Chapter 41
Three CCTV cameras kept a languid eye on the strip mall but produced nothing useful. Investigators eventually decided the drop-off happened during the dark.
The box was weighed, x-rayed, and photographed with an array of cameras, and when the technicians agreed all was safe, they opened it. Inside was a wad of plastic packaging material with a simple thumb drive buried within.
The video was of Paul Tanner, seated at a barren table, adorned in some type of robe that made him look like a monk.
For dramatic effect, two warriors stood behind him fully armed and masked and decorated with matching bandoliers.
Their posture and garb conveyed the clear message that their fingers were on the triggers.
Paul looked pale, thin, gaunt, with hollow cheeks.
His shearing was a week old and the first growth of stubble was visible.
He tried to smile and project confidence, but it was obvious he was struggling physically and mentally.
Without a script, and in no hurry, he said: “Hello to Chelsea, mom and dad, Rick, Eva. Hello to the Clayburns. I hope you’re all well.
I’m doing okay. They feed me enough to survive.
So far there has been no publicity about my disappearance and that’s good.
Please try and keep it all quiet. Publicity will only complicate things.
There is a way out of this. We’ll get there.
Love to all. I love you, Chelsea. So long. ” The screen went black.
—
The FBI sent the video to Chelsea and the Tanners, and all were greatly relieved.
He was alive. Their worst fears could be set aside, for now.
They had no idea what to expect with the “way out of this,” but those worries could wait a day or so.
They had been assured by the FBI and CIA that the search was still underway and rescue plans were being discussed at the highest level.
They had not been told about the latest development with Benoit, the smuggler, but they understood that many things were being kept confidential.
Chelsea insisted that Fritz and Linzy come for dinner so they could celebrate.
Justine ordered carry-out lasagna from a nearby deli and Sam brought two bottles of Chianti from his bar.
Both families needed to see each other and offer support.
As the months passed there had been less contact.
Now, though, they had good news and some hope.
Halfway through dinner, Agent Lon Dyer called to check in, something he had done quite often since May. He asked if he could stop by for an update and talk about the video. An hour later he arrived and politely declined an offer of lasagna.
Most of what he said was obvious. The disturbing part of the video was the fact that it was hand-delivered in the United States to a commercial drop box.
They—again, whoever the hell they were—had a presence in this country.
They knew U.S. intelligence would be monitoring the cell phones and computers of the Tanners and Clayburns, so they avoided them.
They made the video somewhere far away and “muled” it over, the old-fashioned way.
To his knowledge, the Washington Journal was the only news source still pursuing the story, and the publisher had agreed to sit on it, for now.
However, if someone picked up the scent, then the Journal was off and running.
What was the danger with publicity? That question led to a long discussion that really went nowhere.
Publicity would not help the hostages. Only a rescue could do that, or another ransom deal.
Or perhaps an escape, which was so unlikely it was never discussed.
The most important reason to remain silent was that “they” wanted it.
Perhaps they were planning more kidnappings and didn’t want gun-shy Americans staying home.
But wasn’t that a good reason for going public?
To prevent more trouble. Dyer was convinced that Americans would travel anywhere they wanted regardless of the warnings. Especially to Paris and Europe.
Fritz pressed him on the plans for a rescue operation, but Dyer said he knew little.
That would be handled by the CIA and the military, and he was not involved in those discussions.
Could they assume there was something in the works, some plan to find Paul and the others and go get them?
It was a desperate question from Justine and Dyer dodged it diplomatically.
He really didn’t know what was being planned, if anything, and didn’t want to know.
After an hour he said goodbye and promised to keep in touch. The problem was that he had so little to report.
—
Long after the dinner was over, the guests were gone, and the house was quiet, Chelsea sat at her laptop and ran the twenty-second video of her husband in captivity.
He looked so different, so thin and pale, hollow-eyed.
His voice was strained and his fear could not be masked, as hard as he tried.
What could be gained by starving him? And shaving his head?
The images were meant to frighten the families and they certainly did, but what did his captors want now?
Yes, the families were sufficiently terrified, but they had complied with the ransom demands and proved willing to do anything.
Their wedding and honeymoon were vivid memories but seemed so long ago, back when life was good and moving along as planned.
The magical days in Paris had been filled with laughs and wonder, long meals, galleries, sidewalk cafés, and plenty of lovemaking.
She longed to see his face and feel his body.
Each time she heard “I love you, Chelsea” she couldn’t help but cry.
—
Rae Claire saw the video at 6 p.m., along with the technical report, mostly useless details about the thumb drive’s specs and type of video camera.
Paul had not tried to send a message by cryptic code.
From all appearances, he was just trying to survive.
On his wedding day he weighed 190 pounds.
The experts guessed he was down to 160. There were no cuts or scars on his face, no bruises.
His head and beard had been shaved and there were two small nicks on the right side of his chin, probably from the razor or whatever they used.
The video had been compared to the two of Alan Stockman, three years earlier, and Jason Snyder, one year ago.
Those had been sent much sooner after the kidnappings and the men were not as thin and gaunt.
The videos had been delivered to their wives by email.
None of the three had mentioned other hostages.
This could mean they were not at the same place.
It could mean their captors controlled what they said. It could mean several things.
However, the consensus among Rae Claire, her team, and her supervisors was that the gang was still active, flush with success, in possession of valuable goods, and willing to strike again.