The Stranger Beside You (29 page)

Sly gave him a look like he was highly offended by the question.  “Like taking candy from a baby, dude.”

Tom pumped a fist in the air.  “Yeah, baby!”

“Something interesting here,” Sly noted.

“What?”

“You have hundreds of accounts here, mostly just generic numbered accounts, where funds can be either deposited or withdrawn.”

“Yeah, so?”

“There are about a dozen others listed in a block that appear to be labeled with names.  And those accounts are only for deposits.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Simple.  Whoever was using this computer was only able to send money to those accounts, but not make withdrawals.  These are tagged.”

“How are they tagged?”

“Take a look.  Here’s the list.  You’ve got RMFINCH, TYWOZLURZKI, JWGARCIA, DPRICE, PEGRUENENFELDER, SFZACHARIAH… and the list goes on.”

I watched Tom’s face.  A smile began to form.

“What do you make of it,” I asked.

“Zachariah,” he said, pointing.  “That’s Mr. Z.  Baptista called him by name.  Zachariah.”

“Who is Baptista?”

“The big boss.”

“What happened to him?”

“He’s room temperature right about now.”

“What do you think those account names represent?”

“Payroll,” Tom said.

Sly nodded in agreement.  “That’s my guess.”

The three of us stared at the names.  Then one of them caught my eye.

“Oh no,” I whispered.

“What?  What do you see?”

“DPRICE.”

“Yeah?  Does that mean something to you?”

I nodded, still staring at the small computer screen like I’d seen a ghost.

“We have to get back to the house,” I said, rising from the bed and moving toward the door.”

Tom stared at me.  “What does that name mean to you?”

“That’s the name of Mr. Z’s inside man.”

62

We talked nonstop on the way home, but Tom fell quiet the instant we turned into out neighborhood. 

“I know it’s only been a few days, but it’s weird being back here and not having to hide,” he said softly.

Our house came into view.

“My oh my,” he whispered.

The scene had calmed down quite a bit.  Most of the lights and commotion were gone.  There was still police tape and a few cars, but it wasn’t nearly the spectacle that I had come home to a few hours earlier.

“I feel like I’ve been away for months.”

I touched his hand.  It was a surreal feeling.  This was a man I had been making funeral arrangements for.  Now he was seated beside me.  Talk about an emotional overload.

The driveway was still blocked.  I drove all the way past our property line and parked in front of a neighbor’s house and I turned off the engine.

“I don’t know who’s still here,” I said.  “We have to find Chapman or Armstrong and tell them about the bank accounts on Baptista’s laptop.  That account connects Price to this whole thing.”

He nodded.  “If Price is the inside man, like you think, he has to know where they are holding Josh and Ashton.”

“I agree.”

“Let’s get to the house and fill them in on what’s going on.”

I reached for the door handle, but before I could open my door, the backdoor of the car opened and someone got in and sat down in the seat directly behind me.  I glanced in the mirror.  It was Special Agent Price.  Before I could react, he pressed the barrel of a gun to the back of my neck.

“Don’t move a muscle,” he ordered.  “Stay in the car.”

I caught his eye in the mirror.

Tom glanced around at him.

“Keep your eyes forward, both of you,” Price said.

“What do you want?  What are you doing?”

“You are going to drive us to somewhere quiet.”

“It’s quiet right here,” I said.

“Not quiet enough for what I need to do.”  His face was mostly obscured by shadow.

I took a breath and decided to put it all on the line.  “We found Baptista’s computer accounts,” I announced.  “We know you were working for him.”

He growled, “You can’t prove anything.”

“If that’s true then let us go.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Tell us where Mr. Z is holding our children,” Tom demanded.

Price prodded me with the muzzle of the gun.  “Turn the car on and put it in gear.  Do it now.”

I could see where this was going.  Nothing good could come from driving away with that man in the car with us.  I glanced in the side mirror hoping a cop had wandered over nearby, but there was nobody close enough.  He shoved the gun harder against the base of my skull.

“You’re making a big mistake,” Tom said.

“Let me worry about that.”

“If you kill us you won’t get the ransom money.”

Price snickered.  “I’m only going to kill her.  View that as a motivational tool.  And then if you don’t meet the deadline, we kill those sweet little boys one at a time.  I’m saving you for last, Dad.”

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Tom slowly unzipping the duffel bag where he had put Baptista’s laptop.  I had no idea what he was planning but I readied myself for something to happen.

“I know where Baptista hid all of his money,” Tom said.  “And I can get it for you.  There are millions of dollars in these bank accounts.  You don’t need Mr. Z anymore.  You could bump him totally out of the picture and take it all.”

“How did you find that?” Price said.

“I saw Baptista’s counterfeiting operation with my own eyes.  He told me everything.  I know all about the scam of making loans with the counterfeit bills.  I took the laptop after Daphne Fleming killed him.”

“Give me the laptop,” Price demanded.

“No way.  Let my family go first.”

“Forget it.”

I watched Tom slip his hand inside the bag.  He made eye contact with me,
get ready
.

Price shifted in his seat and leaned forward, unconsciously easing the gun away from my head.  He reached over Tom’s shoulder to make a grab at the laptop computer.  Then Tom suddenly jerked the laptop from the bag and hurled in at Price’s head.  Out of reflex, Price ducked, then he scrambled with both hands to catch the laptop computer but fumbled it to the floor. 

I recognized my moment of opportunity and dropped the transmission into reverse.  I punched on the gas and the car took off in reverse as I spun the wheel wildly.  The sudden acceleration threw Price off balance and he tumbled forward.  The car jumped the curb and slewed through our front yard, flattening the mailbox and tearing down a long strand of police tape.  The tape fluttered to the ground.  The impact with the curb jumbled us around.  I clutched the wheel with all my strength and kept my foot on the gas.  Tom was thrown against the windshield and Price hit the back of our seats full-on with his face. 

We rammed into the front of the house.  The impact was tremendous.  The gun came out of Price’s hand and slid across the floor out of sight.  In a flash, Tom vaulted over his seat and pounced on Price.  There was a mad scramble for the gun.  Tom pounded him with jackhammer-like fists.

“Get off me!  I’ll kill you!” Price demanded.

Tom was unrelenting.

I jumped out of the car and shouted for help.  A couple of cops guarding the crime scene were already running toward us.  I jerked open the backdoor and Price’s gun tumbled out onto the ground.  I grabbed it.

“Get out of the car!” I shouted.

Tom turned and saw me.  He was still on top of Price.  He looked down.  “It’s over, pal.”

Price twisted around and saw the gun pointed at his head.  There was a moment where I could tell that he was calculating his odds, but then he realized the futility of his chances for escape and simply hung his head in defeat. 

Tom gave me a smile.  “Where did you learn to drive like that?”

“You wouldn’t believe the week I’ve had,” I said.

•  •  •

Chapman and a small army of federal agent returned to the scene.  Special Agent Price was handcuffed and they had him positioned flat on his face on the lawn.  Both Chapman and Armstrong stopped and stared.  Their jaws dropped.  They spotted Tom and I, and came running over.

“What’s going on?” Chapman demanded.

“Price was the inside man.”

Armstrong looked at me like I was insane.  “Are you joking?  I’ve worked with David Price for years.”

Tom cut in, “Mr. Z worked for a man named Gordon Baptista.”  He held up the laptop.  “We found Baptista’s payroll records, and Price is one of the names listed.  It’s all on here.”

Both agents were still clearly in shock.

“He is the only one who can lead us to our sons,” I said.  “We have to hurry.”

Chapman shook his head in disbelief.  “Okay,” he said.  “Drag him into the house and let’s get some answers.”

63

Mr. Z took his eye away from the telescope and did a slow burn.

“It’s over,” he said.  “Price is busted.  He’s going to sell us out.”  He glanced around.  “It’s time to cut bait and walk away.”

Finch and Garcia stared at him in silence.

“Do we take the kids?” Garcia asked.

“Those boys are our free pass out of here,” Finch said.

Mr. Z considered his options, thinking long and hard before making his final decision.

64

They took off the handcuffs and sent Special Agent Price to the front door of Rosemary Gladwell’s home.  The house was surrounded.  There were a half a dozen snipers on rooftops.  The feds had the place covered from every angle.  Price got out of the car and walked slowly up the drive to a short sidewalk that led to the door.  He was wearing a wire.  Tom and I stood behind a car across the street and watched.  It was stunning to think that for all these hours our children had been only a few hundred feet away from our front door.  I held my breath as we waited and watched.

Price knocked on the door.  There was no reply.

He knocked again and rang the bell.  He tried the doorknob but it was locked.  He turned and shook his head.  Men with assault rifles suddenly appeared from every corner and every shadow.  Price was again handcuffed and placed back inside a car.  A man in body armor rushed forward and shattered a window with the butt of his assault rifle.  Then he lobbed a smoke canister through the hole in the glass.  Within seconds the house filled with orange gas.  Right on cue a team came forward with a battering ram and bashed in the front door.  A phalanx of federal agents flooded in.

My stomach was twisted into knots.  I could barely stand to watch.  I waited for the sounds of automatic gunfire but none came.  The anxiety was too much.  I wanted to throw up.  Tom had his good arm around my shoulders.  He kissed the top of my head.

A minute later, one of the agents who had stormed the house emerged from the fog of orange smoke and marched out to the end of the driveway. 

“All clear,” he announced.  “The house is empty.”

I felt my stomach drop to the ground.  My legs buckled.  I slid down the side of the car until my knees touched the asphalt.  Mr. Z had slipped off into the night with my boys.  My worst fear had come true.  I cried out in anguish.  Tom crouched beside me.

“You’ve got to be strong,” he said.

“I can’t do it anymore.  I don’t have anything left.”

“We will find them.  We will never stop looking.”

“I want my babies!”

Tom held me against his body.

Then I heard radio squawk, followed by an agent’s voice.  “We’ve found a locked door in the basement.  Sounds like there are people inside.  We’re going in.  Stand by.”  And then a moment later, “Affirmative, we have one adult and two children.  I’m bringing them out.”

I turned my face to Tom.  “What did he say?”

He smiled at me.  “They’re alive.”

He helped me around the front of the government car to the top of Rosemary Gladwell’s drive.  The orange smoke pouring from the house had dissipated significantly.  I watched a federal agent emerge wearing body armor and a helmet.  He was carrying one of my children in his arms.  Josh came out right behind him, holding a woman’s hand.  They were coughing from the smoke.  The agent gently placed Ashton on the grass on the front lawn and called for a medic.

Josh spotted his father and stood speechless on the lawn.  Seeing the question in his eldest child’s eyes, Tom held out his hand and smiled.  “It’s really me,” he said.  Josh ran to him and they embraced.

I knelt beside Ashton and clutched his tiny hands in mine.  He opened his eyes and saw me.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“I want to go home.”

“That’s a good idea,” I said.

EPILOGUE

We stayed at a great hotel in Manhattan for a few days to relax and enjoy being a family again.  That first drive home was surreal.  Tom stopped the car right down the street and we stared.  It was the same house we had lived in for years, and the house where we had brought both babies back from the hospital, but it was no longer home.  We couldn’t stay there.  We would sell and move on.  But for a time it was truly a treat to be back in our own beds and to be surrounded by all the things we hold dear.  We did our best to settle into the familiar routines of life – meals at the table, movie night, washing the cars in the driveway, etc.  All those small activities we take for granted that make us feel normal.

We invited Marcus, Sadie, and the kids to stay with us for a while because their home had been destroyed by the fire.  It was going to take time for them to make plans and get back on their feet, both emotionally and financially.  They were broke, after all.  But they were too smart to let that keep them down for long.  Our boys shared their bedrooms with the three Jones kids.  It was kind of a fun little adventure for the five of them.  We adults spent long evenings at the kitchen table grinding through the details of how to recover from a total financial meltdown and also spent time just simply being thankful that we had all survived and made it through this ordeal in one piece.