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“Dear God,” someone said. “This is real.”
Fiona kept reading from the bottom of the fax. “These are small, benign demonstrations of our abilities. We are not barbarians. We cherish life, but if even one of our demands is not met, we will cripple your country. Planes will rain from the sky, refineries will explode, factories will idle, and electricity will be a thing of your past.
“In time, all people of the earth will convert to the one true faith, but we are willing to allow you to coexist with us for now.” She looked up. “It’s real.”
19
SMITH HAD MADE HIS MISTAKE A WEEK EARLIER. HE’D finally relented to MacD’s relentless calls for a proof-of-life video link to his daughter. And because he believed that Lawless was still under his control, he was lazy when it came to computer security. The video link only lasted a few tearful seconds, but Mark and Eric backtracked its source with ease.
Prior to that, the Corporation had made no headway in its investigation of Gunawan Bahar.
As Cabrillo had suspected, the kidnappers hadn’t taken Pauline Lawless far from where she’d been abducted in New Orleans. In fact, she was being held within the city’s notorious Lower Ninth Ward, the area so heavily damaged by Hurricane Katrina that much of it remained in ruins. It was a smart tactical decision—since the composition of the area had been so disrupted, strangers had a better chance of blending in and not arousing suspicion.
Cabrillo, Lawless, and Franklin Lincoln flew into Houston, where the Corporation maintained a safe house. It was one of a dozen they kept in port cities all over the world and was used primarily to store weapons and equipment that they might otherwise have trouble getting through customs. Even corporate jets are subject to searches, and while officials can be bribed in many airports around the globe, it wasn’t a good idea to try it in the United States.
They rented a nondescript sedan from Hertz, plundered the vaultlike room in the safe house for gear, and were on the road for the Big Easy moments later. They drove the three hundred and fifty miles at the speed limit, with every traffic rule followed to the letter. Cabrillo had Lawless drive. It wasn’t because of his arm, which was back to about eighty percent. He wanted MacD’s mind on something other than his six-year-old baby girl.
Their first stop was Lawless’s parents’ home. The terrified couple who had been watching the child had been told by the kidnappers that any attempt to alert the police would force them to kill her. They had been living with that fear for weeks. As much as MacD had wanted to call them, he agreed with Cabrillo that it was possible one of the kidnappers had stayed in their home or bugged their phone.
The home was in a neat subdivision with towering oaks draped in Spanish moss. Many of the homes were brick and had come through the hurricane unscathed. MacD parked well down the block and out of sight of his parents’ house and waited behind the wheel while Cabrillo and Linc went to check if the house was under observation. Both wore hard hats and blue jumpsuits that could easily pass for utility workers’ attire. Cabrillo carried a clipboard, Lincoln a toolbox.
There were no vans parked along the street, a favorite observation post, and no cars with overly tinted windows, another dead giveaway. All the lawns were well manicured. It was an important detail, because if a neighbor’s house had been commandeered by the kidnappers to keep an eye on the Lawlesses, they wouldn’t expose themselves by riding a John Deere around the property.
They spent fifteen minutes checking gas meters but at the same time always watching the target house for drape
s being moved by someone lurking inside. The few cars that passed them on the quiet street paid no attention and didn’t slow or stop.
“I think we’re good,” Linc said.
Cabrillo had to agree. He scribbled something on his notepad in big bold letters, and the two of them approached the door. The brass knocker had been recently polished and the stairs swept, as if these small domestic chores could take the Lawlesses away from the pain they were feeling. He rapped loudly. A moment later an attractive woman in her mid-fifties opened the door.
He held up the clipboard where she could read it and asked, “Ma’am, we’ve had reports of gas leaks in this area. Have you had any trouble?”
On the clipboard was written: We’re here with MacD. Are you alone?
“Um, no. I mean, yes. No. No one’s here.” Then the reality hit her, and her voice raised two octaves. “You’re with MacD? He’s all right? Oh my gosh!” She turned to shout over her shoulder. “Mare! Mare, get in here. MacD’s okay.”
Juan gently but firmly bustled them inside and shut the door. An Irish setter came into the room to see what the commotion was, its feathered tail wagging excitedly.
“Mrs. Lawless, please keep your voice down. Were the men who took your granddaughter ever in this house?”
“What is it?” a male voice called from deeper in the home.
“No. Never. They grabbed her when I was watching her at a park near here. Brandy, down,” she said to the dog that was trying to lick Linc’s face. Linc ignored the dog and kept watching the bug detector as he swept the entryway. “They told me they would let her go soon but that if I contacted the police they would kill her. My husband and I have been sick with worry ever since.”
Marion Lawless II came around a corner, wearing chinos and a denim shirt. His son was his spitting image, especially the jade-colored eyes and slightly cleft chin.
“Mare, these men are here with MacD.”
Juan thrust out a hand. “My name is Juan Cabrillo. This is Franklin Lincoln. And we’ve been working with your son to rescue Pauline.” As soon as introductions were over, the Chairman called Lawless on a disposable cell and told him it was clear but to come through backyards anyway.
“The last we knew, MacD had quit working for that security company after something bad happened to him in Afghanistan,” the senior Lawless said.
“It’s a rather long, complicated story. I’ll let your son tell it when he gets here. We just wanted to let you know that we’ve located Pauline and we’re going to get her back.”
“And the animals that took her?” Kay asked. From her tone it was clear what fate she preferred for them. She might be a genteel Southern woman, but there was steel in her spine.
“Will never bother you again,” Juan assured her, and she understood his meaning.
