By Any Means (17 page)

“Can you hear me, Ash?”

Ash adjusted his earpiece and lowered his chin so he could speak into the microphone taped behind the lapel of his jacket.

“Yeah, Mike. You're loud and clear.”

“Our teams are in place, and Agent Havelock is talking to them right now. We'll monitor you on your way. As of this moment, a young man is sitting on a bench near the spot you're walking toward. He's probably just waiting for the bus, but we wanted to keep you apprised. Our shooters are on him if he tries anything, so the drop-off is still a go. Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

The first block of the park contained a fountain in the center with sidewalks radiating from it like the spokes on a bicycle wheel. A young couple held hands on a bench overlooking the street. The man wore a pair of black slacks, a white Oxford shirt, and shiny black shoes, while his significant other wore a similarly expensive-looking black skirt. It was a little late for an evening in the park, but there were a couple of large corporate law firms in the area. They might have just gotten off work. Ash nodded and smiled hello to them but stayed on the outskirts of the park where his own people could keep an eye on him.

“I'm on North Meridian, crossing East Vermont. I don't see anybody, but I hope you're watching me.”

“We are. You just passed two of Havelock's agents by the fountain. Apparently they just got married. It's very sweet.”

“Newlyweds. That explains why they're still talking to each other.”

Ash stayed on the west side of the park and walked past the Indiana War Memorial, a limestone neoclassic monument, before coming to a stone obelisk and fountain in the center of a field of grass.

“There's a lot of stuff down here. Are we still clear?”

“As far as we can tell,” said Bowers. “You're going to run into some trees about half a block ahead of you. We have two officers waiting at a bus stop there. The Scottish Rite Cathedral will be on your left. We have several officers watching that.”

“Understood.”

Ash kept walking and, as Bowers had said, soon ran into a row of trees planted along the edge of the park. Their leaves allowed just enough light from the moon and stars to filter through that Ash could avoid tripping on cracks in the sidewalk. The cathedral to his left was an imposing Gothic building with coffered wooden doors inset into the stonework. Palmer hadn't specified where he'd pick up Rebecca exactly, but hopefully he'd find her soon.

He kept walking until he reached the central library. The kid Bowers had mentioned earlier still sat on the bench. He had an overgrown, unkempt hairstyle and several days' worth of facial hair on his chin. Despite a temperature in the upper seventies, he wore a pair of tight jeans and a sweater. He might have been homeless, but then again, he might have been a graduate student at one of the nearby universities. Ash always had difficulty telling them apart.

“Shaggy's still here,” said Ash. “Should I wait him out?”

Bowers didn't respond for a moment. “Havelock says yes. If we need to, we'll send somebody by to pick him up.”

“Good. I'm going to have a seat. This bag weighs a ton.”

Ash walked to the bus stop at which the kid was sitting and removed the backpack. Whoever picked it up would notice the weight, but hopefully he wouldn't surmise that it contained as much electronic gear as it did. Ash relaxed and rotated his shoulders, feeling bone click against bone. His doctor suggested that he have the entire shoulder joint replaced with a prosthetic, but Ash refused when he found out how long the post-op recovery period was. He liked playing with his kids too much; he could grin and bear the discomfort until they grew up some.

“Put the bag on your back and come with me.”

Ash cocked his head to the left to look at the speaker. Shaggy tapped his feet against the ground and darted his gaze from building to building.

“Excuse me?” asked Ash.

“Put on the backpack and come with me,” he said. “I'm supposed to take you to the cathedral to get what you came for.”

Shaggy looked nervous; if he had a firearm on him, the situation could get ugly fast. Ash slowly sat straighter and talked into the microphone on his lapel in case Bowers hadn't heard that.

“You want me to put on the backpack, and then we'll get Rebecca.”

“Did I stutter? Put it on.” Shaggy's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed and looked around the park.

Ash waited for Bowers to say something.

“We're watching,” said Bowers. “Do as he says.”

“Okay,” said Ash, standing up. He slipped the backpack on, wincing as it wrenched his shoulder back. Shaggy walked toward him.

“Okay. Start walking toward the cathedral.”

“I'm walking toward the cathedral now,” said Ash, his heart starting to beat fast.

“Stop repeating everything I say. You're making me nervous.”

“That's not my intention,” said Ash, forcing his voice to be as calm as possible. “Did Palmer say where Rebecca will be?”

Shaggy shook his head quickly. “I don't know anything about anybody named Rebecca. I'm just supposed to lead you over there.”

“So you're just a courier,” said Ash into the microphone on his lapel. “You're not with Palmer.”

“Stop talking, man. I've got a knife. You screw with me, you get stabbed.”

Ash slowly put up his hands. Shaggy jerked his head around, looking around them.

“Relax, buddy,” he said. “I'm cooperating. I'm just here for the girl. As long as you've got a knife, you're in charge. Nothing will happen.”

Hopefully he had sent the message clear enough. Ash looked at a low-slung medical building about half a block away. Havelock had stationed a sniper team there; they ought to be able to see everything he did. He slowly shook his head at them, hoping to wave them off unless absolutely necessary. Shaggy didn't pose a threat to anyone except himself. He probably didn't even know what he had stepped into. A bead of sweat formed on Ash's forehead and slid down his brow. He blinked it out of his eye rather than move his hands.

“There's a van headed your way up Meridian,” said Bowers in Ash's earpiece.

Ash nodded once in the direction of the sniper's perch, hoping they'd relay his understanding to Bowers. He heard the vehicle a moment later. The van looked like the sort he warned his kids to avoid getting into. It had white paint and windows so deeply tinted that he couldn't see inside. Rust ate at the wheel wells. It pulled to a stop in front of him, and the side door closest to him slid open, exposing an all-metal interior. There were no rear seats, but there were two men inside, one in the driver's seat and one in the rear compartment. Both wore jeans and polo shirts, one in blue and the other in yellow. Neither carried weapons, but both men wore ski masks. He felt bolstered by that. If they felt the need to protect their identities, it meant they likely planned to keep him alive. Before Ash could say anything, one of the men thrust a cell phone toward him.

“He's going to kill my kids. Please do whatever he wants.”

Ash knew Rebecca's voice, and he could practically feel the tension in it. Shaggy backed off quickly, his hands up, before turning and sprinting up Meridian Street toward Monument Circle. He wouldn't make it far.

“Your family is in protective custody. They're fine. Are you okay?”

Ash heard Rebecca shout, and then someone bobbled the phone. The next voice belonged to Palmer.

“You can get in the van, or you can hear Ms. Cook's last moments. It's up to you, Detective.”

The guy with the blue polo shirt ended the call and waved Ash forward.

“Do not get in the vehicle, Ash. Whatever you do, do not—”

Ash removed the earpiece before Bowers could say anything else. He had come too far to give up and let Rebecca die.

“I'm unarmed,” he said, holding up his hands. “I will cooperate. Call Palmer back and tell him not to hurt Rebecca.”

The guy leaned out of the van and looked left and right.

“Tell your partners not to follow us, or she dies.”

Ash took a breath to give him time to think. If Palmer's men wanted him dead, they would have shot him as soon as he opened the door. Neither even seemed to have a weapon, though. Maybe this was how they intended to do the swap. Ash lowered his chin to his lapel.

“They're going to kill Rebecca if you follow us. Stay back. Let me work this.” He looked at the men inside again. “Good enough?”

Blue shirt nodded and motioned Ash forward.

Please God, let this be a good idea.

He got in the van and closed the door behind him.

T
he van's driver seemed fixated on plowing into every pothole he could find, making the ride so rough Ash felt his teeth clang together at least twice in the first minute. When they were about half a block from the pickup point, Blue Shirt called Palmer to let him know Ash had gotten into the vehicle. Neither man in the car nor Palmer seemed interested in talking to Ash, which allowed him to look out the windows and memorize their route. They took Meridian Street south, past the cathedral and park. He caught sight of the newlywed couple he had seen near the fountain tackling Shaggy. That poor stupid kid didn't stand a chance, and neither did his friends in the polo shirts. Every police officer in the city likely had a description of the van. They'd never make it out of town.

Blue Shirt hung up the phone after making his call and cocked his head at Ash.

“Give me the backpack.”

Ash shimmied it off his shoulders and handed it over, glad to have forty pounds off his back. Blue Shirt zipped it open, removed the money, and fanned through each bundle like a deck of cards. It only took a moment to find the transmitters and a moment longer to throw them behind him, near the rear door. Once he had the money taken care of, he transferred the bundles to a second backpack and threw the FBI-issued one near the transmitters at the back of the van. He then pulled a pair of mesh athletic shorts and a red polo shirt from his own bag and threw them near Ash's feet.

“Change. Now.”

“You're not even going to buy me dinner first?”

“Tell your friends good-bye and take off your clothes.”

Ash unclipped the microphone from the lapel of his jacket and whispered that he was going dark before removing the transmitter from his pocket. It felt and looked like a cell phone. Blue Shirt leaned forward and tossed it out of the driver's window, making Ash feel nervous for the first time since getting in. As long as they had the backpack, though, he'd be fine.

“I get the feeling you guys have done this before,” said Ash, taking off his shoes.

“Shut up and strip.”

Apparently they weren't conversationalists. Ash removed his pants, jacket, and shirt before putting on the shirt and shorts Blue Shirt handed him. The running shoes they gave him slipped on his heel, so he laced them up tight. Yellow Shirt turned south on Capital Avenue, putting the Indiana Statehouse to his right. Ash pretended to slip and looked out the van's rear window. He couldn't see a police car anywhere around him.

“Where are we going?” asked Ash.

“You'll find out soon enough.”

Definitely weren't conversationalists. Ash thought he could take them out if need be. That would likely doom Rebecca, though, so he didn't want to take the chance unless he had to. From Capital Avenue, they hung a left on Maryland Street, near the center of the city. Glass pedestrian tunnels above the asphalt connected many of the buildings around him, while Circle Centre Mall and its various restaurants and bars lay directly ahead. People crowded the sidewalks at even that late hour.

Yellow Shirt slowed the van and hung a left into one of the mall's parking garages. The lights inside looked artificial and eerily bright after the black of evening. Ash's heart started thumping. His captors evidently intended to switch cars, a move simultaneously smart and stupid. Switching cars and getting rid of any transmitters Ash had brought with him would improve their chances of escape, but they had to know IMPD would wait for them as they exited onto the street.

“Are you sure this is what you guys want to do?” asked Ash. “You're going to get caught here. There aren't enough exits.”

“Shut up and get out,” said Blue Shirt. “Act casual and Rebecca lives. One phone call from us, she'll get a bullet in her head.”

“Okay,” said Ash, opening the sliding door. Before he could step out, Blue Shirt reached into his bag and handed Ash a blue Indianapolis Colts baseball cap.

“Put it on tight and keep your head down. If you make a commotion, we start making calls.”

“Sure,” said Ash, slipping the cap over his head. Blue Shirt and Yellow Shirt then slipped off the ski masks they had been wearing. Both men appeared roughly Ash's age, and both had very hard eyes. Blue Shirt had brown hair, blue eyes and a chin with an inch-long scar on it. Yellow Shirt had black hair buzzed short, green eyes and
oliv
e-​c
olored
skin. Both men slipped on their caps and pulled the brims low. Ash didn't know what significance to attribute to the removal of their ski masks, but it didn't fill him with warm and fuzzy feelings. They had planned everything so far quite well, and he had the feeling this would be, too.

Blue Shirt slid open the van's sliding door and prodded Ash out. They had parked on the second floor of the parking garage. Cars, trucks and SUVs occupied most of the spots, limiting his visibility.

“Where are we headed?” asked Ash.

“Just follow my lead,” said Blue Shirt. “And hurry. We're late.”

The parking garage looked just like every other parking garage Ash had ever been in. Thick concrete pillars supported the ceiling above, while the poured concrete walls had been painted a stark white. The air felt sticky. There were a lot of hiding places in there and way too many civilians for his colleagues to mount an ambush; they'd be waiting at the exits.

Blue Shirt led Ash to a nearby stairwell. Instead of going down to the street level or up to additional floors, they entered the mall itself. The mezzanine stretched upwards four stories and had a rounded glass ceiling high overhead. The late movie must have just let out because people buzzed around a movie theater nearby. Ash, as requested, kept his head down and followed Blue Shirt. He wanted to leave a message for his colleagues, but he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't draw undue attention to him. He even tried looking for a police officer or mall security guard who might remember his face, but he didn't see any.

Blue Shirt led him up an escalator and down another to the far side of the building. Yellow Shirt made a call on the way, but Ash couldn't tell who, if anyone, he talked to. Eventually, they entered a glass tube that led to the second-story lobby of a nearby hotel. The valet had a black Mazda SUV with dark tinted windows waiting for them out front. Ash climbed into the back while Yellow Shirt climbed into the front. Blue Shirt sat beside him. They pulled into traffic within five minutes of ditching their previous vehicle, just another anonymous vehicle on its way home.

Ash sank into the seat. As expected, he saw uniformed officers hurrying from one street corner to the next outside the mall, shouting at each other and speaking into radios. A checkpoint stopped every car exiting from the mall's parking garages, but no one seemed to have considered the hotels. Yellow Shirt turned north onto Illinois Street, but Ash didn't have a way of telling his colleagues that. He started to breathe heavily.

“Put this on,” said Blue Shirt, pulling what looked like a black pillowcase out of his bag. “Over your head.”

“You first.”

Blue Shirt reached into his bag again. He removed a small semiautomatic pistol. Ash turned to the side, so his chest faced his opponent. He reached behind him with his right arm, slowly reaching for the door handle. He pulled it, but nothing happened. They must have put on the child safety locks. Ash's heart started to beat faster.

“Put it on,” said Blue Shirt. “I don't want to kill you, but I don't want you to get any ideas about being a hero and trying something stupid.”

Blue Shirt held the gun far enough away from Ash that he'd have to lean over to grab it. Had it been closer, he might have been able to snag it before Blue Shirt got a shot off. He took a breath to slow his racing heart and put up his hands slowly.

“I'm not a hero,” said Ash. “I'm just trying to get Rebecca. I'm a police officer. If you kill me, there will be nowhere for you to hide. You will be pursued for the rest of your life.”

Blue Shirt's expression didn't change.

“Put the pillowcase over your head. If you cooperate, we'll take you to Rebecca. If you don't, you're both dead. Those are the rules. Comply or I will shoot you. I kid you not.”

Ash swallowed and pulled the pillowcase over his face. Some light pierced the fabric, allowing him to see the car's interior lights but not the outside world.

“Lean back and take a nap if you want,” said Blue Shirt. “We've got a long ride.”

Ash stayed as alert as he could. He tried to determine their route by feel, but he got confused quickly. They made too many turns for him to keep track. Eventually, they hung a wide, looping right, and he felt the car accelerate, presumably as they merged onto the interstate. Indianapolis had interstates leading out of it in nearly every cardinal direction, and they could have taken any one of them. They kept a steady pace for about an hour, but then they slowed on an exit ramp. Ash saw a few lights outside the SUV, but not many. They probably belonged to a gas station or two. Ash reached to his door again and tried the window switch. Like the door, the window didn't move. Yellow Shirt had cranked the air conditioner, but sweat beaded on Ash's forehead. He didn't have a lot of options.

The SUV accelerated past the lights and onto a dark, smooth road. Ash tried to think his way through his situation. With two assailants, at least one of whom had a gun, the odds weren't in his favor. As soon as they got out of the car, he would need to move fast. If he could take out Blue Shirt and get his weapon, he'd have a pretty good chance. He thought he could do that, too. He could see shapes and outlines through the fabric over his head, and it looked as if Blue Shirt's hands were at his side. If he moved quick enough, Ash thought he could hit Blue Shirt's throat before he reacted. It probably wouldn't kill him, but it ought to incapacitate him long enough to secure his weapon. He needed to find the right time, though.

Yellow Shirt slowed the car as the road became rougher.

“We're almost there, Princess,” said Blue Shirt. “Rebecca's just up the road. Lean back and relax. You're not nearly as good as you think you are. If you try anything, I will kill you.”

Ash hadn't realized he had tensed up. He forced himself to sit back.

“I'm not going to try anything,” he said. “I'm just here for Rebecca.”

“Sure,” said Blue Shirt. “If it's all the same, though, I'm going to keep my gun out. And seriously, please don't try anything. This car is a rental. If I shoot you in it, I'm going to lose my security deposit.”

“We wouldn't want that,” said Ash.

“No, we wouldn't.”

Ash rode in silence for another few minutes. The road became rougher still and eventually turned to gravel. Abruptly, the car's tires bit into the ground, throwing Ash forward against his seat belt. Before he could figure out what had happened, Blue Shirt hit him on the temple hard enough that he saw lights dance in his eyes. Blue Shirt then ripped off Ash's pillowcase and stuck a flashlight in his face, temporarily blinding him and disorienting him further.

Ash blinked, trying to clear his vision when Blue Shirt punched him in the head again. Even sitting still, he felt dizzy. Blue Shirt disengaged Ash's seat belt, and someone ripped open his door. Before Ash could stop him, Yellow Shirt yanked him out of the car and then shoved him facedown into a patch of grass by the roadside. The ground felt warm after the Mazda's leather. Yellow Shirt got back in the car before Ash regained his senses. Dust and gravel struck him in the face and body as the SUV vaulted forward.

Ash stayed motionless, trying to catch his breath and process what the hell had just happened. When his eyes adjusted to the newfound darkness, he realized that he had been deposited in a dry, shallow ditch beside a gravel road. A farmer had planted soybeans in a field to his right and corn in a field on his left. Aside from the fading taillights of the men who dumped him out there, Ash couldn't see light anywhere. He did see stars, though, thousands of them, amid a backdrop of black.

He closed his eyes and silently thanked God for keeping him alive. When he opened them again, they had adjusted well enough that he saw a driveway about twenty feet up the road. Hopefully the person living at the end of it would be willing to let a stranger use his phone. Ash followed the narrow gravel road until he reached a whitewashed barn with a green asphalt roof. A safety light cast a bluish white light around the driveway. Obviously, the barn had electricity; maybe if he got lucky, it'd have a phone, too.

The gravel crunched under Ash's feet as he walked. Insects buzzed and sang around him, while mice and other nocturnal animals scurried through nearby fields. Aside from bobcats, Indiana didn't have large predators, so no animals posed a danger to him. It still felt a little eerie.

“Anybody in here?” he yelled upon reaching the structure. No one answered, so he dug his heels into the ground and strained as he pulled open the sliding door on the side facing the road. It opened on a rusted track, producing a squeal loud enough that Ash stopped before he had the door even halfway open. If anyone lived nearby, they would have heard that. He searched alongside the nearest interior wall until he found a light switch.

“I'm a police officer. If you can hear me, please don't shoot me.”

The barn looked like something from a bygone era, but the farmer who owned it had retrofitted it with fluorescent overhead lights. Thick beams supported the roof structure and a hayloft to his left, while stalls for animals lined the walls to his right. It smelled musty, and dust particles floated in the air. The floor was bare dirt. Ash walked toward a worktable in the center of the room but stopped five or six feet away. A white sheet marred by brownish red stains covered the table, while a rolling stand beside it held stainless steel medical tools as well as an oversized pill bottle of something called cephalexin. It looked like an operating theater or a spot to torture someone. Either way, Ash felt vulnerable without a firearm.