century, and before. It was a place of banks, brokerages, and investment firms.
Much of the architecture dated back to the Neo-Greek Revival of the 1920s, gray-brown stone temples of money featuring domed roofs, triangular pediments, and columned porticoes. The atmosphere was reserved, serious, solemn, foursquare with respectability. Properly reverential. A district where money was taken seriously and an air of solemnity prevailed.
Structures were relatively modest in height, most of them no more than a few stories tall. Boxy and bunkerlike, they hunkered down as if to protect their considerable assets.
Staid and traditional, the area ordinarily would have been quiet and closed on a Saturday afternoon. Closed for business after twelve noon on Saturday.
Today, though, the Planters and Traders Mercantile Exchange was the site of unusual energy and activity.
That was because Susan Keehan needed to get a million dollars in a hurry.
Ransom money.
The kidnapper's nonnegotiable demands: one million dollars in cash; old, unmarked bills, nonconsecutive serial numbers. The highest denomination allowed was hundred-dollar bills; none of which could have been printed during the last twenty years, when the U.S. Treasury had begun installing monitoring strips in its currency to allow for the tracking of money-laundering and currency-smuggling schemes.
A tough assignment in any case, made still more difficult on a Saturday afternoon when the banks were closed and the city squirmed and seethed under the threat of an oncoming hurricane. A labor virtually impossible to be carried out on such short notice by anyone not a Keehan.
The dynasty, however, was in the banking business in a big way. Among its New Orleans assets was the Planters and Traders Mercantile Exchange, one of the oldest financial institutions in continuous operation on the North American continent. The name might have been old-fashioned, but the reality was that of an up-to-date, modern banking concern.
Its doors opened this day on command of Susan Keehan, and its officers from the bank president on down were in place and on point to carry out her wishes.
Thanks to the bugging device, Jack and Pete — and CTU Center — were aware of the KHF clique's strategy and tactics as soon as they were voiced.
Mylon Sears wanted to maximize Susan's safety by minimizing her personal involvement, but she was having none of it. She intended to spearhead the effort to ransom Raoul Garros and refused to be diverted from her course.
In any case, it was necessary for her to take a leading role, for there were certain key financial instruments and procedures that could only be activated by her personal participation.
Sears was forced to strike a balance between surrounding her with as much protection as possible, while at the same time keeping the security shield light, mobile, and fast-responsive.
The near-deserted streets of the financial district were energized by an EXECPROTEK convoy consisting of several SUVs, a scout car, a tail car, and several outriders on motorcycles.
The caravan was now lined up at curbside in front of the bank building. Security guards in plainclothes were posted on the sidewalk, on the wide brownstone stairs leading up to the bank, and under its columned portico. Sears would have liked to have armed them with machine guns, but instead settled for equipping them with big- bore, semi-automatic pistols worn in shoulder holsters concealed under suit jackets.
Machine guns and shotguns were in the possession of some of the guards remaining inside the parked vehicles, however.
The heavy security presence had caused Jack and Pete to take up their listening post a good distance away, around the corner and down the street from the bank.
They were additionally handicapped by having to operate in a city depopulated by the Everette threat. Made even trickier here in the financial district, whose closed buildings and near-deserted streets hampered their ability to follow the convoy too closely. Stealth was required, demanded.
That disadvantage was counterbalanced by the bug on Susan Keehan, which kept them apprised of their quarry's plans as soon as they were conceived.
Jack and Pete were not alone; they had Center's resources to call on. For now, though, it was necessary to minimize CTU's footprint to avoid provoking Sears's suspicions.
Center provided valuable backup in the form of its ability to tap into the city's network of traffic and surveillance cameras — both private and public. Its technicians were able to hack into them and use them without permission, without their owners being any the wiser.
Minutes dragged by, while they waited for the audio signal to return. Pete said, 'Here's a wild one: what if Garros faked his own kidnapping?'
Jack considered it for a while. 'I'm not ruling anything out, but what would he stand to gain by it?'
'A cool million. Not bad for a day's work. He lets Susan 'ransom' him and resumes his normal life, richer by a million bucks he's got stashed away for a rainy day. Minus whatever he cuts his accomplices in for,' Pete said.
Jack was doubtful. 'When he marries Susan Keehan, he'll be in line for a couple of hundred million dollars. Would he risk all that for a quick score? One that leaves him with three kills hanging over his head?'
'Maybe he needs some ready cash,' Pete said, shrugging. 'I don't know, the kidnapping seems out of pattern somehow. The move against Paz was a hit, a murder attempt. No plan to take him alive, just to take him out. Execution stuff. But kidnapping's a money crime. The two don't jell.'
Jack said, 'The kills at the Mart fit with the assault on Paz. They're both cut from the same cloth. Professional. Ruthless. They look like they came from the same gang, one that plays rough.
'Maybe Paz's escape caused them to change their plans. Paz alive and gunning for you is enough to give even a hardened murder crew the shakes. So they move to Plan B, a money crime. Crime of opportunity with an element of spur-of-the-moment planning.
'As bad as Susan's got it for Raoul, I'd say they could have shaken the Keehan money free for a lot bigger ransom: five, ten million. One million seems a little light by comparison, as if they carefully calculated just what the market would bear for a quick, short-term fix. I'd say they were in a hurry. Could be they need the money to put some distance between them and the Colonel,' Jack said.
The static hissing out of the speaker grid took on a new rhythm now, an intermittent choppiness. White noise began to blat and squawk in irregular patterns, with snatches of words starting to break through. Gibberish so far, but even that was heartening, because it meant that the audio was coming back.
Words, phrases began to emerge, several different voices: '…not doing too badly now, we're back on schedule — make the exchange — no guarantees, can't trust — I'll carry the briefcase — Raoul's got to be all right, he's got to!'
That last voice was unmistakably Susan's.
Pete gave a thumbs-up sign. Jack said, 'We're back in business.'
Pete contacted Center. 'We've got them, they're coming in again.'
A Center operator said, 'Affirmative, we read them, too. We're picking them up off your carrier signal.'
There was a flurry of activity at the bank. Gene Jasper exited through the front entrance, carrying a suitcase, presumably with a million dollars inside it. He was flanked by several sidemen who escorted him down the stairs and into a waiting SUV.
At the same time, at a side door, a circle of bodyguards emerged, Susan Keehan at its center. They maneuvered her across the sidewalk and into another SUV.
The convoy moved off, arrowing down the boulevard and out of the deserted financial district.
Jack and Pete followed, from a long way off. They could afford to give them a long leash. The Keehan crowd was Flea-bitten.
12. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 4 P.M. AND 5 P.M. CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME
