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“Yes.”
“Good. Instructions for the first installment should be delivered shortly.”
“Where’s the next picture of my daughters? I told you I—”
The kidnapper cut him off. “Don’t worry. The picture will follow the delivery.”
“And I want to talk with them.”
If anything the voice grew colder. “We’ll call you when you arrive at the first drop.”
“How will you know—”
“Trust me, we’ll know.” Then the phone went dead.
Mei-li was standing at his elbow. “What did he say?”
“Instructions should be here shortly...and another photo of Linden and Laurel will be emailed a few minutes afterward.”
“Then we don’t have a lot of time. Let’s get the packages ready.”
Five people, four packages, didn’t take long. They divvied up the money into four equal piles and wrapped them in the brown paper Mei-li had brought. As the others held the packages, Patrick tied them securely with the string she’d also provided. Dirk’s was the last, and Patrick wasn’t quite done when the doorbell sounded.
“Here, I’ll hold that,” Rafe said as Dirk dropped his package and hurried into the foyer.
Mei-li was right at his elbow when he opened the door. “Delivery for Mr. DeWinter,” said the man in the doorway, who wore the blue-and-gray livery of a local delivery service she recognized. He handed Dirk an electronic box. “Sign right there,” he said, indicating the touch screen and proffering a stylus. Then he took the box back, confirmed the signature and handed over a large envelope. “Thanks. Have a nice day.”
Dirk let Mei-li close the door as he ripped the envelope open and took out the single sheet of paper it contained. His eyes rapidly scanned the few sentences.
Victoria Peak, 11:00 a.m. Walk to the archway where you can see the words, The Lion’s Club of Tai Ping Shan—the stone lion overlook. Go to the farthest corner—past the stone railing to the metal railing—and pretend to take pictures like a tourist. When you receive the phone call, you will have one minute to talk with your daughters. Make it count. After you hang up, drop the bag over the railing. Leave and don’t look back. Return to your hotel and await further instructions. Don’t do anything stupid.
Chapter 12
Don’t do anything stupid, Dirk read again, gritting his teeth. As if I needed that reminder.
Suddenly his smartphone dinged, signaling an incoming email. The message was blank, but there was an attachment he immediately opened. Then he just stared at the photo, relief his daughters were still alive combined with fury at the sight of them huddled in the corner of a filthy room somewhere. Their blond hair was tangled and uncombed, and their faces were none too clean—grimy hands had obviously wiped away tears, leaving smudges. But they weren’t crying anymore. And their hands and mouths weren’t bound as they’d been yesterday.
Mei-li was looking at the picture with him, but her expression betrayed nothing of what she was feeling. Then her eyes met his, sending a private message. And as plain as if she’d uttered the words aloud, he knew she was telling him he needed to download the picture onto his laptop so they could check the GPS coordinates. See if they were the same as last night’s picture. And he needed to do it in private.
“Victoria Peak at eleven,” Dirk announced with a quick glance at his watch, then added, “I’ve got map software on my computer,” disguising his true purpose as he headed for the study, where he kept his laptop.
“You don’t need a map—I can take you,” Patrick volunteered. “Plenty of time if we leave soon,” he said, looking at his own watch. “Thirty-five, maybe forty-five minutes with traffic, but there’s always traffic on that road.”
“I still want to know exactly where I’m going,” Dirk insisted. “I’ll be right back.”
He’d no sooner closed the study doors behind him when one of them opened again, and Mei-li slipped inside. “I sent Patrick to get the car,” she told him. “Rafe and Mike are putting the packages of money in the shopping bags.” She took a manila folder from her purse. “I wanted to show you these.”
These were the sketches made from the cabdriver’s descriptions of the two men he’d driven to the airport. They weren’t any more detailed than the ones done from the doorman’s descriptions, but they did match. Which meant the sketches they had were accurate depictions.
