her own safety, it's simply not appropriate for me to comment on anything.

Very interesting. First you say it's inappropriate to comment on anything, and then in the same breath you confirm that she's been kidnapped.

That much is public information.

And by tomorrow morning, plenty more will be public.

Come on, Malone. For once in your life, act at least half human. I don't know what your angle is, but is this alleged affair really that important to your story?

First of all, it's not an alleged affair.

It is until I've confirmed it.

Wrong, my friend. I've heard the audiotapes.

That one hit him like a 5-iron. Malone had to be talking about the eavesdropping tapes from Jack's kitchen - which meant that Malone's source could only have been Ernesto Salazar himself.

Malone continued, Second of all, the affair is very important to my story. How else will my readers understand why you're paying Mia's ransom?

I'm what?

I got my sources, Swyteck. You were Mia's lover, and you've agreed to pay the ransom. That's my story. So, how much is the demand? A hundred grand? More?

Jack struggled to keep his wits. Thus far, the FBI had prevented the media from uncovering the kidnapper's signature demand, Pay what she's worth. Malone's question - How much is the demand? - suggested that he was still unaware, and Jack didn't want to blow it here. This is very dangerous territory, said Jack. You have no idea what you're doing.

I'm doing my job, that's what I'm doing. The least you can do is tell the truth. Were you sleeping with Mrs. Salazar or not? If you deny it, I swear I'll quote verbatim and extensively from the tapes. If you admit it, I promise to spare you that embarrassment.

The thought of negotiating with Malone repulsed him, but Jack recognized a good deal, even when it was offered by a snake. All right. I'll give you that much. I was seeing her. But I didn't know that -

What about the ransom?

Let me finish, Jack said in a stern voice. I didn't know she was married.

Yeah, yeah, sure. Got it. Now as for the ransom. Are you paying it or not?

I can't comment on the ransom.

You'd better. Because I'm not giving you another chance.

Listen, just hold your story for one day, all right? I'll give you a quote just as soon as I clear it with the FBI.

Malone laughed. I got my sources. I can live without your quote.

Just one day, Malone.

In my business, one day is an eternity. I got page one tomorrow, and my sources tell me that Jack Swyteck will pay Mia Salazar's ransom. Do you confirm or deny it?

Jack swung his legs across the mattress and sat on the edge of the bed, not sure what to say.

I need an answer, Jack. I'm on deadline.

Don't do this, Malone. You're putting Mia's life in danger.

No, you are. It's a safe bet that her kidnapper is going to read this article. I want to print the truth, and you're feeding me bullshit. So, let's try this one last time: My sources say you're going to pay Mia's ransom. Do you confirm or deny?

Jack gripped the phone, the other hand running anxiously through his hair.

Confirm or deny, Swyteck?

Jack had no idea where the answer came from, but it popped like a reflex. Deny.

So you steal another man's wife, she gets kidnapped, and your position is Too bad, so sad, you're on your own, baby'?

Don't insult me. It's more complicated than that.

It's complicated, Malone said, mocking him. Good quote, Swyteck. I'll be sure to use it. Just do me one last favor, will you?

What?

Buy a paper tomorrow.

The line clicked, and Jack heard only the dial tone.

Chapter
22

At 2:10 A. M., Andie Henning was riding in the back of a box truck, shoulder to shoulder with six members of FBI SWAT from the Miami field office and two other agents. To maintain the element of surprise, they were traveling in a rented moving van rather than the big black Suburban, the usual FBI vehicle of choice. The team leader, Supervisory Agent Michael Harland, sat nearest to the steel barn-style doors. The tactical team was dressed in full SWAT regalia with Kevlar helmets, flak jackets, and night-vision goggles. Five were armed with M16 rifles and 45-caliber pistols. The sixth, a sniper, toted a .308 sniper rifle. The compartment was silent, save for the steady hum of the truck's engine and the drone of rubber tires rolling on pavement. Each agent was deep in thought, recounting the plan, calming the nerves, trying to bring that pulse rate down to the optimum firing level of sixty to seventy beats per minute. Any higher rate was a marksman's liability. It wasn't just the bad guys who killed more efficiently with cold blood.

Andie checked her GPS locator. Less than five miles from their target. It wouldn't be long now, though she still had reservations about a SWAT launch. She would catch some heat in the morning, but rather than alert the entire task force, she'd decided to keep the latest breakthrough within the bureau. It was difficult enough for a negotiator to rein in the enthusiasm of an FBI SWAT squad, let alone those of other agencies.

The sharp ring of her cell phone pierced the silence. Paul Martinez, Miami's SAC, was on the line with the call they'd been expecting. Andie switched to speakerphone so that both she and Harland could participate in the conference.

Just got off the phone with the AUSA, said Martinez, his voice tinny over the cellular speaker. We've got a no-knock warrant. Tactical Operations Center has granted clearance and compromise authority to conduct this as a weapons-drawn rescue, if that's what we deem necessary.

Of course it's necessary, said Harland. We're dealing with a kidnapper who has nothing to gain by turning himself in. He's already killed one victim.

How sure are we that we've got the right house? asked Martinez.

Sure enough, said Harland.

Arguing against SWAT in the presence of the entire team was a touchy situation, so Andie stuck to the facts. That depends on your comfort level, she said. We have to remember that this lead came through a technical agent's analysis of the hard drive in that computer from the Kwick-e Copy Center.

I've seen the report, said Martinez. I understand that the Kwick-e computer was in communication with a computer at the target address not long before Swyteck reached the copy center. But I'm not sure how we reached the conclusion that the kidnapper was using the Kwick-e computer to access some kind of remote Internet camera that allowed him to check on his prisoner back at a target address. Do we have actual images to that effect?

No images, said Andie.

So the notion that our kidnapper was monitoring his prisoner while he was out and about is just a theory?

That's correct, said Andie.

We also can't rule out the possibility that the kidnapper was communicating with a partner, said Harland. I understand that Agent Crenshaw made a convincing case at the joint task force meeting that there are two kidnappers operating here.

Again, just a theory, said Andie.

Sir, the Kwick-e computer was in contact with the remote computer less than an hour before Swyteck arrived at the copy center. It was reserved in the name of Jack Swyteck all day, so it's fairly obvious that the contact was initiated by our kidnapper. And let's not forget that the remote computer is in the house of a convicted sex offender.

We're sure of that? asked Martinez.

Yes, said Harland. He was convicted of sexual assault at the age of twenty-two.

Does he otherwise fit the profile out of Quantico?

Yes, said Harland.

But it's a fairly general profile, said Andie. And we don't have any confirmation yet as to whether he's a trained scuba diver who could have dragged Mrs. Thornton into the Devil's Ear.

We don't have confirmation that he's not, either, said Harland.

Sir, I'm not trying to dismiss the utility of SWAT, but if the kidnapper gets the slightest inkling that his house is under attack, we'll have a dead hostage on our hands. Guaranteed.

Harland said, With all due respect, if Agent Henning posts up on the lawn with a loudspeaker and tries to negotiate, we'll turn a kidnapping into an active and even more volatile hostage crisis. And we will have completely lost the element of surprise.

The SAC did not respond immediately, seeming to take the time to weigh a difficult decision. Harland edged closer to the phone, his voice deepening with concern. Sir, what are we going to do when he sends us another torture video, along with a demand to lay down our weapons and let him go?

There was only silence over the line for a moment longer. Finally, Martinez said, No slight to you, Henning. We're going in with SWAT.

Chapter
23

Across the street from the target residence, Andie Henning drew a deep breath and waited for the signal. She was crouched in a ravine alongside a technical agent and a forensic specialist. Directly in front of them was SWAT commander Michael Harland, flat on his belly. The other SWAT agents had fanned out along the perimeter, virtually invisible beneath the black shroud of a cloudy night. Andie was armed with only her standard Sig Sauer 9 mm sidearm, but she and the other non-SWAT agents had donned Kevlar vests and helmets since leaving the truck, as the odds seemed pretty fair that larger-caliber bullets might soon fly.