He turned around to look right at the spot where his Allfone was lying.
It was ringing.
FIFTY-NINE
Joshua scrambled to the Allfone and picked it up.
On the screen it said: “Video Message. Yes? No?”
Joshua tapped Yes on the screen.
Abigail and Rocky looked on as an image started to load.
It was Cal. They could only see him from the shoulders up. He was sitting against a plain backdrop of some kind. And there was terror in his eyes.
Then he lifted up the print versions of two e-newspapers, one in each hand.
One was the Washington Post and the other was the Boston Herald. The camera zoomed in on the headers, and both of them bore that day’s date.
Then Cal put the newspapers down and glanced to the side as if he were getting instructions.
He bent over toward the side and whispered something to an unseen person.
Then in an instant a hand flashed into the frame and struck Cal in the face, and he gave a yelp and blood started running from his nose.
Abigail shrieked.
Joshua was standing up with his fists balled together, his face contorted in rage. Why don’t you come right here to me, you twisted maggot! Let me get my hands on you.
Then on the small screen, Cal collected himself, and with a crimson stream running from both nostrils, he looked into the camera. “I’m not hurt,” he said in a voice that was close to a monotone, like he was following a script. “I am being held hostage. Please do exactly as this person asks. I am begging for my life. Mom and Dad, just like you were told, if you don’t give up the information on the RTS I am going to be killed. My death will be posted on the Internet…”
Just then Cal choked on his words and he had to stop. Then he took a deep breath and finished.
Looking straight at the camera, Cal gave a final message.
But this was not scripted.
“And Dad, I have something to say to you. I want to say I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I loved you in those last phone calls that we had together. I’m sorry for that because I really do—”
But he was stopped by a fist that flashed across the screen and bashed him again in the face, and he fell out of the frame of the picture.
Two seconds later, the image on the Allfone went dark and the call ended.
Abigail was struggling to control her weeping. Rocky let out a long, anguished breath.
But Joshua, still simmering with rage at the person who had struck his son, was feeling more and more like his world was on a fast landslide off the side of a mountain. And he wondered if he had any power to stop it.
The test pilot and spy-plane hero, who had defied fear and faced unparalleled dangers, was feeling overwhelmed by a tide of terror and helplessness.
Then Joshua cleared his throat and began speaking, his voice cracking a little. “We still have yet to get instructions…”
“On how he wants the RTS data delivered…,” Rocky finished the thought.
Abigail asked the obvious question that was hanging in the air, filling the room. “Is he going to kill Cal? Is he? Tell me…”
Neither of the men spoke up.
“I know that’s not a fair question,” she said. “But I don’t care about what’s fair. I need to know…”
Joshua stepped over to her and put his arms around her and held her.
“That rough stuff with that guy hitting Cal like that on camera,” Rocky said. “That was for your benefit, Josh. He knows you’re military. He thinks you need to see that he means business. Just a show of force, that’s all. I think Cal is still okay.”
“Rocky,” Joshua said. “Do you have your cell with you?”
He did.
“Good,” Joshua continued. “You call Gallagher on your phone. Then you can hand the phone to me after you’ve given him the intro.”
Special Agent John Gallagher was in his cubicle when the call came in.
“This is General Rocky Bridger.”
Gallagher hustled toward the men’s room, trying not to make eye contact with Miles Zadernack’s secretary. But when he blew into the bathroom he saw two pairs of feet in each of the two stalls. He went back outside and down the hall.
“Can’t talk much at my end,” Gallagher said in a hushed voice and trying to smile casually and nod at the agents who strolled past him in the corridor. “You play the part of the guy who does all the talking. I’m not going to have much of a speaking part.”
Rocky Bridger gave him a quick briefing. Joshua’s son had been taken hostage; the guy in charge wanted the RTS documents in exchange. He relayed the video with Cal holding two of that day’s newspapers as proof he was alive. Then Rocky handed the phone to Joshua.
“Have you talked to the police or FBI?” Gallagher asked.
“No. This guy is giving us strict orders not to, or he kills my son. We think he’s got inside information.”
John Gallagher replied, “That’s routine.” Then he added, “Listen, the Bureau’s official position on hostages is this: when the kidnapper says, ‘Don’t call the cops or else,’ he’s usually bluffing. Or if he isn’t, we still feel we can keep him from knowing until it’s too late for him…”
But the FBI agent knew he was only giving the textbook answer. In most hostage situations the bad guy has nothing to lose by making that kind of demand. But this case was far from textbook. Gallagher had the sick feeling that there was something very rotten somewhere very high in the United States government. Exhibit A was that mind-blowing directive to Gallagher, the Bureau’s number-one expert on Atta Zimler, to stand down from investigating Zimler’s entrance into the United States. Did the guys who hired Zimler, whoever they were, have that kind of influence?
“Maybe, but we can’t take chances. Rocky thinks you know this guy. Is that right?”
“I’m not sure I can share that with you…”
“We need help. We’ve got that video that proves my son’s still alive. Can you help us?”
“Not sure,” Gallagher confessed.
“Please…”
“Any delivery instructions?”
“No, not yet. We’re expecting some soon.”
There was a silent pause.
“Call me when you get those instructions.”
Joshua was feeling desperate.
“Agent Gallagher, is that it? All you can say? All you’re going to do?”
“Well, let’s put it this way,” Gallagher replied. “Yeah, that’s all I am going to say…”
Then Gallagher clicked off his cell and walked back to his cubicle.
He rubbed his forehead for a moment. His chest was burning and he wished he had a shot of milk to calm things down. Maybe there was something in the lunchroom. He strode down there and swung open the door to the refrigerator. He was in luck. An almost-empty milk carton sitting way in the back. He put it up to his lips. I think I’ll avoid checking the expiration date on this.
But as he took the last gulp, his mind was whirling.
The puzzle pieces showed Gallagher that Zimler was working this RTS mission from a foreign base of operations, starting in Bucharest. He had to assume that Zimler had been hired by some heavy-duty international guys. And they could have some powerful American connections.
Gallagher felt there was only one chance for him to help the Jordans. And go after Zimler. But it all had to do with Zimler’s next move, and Gallagher had a pretty good guess what it was going to be.
Gallagher still had the empty milk carton in his hand as he looked over at the trash can five feet away. But his attention was broken by a voice.
“I know what you are thinking…”
The comment came from Miles Zadernack. He was in the lunchroom picking up a cup of coffee. Gallagher gave him a feeble smile.
Then Miles switched gears. “So, I hear that you’ve signed up for the professionalism class.”
“Yes, Miles, I did.”
“That’s good.”
; Miles stood there with his cup of coffee, looking as if he still had something on his mind. Gallagher had his cell phone in one hand and the milk carton in the other, wondering if his supervisor was a mind reader.
Then Miles added, “Now, John, can I give you a serious warning? I know what you’re planning. I can tell what’s on your mind right now…”
Gallagher said, “Oh?” But inside he was really worried that the jig was up. Miles had found out that he was still pursuing Zimler. He braced himself for it.
Miles broke into a slow, forced smile. The two men stood there looking at each other.
Then Miles laid it out. “Yeah, every time you try those long shots with your little milk cartons or your leftover chili dog trays or whatever, you miss the trash can. And in the process you spill food on the floor. It’s not fair to make other people clean up after you. We all have an obligation to keep this room picked up. Professionalism. Remember?”
Gallagher nodded, and Miles Zadernack took his cup of coffee and left the lunch room.
Now alone, Gallagher turned and from five feet away threw the empty milk carton in a looping hook shot. Swoosh!
“Three pointer,” Gallagher said to himself.
SIXTY
Thirty minutes later, in the Jordan’s hotel suite at the Palace, Joshua’s Allfone was ringing again. He picked it up and put it on speaker. He heard the distorted, digital voice of the kidnapper again.
“Your son is a little weakling,” the voice said. “He doesn’t handle pain very well. I hope for his sake that you decide to cooperate with me.”
“I hope for your sake,” Joshua bulleted back, “I don’t get you alone in a room.”
“You are such a big American hero. How about I kill your son right now, Mr. Hero? Would that be good? Would you like to hear him scream some more?”
Abigail frantically waved her hands at Joshua and mouthed the words no, no, no.
Zimler continued. “Now, let’s talk business. You will produce your design documents on the RTS system. And make sure they explain two things. First, the mirror-image method that the laser uses to capture the flight-trajectory pattern on the inboard guidance computer of the incoming missile. And second, I want to see the system for remotely reprogramming that trajectory one hundred and eighty degrees.”
“How am I supposed to get this to you?” Joshua asked.
“You will email all of them to me at an encrypted address I will give you. When my experts analyze them and tell me that they are complete, I will release your son.”
Joshua didn’t hesitate a second. He blasted back.
“I can’t do that.”
“I have your son. Remember that. You have no choice.”
“No,” Joshua snapped, “you’ve got it wrong. The files are too big for email. If you want the RTS documents, we arrange a meeting place. An exchange. That’s how it’s going to be done.”
Abigail was dumbfounded, and her eyes widened in astonishment.
But Rocky Bridger was nodding.
Then there was silence. And the silence on the other end lasted so long that everyone feared that the caller had dropped off the line.
A sense of panic started to rise up in Joshua. What if he had just torpedoed the negotiations? What if the kidnapper had decided to call it all off? Then Cal’s life would have no value to the hostage taker. Which meant that Joshua had just moved Cal one step closer to an execution.
Suddenly the silence was broken with the sound of Cal screaming in the background.
That is when the digital voice came back on.
“Your son is crying because I have just broken one of his fingers with a pair of pliers. I thought about cutting it off, but I didn’t want to bother changing into my butcher shop outfit.”
Joshua steeled himself. Hold it together man. We’ve got to outsmart this guy.
Abigail was covering her face as she sobbed silently.
“If you try to play the tough guy again and make demands of me, then I will start cutting off body parts. Now you listen to me…this is what we will do. You will save the documents on a flash drive and put that in a metal fireproof briefcase and come to Grand Central Station in exactly two hours and thirty minutes. When you are there, I will call you and give you more instructions.”
“What about my son?”
“You’ll get proof that he is still alive. But you’ll also see exactly how he’s going to die if you don’t obey me…”
Then Zimler added. “But before anything else, you are going to prove that you can deliver what I want. So get a pen and get ready to write.”
“I’m waiting.”
Then Zimler gave him an email address. “You are going to email a couple of the RTS documents to that address. If you don’t convince me you’ve got what I want, then I’ll let you know where you can find your son’s body, and I disappear.”
Then he hung up.
Rocky turned to Abigail and said, “Josh played it exactly right. I know you were concerned…”
“What just went on?” she asked sharply.
“Abby, I had to,” Joshua shot back. “We can’t risk it with some remote, electronic delivery…”
“You start giving up everything by email,” Rocky said, “and Cal doesn’t have a chance. The only hope is keeping this creep cornered. Keep him in close quarters. Within eyesight. Force him to make an exchange. The closer we stay to this guy the closer we are to Cal.”
Joshua dialed Agent Gallagher again on Rocky’s cell, and when he picked up he bulleted out, “The kidnapper just called. He wanted everything by email. I said no…demanded a face-to-face exchange. The RTS stuff for my son.”
“Good move on your part. Smart…”
“So he said that the drop-off is to happen at Grand Central Station. I’m supposed to be there in two-and-a-half hours with the RTS documents. Then I get further instructions. But it seemed like he already had that drop-off idea in his head…”
“Two steps ahead. That’s exactly the way this guy works…”
“You know him?”
Gallagher didn’t bite at that, but asked, “Anything else?”
“Yeah. He wants me to email a couple of RTS documents just to prove I can deliver what he wants.”
Joshua gave him the encrypted email address, and Gallagher wrote it down.
“So are you going to send the email?” the agent asked.
“Do I have a choice?”
Gallagher didn’t bother to say the obvious. That any RTS documents that Joshua might send would probably be classified.
“Okay. I’m going to do what I can,” Gallagher said.
“I need to hear more than that,” Joshua snapped back.
“I would too if I were in your shoes,” he replied. “You’re going to have to trust me. Just know that I’ll be looking over your shoulder. Don’t ask me to explain.”
After hanging up, Joshua had the sinking feeling that maybe Cal was just beyond his reach, outside his ability to rescue. But he had one more call to make, and he didn’t hesitate for a second.
When he dialed the number, the man on the other end simply answered, “Patriot.”
“Pack McHenry?”
“Who’s calling?”
“Joshua Jordan.”
“Sounded like you.”
“I need help. We’ve got an emergency…”
“Interesting. Because we were just going to call you,” McHenry said.
“Why?”
“We’ve just received some solid intel that federal marshals are on their way over to your hotel. They’re probably already there in fact.”
“Marshals?”
“Yeah, to take you into custody. They’ve got an arrest warrant from a federal judge.”
“This can’t be happening.”
“Yes, it is. Count on it.”
Joshua said. “I’ve got a situation with my son. Life and death. He’s been taken hostage…I’ve got to get out of this hotel…”
“No way. You’ll run
right into them. I’m sure they’re crawling all over the grounds of the hotel.”
“I can’t afford to get arrested. My son needs me—”
“You said…taken hostage?”
“I’ll explain everything.”
“First give me your room number at the hotel.”
Joshua gave it to him and McHenry told him to call him back in exactly two minutes.
Then he asked, “By the way, what floor are you on?”
“We’re on the twenty-fifth floor…”
“I think that’ll work…”
“What?”
“Just stay in your room. Don’t answer the door for anyone…unless it’s a delivery guy with a box who says the words, ‘Airmail delivery for Mr. Jordan.’ If it is, answer it, take the box, and open it. And about your son…”
“Yes, what?”
“We’ll see what we can do to help.”
While Joshua was finishing up his conversation with McHenry, downstairs in the lavish lobby of the Palace, two armed federal marshals, wearing conspicuous blue jackets with the words U.S. Marshal printed on the back, were at the front desk. Three other marshals were spreading out around the premises.
“I’m sorry,” the man at the front desk said. “No one has checked in under the name of Joshua Jordan.”
“I’m sure the room is under a different name,” the marshal said. “I want to see all of the recent check-ins.”
Then he spotted the head bellman. The marshal called him over and pulled out a photograph of Joshua.
“Have you seen this man here at the hotel in the last few days?”
The bellman studied the picture for a moment; then he nodded his head and said, “Saw him when he came in. Maybe up on one of the floors…”
“Can you tell me on what floor of the hotel you may have seen him?”
“I think so…”
Just then a man in a brown delivery uniform, carrying a box, entered the hotel lobby and strode up to the elevators.
Then he waited for the doors to open. When they did, the delivery man walked into the elevator and punched the button for Joshua’s floor. The marshal who was still with the bellman glanced over just in time to see the elevator doors close.