The Abduction

10

Allison spent Tuesday in Indianapolis. At 3:35 P.M. she received an emergency telephone call from James O’Doud, director of the FBI. He was calling from headquarters in Washington. She took the call in the privacy of her hotel room.

“We got a Code One abduction out of Tennessee,” said O’Doud. “Sometime after nine-thirty this morning, central time. Twelve-year-old girl. Her identity isn’t public yet. But I thought you should know right away, since there’s bound to be all kinds of fallout.”
“Who is she?”
His voice took on an ominous tone. “Kristen Howe. Lincoln Howe’s granddaughter.”
Allison closed her eyes in anguish. After the abduction of her own daughter eight years ago, she’d managed to pick herself up off the floor and reenter the real world by helping other families who’d suffered the same horrific fate. Not even as attorney general, however, did the abduction of any child ever boil down to statistics. Every single one was personal, hitting close to home. That she knew Lincoln Howe only made it tougher.
“Is she still alive?”
“We don’t know. A school van was taking her from middle school to the high school for some special classes. A Fisk University student found her book bag two blocks from campus. No one’s seen her, the driver, or the van since this morning.”
“Any ransom demand, anything?”
“Nothing yet.”
A million thoughts raced through her head, including a flood of political ramifications. “Obviously I want the FBI all over this immediately. This is way too big to defer to local law enforcement. How clear is our jurisdiction?”
“Nothing concrete yet to suggest they’ve crossed state lines. And the locals know the law. More than once they’ve reminded us that the girl has to be missing for twenty-four hours before we can presume interstate transport and officially take over the investigation.”
“When does twenty-four hours kick in?”
“By our calculations, just after ten A.M. tomorrow, eastern time. But as a practical matter, all that means is that we’ll hold off any official announcement of the FBI’s involvement until mid-morning. We’re already in up to our eyeballs.”
“Good. Who are your point people?”
“I’ve asked the Nashville supervisory senior resident agent and Memphis special agent in charge to pull together his brightest—agents who really know the area. But I really don’t expect this to stay in Nashville, or even Tennessee. I’m appointing an inspector to oversee the entire investigation, wherever it goes.”
“You mean for administrative matters? Like the Oklahoma City bombing?”
“More than that. He’ll be right in the field, hands on. Kind of like the case agent, but with more authority. It’s a little out of the ordinary, but this isn’t your run-of-the-mill kidnapping.”
“I’ll say. Who do you have in mind?”
“I’ve already sent Harley Abrams down from Quantico. He spent twenty years in the field, mostly in Atlanta. He’s still a field agent at heart. Now he’s the best damn profiler we’ve got in CASKU.”
Allison nodded, as if to approve the selection. As attorney general, she had come to respect Abrams’s work with the FBI’s Child Abduction and Serial Killer Unit—CASKU, for short. “What’s been done so far?”
“Plenty. We’re checking every channel we have for connections to terrorism, so I have Hostage Rescue on alert. Secret Service is stepping up protection for the candidates and their families. I’ve always thought Secret Service should protect a candidate’s grandchildren, but obviously the boys over at Treasury don’t like to expand their protection until someone gets nabbed. Locally, I’ve brought in backup from Memphis to supplement Nashville. Apart from that, it’s pretty much standard procedure, albeit on a grander scale than usual.”
“I want details, James. Don’t feed me that standard procedure baloney.”
“Okay, details. We’ve deployed a team to the victim’s residence to gather personal articles—hairbrush, diary, anything with the child’s fingerprints, footprints, or teeth impressions. We took the bedsheets and some clothing, too, for the scent dogs. Technical agents are setting up trap-and-trace for incoming calls, and we’re installing a dedicated hot line for tips. I’m told we have a good current photo that our media coordinator is disseminating, and the NCIC Missing Person File has been fully loaded. Updates are being broadcast on all police communication channels as well as the NLETS telecommunication network. We’re compiling a list of known sex offenders in the region and constructing a possible profile of the abductor. Abrams is personally coordinating with the local command center, and he’s already got them on line with the NCMEC case-management system.”
“Where’s the local command center? Not at Kristen’s home, I hope.”
“They set up on the Fisk campus, midway between the point of last sighting and the child’s ultimate point of destination. It’s right in the heart of our perimeter patrol, which is well underway. We’re checking the entire area around the college campus, middle school, and high school for witnesses, possible clues.” He paused, then added, “We’re also working with the local search and rescue detail. They’re dragging the river.”
Her pain deepened at the thought. “You think—”
“Don’t know. We got a possible lead on a van in the Cumberland River.”
Allison looked at her watch. “I can be in Nashville in two hours.”
“There’s really no need. We can keep you posted.”
“I know. But I want to be more hands-on, especially at the beginning.”
He paused, then cleared his throat. “Allison, I’m not sure how to say this, other than to just come right out and say it. But I sincerely hope you will give very careful thought to the role you intend to play in this investigation.”
She bristled at his tone, though it wouldn’t be the first time O’Doud had started a turf war. A Republican president had appointed him director in 1992, and even though his term was limited by law to ten years, he fancied himself another J. Edgar Hoover—accountable to no one, especially a Democratic attorney general.
“The role I intend to play,” she said firmly, “is that of attorney general. Last time I checked, that makes me the nation’s chief law enforcement officer.”
“I accept that. But you’re also a candidate. And the kidnap victim is the granddaughter of your opponent. My advice is that you simply step aside and defer to those who are above politics.”
“Meaning someone like you?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes, frankly.”
Allison gripped the phone. “My life has been ruined once by a child abductor. I’m not going to let it happen again. When you figure out where politics fits into that equation, you let me know. I’ll be in Nashville in two hours,” she said coolly, then hung up the phone.