Atlantic City (NJ), Baltimore (MD), Nantucket (MA), San Francisco (CA), and Teterboro (NJ), which wasn’t as close to the ocean but had the teeter-totter link with seesaw. The “sea” column listed airports containing those three letters-Seaside (FL), Seattle (WA), Seaboard (AL), and Seaview (MI). Under the “port” column were airports with that word-Portland (ME), Portland (WI), Portsmouth (NH), and Newport News (VA). The d’Oro column identified airports with the words oro or gold-Hillsboro Beach (FL), El Oro (Mexico), El Toro (CA), Goldsboro (SC), Bayboro (NC), Gold Bay (British Columbia), and Teterboro (NJ). And, so on for eleven columns.
Of the 300 airports listed, only 128 of them reported that private jets with international flight plans had landed between Saturday afternoon and Sunday night. Of the 128, there were thirty-two that appeared in more than one of the eleven columns and showed more than one private jet landing during the critical period. Of the thirty- two, only eight were located within two hours by air from Boston, but the landing records provided no additional clues. Emily could have arrived at any one of the eight airports. The eight were listed on a flip chart that hung in the middle of the wall. Cap-d’Oro, Nova Scotia; Portland, Maine; Portsmouth, New Hampshire; Clarksboro, New York; Seaview, Michigan; Teterboro, New Jersey; Newport News, Virginia; and Bayboro, North Carolina.
Hap stood up, walked to the flip chart and marked three of the eight airports with a check. “We have to start somewhere. Mark your top three. We’ll send teams to four airports at the same time beginning with the top four vote-getters,” he said as he returned to his seat and watched the others take their turns at marking the chart.
When they were finished, Hap stood up again. “Driggs, you’re at Teterboro. Potter, you take your team to Cap-d’Oro. Irving, you take Portsmouth. Jones, you’ve got Bayboro. If we haven’t found anything in twenty-four hours, you’ll be given the next four airports and another twenty-four hours. If we haven’t found her by then, I’m not sure we will, unless she can give us more information. Call me on my cell phone if we need to talk, otherwise, check in with the office every two hours for updates and reports. Concentrate your efforts within a five-mile radius of the airport and start with the executive terminal grounds themselves. We’re all on twenty-four-hour duty for the next two days, so get your rest when you can. Good luck.”
After the four team-leaders left the apartment, Hap joined two other associates in the living room waiting for a briefing from Wilson on his session with Carter Emerson. When Wilson arrived at the apartment ten minutes later, a little past midnight, he nodded at Hap’s men stationed outside the twelfth-floor apartment and walked through the entryway into the living room.
Hap started the discussion by updating Wilson on the targeted airports.
“What if she’s not at one of the eight airports?” Wilson asked.
“Assuming we don’t get any new information that would cause us to change or expand our target sites and we can’t find her within the next forty-eight hours, we’ll have to bring in the FBI,” he said, pausing to see Wilson’s response.
Wilson nodded. His own doubts about whether the government would fully expose the secret partnership had been superseded by his concern for Emily. But after reading Carter’s history, he’d conceded that no democratic government would be able to sweep this under the rug. “Will she have a chance, if it comes to that?”
“Of course, but the FBI will have to find her before Tate and her captors figure out what’s happening.”
“Let’s bring them in now,” Wilson said bluntly.
“I think that’s exactly what we should do. Given the extent of Carter’s documentation and Tate’s penchant for murder, it makes no sense to wait. I can meet with the head of the FBI’s corporate crime division first thing tomorrow morning. Her name is Kirsten Kohl and she’s as good as they get. They’ll need a day to debrief Carter and develop a plan of attack, but Tate won’t do anything rash during the next couple of days, as long as you’re spinning out the division he wants. With any luck we’ll find Emily while you’re buying us time by following Tate’s wishes,” Hap said with the same confidence he’d displayed earlier in the day.
“Tell me the truth, Hap. What are our chances of finding her in the next two days?”
“Her clues are good, Wilson. They allowed us to narrow it down to eight airports. I think our chances of finding her are very good, as long as they don’t move her.”
Wilson ignored the last part of Hap’s comment for the moment. “What will you do when you find her?”
Hap hesitated.
Wilson already knew what he was going to say before he said it. It was the only thing that made sense under the circumstances, but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
“We’ll have to keep her under close surveillance until the FBI is ready to arrest Wayland Tate and everybody else in the secret partnership,” Hap said, his eyes firm yet sympathetic.
Wilson nodded noncommittally.
Hap continued, “If we don’t wait, Tate and his partners will disappear. You, Emily, and your family will continue to be at risk.”
Wilson turned his attention to the other part of Hap’s earlier comment. “What if they move her?”
“Then it will be up to the FBI to convince Tate and his partners to give her up.”
Wilson closed his eyes. The thought of losing Emily caused his body to ache, as if twisting until his bones were ready to break. When he opened his eyes, the sweat on his forehead was visible. He pushed back his moist hair. “Make your contact with the FBI,” he said. “Carter will have to accelerate his disclosure schedule.”
50
Wilson — Boston, MA
Just as expected, Wayland Tate, Robert Swatling, Jules Kamin, John Malouf, and Carter Emerson arrived at Fielder amp; Company first thing Tuesday morning to personally deliver the partnership’s five-page plan for spinning out the corporate restructuring practice. Wilson felt like a robot, having to control his emotions in their presence, but he had no choice.
Most of the day unfolded in his father’s office with his father’s partners and Leigh Tennyson, going over the details of the plan, the principal points of which were outlined in a brutally succinct document:
On the surface the meeting was conducted very professionally, dutifully focused on the spin-out. Beneath the facade, however, everything felt surreal and creepy, like being abducted by aliens. Nevertheless, Wilson kept his cool, suppressing the urge to blow them all to kingdom come.
Discussion of the final disclosure was limited although well orchestrated. Tate projected it to occur in two year’s time. Fucking liar, Wilson thought. During the few hours they spent together, each of the six new owners of Malouf amp; Company personally promised Wilson that his father’s vision would be ultimately realized, no matter what, and that Damien Hearst would be convinced to return Emily unharmed. They all seemed so genuine, it was pathetic. Malouf and Tennyson even apologized for not being able to discuss things earlier. They were human manipulators, who could no longer do anything else.
“It was nothing personal,” Malouf said, during a short break.
“I understand,” Wilson said, acknowledging that nothing was ever personal with Malouf.
“We both wanted to tell you what was happening on the trip, but everyone else wanted to wait. I think they were afraid of how you’d react,” Tennyson said.
“Don’t worry about it, Leigh, the important thing now is to make sure this transition goes smoothly,” Wilson said, repulsed by her two-facedness.
Swatling and Kamin pretended as if they’d known Wilson for years, patting him on the back and congratulating him. Tate and Carter took turns assuming a fatherly role by giving Wilson counsel on how to proceed. It was all too bizarre and eerie-and almost convincing.
