Got the Look (21 page)

You shouldn't be. You're Mia's last chance. Don't you know that by now?

Are you telling me that I'm in a position to help her?

Wow. You don't miss a beat, do you?

I just don't make assumptions. I like things to be explicit. This will work a lot better if you tell me exactly what you want me to do.

First, I want you to tell me that what I read in the newspaper this morning was a misprint.

You mean Malone's article?

I don't mean Dear Abby.

Jack was cruising in the middle lane, vehicles on both sides of him flying by at much higher speeds. A quick shift to the right saved him from getting flattened from behind by a speeding dump truck. Exactly which part of Malone's article do you hope was a misprint?

Obviously not your admission that you were fucking Salazar's wife. That's pretty undeniable in light of the audiotapes he sent me.

Jack was surprised but not shocked. Ernesto Salazar sent you the tapes?

Yeah. Along with the ransom payment.

Jack hesitated. He didn't want to provoke the guy, and prying into the amount of the ransom might do just that. But Jack didn't see another opportunity coming along any time soon. You mind telling me how much he -

A crisp Andrew Jackson.

What?

The ransom. You wanted to know how much he paid. One twenty-dollar bill.

I'm not sure I heard you right. Are you saying that the entire sum of cash Ernesto put in the suitcase was -

Yeah. Twenty dollars. The price of a cheap whore. That's what his wife is worth.

Jack wasn't sure what to say, or if he should say anything. Either Ernesto had lied to him to the tune of a half million dollars, or the kidnapper was lying to him now. He couldn't waste time trying to sort it out in this phone call. All I can say is, please don't hold it against Mia.

I'm not holding it against anybody. Ernesto and I are square, as far as I'm concerned. He paid me what she's worth - to him. It's you I'm dealing with now.

It suddenly felt much warmer in Jack's car. All right. But like I said before: Just tell me what you want.

First, I want a straight answer. Did you tell that reporter from the Tribune that you are not going to pay a ransom for Mia?

Look, what I tell a reporter is not necessarily -

Shut up! Listen to my question. Did you tell that to the reporter?

Jack feared the consequences his answer might bring, but telling a lie in these circumstances seemed even more stupid. Yes, I told him that.

Was it a misprint?

No.

Now, just so we understand each other, if this conversation ends right now, Mia will be in serious pain in a matter of minutes and dead before sundown. Is that the way you want it?

No. Of course not.

Then tell me, Swyteck. What are you willing to do to change all that?

I'm you name it.

No. I want to hear you say it. Tell me what you're willing to do.

I don't know what I'm supposed to tell you.

Tell me what you couldn't tell that reporter.

Okay, said Jack, collecting his breath. I'm willing to pay a ransom.

How much?

How much do you want?

He chuckled, but there was no humor in the mechanized tone. Have you not been paying any attention at all, Swyteck?

I'm listening to every word you say.

No, you're not listening! If you were listening, you'd know how much I want.

I don't like guessing games. Just make some kind of a demand that I can get my arms around.

My demand will never change. The only thing you have to ask yourself is whether you're willing to pay it.

I just want Mia back safe.

That's great. But that's not what I want to hear. And if I don't hear the magic words in the next few seconds, this call is over, and Mia's a dead woman. So say it, Swyteck.

Okay, okay. I'll do it.

You'll do what?

I'll pay.

Pay me what?

Jack paused, then said, What she's worth.

Now say it all together in one nice sentence, like you mean it.

I'll pay you what she's worth.

The caller's voice flattened, almost deadpan in delivery. Congratulations. You just bought your pretty girlfriend another twenty-four hours of living hell.

The line disconnected. Jack dropped the phone into his lap and steered his car onto the shoulder, too drained to drive any farther.

Chapter
31

The FBI field office was right off I-95, a plain white building with plenty of equally unremarkable American-made sedans in the parking lot. The kidnapper hadn't explicitly told him no cops. Regardless, Jack had no doubt in his mind that it was time to pay Agent Henning another visit. They met in her office behind a closed door, where Jack recounted the entire telephone conversation while trying not to move around too much in the squeaky office chair that faced Andie's desk.

She listened carefully and took a few notes until it was clear that he was finished. I'm sorry you had to go through that, she said.

I appreciate that.

And I'm also sorry for having been so hard on you earlier this morning. I said some things I probably shouldn't have.

It's all right. I'm over it. But if your intent was to shame me into a confrontation with Mia's husband, it may have worked. I met with him right after you and I talked.

Andie cringed, but it wasn't triggered by Jack's remark. She'd forced down a half swallow of cold coffee, then dumped the rest of her cup into a potted ficus in the corner. From what Jack could tell, Henning seemed to be doing a much better job of surviving on caffeine than her plant did.

You're going to kill that plant, said Jack.

It's a fake.

No it's not. The leaves are turning yellow.

Andie plucked one off, examined it. I'll be damned. It is real. Never noticed.

Jack took a gander at all the files and reports scattered across her desk, her credenza, even the office floor. This girl works too much.

Anyway, said Andie, you were saying what again?

I met with Mia's husband this morning.

Yeah, I know all about that. Ernesto called to tell me that you two had spoken.

Did he tell you how much ransom he paid?

Yes. He said he blurted it out after you made him mad, so he figured he might as well come clean with me. Half a million is what he told me.

So how do we reconcile his figure with the kidnapper's claim that it was all of twenty bucks?

You heard both of them firsthand. Who do you believe?

Jack's gaze drifted vaguely toward a marksman's trophy on Andie's credenza. Both of them have reason to lie, I suppose. I don't know.

Then let me start with a simpler question. What exactly made you change your mind and decide to pay a ransom?

Jack shook his head. Not sure I know that, either.

Well, let's think about it. One possibility is that you decided to pay a ransom when you found out that your girlfriend's husband had just paid half a million dollars to rescue the woman who was cheating on him. I'd call that your mindlessly competitive male ego talking. Another possibility is that you came to your decision after the kidnapper stated in no uncertain terms that someone was going to have to cough up some real money to save Mia.

And that second scenario, that would be what? My sensitive male side talking?

Something like that.

Truthfully, I don't know when I reached a decision. I think maybe it was this morning, when I read my own words in the newspaper. It sort of hit me that Malone had blindsided me, and unfortunately I made the wrong decision.

Andie gave him a serious look. I'm not sure it was the wrong decision.

You're telling me I shouldn't pay a ransom? She didn't say a word, but Jack could read her expression. You're telling me it doesn't matter what I pay, aren't you? This maniac is going to kill Mia no matter what.

She gave a slow, rolling shrug, as if reluctant to speculate. In my opinion, our strategy has to be to string out the negotiation. If it's your decision to pay a ransom - irrespective of the amount - we have to play that angle to get the time we need to catch this guy before you're forced to hand over the cash.

He told me I'd just bought Mia twenty-four more hours.

That's good. Now we have to figure out how to buy twenty-four more, and then maybe even twenty-four more after that.

The torture video from the Kwick-e Copy Center was suddenly replaying in Jack's mind. I can't keep buying time. Mia's the one who pays for our stalling. We need to find this guy fast.

I'm working on it.

I think we should both be working on it.

That's not your best use, Jack.

He leaned forward in his chair, his hand on the edge of Andie's desk, until he realized that he was probably coming across like one of his own desperate clients. He backed off and said, I'd just like a little information, that's all. I think it would be helpful for me to know something about this suspect you're pursuing.

I can't talk to you about that. Just two minutes ago, you admitted that you said something to a reporter that you wished you hadn't said. I can't take that risk.

Now you're making excuses.

You're right. I am. It doesn't matter if you're talking to reporters or talking in your sleep. I can't share any information about the suspect until I've closed out a couple more leads. Then we'll issue a BOLO nationwide, and we can talk all you want.

Is he someone Mia met in the past? Someone who raped her?

I'm not answering those kinds of questions.

Ernesto told me that there was no Mia before he married her. My own investigator hits a dead end every time he runs a background check. What's that all about?

I wish I could tell you.

Look, I'm the one who has the direct line of communication to the kidnapper. I should know more about the man I'm dealing with and the woman I'm trying to save.

Those are distractions at this point. You need to stay focused. We'll do practice runs this afternoon. What matters most right now is that you know how to handle yourself when the next phone call comes.

So I'm just supposed to be a good boy and do as I'm told. Is that it?

The more information I give you about possible leads, the more likely you are to do something counterproductive. It's a simple fact that people make bad judgments when they have an emotional stake in something like this.

It's also a simple fact that the kidnapper's next phone call isn't coming to you. It's coming to my house, my cell, maybe my office. So if you stop to think about it, the FBI needs me more than I need the FBI.

What are you saying? You won't cooperate with the FBI unless you're privy to everything in the investigation?

Not everything. Just certain things I need to know.

I can't operate on those terms.

He rose and said, Then I'm outta here.

You're bluffing, she said as he started for the door.

He stopped and turned. I'm very serious.

She let out a mirthless chuckle. Okay. You're right.

Glad you see it my way.

No, I don't see it your way. What I see is the same thing I see in my head every night before I go to sleep. Over and over, I watch them pull Ashley Thornton's body out of the Florida aquifer after her husband paid a million-dollar ransom. So, yes: We need you more than you need us. But Mia needs the FBI more than she needs Jack Swyteck. Much more. I can assure you of that.

He stood silent for a moment, then noticed the clock on Andie's desk. Just like that, sixty minutes had passed since the kidnapper's last call. One of the precious hours he'd bought for Mia was already gone. And the next conversation promised to be worse than the last.

Please, have a seat, Jack. It's time we did some role-playing.

Yet again, she was pissing him off with her stonewalling. This time, however, he knew she was right.

By the way, how much ransom are you willing to pay? she asked.

The blood seemed to drain from his head as he returned to his seat. I have absolutely no idea.

Chapter
32

Around four thirty, Andie had to cut Jack's prep session short. It was their first big break linking Mia to their suspect - one of the crucial leads that had to be explored before the FBI could go public with its information.

Who is she? asked Andie. She was on the telephone with an agent in the Atlanta field office.

Her name's Cassandra NuA+-ez. Lives in Newnan, just a few miles down the interstate from our office. You want me to interview her?

Andie thought for a second, but she never really considered the possibility of letting another agent handle the most important interview to date in the case of the Wrong Number Kidnapper. She was just trying to figure out a way to respond without sounding like a control freak. Even if I took the time to bring you up to speed, there's probably still something we'd miss. I'll be on the next flight out of Miami International. Meet me at the gate. We'll go together.