They Disappeared

“Subject is now eastbound on West Eighteenth. Traffic is light,” Finnie said into his phone.

“The tag comes back out of Hockessin, Delaware, registered to a 2010 Ford Mustang,” Renee Abbott responded. “R.O. reported plates stolen two weeks ago.”

“It’s a stolen tag,” Finnie said.

“Big surprise.” Maynard kept a lock on the vehicle.

“How do you wish us to proceed?” Finnie said into his phone.

“Stand by,” Renee said. “We’ll go to the leads-they’ve been monitoring.”

As the van rolled through midtown, Jeff continued his rapid inventory.

Remember every detail.

Sarah was wearing the same clothes she’d worn for their walk to Times Square. That was yesterday. That was a lifetime ago. Aside from her anguish, Jeff could not tell if she’d been hurt as alarm screamed in the back of his brain for their son.

God, where is Cole? Don’t let him be dead! Please!

He looked into Sarah’s eyes and battled to let her know.

I’m here with you. We’re going to be okay. We’re going to fight.

There were four captors. Two were in the back: one holding a knife on Sarah and the other pointing a gun at him.

In the front, the bearded man in the passenger seat, who’d so far done the talking, had an accent. His English was good but he sounded European.

He was in charge.

The driver had a ball cap, full beard, dark glasses, practically a twin to the leader. The driver was smooth at the wheel, vigilant, constantly scanning the traffic and mirrors. Drawing on his expertise as a mechanic, Jeff figured the van had a powerful Vortec V8 motor.

On the floor behind the console dividing the two front bucket seats, he noticed a duffel bag, partially opened. He saw and heard a digital emergency scanner squawking with police dispatches. There were walkie-talkies, his phones and others, folded maps, along with other items.

Were those bullet tips?

Sarah’s masked captors had dark sweatshirts, with their hoods up, dark pants, work boots. They were wearing earpieces. At times Jeff heard leaked dispatches in a foreign language. The air smelled of strong cigarettes and spicy food. The van was clean other than some take-out food wrappers and empty take-out coffee cups with colorful logos. The van creaked as they traveled through the West Side. In the fraction of a second Jeff had to think, he tried to retain every detail before time ran out.

“Where is our property?” the leader demanded again.

“I have it,” Jeff said.

“You lie. Cut her!”

“No! Wait! Please! I put it in a safe place! You said I would see my wife and our son! What have you done with him?”

“He is insurance. We want our property now! Or we will kill your son and wife in front of you, starting with the boy!”

“This is a mistake! Return my family and I will tell you where to find the plane. Please, we’ve already suffered so much.”

“You have suffered?” The man in charge whirled to face Jeff. “You have suffered?”

The man’s dark glasses and full beard concealed his features but his nostril’s flared with rage. A gold filling from his yellowed teeth glinted.

“You know nothing of suffering. Very soon we will show the world what it is to suffer-to lose what you love.”

Across town in One Police Plaza, Brewer and Cordelli’s task force lieutenant, Ted Stroud, had been alerted to the unfolding situation. In all his years on the job, he’d made many split-second calls.

Some ended well.

Some didn’t.

The bad ones haunted him. But Stroud had no time to dwell on win-loss columns. He needed to advise his team now. He reviewed the circumstances one more time. This was a tentacle of their investigation that had involved a double homicide, the brazen abduction of a mother and her son, and now the husband attempting an unassisted ransom operation.

It was live, mobile, risks at every turn. A hell ride.

“Advise the unit to continue following the suspect vehicle and get other unmarked units rolling into position to box him. If he runs before we set up, pursue. Do not lose him. Alert all marked units in the sector but keep it off the air,” Stroud said.

Renee Abbott checked with Finnie and Maynard.

“We got it.” Finnie, phone to his ear, eyes forward on the white van, then advised Maynard, adding, “Better tighten up on him, Sean. He’s getting some distance on us.”

The van’s driver adjusted his grip on the wheel and eyed his side mirrors, concentrating on that white Ford sedan.

Still there, nearly half a block behind them.

The driver had first noticed the sedan when they’d stopped on West Eighteenth Street, how it had materialized and moved slowly toward them from the distance. At the time, he thought the car was looking for a parking space, or checking an address.

His assessment had changed.

For now, after several minutes and several blocks, that white Ford sedan continued trailing them. The driver watched with increasing nervousness until he was convinced.

“We’re being followed,” he said.

The man in charge studied his passenger’s side mirror.

“See?” the driver said. “That white car to the right, the Ford.”

The man in charge looked hard into the mirror, then ahead to the next cross street.

“Slow down and stop for the yellow light, then go through it.”

The driver eased the van to ensure it was clear while approaching the next intersection as the green turned yellow. Just as the yellow signal turned red, the driver accelerated, drawing horn honking from opposing vehicles green-lighted to advance through the intersection.

A siren screamed behind the van.

The unmarked white Ford had activated the emergency lights concealed in its grille and threaded through stopped traffic. The Ford’s siren gave several loud yelps as it cut through the intersection, weaving in leaps against the red light in pursuit of the van.

The van’s driver shoved the gas pedal to the floorboard. The V8 roared and the van sailed west on the cross- town street, its speed climbing as it knifed through traffic.

Jeff braced himself while watching the captors strain for balance. As the van rocked violently he saw the pistol slip in the gunman’s hand.

This is my chance.

Jeff slammed his fist into the gunman’s face, then instantly smashed the face of the man holding the knife to Sarah.

The gun clattered out of reach.

As the dazed gunman clawed for it, Jeff elbowed his face hard, then grabbed the second captor’s head, twisted and cracked it against the van’s steel ribbing.

Jeff hooked his arm around Sarah’s waist and dragged her to the back, praying the rear doors were unlocked. His attack took them all by surprise. Before the men in front could react he’d worked the rear latch.

The doors opened to pavement blurring a few feet below, the rush of air loud, chaotic with sirens and horns,