“You need to get going,” he said with a quiver, pulling away from her.
Closing her eyes, she nodded, taking a moment for herself. Reluctantly, she grabbed the keys to the armored SUV and started to walk away.
“I’ll see you later,” she murmured over her shoulder.
Chapter Twenty-Two
December 19
6:15 PM
AS ALEXANDER SAT IN the rundown old station wagon he was pretty sure was around when Gordie Howe played for the Hartford Whalers, he remembered why he hated surveillance so much. He had to hand it to Moretti, though. No one would suspect the FBI would use this heap of metal to conduct surveillance. Hell, there was no way this car could even muster the horsepower to apprehend a suspect in a high-speed chase.
Moretti cranked up the receiver, the sounds of the ice rink filling the car. Four footsteps, a drag, then four more footsteps.
“She’s pacing,” Moretti observed.
“Wouldn’t you if you were in her shoes?” Alexander pulled his jacket closer, able to see his breath as they sat in the cold, dark car. The night was still, a starless sky over them…the calm before the storm that was expected to drop several feet of snow on the state, which would start in just a little over twenty-four hours. Alexander prayed Melanie would be home by then.
“I suppose.”
Alexander kept his eyes trained forward, looking for anything that appeared suspicious. It had been over twenty minutes, but no one matching Maleek’s description had entered the rink or approached the dark SUV containing the cash. They were taking a risk even being here, but letting Olivia do this alone was not an option. The parking lot was relatively full of cars of all different types, from the typical Mercedes and BMWs to the more economical Fords and Hondas. It was a Saturday night a week before Christmas and the ice rink was filled with kids of all ages enjoying time with their friends…just like Melanie should have been doing.
The sound of Olivia’s shoes were like the ticking of the clock, bringing them closer and closer to zero hour. Every second that passed, Alexander’s heart rate increased, his muscles growing more and more taut. He hated all this waiting, not knowing what to expect. He recalled what one of his BUD/S instructors had said. “There are no unpredictable situations. Read the clues and you’ll know what to expect.” But he was out of his comfort zone this time. There was something about this ransom demand that hadn’t sat well with him from the start, and it had nothing to do with sending Olivia to do the drop.
Read the clues, Alexander thought, replaying the past few days’ events in his mind.
Mischa’s murder. Rayne’s reappearance. Melanie’s empty room.
They had to be connected, but how?
The explosion. The message left on the tip line. Ten million dollars.
For someone who appeared to have done his research on Alexander and his family, this guy should have known that ten million dollars was just a drop in the bucket for him. Hell, he had that amount of cash available through his security company. He called it their “rainy day fund”. He didn’t like to call it what it really was — a stash of unmarked, non-consecutive numbered bills to be used in case any of his operatives were abducted while on assignment. He never had to use it…until today.
Alexander furrowed his brow and glanced at Moretti, who appeared incredibly relaxed. “Doesn’t something about this seem fishy to you?”
“What do you mean?”
Alexander shook his head. “This guy seems to have had his eye on me for a while now. He knew how to manipulate my home security system, making it look like Martin was responsible for Melanie’s disappearance. He’s done everything to ensure he can’t be found and nothing traces back to him. Sure, he gave Olivia a name, but based on everything else, I can pretty much guess your men haven’t been able to pull anything up on any Maleek. Am I right?”
Keeping his eyes trained forward, Moretti nodded. “Nothing to match the brief description your wife was able to give us. We’ve checked with Homeland Security, but I don’t expect anything to come back. As you probably saw back at the house, we tried tracing his phone, but he bounced the signal off dozens of satellites. It would take our tech team days, if not weeks, to pinpoint the source.”
“Then answer me this. Why would a guy go to such lengths to cover his tracks, but make no mention of unmarked, non-consecutive bills for the ransom? That’s Ransom Demand 101, if you ask me. Your team logged all the bills.”
“And marked a few of them with a GPS tracker,” Moretti added. “He didn’t say we couldn’t.” He shrugged.
“Exactly my point. And why demand Olivia use one of my company’s armored SUVs? He must know we’d be able to track it.”
“Maybe he knows how to disable the GPS.”
When the footsteps keeping time in the car stopped, Moretti and Alexander straightened, their eyes glued to the large glass doors of the skating rink.
“What is it?” Moretti whispered. “Can you see anything?”
Squinting, Alexander tried to make out what was going on. “I think she sees something in the snack bar area,” he answered, observing his wife’s back facing them. She was oddly still.
Agent Moretti got on his communication device. “What’s going on in there?” he asked the agents working surveillance inside.
“A teenager wearing a red polo shirt with the skating rink’s logo is approaching,” an agent Alexander recognized to be Gibson replied in a low voice. “I assume he works here.”
Alexander craned his neck, struggling to see Olivia’s tall body through the fogged-up window. He could faintly make out her red-belted coat and wavy brown hair.
“He’s handing her a piece of paper,” Agent Gibson observed.
Alexander inched toward the edge of the seat, ready to spring into action at any moment.
“It could be nothing,” Moretti murmured.
“Or it could be someone Maleek sent,” Alexander retorted, thinking this teenager had gotten instructions from someone to approach Olivia, then hand her that piece of paper.
“He’s walking away,” Gibson said hurriedly.
Alexander kept his vision trained on the front doors, waiting for Olivia to leave the keys somewhere, then walk out. Instead, she glanced over her shoulder, seemingly directly at the car he sat in, then headed farther into the ice rink.
“What’s going on?” Alexander shouted, his pulse quickening.
“She’s heading around the rink toward the locker rooms,” Gibson’s voice cracked over the receiver.
“Follow her,” Moretti ordered. “Under no circumstances are you to let her out of your sight. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is there a back entrance to this place?” Alexander asked Moretti, his mind spinning. Something didn’t add up.