“Who are we leveraging?” Gail asked.
“Whoever we need to. We know for a fact that the Nasbe family has been taken to someplace called Maddox County, West Virginia, and we know that a call for help is being covered up. I think that Ms. Stacy
…” He looked to Venice.
“Phelps,” she prompted.
“I think that Stacy Phelps is a good place to start. Why would a law-abiding public servant pretend that a call never happened?”
Gail’s eyes narrowed. “And we’re going to extract that information from her through leverage ”-she used finger-quotes-“without any legal authority to do so.”
Jonathan shrugged. “That’s as good a summary as any.”
“That means blackmail?” she asked.
“Persuasion,” Jonathan countered. “Whatever it takes.”
She didn’t like it. “I thought we made it a point not to tangle with domestic law-enforcement agencies. I thought you thought that was the ultimate recipe for disaster.”
“I still feel that way. Up to but excluding the point where the law enforcers become a part of the problem. Besides, Stacy Phelps isn’t a cop. She’s a dispatcher.”
“Who works for cops,” Gail said. “You really think that we can mess with one without messing with the other?”
Boxers asked, “Maybe her bosses have no idea what she’s doing. If that were the case, then we’d be doing the Maddox County Sheriff’s Department a favor by ferreting out someone who’s covering up a crime.”
“Then let’s call the sheriff’s office and tell them what we know. Why not let them handle it?”
“First, there’s the source of our information,” Jonathan said. “That’s one hundred percent off the table.”
“And then there’s the fact that the sheriff’s office might be in on it,” Venice added.
Jonathan was impressed. Venice rarely weighed in on conspiracy theories.
She saw it in his expression. “Don’t give me that look. I’m not as Pollyanna as you think I am.”
Jonathan and Boxers laughed. “Oh, yes, you are,” they said in unison, making them laugh again.
Venice’s eyes returned to her screen, and her brow furrowed. One day, Jonathan figured that practicality would trump vanity and she’d get some glasses. Such words would never pass his lips, however.
“Now this is interesting,” Venice said. “I did a data search on the Nathan Bedford Forrest Mobile Home Park. That is one tough neighborhood. They could have their own police substation for all the calls that run out there.”
“Can I go home?” Boxers said. “If we’re going to chat, I’ve got other stuff to do. If we’re going to go to Maddox County and kick some ass, I’ll stay.”
Jonathan asked Venice, “How far is this place?”
She tapped. “As the crow flies, three hundred twenty miles. Throw in the mountain roads, and I’d guess an eight-or nine-hour drive.”
As he’d figured. “Too far to drive. Take too long. Box, find us a way to get in by air, and do all the planning you need to make that happen. Make sure you work with Venice to make any arrangements we need for landing zones and such.
“Ven, keep researching the area. If it looks interesting or relevant, make a note of it, and send it all to me electronically. It’ll give me something to read on the flight. Also, I need you to get us some wheels. Usual methods. Find us a place to set up a CP, too.” He knew that she would understand the abbreviation for command post.
Jonathan looked at Gail. “You come with me to the armory and we’ll load up the Batmobile.”
“What are we bringing?” Boxers asked, clearly annoyed that he wasn’t involved in the arms selection.
“A little bit of everything,” Jonathan said. “I have no idea what we’re looking at on the far side of this thing. I’ll plan for the worst.”
“How big a ‘worst’ are you talking about?”
Jonathan’s shoulders sagged. “Would you like me to let you see it before we load it up?”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Boxers said. “You know, since I’m the one who’s likely to be carrying it all.”
“Plan for a heavy load.”
“I’ll get us a chopper with horsepower to spare.” Boxers knew as much about mission planning as any five logisticians in the business.
Jonathan checked his watch. “I show that it’s zero-three-twenty-five. I want to be airborne by oh-six-hundred. Everybody good with that?”
He asked it as if there were a choice.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The cop-Sheriff Neen-drove way too slowly for Ryan’s taste. His mom was about to die, for God’s sake, and this guy hadn’t even turned on his lights and siren. He just, you know, drove. He even stopped at stop signs.
“This isn’t the way,” Ryan said. “I came straight down that road there.”
“All in good time, son,” Neen replied. He had a mustache that looked like something out of cowboy times, a big bushy thing that covered his entire lip and curled up at the ends. “This isn’t the big city. I can’t just call a SWAT team and have them go charging in. It’s just me and some deputies-sleeping deputies at that-and before I go charging anywhere, I want to make sure I know what I’m getting into. Now, tell me about this kidnapping you say happened.”
That I say happened? Ryan didn’t like the sound of that. Who would make up something like this? He told the story about driving through Old Town Alexandria, and the long, harrowing ride out to here. Then he talked about being beaten up and having to stand there while his mom read stupid lies.
“I couldn’t see through my hood,” he concluded, “but I assume they must have had a camera there, or else why would they have her do that? Maybe it’s up on the Internet or something.”
In the dark, he could see the sheriff’s head nodding-not as if he was saying yes, but as if he were thinking about things.
“What’s wrong?” Ryan asked.
“That is really some story,” the sheriff said.
His stomach fell. “You believe me, don’t you?”
The man’s silhouette turned in the dark. “Would you believe it if you had just heard it from someone?”
“Yes!” Ryan yelled loudly enough for his voice to crack. “Here.” He released himself from his seat belt and pulled his coat, his shirt, and his sweater over his head as a single unit. “Look at these bruises.” He tried to hold his ribs up in a way that they would be visible in the dim light of the car.
Neen seemed startled, and then chuckled. “Put your clothes on, son,” he said. “I’m not saying you’re lying, I’m just saying it doesn’t all add up for me. I’ll get someone to look at the bruises later.”
“It has to add up,” Ryan said. A growing panic made him speak louder and faster than he wanted to. “It’s true. I have to rescue my mom.”
The sheriff piloted his car toward civilization. Ryan could see the sky lightening, but it didn’t look like dawn. “So why didn’t you bring your mother with you?” he asked.
“I couldn’t. She wouldn’t fit through the window.”
“So this prison they put you in-”
“It wasn’t a prison, it was a room in a basement.”
“A guest room.”
“No, not a guest room! It had locks on the doors, and they beat me up! Why won’t you believe me?”
“Don’t shout at me, son.”
“I’m not your son, dammit! How can I not shout when you won’t even believe me?”
The sheriff’s stern look polished itself to something frightening. “I’d watch that mouth of yours, unless you want another beating.”
What was wrong with this guy? Was everybody in this town crazy, or just stupid? Maybe a little of both. Ryan wanted to scream that to Neen, but he held back. One way or the other, he needed this idiot’s help, and pissing him
