dance Kid. For them the pipe dream had been Bolivia. Karen looked over at the clock again, wondering what had become of Will’s efforts to trace Huey’s cell phone. Had it all come to nothing? Or was a host of FBI agents even now preparing to crash into the cabin where Abby was being held?
“Get your ass in gear,” Hickey said. “We’ve got less than an hour.”
She walked into the bathroom, her limbs heavy from truncated sleep. The events of the next few hours had passed beyond her control. Possibly beyond anyone’s. It was like your water breaking at the end of pregnancy. That baby was going to come, and there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do to stop it, short of killing you.
Will stood at the sitting room window, wishing for a balcony. The stink of old eggs drifted from the room- service tray Cheryl had ordered. All Will had managed to get down was some tea and a biscuit, but she had eaten a massive breakfast, dubbed the “Natchez Plate” by the Beau Rivage marketing people. He wondered briefly if repeated cycles of Anectine and Restorase had a stimulating effect on the appetite.
The sun was shining full on the water now, turning the brown waves silver in its glare. Hickey’s last check-in call had come three minutes ago-exactly eight o’clock-after which Cheryl had informed Will that they would be leaving for the Biloxi branch of the Magnolia Federal Bank within the hour. Harley Ferris had not yet reported in, but Will still held out hope. CellStar ’s first-string tracing team had reached Hazlehurst at 7:15 A.M., but Hickey had skipped the seven-thirty check-in call making pointless the crew’s hell-for-leather ride from Tunica County. But at least they’d been on station for the 8:00 A.M. call-if Hickey had made one to Huey, and not just to Cheryl.
Any second the phone would ring, and Ferris would tell him one of two things: they had pinpointed Huey’s position, or they had not. If they hadn’t, Will had a decision to make. Should he call the FBI and try to convince them to start a search of the woods around Hazlehurst? Or should he pretend to play out the endgame according to Hickey’s rules, withdraw all the money he could get from Magnolia Federal, give it to Cheryl to keep her cooperating, and be wearing her gun when he came face-to-face with Hickey? After the nightmares of Waco and Ruby Ridge, it was too easy to envision disaster resulting from calling in the FBI. An armed search team might panic Huey into killing Abby, perhaps even unintentionally. But the alternative was hardly more appealing. There was no guarantee that Will and Hickey would ever come face-to-face. Once Hickey knew Cheryl had the ransom, he could simply order his cousin to kill Abby and flee.
The ring of the telephone floated through the spacious sitting room. Will said a silent prayer, then walked over to the end table by the sofa and picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Will, it’s Harley Ferris. We didn’t get it.”
Will stood motionless, not speaking or even thinking, the way some people reacted to the news that an emergency room X ray had turned up lung cancer. As if by not making any move at all they could stop the terrible reality rushing toward them with the implacable indifference of a tidal wave.
“Why not?” he asked. “What happened?”
“The calls are just too short. We’re very close in absolute terms, but we’re talking about undeveloped land. Thick Mississippi woods. Waist-high underbrush. As far as the logging road you mentioned, there are dozens cut through there, all turning back on each other. And there are a hundred shacks in those woods.”
Will could imagine it all too easily: typical Mississippi backcountry.
“Doctor, what we need now is a battalion of national guardsmen to line up shoulder to shoulder and march through those woods. And an FBI Hostage Rescue Team to bring out your little girl after the guardsmen find the place.”
Will put his hand over his eyes. It would take hours to organize that kind of search. Karen would be sending the ransom wire in less than an hour. Abby’s captor would almost certainly leave the cabin before then, to meet Hickey at some prearranged rendevous. Hopefully, he would be taking Abby with him. They might have left already, Will realized, just after Hickey’s last check-in call.
“Doctor?” Ferris prodded.
“I’m thinking.” The only assumption Will felt comfortable making was that Hickey would keep Abby alive until he was sure he had the ransom money. He wanted revenge, but there was no reason to risk losing two hundred thousand dollars when it was an hour from being in his possession. And if he killed Abby too soon, he would lose leverage he might need if Karen or Will balked at the last minute.
Maybe that’s the only card I have left, Will thought. Hesitate at every step until I get confirmation that Abby’s alive. It would be a game of chicken. Hickey could order Huey to hurt Abby in order to force Will to proceed, but he couldn’t tell Huey to kill her. Not if he wanted the money.
“Doctor?” Ferris snapped. “I’ve got to say this. I don’t believe you’re thinking rationally.”
“Keep your tracing team on the job, Harley. I’m going to get them another shot at that trace.”
“How?”
“Just tell them to keep their eyes and ears on their screens.”
“What about the FBI?”
Will ground his teeth and looked out at the gulf. The cool air that had settled over the land during the night was taking on the yellow density of a Mississippi summer morning, as the sun baked it and sent it skyward again. Skyward…
“My God,” he breathed. “Cheryl!”
“What?” Ferris asked.
Cheryl came to the wide door that divided the sitting room of the suite from its bedroom. All she wore was a towel on her head.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“What kind of car does Huey drive?”
“An old pickup truck.”
“What make? What color?”
“Last time I saw it, it was baby-shit brown. Which is green, I guess. With lots of primer on it. It’s one of those old Chevys. You know, with the the rounded cab.”
“Listen to me, Harley. If you’ll make me a promise, you can call the FBI.”
“I’m tired of your conditions. I already regret-”
“She’s my daughter!” Will shouted, blood pounding in his temples. “I’m sorry. You’ve already done more than I had any right to expect. But I’ve just learned what type of vehicle the guy in Hazlehurst is driving. And the sun is up now. If the FBI could get a chopper up over that area, they might be able to find it pretty quick.”
“You’re damn right they could!” Ferris cried. “And if they can’t, the state police can. They can put out a statewide APB for the vehicle, too. If that guy tries to move with your little girl, they’ll be on him like you know what.”
“No state police. Highway patrolmen aren’t anywhere close to trained for something like this. A hostage standoff with a five-year-old? It’s got to be the FBI. A chopper out of Jackson could be on station fifteen minutes after takeoff.” Will was excited, too, but he knew the realities. ER work in small towns had taught him that while helicopters were much faster than ground vehicles, the time required to prep them for flight often meant that conventional ambulance runs were faster, even over distances of eighty or ninety miles. But Ferris’s enthusiasm knew no bounds.
“I’ll handle everything,” he said. “I’m so goddamn relieved. You just leave it to me.”
“The FBI is going to ask you a hundred questions about me. You can’t answer them. That’s my condition. You can’t even give them my name. If you do, they’ll have someone out at my house in ten minutes, and that could get my daughter killed.”
“Damn it-”
“The kidnapper is at my house right now, Harley. He can kill Abby with one phone call. The FBI’s job is to find that vehicle and that cabin. That’s it. In ninety minutes you can tell them all you know, but for now, nothing. Just the vehicle.”
“Jennings-”
“Don’t give them my phone numbers, either. If they called at the wrong time, that could get Abby killed, too. If I think of something that can help them, I’ll call you and you relay it. Understood?”
“I don’t like it. But I understand.”
“Use your head, Harley. Before every step you take, remind yourself that there’s a five-year-old girl out there, scared out of her mind.”
