CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE JACK
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
J ACK
“How’d you get past the doorman?” Jack asks as he begins the final transfer.
The masked intruder’s mouth lifts into a proud grin. “Easy. I got in through the back maintenance entrance by posing as a food delivery guy for the workers doing the repairs in the unit down the hall.”
“How’d you get into my condo without a key card?” He hadn’t noticed any signs of forced entry when he got home from work. Although he was distracted, consumed with facing life imprisonment if he didn’t comply with Lionel’s demands.
“Are you done yet? We’re runnin’ out of time.”
Jack glances at his brown-eyed assailant on the barstool beside him as he types in the eight-digit amount to be transferred for the fifth time. “I’m going as fast as I can.” His fingers hover above the keyboard before entering the foreign account number. “I want proof that my son is alive.”
“I already told you—I don’t have any.” His mouth forms a frown in the reflection of Jack’s laptop screen. “You’re gonna have to trust me.”
Jack swallows. He forces himself not to look at Sabrina’s body on the floor. She had nothing to do with Liam’s abduction. If he hadn’t let her come up, she’d still be alive.
“As soon as I see that confirmation of the last transfer,” the Brooklyn-accented man continues, “I’ll call and let my colleague know that it’s done.”
The masked man leans forward. Jack smells his stale breath.
“But if you don’t hurry up, you’re not gettin’ your kid back. Ever.”
Terrified for his son, Jack slowly types in the account number from the printed page. If he doesn’t comply, how the hell is Liam’s abductor planning to get him off the plane once the FBI meets them at LaGuardia? They can’t be that stupid to think the FBI is going to let all the passengers go with no questions asked.
Jack turns to the masked man at his right. “You won’t get away with this. If Liam is still missing when that plane lands, the FBI isn’t going to let anyone go until they find him.”
The man stares back at him. Jack worries he went too far. He’s going to shoot him, just like he shot Sabrina.
Instead, the man cracks a crooked smile. “There’s more than one way off a plane.”
Jack feels sick. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Just keep going, and you won’t have to find out.” The man holds up his phone, wiggling it between his gloved fingers and thumb. “As soon as you make the last transfer, your son will be returned to your wife.”
Jack refocuses on finishing the transfer. He has no other choice but to comply. A window pops up for Jack to authenticate the transfer with his log-in credentials. Jack types the first few letters of his passcode, and it strikes him that the man next to him is likely waiting to kill him as soon as he’s done.
He can identify the man’s eye color. And height. His Brooklyn accent. He was naive to think this guy was going to let him live just because he kept his mask on.
Could Lionel have orchestrated this without Sabrina knowing? Maybe he hadn’t known that his daughter would come to Jack’s condo. Unable to bring himself to look at Sabrina again, he pictures her lying dead on the floor. Would Lionel have his own daughter killed? Was he that much of a monster? But Jack realizes he never really knew him at all. And he’s about to find out.
Jack presses Enter. Seeing the confirmation of the transfer, he closes his eyes.
Liam will never know him, even if his son survives. Jack’s resentment for his father’s absence runs deep. How could I have allowed myself to do the exact same thing?
A sharp rap on his condo door causes Jack’s fingers to jolt off his keyboard. His assailant’s head snaps toward the door.
“Who the hell is that?” he barks.
“I—I don’t—”
“FBI! Open the door!”
The masked man turns to Jack, his mouth a snarl. “You called the police! How? ” His eyes narrow at Jack’s laptop screen.
“I didn’t do anything. I swear. I—”
Three more raps. “FBI! Jack Rossi, I need you to open the door!”
Sabrina’s killer shoves the end of the silencer against Jack’s temple. “ Shut up! ” he hisses.
An explosive crack resounds through the quiet condo, making Jack jump. He opens his eyes, half-expecting to feel a bullet in his brain. Instead, his condo door bursts wide open, busted off one of its hinges.
The tip of the masked man’s silencer appears in the corner of Jack’s eye as Agent Pratt storms into his condo, his gun trained in their direction.
“FBI! Drop your weapon!”
“No!” Jack shouts. “Don’t shoot!”
Over his own shouts and those from Pratt, Jack barely registers the soft hiss of the gun being fired next to his ear. Instinctively, Jack ducks, covering his head as he throws himself off his barstool.
“Stop!” Gunshots blast through the condo, drowning out his voice, as Pratt returns fire.
Beside Jack, the masked man flies backward, his head jerking as his chest recoils from the impact from two shots to the chest. His gun arm swings to the side. Glass shatters behind them. The masked man falls to the floor and lies still, his gun clamoring on the hard wood beside him.
Heavy footsteps trudge toward them as Jack lifts his head.
“Noooo!” Jack reaches for his assailant, who lies unmoving on the floor. “Hey!” He gets to his knees and crawls toward Sabrina’s killer, trying to shake him back to life. His hand slips on something wet when he gets to the man’s side. Blood, Jack realizes with horror. He grasps the masked man’s shoulder. He shakes it but gets pulled back by Pratt.
“What have you done?” Jack fights to free himself from the agent’s hold.
Pratt shoves him in the chest with his palm.
“Stay back!” Jack looks up to see a uniformed NYPD officer standing over him. She raises her weapon at Jack’s torso.
Jack lifts his hands in the air. “He has to make a call, or we won’t get Liam back!”
“Put your hands on your head!” Pratt orders, aiming his gun at Jack’s chest.
“Did you hear me?” Jack complies, pressing his palms into the back of his head.
“What happened here?” Pratt keeps his pistol trained on Jack. “Do you know this man?”
Jack turns from Pratt to stare into the man’s lifeless eyes as the NYPD officer crouches beside him and puts two fingers to the man’s neck.
Jack’s heart beats in his throat. This can’t be happening. “He has to make a phone call! He’s working with Liam’s abductors on the flight! They’re waiting to hear from him. If they don’t ...” He can’t bear to think of the alternative.
“It’s too late for that.” The officer plucks the man’s pistol and silencer off the floor.
“Are you hurt?” Pratt asks, lowering his weapon.
Jack grabs a fistful of his short hair. He stares at the dead man in disbelief as the FBI agent pulls off the man’s balaclava. His head is shaved, exposing a spiderweb tattoo above his ear.
In Jack’s periphery, the NYPD officer crouches beside Sabrina’s body and feels her neck for a pulse. “This is Officer Tate,” she says into the radio clipped to her vest. “We’ve secured the condo. Requesting immediate medical assistance for two shooting victims. Both unresponsive.”
“Unlock his phone,” Jack says as Pratt lifts the device from the floor. Jack’s pulse races. “We can still send a message saying the transfers are complete.”
Pratt holds up the phone for Jack to see. “We can’t. There’s no fingerprint sensor. It’s asking for a passcode.”
Jack’s chest wall tightens. From beyond Jack’s shattered condo window, thunderclaps. Rain blows into his living room when he glances toward the sound.
Pratt motions toward the phone, taking a closer look. “It’s probably a prepaid. Did he have another one on him?”
“No. Not that I saw.” Jack gapes at Pratt in disbelief as the agent searches the front pockets of the dead man’s jeans. Pratt turns the man on his side to feel his back pockets and withdraws a gray key card, identical to Jack’s.
“That must be how he got in. He said he posed as a food delivery guy for the contractors doing work on the unit down the hall. Our building’s maintenance workers have master keys to all the units.” Jack’s veins constrict as his shock morphs into rage. “I did everything he asked.” He glares at Pratt. “Did you call the flight about the couple with the pet carrier? Tell me they found Liam.”
Pratt shakes his head. “My squad supervisor contacted the flight while we were en route. But I haven’t heard anything back yet.”
Jack grits his teeth. “He was just about to call whoever has Liam on that plane. One more minute and Makayla would’ve gotten Liam back.” Jack sinks lower to the floor. “Shit, I can’t even believe this.”
Pratt stares at the dead man. Jack follows his gaze. He was so close to getting Liam back. How did this all go so wrong? Now, they’re back where they started.
“He said something earlier,” Jack says. “That there’s more than one way to get off a plane.” Jack turns to the agent. “What the hell do you think he meant by that?”