A Brewing Storm

could pour himself a cup, too, if he wished. “This morning,” Windslow said, “Hattie found this at the gate.”

Windslow nodded toward an opened manila envelope on the coffee table, along with a pair of yellow rubber gloves.

“Has anyone checked the note for prints?” Storm asked.

“No. Put on those gloves there before you handle it. I had Hattie get them from the kitchen.”

Storm pulled on the gloves. They were tight. He removed the letter and asked, “Does your wife know about this new demand?”

Windslow shook his head. “She’s still sleeping upstairs in her bedroom.”

Her bedroom. He hadn’t said “our bedroom.”Apparently using different staircases was not the only thing that the couple did separately.

This new note-the third from the kidnappers-looked much like the first ransom demand. It was handwritten in block letters and contained specific instructions.

“GO TO YOUR SAFETY DEPOSIT BOX AND REMOVE THE SIX MILLION YOU HAVE STASHED THERE.”

While Storm was reading, the senator said, “My stepson must have told them about the six million. I should’ve known that little bastard couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Probably told them about it when they were jerking out his front teeth.”

Six million dollars in a safety deposit box. Storm marveled at the way the senator had just let that drop, as if having that kind of money just sitting around in cash was the most natural thing in the world. Showers had been right about Windslow. He was indeed on the take. No wonder the Great Man had wanted to see him alone. Seeing as things were just starting to get interesting, Storm decided to play along.

“Why’d your stepson know about it?”

“The box is rented under his name.”

The note instructed the senator to remove the six million from the bank before closing time today. It was to be divided into four equal piles of $1.5 million, and each pile was to be put into a gym bag. At exactly 6 P.M., the kidnappers would call Samantha Toppers on her cell phone with instructions on where to deliver the bags. She would need a car because the bags would be dropped at different locations around Washington, D.C. If the FBI attempted to monitor the deliveries or to intervene, the kidnappers would kill Matthew Dull.

Jabbing his bony finger at the ransom demand, Windslow said, “Make sure you read that last line carefully!”

“HAVE STEVE MASON DRIVE SAMANTHA TOPPERS TO THE BANK AND ON THE DELIVERIES TONIGHT.”

“How in the hell do the kidnappers know about you?” Windslow asked in an accusatory voice, “and why do they want you driving my future daughter-in-law around with my six million in cash?”

Storm had to admit it was an interesting question. Clearly there was a leak, an informant, tipping off the kidnappers. But Storm didn’t like Windslow’s tone. The senator might have gotten away with bullying his way over others, but not Storm.

“I’ve got a few questions of my own,” Storm replied, ignoring Windslow’s question. “Why don’t you want the FBI to know about this note?”

The senator replied, “Because that six million is what we call 'walking around money’ in politics. Texas is a big state. Lots of people have their hands out come election time. I don’t think Agent Showers or the Justice Department would understand.”

“Neither would the IRS,” Storm said. “It’s bribe money.”

“C’mon, son. Jedidiah told me you had street smarts. How do you think campaigns are run? I use that cash to grease a few palms. It’s no big deal. It’s expected.”

“I’m not talking about greasing palms in Texas,” Storm replied. “I’m talking about your palms getting greased.”

A flash of anger washed over Windslow’s face. No one talked to him like this. But he kept his temper in check. “Where that money came from is none of your goddamn business,” he said. “You’re not here to investigate me. Look, what choice do I have? The kidnappers are demanding six million or they’re going to kill my stepson. I can’t go to the FBI because the six million is off-the-books income. I need you to do this for me. I need you to do it without telling the FBI.”

Having carefully returned the ransom note to its envelope, Storm removed the rubber gloves and said, “The kidnappers know where you live.”

Windslow said, “Everyone knows where I live. It’s no goddamn secret.”

“The kidnappers know you’ve got six million in cash in a safety deposit box and you can’t tell the FBI about it.”

“Yeah, and they also know about you, Mr. Steve Mason, or whatever your real name is.”

“They seem to know an awful lot.”

“We got a leaky faucet,” Windslow said.

“Any idea who?”

“No. I’ve been going over names since the note arrived.”

“How about Samantha Toppers?”

“Samantha?” Windslow repeated, breaking into a toothy grin. “That girl’s bra size is twice her IQ. She’s not smart enough to be involved in this. Where would she find four men to kidnap Matthew? Kidnappers don’t advertise on craigslist. Besides, she’s a trust fund baby. She’s got no need for my money.”

“My experience has been that the richer you are, the more you want. The kidnappers have asked her to deliver the ransom twice now. Why her?”

“She loves Matthew and she isn’t going to take my money and disappear. I told you, she’s loaded. Her parents died in an accident and left her millions. Besides, she’s not exactly a threat to them since she’s so puny. ”

“Could she and your stepson have dreamed up this entire scheme?” Storm asked. He watched Windslow’s face for a reaction. Surprise. Anger. Anything. But there was nothing, and that suggested the senator had already considered the idea.

“Matthew is too vain to let someone pull out his four front teeth,” Windslow said. “Also, the safety deposit box is in his name, and he knows I can’t complain in public if that cash vanishes. He could have gone in and taken it without faking his own kidnapping.”

“What about your congressional staff? A disgruntled employee, maybe?”

“Haven’t fired anyone in years, and only a couple of them know Matthew is missing.”

“That leaves only two other people who could’ve tipped off the kidnappers about my arrival last night,” Storm said. “You and your wife.”

Windslow smirked. “Why would I kidnap my stepson and demand six million in cash-money that’s already mine.”

“That narrows it down to your wife.”

Windslow set down the coffee mug that he’d been cradling. “I’m going to tell you a story. A year ago, I had a heart attack and it almost killed me. Gloria never left my side. She nursed me back to health. By that time, we’d been married for nearly twenty years. Marrying a younger woman caused tongues to wag. Everyone thought Gloria was a gold digger waiting for me to die. But that woman really loves me. She proved it when I got sick. After I recovered from my heart attack, I tore up our prenuptial agreement. If I kick off today, Gloria gets everything and that’s more than the six million walking around money that these bastards want. Besides, Gloria wouldn’t put her son through this. She spoils that kid rotten.”

“Where’s the leak then?” Storm asked.

“Why are you assuming it came from my turf? Those instructions-telling us to divide the money into four piles so they can be delivered at four different sites-that sounds like something the CIA would dream up.”

“Jedidiah Jones?”

“Son, I’ve been dealing with the agency for a long, long time, and you never can be certain what Jones and his buddies are doing. For all I know, Jones could be playing some sort of game here.”

“I owe my life to that man.”

“That don’t mean he wouldn’t use you-to get to me.”