The Abduction

49

Allison didn’t have time to rush off to Nashville in response to Tanya’s call. With a little cajoling, however, Tanya had agreed to scan Emily’s photograph on her home computer and send it over the Internet via e-mail. Although scanning could possibly smear any latent fingerprints the kidnapper might have left behind, Allison was striking a balance. On the one hand, it didn’t seem likely that the kidnapper would be so careless as to leave any prints. On the other, her heart would surely burst if she didn’t see her little girl immediately.

Allison could barely stand still as the old Justice Building elevator carried her up five floors. Barring a technological glitch, she knew Emily’s picture was waiting on her computer in her office suite. She felt a mild tinge of guilt, knowing that Peter was still waiting for her in the basement, abiding by her instructions. Surely he’d understand.
The elevator doors opened to her suite. She rushed to her private office and leaped into her desk chair in a dead run. It rolled across the plastic carpet protector, landing her in front of her credenza, facing the computer terminal. She switched on the power, watching nervously as it booted.
“You’ve got mail,” the computer-generated voice announced.
She clicked her mouse on the mail-center icon. Scores of unanswered messages were waiting. For each, the mailbox listed the date and time delivered, and the screen name of the sender. She scrolled down to the most recent one.
It was from Tanya Howe.
Allison clicked on the electronic envelope for the “THowe” listing. The text of Tanya’s message appeared on the screen. DEAR ALLISON. I HOPE THIS IS WHAT YOU THINK IT IS. I PRAY WE’LL BOTH HAVE SOMETHING TO SMILE ABOUT. GOOD LUCK. TANYA.
The postscript read, PHOTO ATTACHED.
Allison’s heart was in her throat as she clicked with her mouse. The screen flickered. The attached photographs were downloading to her hard drive. She clicked her mouse again. Slowly, from top to bottom, the photograph was coming into focus on her computer screen.
She could see sky at the very top. It was blue—the photo was in color. The bottom nine-tenths was still a blur. A few more lines came into focus. A redbrick building emerged in the background—the school Tanya had described on the phone.
Her heart skipped a beat. She could see the crown of a little girl’s head. Blond hair. Just a little more and she’d be able to see the face.
Her body shivered. The eyebrows—the eyes! Children never think they look anything like their baby pictures, but their mothers can always see it. Allison grabbed the photo of Emily she kept on her credenza. She was just four months old. It had been a long eight years, but the resemblance was plain. The curve of the eyebrows, the shape of the eyes.
More came into focus. Her whole face was visible. The nose was a little different, more grown up. But the pouty lower lip was most definitely Emily.
Tears were clouding Allison’s vision. She brushed them from her cheek and clicked on the second attachment—the close-up photograph of the telltale markings on the left side of Emily’s face. The four little moles that formed a perfect square were the distinctive markings she had mentioned to the police to help identify her baby. She watched in disbelief as the image filled the screen. Too much to bear. She closed her eyes. Excited. Frightened. Overwhelmed.
“Emily,” she said in a soft, lonely whisper.
She stared at the image, her thoughts whirling. The resemblance couldn’t possibly have been any stronger. Emily was prettier than she’d ever imagined. And she was out there somewhere—alive and totally happy! Totally unaware of how much Allison Leahy loved her. Totally oblivious to the man hiding in the car or the bushes who had followed her to school and secretly snapped her picture.
The thought suddenly sickened her.
It took all her remaining strength just to click with her mouse one last time. She hit the print button for hard copies of the photos. She fell back in her chair, emotionally exhausted, as the color printer cranked out the images.
Her phone rang in her purse, stealing her moment of catharsis.
Tanya again? she wondered. Or perhaps Peter wanted to know where the hell she’s been. “This is Allison,” she answered.
“One last chance,” came the angry reply. The voice was muffled, as if the caller were speaking through a handkerchief for a makeshift disguise.
She was suddenly erect in her chair. “Who is this?”
“I told you to lose the FBI. You didn’t. You defied me.”
“I had to get across the street.”
“The only thing you have to do is listen to me.”
“Okay. I’m listening.”
“The subway was purely a test. You flunked. The FBI was all over the place. That stunt is going to cost you.”
“Please, just don’t take it out on the girl.”
“I won’t, so long as you don’t double-cross me again. When I say no FBI, I mean no FBI.”
“All right, we’ll do it your way. What do you want?”
“The newspaper says your campaign has a big party scheduled tonight at the Renaissance Hotel, and that you’re going to be there.”
“That’s right.”
“Do whatever is necessary to make people think that’s where you’ll be. Have someone get a room in your name, send your husband there, whatever it takes.”
“Where do you really want me to go?”
“The Grand Hyatt. There’s a room in the name of Emily Smith. Go there, but do not be detected. Wear a disguise if you have to. Pick up the key from the front desk. I’ll contact you in the room at nine o’clock.”
“How do you expect me to walk into a hotel and pick up a key for someone named Emily Smith?”
“How about a wig and some phony identification, genius?”
“That would be a whole lot easier to come by if you’d let me use the FBI.”
“Bullshit. In this city, the only thing easier to buy than a fake ID is a United States congressman. You don’t need the FBI. Stop stalling.”
“I presume I should bring the money.”
“Put it in a Spartan 2000 large metal security briefcase. You can buy it in any spy shop on Connecticut Avenue. It easily holds two million dollars.”
“Two million? You mean one million.”
“I mean two million. The price has gone up. A million for Kristen. A million for Emily.”
She gasped at the mention of Emily’s name. “Where is Emily?”
“She’s fine. You’ll never find her without my help.”
“You bastard. Do you have her?”
“I can have her anytime I want. I know exactly where she lives. You don’t even know her name anymore. There’s absolutely nothing you can do to protect her—except follow my orders.”
“Don’t you dare hurt her.”
“That’s up to you. All you got to do is pay the money.”
Her throat tightened with emotion. “If I pay, you have to tell me where Emily lives. I have to find her. I just have to.”
He snickered, mocking her. “It’s only natural.”
“That you’ll tell me?”
“No,” he said coldly. “That you need to know.”
She slumped, then shot up from her chair, emboldened by her anger. “Don’t taunt me, you creep. If you deal with me, you deal in good faith. If I give up the FBI, you give me Emily. And I can’t get you another million dollars by nine o’clock. So here’s the deal. Kristen and Emily. One million dollars. No FBI. That’s it.”
The line was silent, but she could tell he was still there.
She pressed, “Do we have a deal. Or don’t we?”
“Yeah,” he said flatly. “We got a deal. But if I see just one FBI agent at the hotel, Emily is the first to go. Slowly. Painfully. Then Kristen. Understood?”
“Yes. Understood.”
The line went dead in her ear. The caller was gone.
She closed her eyes, collecting herself. She knew she was right to play hardball—to make sure that if she gave up something she got something in return. But being right didn’t loosen the knot in her stomach.
The printer cranked out the second photograph. She took one more look—the first look in eight years at the daughter she’d lost. She grabbed her attaché from beside the desk, stuffed the photocopies inside, and rushed to the elevator.