“You can’t think that way. We know what this guy was after, and based on what Gibson has learned from his journals, it appears he wasn’t working alone in regards to taking your daughter. The only leverage this guy has over you right now is Melanie. If he no longer has that, he has no bargaining chip. She’s still alive. I know it. And I’m not going to stop until I bring her home. I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll admit we may have gotten off to a rocky start, and I apologize for my unprofessional behavior, but I want you to know that I take my job very seriously.”
Alexander nodded, not looking at him. As much as he disliked him at first, he kind of reminded Alexander of himself, which was probably why he actually cooperated with Moretti instead of did what he would normally do…conduct his own investigation outside the protective glare of law enforcement. He just prayed, between the two of them, they could find Melanie.
“I’ve always operated within the law,” Moretti said, lowering his voice. “Without law, there is disorder, but this…” He glanced at their surroundings, hatred filling his eyes. “I will get the bastard who took your daughter and exposed her to this.” He stepped closer to Alexander. “If you ask me, he doesn’t deserve the protection of our laws.” He passed Alexander a knowing look before taking a step back.
Alexander held his gaze, understanding washing over him. Moretti didn’t have to spell it out for him to know what he meant.
“Agent Moretti!” a hurried voice shouted from up the stairs. They spun around to see Gibson barreling toward them, somewhat out of breath.
“What is it?”
“It’s one of the computers in his office. I was going through all the journals to see if anything stood out, like you asked. All of a sudden, one of the screens sprang to life with an incoming FaceTime call. I let it ring through and, after a few minutes, the person dropped the call. But then it started again. Same person. No name in his contacts. It just says ‘Number One’.”
Moretti and Alexander shared a look, then sprang into action, bolting up the stairs, around the back yard, and into the house. The evidence team stayed out of their way as they dashed toward the office, slowing to a stop when they reached the computer, seeing the FaceTime call still coming through.
Without hesitation, Alexander approached the chair and sat down. He stared blankly at the screen, wondering who was on the other end. He had a feeling in the pit of his stomach this call was about to turn the case on its head.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, glancing down at the screen and inconspicuously hitting the record button, then placed it next to him on the desk. Returning his attention to the computer, he clicked on the answer icon, everyone waiting with bated breath as a video popped up on the screen.
Alexander didn’t know what he expected to see, but it certainly wasn’t this.
“Daddy?” Melanie’s sweet voice filled the room.
“Melanie!” he quivered, reaching for the screen, wanting to feel her, wrap her in his arms, promise her that everything would be okay.
“I want to come home, Daddy!”
Tears prickled his eyes. “I know, peanut. I’m doing everything I can.” He drew in a shaky breath, collecting his thoughts. He didn’t want her to see him upset, weak. He had to stay strong.
“Sweetie, can you tell me if you’re hurt anywhere?” Despite her curly hair being disheveled, she looked relatively unharmed.
She shook her head. “I’m scared, Daddy. I promise, if I can just come home, I’ll never bother you about making pancakes when you have to work.”
He shoved his fist into his mouth, biting back a sob that wanted to escape. “I’m going to find you, Melanie. And when I do, you can have pancakes every day for every meal, if that’s what you want. Do you have any idea where you are?” he asked in a bold move.
“I—”
A figure dressed in black, a ski mask over his face, approached Melanie, covering her mouth with his dark-gloved hand, muting her screams as he pulled her away.
“No! Don’t you dare hurt her!” he fumed, his eyes rabid.
“Oh, Mr. Burnham,” a voice said through a modulator as the camera shifted and a figure came into view.
It was reminiscent of television interviews where the person didn’t want to be identified. A figure sat in the shadows, a dim light illuminating the area just enough so he knew someone was there. It was impossible to make out any distinguishing characteristics, apart from the ambient background noise of cars rushing by. He immediately suspected he knew this person. If he didn’t, why would he feel the need to disguise not just his face, but also his voice? Alexander’s mind began spinning, running through all the connections he had made in Afghanistan.
“It appears you finally figured out what I’m after. I’m rather disappointed. I thought this little game would be more fun, more exciting.”
“Game?” Alexander roared, slamming his fist on the desk, causing journals, pens, and paper coffee cups to bounce slightly. “You think this is a game? You took my daughter. So help me God, if there is one strand of hair out of place on her head when I find you, which I most certainly will, you’ll wish you’d never been born! I learned one very important thing during my time in the navy, and that’s exactly how much pain the human body can endure. It’s quite interesting how long a person can cling to consciousness while suffering excruciating, mind-numbing pain. And I can promise that you will beg for death to end your suffering when I get my hands on you!”
“You think I don’t know how you feel? That I can’t sympathize with what you’re going through? Wrong, Mr. Burnham,” he hissed. “I’ve been there! I’ve been in your shoes! The anger. The frustration. The regret. The second-guessing. The hopelessness. I’ve been there. I didn’t think there was anything I could do, but I was wrong. We’re not so different, you and I.”
Alexander’s fists clenched and unclenched repeatedly, the vein in his neck straining against the skin. He vaguely heard Moretti pleading with him not to engage any further, but he refused to listen.
“I am nothing like you,” he spat. “I would never target an innocent little girl and use her as a pawn in whatever sick game it is you’re playing. Melanie has nothing to do with this. You want me? Stop being the coward you are and come face me.”
The line went silent, apart from the sound of church bells in the background of the video. “You think this is about you?” The voice laughed. Alexander’s face flamed. “This was never about you.”
“I know. I know,” Alexander interrupted. “It’s about the girls. But that is where you fucked up. I have no idea where they are! I didn’t even know they were still alive until I walked into this house a few hours ago! Taking Melanie from me isn’t going to make me suddenly have knowledge I never had in the first place!”
The more he spoke, the more he grew frustrated with the situation. What if he didn’t believe him? What if finding the girls was the only way to get Melanie back? Even if he did know where the missing women were, would he be able to live with the knowledge that he most likely put their lives at risk to save his daughter? Was her life worth more than theirs? Alexander knew it wasn’t, but in his mind, her life was worth more than anyone’s, including his.