Chapter 23
Chapter 23
Y ears ago, I tracked a kid to Stuttgart. Found him in a warehouse awaiting transfer. It was early. Before dawn. His exploiters were still jacked up from the night before. Extraction was cut and dry. I walked in, lifted his emaciated body off the floor, and asked him, “What’s your name?”
“E-E-Eddie.”
“How old are you?” I knew these answers but I was trying to get his mind off the hell he’d endured.
“Tw-tw-twelve.”
“How long have you had a stutter?”
“S-s-s-since I was a k-k-k...” He swallowed, closed his eyes, and started over. “Kid.”
From his file, I knew his birth father had abused him and left him, leaving a hole. Into that void, the stutter stepped. The mom remarried, a good man who adopted the boy, but the stutter remained. No amount of love could root it out. Six months earlier, while playing video games at a movie arcade, he was lifted, sold, and shipped overseas—all in less than a day. When the exploiters discovered they’d lifted the son of the CEO of a solar company worth a couple hundred million, the first ransom note came in. Five million dollars. Which the parents quickly paid. That was followed by a second note asking for more, which they also paid. “Transaction complete.” But still no boy.
When the third demand came in, Bones got a call, and I got on a plane. “Don’t pay it.”
As I walked out of that warehouse, he put his head on my shoulder, his breathing labored. But he wasn’t crying. His shock wouldn’t allow it. Not a single tear. We flew overnight and landed in DC, and I returned him to his mom and stepdad, who had been inconsolable. It was weeks before he started to cry. Once he did, they couldn’t get him to stop. He didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, didn’t speak, didn’t hug them back. He had been muted, save the tears.
So I went to see him.
He sat up when he saw me, tears streaming down his face. I sat down, took off my coat, and unbuttoned my shirt, which made him flinch. Then I turned slightly. I said, “Can you read?”
He nodded.
“Can you read the last one?”
He studied the names on my back, finally reading the last installment. “E-E-Eddie F-Fisher.”
He read it without inflection. “Can you read it again?”
“E-ddie Fisher.” The second time he read it, his eyes widened and he whispered, “Eddie Fisher.” It was his name.
I faced him, buttoning my shirt. “Wherever I go, I carry you with me.”
At the sound of this, he almost smiled. “F-f-forever?” The side of his mouth turned up.
“Can you count to a hundred?”
“Y-yes.”
“Two hundred?”
He nodded.
“If you were to count all the names before yours, you’d find 173. That means there are 173 kids like you. Many of whom now live at a place called Freetown.”
“Wh-where’s th-that?”
“The mountains of Colorado. Would you like to go there?”
He looked at his parents, who nodded, smiling. He said, “Are you there?”
I weighed my head side to side. “Sometimes.”
“Wh-wh-where do you g-go?”
“To find kids like you.”
“Do you c-c-come back?”
I laughed out loud. “Yes.”
“Always?”
“Up to now, yes.”
“Ca-can I h-h-help you?”
“What do you mean?”
“F-f-find k-k-kids like m-m-me.”
It was the first time the rescued had ever asked to rescue. I glanced at his folks, who quickly said, “Anything you need.”
Which explained why much of Freetown ran on solar power, and why Eddie ran our comms department along with Jess, BP, and Camp.
Seeing “Eddie” flash across my caller ID reminded me of that first glimpse in Stuttgart. He was helpless back then. As was I in this moment. And I did not like it.
I put him on speakerphone. “What do you got?”
“Ariel Underwood. Former Mossad. Although, once Mossad, I’m pretty sure you’re always Mossad.”
Camp nodded.
Eddie continued, “Decorated military and intelligence career. Retired as brigadier general. Now runs his own shop. Works in the shadows. Good with a knife, and don’t let him get you on the ground. He’s something of a Krav Maga master, known to his team as ‘The Cat.’ Picks and chooses what he wants to do while also doing whatever is required. Money’s not really an issue. Lives along the wall in the Old City.” Eddie paused. “When they need somebody got, they send him. When they need to know for sure, they send him. And the prime minister trusts no one more.”
Clay chuckled. “He’s the Israeli version of you. ”
“How’d he get hooked up with Steve?”
“Joint operations. Back when Steve was true.”
“He expecting us?”
“Evidently.”
I knew he, Jess, and BP were working round the clock, but I couldn’t help myself. “Any sign of the—?”
Eddie cut me off, suggesting his own frustration. “Crickets.” A pause. “But you should know, the story is public. Along with edited parts of the video. And more pictures. Not the kind you want to see. Every network is running wild with the story. Don’t know who leaked it. All the talking heads are asking, How’d it happen? How could Ashley let it? How could a war hawk let his guard down? If he can’t protect his family, how will he ever protect us? It’s more feeding frenzy than sympathy-fest. And... there’s a demand letter. Just in.”
“Who got it?”
“Media outlets.”
“Of course they did.”
“It’s simple. ‘Start raising the money. If you can buy the presidency, you can buy your girls.’”
“So is it about money?”
Camp considered this. “Or is it about power?”
His question was insightful.
Eddie again. “Murph, the pundits are saying that Ashley’s facade is cracking. He’s fumbled a few questions. It’s only been seventy-two hours, and it’s not looking good. Actually, it looks really bad.”
“Thanks, Eddie.”