Chapter 12
At nine o’clock Monday morning, Sam and Justine entered a glittering new office building and found their way to the home office of a bank they had used for several years.
They rode an elevator to the third floor and were directed to the office of Brooke Lansky, a vice president they had never met and would never see again.
She was in charge of the bank’s electronic wire transfer system.
She had spoken to Dr. Clayburn and his financial advisor several times, beginning last Friday, and would handle the movement of money.
The entire episode was shrouded in mystery and intrigue, primarily because the Clayburns were so closely guarding the facts.
Things were tense enough to command her attention throughout the weekend.
The bank’s lawyers had weighed in and, of course, sent along some paperwork.
Lowell was forced to bark once or twice and remind the bankers that the money belonged to him and Justine and they were free to do with it whatever they pleased, without a lot of explaining.
Ms. Lansky moved them into a splendid conference room with distant views they never noticed.
The gist of the paperwork was that the Clayburns were guaranteeing the bank, its regulators, the government, and pretty much every breathing soul in America that the money was not being wired for illegal purposes, nor was it in any way related to the illegal trafficking of narcotics, at least twenty of which were listed.
Nor was the money destined for the hands of persons or organizations engaged in terrorist activities against the United States.
The paragraph defining such activities ran on for half a page.
The truth was they had no idea who was getting the money and didn’t care, and if they had to sign ten documents and swear under oath and with the threat of imprisonment, they were prepared to do so.
Hell yeah there was an illegal activity.
It was commonly known as kidnapping, and they were paying the ransom to save Chelsea. Nothing else mattered.
At 9:30, as expected, the wiring instructions arrived in an encrypted email.
The receiving bank was Swiss, one with a long presence in the United States, and this seemed to please Ms. Lansky.
The routing was through an office in New York.
Her assistant hurried in with fresh new forms for Sam to review.
He called Lowell in Chantilly, then Justine signed where needed.
The $2 million left the Clayburns’ account in an EWT, an expedited wire transfer.
Ms. Lansky assured them it would be received within thirty minutes.
They were welcome to wait in the conference room and she promised to monitor the wire.
The assistant brought in coffee and pastries, which went unnoticed.
—
At 4 p.m. in France, Lowell entered the Church of Our Lady of the Assumption, a ten-minute walk from his hotel and still in the heart of Chantilly.
It was a seventeenth-century example of classical architecture and historical intrigue.
Lowell had read all about it in his guidebook, as he had for most of the old buildings in town.
What else was there to do while he waited?
But the waiting was almost over, wasn’t it?
The money had been transferred. Chelsea was in town.
He had been directed to this handsome old church and told to sit on the fourth pew, right side, and wait a bit longer.
At such an hour on a Monday the sanctuary was almost deserted.
Only two other parishioners were present, kneeling and lost in their worlds.
Lowell admired the soaring ceilings and beautiful stained glass and tried hard to restrain his labored breathing.
As the minutes passed, he began to pray for a miracle.
—
The sunglasses Chelsea wore were actually blackened, so that she would see virtually nothing but her hands if she looked down.
She was once again in the passenger’s seat, in the same van, and it was moving through traffic.
Then it stopped and parked. When the engine was turned off, the man waited for a moment and said, “Okay, you are almost free. Listen to me carefully and do exactly as I say. You will remove the glasses, get out, and step onto the sidewalk. Never look back. You will walk about three blocks until you see a church, Our Lady of the Assumption, on your right. Understand?”
She nodded, eager to agree with anything. She was a wreck and alternated between crying out of fear and hyperventilating with anticipation. For a second she asked herself: What else do they know about me? But at that point she didn’t care.
The man said, “Enter the church through the front door. The sanctuary is open to the public. On the left side, four rows from the rear, you will see your father. Do you understand everything?”
“Yes, yes I understand.”
“Listen carefully. Paul is nearby and will be released later. You must not tell anyone about this. Not the police, not the press. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“One word to the police or the press and you will never see Paul again.”
“I got it.”
He sat something in her lap and said, “Here is your purse. Everything is there but your cell phone. Both passports, cash, Paul’s wallet.” She clutched it and recognized the feel of the leather.
He took a deep breath and said, “Okay. Don’t look at me. Take off the glasses and get out. Go, you are free.”
The girl with the curls that were once red but were now black watched Chelsea walk cautiously down the sidewalk.
Eyes straight ahead, steps unsteady, as if her legs were adjusting to movement after some neglect.
She picked up her gait when she saw the church.
She entered through the front door. The girl ducked around a corner, jumped into the white van, and it disappeared.
Chelsea would have yelled but the church was dark and quiet.
Instead, she gushed “Dad!” They met halfway, in the aisle, and embraced each other as never before.
Clutching and grabbing, they retreated to the narthex, sat on a narrow bench, and squeezed hands while they wiped tears.
She was more beautiful than ever, tears and red eyes and all.
They whispered as they held each other. “Are we safe here?”
“Yes,” he said with authority, and he really thought so. There was so much to talk about. “You’re free, Chelsea, and you’re going home.”
“What about Paul?”
“Let’s step outside and call your mother.”
—
When the wiring was confirmed, Sam and Justine thanked Brooke Lansky and left the building. They hurried home and began another round of waiting. Minutes before noon, the now-trusted burner rattled again, and Sam answered it. It was Chelsea.
“Sam, it’s me.”
“Thank God, Chelsea! Are you all right?”
“Great! I’m here with Dad. They let me go and Dad was waiting, in a church.”
Justine stood in shock with her hands over her mouth. Sam offered the phone and she grabbed it.
—
Chelsea was hungry and in need of a long, hot shower. She had no idea where she was and Lowell explained that they were in the town of Chantilly, about an hour north of Paris. Don’t ask why they were there. That decision had been made by someone else. There was so much ground to cover.
She had plenty of clothes but they were in the hotel room in Paris. As they walked arm in arm through the narrow streets, she saw a boutique with chic mannequins in the window. Lowell was more than happy to walk inside and watch while she quickly selected an outfit, without bothering to try it on.
At his hotel, she went to shower. He offered to wait in the lobby but she insisted he stay in the room, with the door locked.
She was not letting him out of her sight, and he understood.
She dressed in the bathroom, and when she emerged, in her new outfit, she looked as pretty as she had walking down the aisle.
The wedding seemed years ago.
She said for the first time, “Dad, I’m not leaving France without Paul.”
“I understand.”
They had dinner in a restaurant across the street, a long meal.
She had seconds and thirds as Lowell replayed the past week and gave as many details as he could remember.
As she ate and he talked, he could not hide the elation and utter relief of seeing his daughter alive and well.
She was shocked at the ransom and concerned about the Tanners’ ability to get the money so quickly. “Can we loan it to them?”
“Of course, and we’ll do so in an instant. But Fritz and I have not had that conversation. They are proud people.”
“Yes, they are. But right now pride is not the issue.”
“I understand, Chelsea. Your mother and I will do whatever we can to get Paul back.”
After dinner, Chelsea called the Tanners and took turns speaking to Fritz and Linzy. The mood was joyous, but the emotions swung sharply between unbridled relief and unresolved fear. There were more tears. Chelsea promised more than once, “I’m not coming home without Paul.”
After dark, Lowell and Chelsea roamed the streets of Chantilly, arm in arm.
She held him tightly as if still afraid of the shadows.
She had no clear recollection of how they were grabbed.
Her last memory was Paul asking the driver to lower the rear windows.
At times she was vaguely aware of being moved.
She woke up in a black hole, a tiny room with no lights.
At times she struggled to see her hands in front of her.
She remembered staring at the lights and making the videos, and after each one they would jab her again with a needle.
Her arms and legs were sore from the injections.
Lowell described the horror of being contacted by the kidnappers, the disbelief that it was real and not a hoax.
They walked and talked for hours. Tomorrow they would take the early train back to Paris, to the hotel room.
Lowell had called to check on their clothing and luggage.
The room was being held, but some charges were due.
Chelsea could not sleep alone in a strange room, and asked her father to stay.
Lowell happily complied and made himself comfortable on a small rollaway cot at the foot of her bed.
Neither slept much. The cot left much to be desired.
Chelsea was fitful and mumbled in her dreams. Twice she woke up crying and asked her father to hold her tight.
She checked the door throughout the night, just to make sure it was locked.