“No.”
“But you believe God is real?”
“Yes.” The second lie required less consideration.
“So you believe Gracie’s coming home because you believe in God and God takes care of kids, right?”
“That’s right.” No consideration at all.
“See, that’s why I decided God is bogus.”
“Sam, don’t say that. God’s not bogus.”
“Well, if God is spending so dang much time taking care of Gracie now, why’d he let that cretin take her in the first place?”
John gave up. “I don’t know, Sam.”
Sam frowned and said, “You think that cretin wants more than twenty-five million bucks to let her go?”
“I… I don’t know.”
Sam stared up at John for a moment, then said, “Your face looks better. From when Mom smacked you.”
“Please take the money.”
Elizabeth touched the image on the computer screen and gently traced the outline of her daughter’s face. She had logged onto the FBI’s website, the Kidnapped and Missing Persons Investigations page at www.fbi.gov/mostwant/kidnap/kidmiss.htm. Two columns of pictures and names of children abducted in Saginaw, Texas; Deltona, Florida; Santa Fe, New Mexico; Oregon City, Oregon; Jackson, Tennessee; Oklahoma City, Oklahoma; Chicago, Illinois; San Luis Obispo, California; Las Vegas, Nevada.
Where in America are children safe?
She clicked on the image of her daughter. She saw the same photo of Grace enlarged on a page that read: http://www.fbi.gov/mostwant/kidnap/brice.htm
KIDNAPPING
Post Oak, Texas
GRACIE ANN BRICE DESCRIPTION
Age: 10
Place of Birth: Dallas, Texas
Sex: Female
Height: 4’6”
Weight: 80 pounds
Hair: Short Blonde
Eyes: Blue
Race: White
THE DETAILS
Gracie Ann Brice was kidnapped after her soccer game at approximately 6:00 P.M. on Friday, April 7, at Briarwyck Farms Park in Post Oak, Texas. She was last seen wearing a soccer uniform, gold jersey with “Tornadoes” on the front and a number 9 on the back, and blue shorts, blue socks, and white Lotto soccer shoes, and a silver necklace with a silver star. Gracie may be in the company of a white male, 20 to 30 years, 200 pounds, blond hair, blue eyes, wearing a black baseball cap and a plaid shirt. He asked for Gracie by name at the park.
REMARKS
Gracie Ann Brice has a muscular build, light complexion, and short hair. Her elbows may have recent abrasions.
The parents of Gracie Ann Brice are offering a reward of $25 million for information leading to her recovery. Individuals with information concerning this case should take no action themselves, but instead immediately contact the nearest FBI Office or local law enforcement agency. For any possible sighting outside the United States, contact the nearest United States Embassy or Consulate.
Elizabeth grabbed both sides of the monitor and put her face against her daughter’s image.
“Take the money! Let her go! Please!”
A child abducted by a stranger warrants a featured slot on the network morning shows and a mention on the evening news. But when the victim’s mother puts a $25 million bounty on the abductor’s head, dead or alive, that’s lead story news.
Under orders from headquarters, FBI Special Agent Eugene Devereaux had given live interviews on the network evening news, back to back to back. He had protested that he was too busy trying to find the girl, but he had been informed that his orders came straight from Director White himself. The Bureau brass liked its agents- particularly articulate agents like himself-on national TV. Good for PR. And next year’s budget requests.
Devereaux sighed; his investigation had become a goddamned $25 million sideshow.
He was now in the command post, slouched in his chair and alternating between his left and right buttock so as not to put additional pressure on his inflamed prostate while reviewing the latest leads. He had yet to read one that rang true.
“Prostate?”
Devereaux looked up to see Colonel Brice standing there.
“Recognize the butt position,” the colonel said.
“You, too?”
The colonel nodded. “Try saw palmetto.”
“Saul who?”
“Saw palmetto. Berry from the palmetto tree. Relieves the pain. You can buy it in any health food store.”
“I heard about those places.”
The colonel gestured at the stack of leads. “Anything?”
“Yeah, over two thousand sightings,” he said. “Couple more days, we’ll know where every blonde, blue-eyed girl in the Southwest lives.”
“You think they’re after the money?”
“I’m afraid so, Colonel.” The colonel sat in an adjacent chair; Devereaux adjusted his butt position. “Rewards of a few thousand dollars can be productive, but $25 million-that’s a whole ’nother ball game. Two thousand sightings, we’re wasting too much time chasing too many false leads.” He put his hand on the stack. “What if there is one good lead in all this?”
“May I?”
“Sure. Here, I’ve been through these.” Devereaux pushed a stack of papers toward Colonel Brice and yawned.
“You need some sleep. Give your prostate a rest.”
“I’ll sleep after we find Gracie.”
The colonel gave him a firm look. “You’re a good man.”
“And you were a great soldier.” The colonel did not respond. The silence was awkward, so Devereaux broke it by confessing to an American hero. “I wasn’t. I just wanted to come home. Nineteen days left in my tour and I’m
