do with that, nothing, and I mean nothing under heaven, will keep the U.S. government from going scorched earth on all of you. I mean sky-raining-fire, biblical end-of-days kind of shit, my Russian friend. Think Al Capone-level, it’s-over-for-you kind of shit,” Heron snarled.
Vaslav appeared genuinely shocked. “I swear I know nothing about this latest development. And I don’t think it’s anyone I am involved with. There is no way even the most foolhardy would go to that extreme. These are businessmen, not suicide bombers — they do not wish to eradicate themselves. Look, I can get you the name of the party who ordered the hit, but in return, I have to get a guarantee that nobody on my side will be prosecuted for making the stupid mistake of taking the contract without checking into the particulars of the target. That’s what I’m told happened.”
“I find that impossible to believe.”
“Perhaps, but in the end, the offer is the same. They take the position that it was a regrettable indiscretion, but that all is well, as you say, that has ended well, correct? The shooter has paid the ultimate price for failure; nobody really got hurt other than him, and this way you can go after the driving force who set the contract into motion in the first place. As to the child, I have nothing to do with it, and I can speak for everyone I know that they wouldn’t compound their mistake in this way. Perhaps it would even help you to find her if you knew the identity of the person who ordered the hit. If it is the same person, then you could apply pressure. Does this make sense?”
Heron was very good at reading people, and he could sense two things coming off the Russian: fear and sincerity. He believed that they hadn’t grabbed the girl. It would guarantee their extermination. No business would do that.
“Suppose I believed you. How long would it be before you had a name and enough details to make it stick?”
“Would you entertain immunity in exchange for testifying?”
“No. No way. But right now, I’m not so worried about testifying as I am in knowing who went after her. Once we know the who, then we can look at the viability of making a case.”
“Very well. I will go to my people and share our discussion with them. Give me a few days. I’m sure they will agree. It will just require some internal argument. There are some who believe my operations should be left to your devices rather than potentially exposing other, more powerful players to inconvenience over this.”
“You can have forty-eight hours. That’s it. There will be no further extension. But, Vaslav, a word of warning. If anyone in your group is even remotely associated with the kidnapping, all bets are off. Unless the little girl shows up at a police station, unharmed, before today is at an end, the kidnapping is a declaration of war that could never be rescinded. Do I make myself completely clear?”
Vaslav took a last puff of smoke and dropped the butt into the gutter, where it hissed in a pool of oily water as the ember died. He thought about the ramifications of kidnapping the family of a federal agent, of the devastation the act would cause to the parents, and how he would react if it was his child.
When his eyes met those of Agent Heron, they were unflinching.
“Crystal.”
Chapter 20
The day passed uneventfully, but there had been no call, which was disturbing to everyone involved in the investigation. In most kidnappings, a ransom demand usually came in within twenty-four hours. If it didn’t, the crime took on a more ominous tone. If a child was kidnapped for money, there was a chance they could get the child back unharmed. But when abductions had no clear motive, the odds dropped drastically.
Art had stopped in with two agents and a psychiatrist. They had spent hours with Silver, waiting for the call that never came. Art was seasoned and proficient, and his demeanor gave away nothing, but she could tell that he was getting more worried as the day wore on. When he finally left with the team, he told her he would be back the next day if she needed him, but Silver declined. The techs had wired the phone line so it could be remotely traced from headquarters, so there was no point tying up personnel at her flat. Besides which, she wanted to be alone. Richard had called and offered to come by to keep her company, but she was overloaded and didn’t want to be around anyone, so she begged off, promising to call him the next day.
She went into Kennedy’s room, sat on her bed, and began crying for the little girl who’d been torn from her without warning. Silver fingered the quilted bedspread she’d gotten for Kennedy when she was five, keening as she spied her school bag in the corner, her clothes neatly hung up in her open closet, an outfit for the next day set out on the overstuffed chair by her window.
When Silver opened her eyes, she realized an hour had passed. She pulled herself to her feet and dragged herself into her own bedroom. She flicked on the lights and then padded back through the flat to the front door, checking to ensure that the two deadbolts were locked and that the chain and the sliding lock were also secure.
Silver returned to her bedroom and kneeled down at the base of her closet, spinning the combination lock on the floor safe with practiced finesse.
Her vision blurred, and she realized that the combination of stress and too little sleep was wearing on her. She headed to her bathroom, opened the tap and poured herself a glass of water, and then returned to her bed, where she gratefully swallowed one of the sleeping pills the therapist had given her then crawled under the covers, emotionally and physically exhausted.
The following morning, Silver awoke to a grogginess that was a residual effect of the pill. She felt a little better after a shower but didn’t fully rejoin the living until her third cup of coffee.
No calls had come in, and a quick check with Art confirmed that no new leads had surfaced. Agents were working the neighborhood all day, and he agreed to check in if anything came up. Silver set the phone down on the dining table as she stared out the window with the realization that every minute nothing new transpired her daughter’s odds of survival declined.
Her next call was to Richard, whom she’d avoided being alone with since that night. She wasn’t ready to process what had happened between them; the added weight of the kidnapping had colored the whole thing negatively. It wasn’t fair to either of them to associate her daughter’s disappearance with their night together, but she did, and she wasn’t sure she would ever be able not to. He answered on the second ring.
“How are you, Silver?”
“Digging out. Waiting for something to happen. Going a little stir-crazy. How about you?”
“Sitting in meetings with Sam as he asserts control over the task force. Hours of brain suck.”
“Anything new come up?”
“He’s really interested in pursuing his theory about this not being the work of a single perp. He has everyone scrambling to follow up on the idea that it’s somehow connected to either the Ponzi scheme or the terrorist funding.”
“That’s not a surprise. Did anything come back on the photos of our mystery man that were circulated?”
“Nope. But I’m not sure how much priority Sam gave those with everything that’s happened since. I know they got sent out, but you know if you don’t follow up, they get tossed in the round file by the end of the day. Everyone’s got other things to do than rack their brain for a possible ID of a grainy black and white.”
“And what about the interviews that were done with the men connected with the fires?”
“Nothing. The New Jersey runner is still unconscious and in critical condition, and the prognosis is that he’ll be on machines for the rest of his life. We managed to get a warrant to search his digs, but other than some drugs and a pistol with the serial number filed off, there wasn’t much. If he is the killer, he’s either got a second place, or
