24 Hours (29 page)

ABBY IS GOING TO MAKE IT. TRUST ME.
DO YOU BELIEVE THE CONDOR IS AN
ENDANGERED SPECIES?

He could not help but smile. As cryptic as this phrase would appear to Hickey, he was sure Karen would understand it. She’d had a crush on Robert Redford for years.

“What are you typing?” Cheryl asked.

At Will’s request, she lay on the sofa a few feet away, sipping from a can of Coke. She had complained when he asked her to stop drinking rum, but she seemed to realize that she needed to be clear-headed for whatever might happen in the next few hours. The question of why she seemed to be cooperating had occupied a great deal of Will’s thoughts. Was it fear of more succinylcholine injections? Desire for the money he had promised, and the freedom it offered? Or had she come to believe that Hickey
did
mean to kill Abby, and wanted no part of it? The answer was probably a combination of all three, in proportions she herself did not understand.

Will plugged his Dell into the data port of the hotel phone and logged on to AOL through their 800 number. His mailbox was empty. He sent the e-mail to Karen’s screen name—
kjen39
—then logged off. Seconds after the program disconnected, the phone began to ring.

It was only 4:15—halfway between the scheduled check-in calls. Will motioned for her to answer.

She picked up, said, “Yeah?” then handed the receiver to Will. He expected to hear the voice of Harley Ferris, but it was his answering service, making sure he’d gotten the pager message. The operator said something encouraging about “that little girl who needs the liver transplant.” Assuming this was part of a cover story Karen had fabricated, Will made appropriate noises and hung up.

Almost immediately, the phone rang again.

“That has to be Ferris,” he said, grabbing the receiver. “Will Jennings.”

“Harley Ferris, Doctor. Our computers show a call just after four a.m., processed through the tower that serves the Hazlehurst area. It came from one of the landlines at your house.”

Will’s pulse kicked into hyperdrive. “Did you get any idea of the receiver’s position?”

“No. Even if we’d had a tracing van there, it would have been tough. The call lasted less than fifteen seconds, and the phone was switched off afterward.”

“What about the phone number? Do you have the name of the person who rented the phone?”

“Yes. But without police involvement, I can’t do anything with it. I can’t even tell it to you. I’m assuming it’s an alias, but only the police could tell us that.”

“I’m not asking you to give me the name, okay? But tell me this. Was it Joe Hickey?”

“No. Look, it’s time to bring the FBI in on this. Our security people have good contacts with the local field office—”

“You gave me your word, Harley. Not until morning. What about your tracing vans? Where are they?”

“They’re up in Tunica County, working with the state police on a fraud operation that involves casino employees.”

Will gritted his teeth. Tunica County was practically Memphis. That meant a minimum of three hours before the vans could get to Jackson, much less Hazlehurst. “That’s eight a.m. before they could even start tracing.”

“Exactly. I told one crew to hit the road and come on, but you’re right about the time. That’s why—”

“No police. Could this equipment be flown down?”

“It’s four-thirty in the morning!”

“I have pilot friends who’d get out of bed right now and go get it.”

“Some of this gear is hardwired into the vans, Jennings. Listen . . . there’s a guy who used to work for us, an engineer. He’s retired, but he keeps his hand in. I’ll give him a call. He’s probably got enough equipment in his garage to do a trace from his truck.”

Will’s heart surged. “Do you think he would?”

“He’s a good man. We’re probably looking at an hour or more to get him and his equipment on site, but that beats the Tunica crew by a long shot.”

“Does the FBI have the equipment you need?”

“I wish I could tell you they did, because I want you to call them. But the fact is, when the Bureau needs cell phones traced in Mississippi, they call us.”

“Damn it.” Will tried to think logically, but fatigue was starting to take its toll. “You’d better call that engineer.”

“Doctor,” Ferris said in a compassionate voice, “You realize that we may not be able to trace this phone in time, even with a vehicle down there? If the calls don’t run any longer than fifteen seconds, it’s a crapshoot.”

“We’ve got to try. It’s our only option. You’ve got to trust me on that. My daughter’s life depends on secrecy.”

He gave Ferris the numbers of his answering service, the direct SkyTel line, and Cheryl’s cell phone. “I should be here,” he said, “but there’s no telling what could happen before morning. Call me as soon as you know anything.”

“I will,” Ferris promised. “I hope God’s paying attention tonight.”

As Will hung up, he felt Cheryl’s hand on his arm. Despite what he’d done to her earlier, she was watching him with empathy.

“Do you think Huey would really kill Abby?” he asked.

She bit her lip. “It’s hard for me to imagine it. But if Joey pushed him hard enough . . . he might. He can’t take pressure, you know? He sort of flips out, like Dustin Hoffman in the bathtub in
Rain Man.
”

Will felt an enormous weight descend on his shoulders. If Ferris’s people traced Huey’s phone, they would have to be very careful about their next move. If they responded inappropriately, Abby could die simply because a mentally handicapped man lost control of himself for a few seconds.

“How are we supposed to get her back?” he asked. “I mean, what did Joey tell you? After you and I pick up the ransom from the bank, what are you supposed to do?”

Cheryl hesitated, still fighting some internal battle. “I call Joey,” she said finally. “Then we meet at the motel in Brookhaven.”

“You’re supposed to bring me along?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you always brought the husband?”

She hesitated again.

“Cheryl—”

“No. This is the first time.”

Will shook his head. “I told you this time is different. Joe thinks I killed his mother, and he wants to kill Karen and Abby in front of me.”

“That’s not it.”

“Yes, it is. Only I can’t believe he’d put himself, Abby, and the money in one place. If he does, he’s vulnerable. He has to assume that I could torture the name of the motel out of you, which means the FBI could come down on that place like the wrath of God.”

“It’s the truth,” she insisted. “The Trucker’s Rest Motel, in Brookhaven.”

“That may be what he told you. But that’s not how it’s supposed to go down. I’ve got to know where Abby is. You must know something more, Cheryl.
Think.
”

She shook her head in exhaustion. “I think you should just pay Joey the money. That’s the way to get your kid back. That’s the way the others guys did it.”

“I’m not the other guys.” He picked up her Coke can and downed what was left for the caffeine. “I’m down for special treatment.”

“I thought you didn’t like gambling. Betting against Joey is like betting against the house.”

Not with you up my sleeve,
he thought. But he said, “It’s that kind of thinking that keeps you where you are, Cheryl.” He turned and arced the Coke can into the wastebasket from fifteen feet. “When everything’s on the line, you’ve got to go for it.”

Karen downloaded Will’s e-mail at 4:25 A.M. Getting into the study to check it wasn’t difficult, because Hickey had finally passed out on the bed. The combination of Wild Turkey and the étouffée omelet had proved too much for him.

She stared at the message, trying to read between the lines. The first part was clear enough. Will had received her message and understood its meaning. He promised that Abby would make it and told Karen to trust him. But the next line stumped her.
Do you believe the condor is an endangered species?
It had to be some kind of code. Will had been worried that Hickey might see the message, so he had used something only she would understand. Or that he
thought
she would understand. Did “endangered species” refer to Abby? And what did a “condor” have to do with anything? A condor was a type of bird. A large bird. Could Will be referring to his airplane?

“Condor,” she said softly. “Condor . . . condor.”

And then she had it.

“Oh my God,” she said, and a smile came to her face. “Condor” was Robert Redford’s code name in the film
The Three Days of the Condor.
And the line “Do you believe the condor is an endangered species?” had been spoken over the phone by Redford to Max von Sydow, who played the assassin in the movie. But the significance for Karen was that the line marked the turning point in the film, when Redford turned the tables on the men trying to find and kill him.
That
was Will’s message. He had somehow turned the tables on Hickey.

But how? What action could he have taken? Had he called the police? No. Not unless he had a way to keep Hickey thinking everything was still running according to plan. Tracing Huey’s phone seemed the most likely option, since Will had mentioned it before. But without Abby keeping the line open, how could it be traced? Maybe he’d gotten some information from Hickey’s wife. But why should she tell him anything? Had he threatened her? Bribed her? There was no way to know. She would have to do exactly what Will had told her to do. Trust him.

She hit DELETE and watched the message vanish, then looked at the clock on the study wall. She was going to have to wake Hickey to make his next check-in call. She didn’t want to do it. Letting him sleep was clearly the best strategy for her own safety. But if he failed to make even one call, Abby could die. And if Will
did
have someone trying to trace Huey’s cell phone, the man would have to actually switch the thing on and use it before he could be found.

Karen stood and began the long walk back to the bedroom.

Fifteen miles south of the Jennings house, Dr. James McDill and his wife sat on a leather couch in the office of the Special Agent-in-Charge of the Jackson field office of the FBI. His name was Frank Zwick, and McDill figured him for ex-Army, probably Intelligence or CID. A short, fit man in his late forties, Zwick spoke with the clipped cadence McDill remembered from certain officers in Vietnam. The SAC had been on and off the phone for the past half hour, talking to bank presidents, helicopter pilots, other SACs, and miscellaneous officials, constantly smoothing his too-black hair as he talked.

McDill’s identification of Cheryl Lynn Tilly at the Jackson police station had precipitated a storm of FBI activity. After Agent Chalmers phoned Zwick, the SAC had summoned the McDills back to the Federal Building along with eight field agents. Now they all stood or sat around his spacious office, listening to Zwick arrange the logistics of his campaign over the phone. McDill could only hear one side of the conversations, but he didn’t like the way the plan was shaping up. Suddenly, the phone clattered into its cradle and Zwick began addressing them.

“Here’s where we stand. One: the ransom. Every bank within thirty miles of Biloxi is set to report incoming wire transfers greater than twenty-five thousand dollars to this office. Two: tactical capability. We don’t have time to bring in a hostage rescue team from Quantico, so we’ll use our own special weapons team. Some of you are on it, and I know you’re more than capable of handling this operation. We’re also coordinating a weapons team out of the New Orleans field office, for anything required on the Gulf Coast. We’ve got more than enough surveillance gear on site here, and we’ll have twenty agents in this office by seven a.m., ready for action. We’ll have twenty more out of New Orleans for surveillance duty in Biloxi. Three: air support. We’ll have choppers both here and in Biloxi, ready for aerial surveillance and/or pursuit and assault.” Zwick made a steeple of his fingers and looked each of his agents in the eye. “Questions?”

No one had any. Or no one wanted to voice what might be viewed as dissent by his SAC. McDill had several questions, but just as he was about to voice one, Agent Chalmers said, “Sir? I wonder if we’re not jumping the gun a little on this.”

“How do you mean?” Zwick asked, looking none too pleased by the question.

“Dr. McDill identified Cheryl Lynn Tilly from the JPD mug books. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that the crime she took part in last year is actually being repeated this year. Does it?”

Zwick gave them a self-satisfied smile. He clearly knew something they didn’t, and he could scarcely contain his excitement. “Gentlemen, ten minutes ago, our resident agent in Gulfport showed a faxed photo of Cheryl Lynn Tilly to a bellboy in the Beau Rivage Hotel. That bellboy is positive he saw Tilly in the hotel yesterday afternoon.”

Every mouth in the room fell open.

“To quote Sir Arthur Conan Doyle—through the immortal voice of Sherlock Holmes—the game is afoot.”

In that moment McDill had a premonition of disaster. It wasn’t the quote itself. It was more the way Zwick had voiced it. And the context. At the core of all this frantic activity was a kidnapped child. A child who could die at any moment. And that took the situation about as far from a game as you could get.

“Our R.A. and that bellboy are reviewing the casino’s security tapes as we speak,” Zwick went on. “If they spot her, they’ll do a video capture and e-mail it up here for Dr. McDill to look at. Until then, we have to assume that McDill is right. There is a kidnapping-for-ransom taking place. The same crime has been executed five times previously by the same group, and probably within this jurisdiction.” Zwick laid his hands flat on the table. “Gentlemen, by tomorrow noon, those sons of bitches are going to be behind bars.”

McDill held up his hand.

“Yes, Doctor?”

He tried to choose his words carefully. “Sir, after hearing all these preparations, I’m starting to wonder if the central fact of all this is being given the priority it should.”

“What do you mean?”

“The kidnapped child. The hostage, as you call him. Or her. Somewhere not too far from here—if things are going as they did last year—a child is being held prisoner by a semiretarded man. That man is under instructions to kill the child if he doesn’t get a check-in call from the leader of his group every half hour. Given that, it’s difficult to see what you can accomplish with all this technology. Anything that alerts the leader to your presence could instantly result in the death of the child.”