Chapter 4 #3
The tech slid a piece of paper across the table. The font was oversized and easy to read. “Run through that real quick before they call back.”
Gideon picked up the document and scanned it.
“Let me handle Lucky,” Victor offered as he joined his daughter.
“Thank you,” Gideon said, taking his wife’s hand as soon as it was free. Victor snagged a rope toy from the basket by the terrace doors and stepped outside.
“It was a woman’s voice on the phone,” the tech told him, her leg bouncing as she tapped her foot rapidly. “But I’d bet money it’s being disguised by an AI modulator.”
He released his breath in a rush. Calm down. You may not be in control, but you don’t have to give that away.
Eva jumped violently when their home phone rang, the sound magnified by the equipment installed by the police. Gideon pressed a quick, hard kiss to her temple and moved behind the tech, who hit a button to answer the call on speaker.
“This is Cross,” he snapped, his fists clenched at his sides.
“Good morning, Gideon,” a cheery female voice answered, frightening in its banality. “Sorry to wake you. I’m truly amazed you could even catch a wink at a time like this. Very impressive.”
“Put Ireland on the phone.”
“But how can you be sure it’s actually her?” Suddenly, the voice changed to Ireland’s. “There are so many ways to mimic a voice these days.”
Eva’s gasp mirrored his own dismay.
His rage was icy. “If you can’t provide proof of life, there’s no reason to believe you’re anything but a fucked-up prankster.”
“True that.” The voice was once again generically female. “So, which would you prefer? Finger, toe, ear, or eyeball? She does have such pretty eyes. Like your eyes, aren’t they? Perhaps you’d like an extra?”
Leaning forward, the tech spun the printed instructions around again and pulled them closer. Gideon reread the underlined sentence she tapped with an impatient fingertip, “Do not challenge their control.”
He unclenched his jaw. “This doesn’t have to get complicated. I’m willing to pay for Ireland’s safety. Tell me where I can find her, and I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“And here I’d heard you were a tough negotiator. So nice of you to make this so easy. I can confirm your sister was wearing a bracelet that very cleverly disguised lip gloss. She also had a phone strapped to her thigh underneath her dress.”
Gideon glanced at his wife and saw the details confirmed in the horror on her face. “You’re speaking in the past tense,” he said tightly. “That tells me nothing about Ireland’s condition now.”
“Well, she was wearing them, but she’s not anymore. As for her condition… Let’s try this. You dump the contents of your safe into a bag, then leave it on the top step of the east Bethesda Terrace staircase. If you make it by six-thirty, you’ll find your sister inside the Terrace. Good luck.”
The abrupt silence told him the call had ended. He glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes. Then he turned to Eva.
Her face pale, she whispered, “I love you.”
“Angel.” Gideon caught her by the shoulders, kissing her quick and hard.
Then he ran into the living room, snatching a random backpack off the floor and an NYPD windbreaker from the back of a chair.
Behind him, the chorus of shouts was like a gunshot at the races—he was spurred to pick up speed.
Skidding on bare feet across the marble floor of the elevator vestibule, he snatched up the Yankees ballcap he kept on the console table there.
The private elevator car was waiting for him at the push of the button, and he was inside in a second. The doors were beginning to close when two detectives managed to shoulder their way inside.
“You can’t just run out like this,” one of them scolded, scowling as the car descended quickly. He was a tall, thin man with an oversized mustache in a blend of brown and red. “We need time to get people in place.”
“You’ve got about fourteen minutes,” Gideon shot back, shoving his arm into one sleeve. With the jacket half on, he raked his hair back with one hand and tugged on the ballcap, then he finished dressing.
For the first time in hours, it felt like momentum.
“You’re not getting far barefoot,” the other detective said testily. She was tall, standing nearly the same height as her partner. “You do realize this could be a ploy to get you out in the open so they can take a shot at you.”
Gideon looked down and placed his foot next to the male detective’s.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” the man countered.
“I’ll buy you a new pair.” Gideon gestured impatiently for the man to remove his shoes.
“No.”
He shrugged. “Then I’ll run in my bare feet.”
“They didn’t give you enough information to be sure this isn’t a hoax,” she pointed out. “They could’ve gotten the information they gave you from studying all the pictures of Ireland at the event last night.”
“It’s enough for me.”
“There are media vans and paparazzi camped out on the street,” she continued, crossing her arms as she watched her partner relent and toe off his Merrells. “They follow you, and you’ll be putting them at risk, too.”
“They’re not going to follow me because you’re going to talk to them.”
She shot him a look as the elevator slowed to a halt. “You’re not leaving my sight. Wade can talk to them.”
“In my socks?”
Gideon stepped out of the elevator and crouched to lace up the shoes. They were slightly too small. “Keep ‘em looking at your face, Wade, and they won’t look at your feet.”
“And what am I supposed to say?” the detective asked.
“Whatever it is you say at times like these.” Gideon stood and pulled up the collar of the jacket to hide the ends of his hair.
“I’m not the one who speaks to the press.”
Pushing through the door to the main lobby, Gideon gestured Wade ahead. “We’ll duck out behind you once you’ve got their attention.”
“I don’t have the authority to make a statement, let alone one that’s off the cuff.”
“Fine.” Gideon looked at one of the doormen. “Dwayne, would you ask them to move back, please?”
“Yes, Mr. Cross. Of course.” The doorman stepped outside and, with both arms outstretched, managed to move everyone back to the edge of the sidewalk.
Gideon hunched his shoulders, lowered his head, and pushed out the door. The female detective was directly beside him. He walked at an unhurried pace, almost strolling.
“Ya think the Crosses would have better coffee,” he said, adopting a thick Brooklyn accent.
“Yeah, well… No accounting for taste,” she returned, keeping pace with him and placing herself between him and the crowd on the street.
“Detectives!” someone shouted. “Any news on Ireland Vidal?”
“Above our pay grade,” she threw over her shoulder.
“At this time,” Wade’s voice broke in behind them, “we don’t have any further details. But listen, keep sharing the tip line number. Someone, somewhere, saw something or knows something that can be helpful.”
Gideon’s pace picked up as they crossed the street, and they continued walking briskly until the crowd was some distance behind them. He glanced around, looking for a reporter or photographer. When none was spotted, he broke into a run.
As he was about to race across another crosswalk, a black SUV squealed to a halt in front of him, stopping them in their tracks.
The window rolled down, revealing Chase in the passenger seat. “Get in.”
Skirting the rear of the vehicle, Gideon took the seat behind the driver. The detective slid in beside him, and Raúl took off, whipping around the corner while the light was still green and speeding down Fifth Avenue. Dawn had given way to the sunrise.
“Victor call you?” Gideon asked.
“Yeah.” Chase unfastened his seat belt and shrugged out of his black suit jacket. “Exposing yourself on the street isn’t the best idea, boss. Reach into the cargo area and put on a vest.”
“Standing in for the NYPD is also not smart,” the detective snapped.
Gideon glanced at the detective as he moved between their seats and into the third row. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Hernandez.”
Chase threw his jacket onto Gideon’s seat.
“At this time of morning, the Terrace won’t be crowded,” Hernandez noted, “but some civilians will be in the area. I doubt the officers stationed in the park have had time to evacuate. I’ll take the west staircase and sweep the Arcade. Don’t come in until I give the okay.”
“Understood.”
“You two in the front, even if you see imminent danger, don’t draw your weapon unless you’re a crack shot. You hit a civilian, and you’re going in a cage.”
“Don’t worry about us,” Raúl reassured her.
Hernandez opened the backpack he’d grabbed and dumped the contents on the floorboard. She returned a thermos to the bag to give it some visible heft. “They knew what they were asking was impossible in the time allotted. They’re testing how far you’re willing to go.”
“As far as I have to.” Removing the NYPD windbreaker, Gideon slid the body armor over his head.
“They’re taunting and toying with you, Cross.
I’m not saying getting rich isn’t the goal, but needling you isn’t necessary.
They may not know you, but I think they dislike you, and that’s a far cry from viewing you as an ATM.
I wouldn’t rule out a sniper, and there’s zero cover on those Terrace steps. ”
“It’s not as if I have a choice.” He reached for Chase’s jacket and put it on. “You want more time, but they’re not giving it to us. I can’t stand around doing nothing when they’ve made a demand.”
Lifting her head as they pulled up to the Engineers’ Gate at 72nd and Fifth, Hernandez scanned the area. “The Terrace is a mile from here.”
But Gideon was already out of the car and running.
He could boast a six-minute mile in good conditions, but the armor added close to ten pounds, Chase’s jacket fit poorly across his shoulders, the ill-fitting shoes quickly blistered his feet, and the heavy thermos threw off his balance.
Still, he poured everything he had into the sprint, highly conscious of the time.
It was the longest stretch of minutes in his life.
He left Hernandez behind at some point. His team did better at keeping up, with Raúl taking the stairs alongside him as Chase remained on the vantage point of the Upper Terrace.
The steady cascade of the Fountain drove his unyielding urgency higher.
Dropping the backpack on the top step as instructed, Gideon raced down the stairs.
There were at least a dozen people milling around the fountain, and he looked at every one, wondering if any of them had something to do with Ireland’s abduction.
Would the officers arrive in time to keep them there for questioning?
“Behind me,” Raúl ordered, drawing his weapon as they approached the shadowed Arcade.
They moved in, Gideon trailing Raúl closely.
It took too long for his eyes to adjust to the darkened interior.
The arched columns provided ample hiding places, but at first glance, the two of them appeared to be the only ones in the space.
Chase came in after them, his back to Gideon’s as he guarded the fountain-side entrance.
They were halfway through their search when Hernandez came in, panting heavily. “What the fuck did I tell you about waiting?”
“I see something,’’ Raúl said. “On the ground by that column.”
“Stay where you are,” the detective ordered, hurrying in front of them. She crouched and pulled her phone from her pocket. “We’ve got a cellphone and what looks like a Polaroid beneath it. Damn it. I don’t have gloves.”
Chase reached for his jacket pocket.
Catching the movement, Gideon dug out a balled-up wad of gloves from his borrowed jacket and pried two apart.
He walked over and watched as Hernandez took photos from all angles before accepting the gloves from him.
She didn’t pull them on and simply used them as a barrier between her fingers and the phone as she nudged it aside.
Gideon’s chaotic thoughts juddered to a halt. The photo was of a clearly traumatized Ireland in a wooden crate-like confinement. The eerie red eyes from the camera’s flash couldn’t hide her abject terror.
The phone, a flip design from decades past, began to ring. Hernandez hurriedly pulled on the gloves and pried the device open, hitting the speaker button to answer.
“You’re late,” the female voice said with bright liveliness. “You’ll have to do better next time.”
“How ‘bout a trade?” he countered tightly, as Hernandez held the phone near his mouth. His gaze stayed locked on the photograph that depicted a nightmare. “Me for Ireland. I’m the one you want to fuck with.”
“Are you, though? Is everything always about you?”
“What the hell do you want?”
The musical laughter lacked human warmth and echoed through the arched Arcade. “I’ll be in touch with further instructions soon.”
The phone went silent. Fists clenched, Gideon roared his rage in a deafening bellow.