Got the Look (18 page)

So you deny telling Malone that I was going to pay Mia's ransom?

I more than deny it. I give you my word that it didn't come from us.

I'm afraid your word's not good enough.

Bailey bristled, yet he somehow seemed to know better than to feign too much indignation. Then let's deal strictly with the practicalities. Breaking and entering into a private residence to plant an eavesdropping device is a felony. Do you think for one minute that Ernesto would risk jail time by sending those tapes to a reporter?

A journalist's sources are confidential, said Jack. A judge could set his balls on fire, and Malone still wouldn't say who made the tapes.

I suppose that's so, said Bailey. All I can tell you is that Malone didn't get the tapes from us.

But you can't prove it.

Bailey fell silent, then leaned forward, as if a thought had just come to him. Just think about it for a minute. Ernesto Salazar is a powerful and handsome Latin man, the don of all Don Juans. When you open up el diccionario, his picture is right there next to the word machismo. Do you think he would send audiotapes to a reporter and, in effect, reveal to the world that his young wife had to look outside their own bedroom for sexual gratification? That, I assure you, is not an image that Ernesto Salazar would cultivate.

Jack was hard-pressed to argue with that kind of logic. You may have a point.

Of course I do, said Bailey. Which means that you have a new question. If Ernesto Salazar wasn't Eddy Malone's source, then who was?

Chapter
25

Andie heard gunshots on the other side of the door. She took a deep breath and entered the firearms training room, thankful that Paul Martinez wasn't packing live ammunition.

The Miami field office had a state-of-the-art training facility, with simulated laser weapons that could satisfy the most exacting virtual-reality enthusiast. The guns looked, weighed, and felt like the real thing. Sound effects provided the authentic crack of gunfire. Shooters had to change magazines when ammunition ran out, and air pressure created a convincing recoil. Shrouded in darkness, the agent faced a display screen where he could pretend to be on the academy's firing range in Quantico, while more complex situation DVDs tested snap decisions in various life-or-death situations, such as a face-to-face confrontation with a hostage taker.

Martinez was standing in the classic marksman's pose - feet apart, knees slightly bent, two hands on the pistol - squeezing off one precise shot after another in the simple target-practice mode. It was a surefire method of working out anger, and the SAC's anger had been obvious from beginning to end of his morning meeting with Andie. The tongue-lashing had lasted all of five minutes, and Martinez had done almost all of the talking. The SWAT disaster was his headache. By default, it was Andie's, too, because she hadn't done a better job of talking him out of it. Not an entirely fair system of accountability, but that was the reality of the situation when you were the new kid in town. She dreaded the thought of interrupting his cooling-off period, but developments in the Salazar case left her no choice.

Excuse me, sir, she said as he changed mock magazines on the simulated .45-caliber pistol.

He turned and dropped his earphones down around his neck. What is it now, Henning?

Andie said, I just got off the phone with Ernesto Salazar. He made a delivery to the kidnapper last night.

That got his interest. Martinez slid the gun simulator into its plastic cradle and said, How the hell can that be?

She relayed exactly what Ernesto had told her about the call from the kidnapper, the trip to the marina, and the delivery of the suitcase.

Why didn't he call us before the drop? asked Martinez.

Kidnapper said he was pissed that Swyteck called us in. Salazar didn't want to make the same mistake.

How much ransom did he pay?

He wouldn't tell me. Says it's confidential.

That's understandable. No wealthy family wants the word to get out among would-be kidnappers that they're an easy mark.

I suppose that could be what this is all about, said Andie. But after the conversations I've had with him, this sudden decision to pay a ransom is a radical change of heart.

Must have been the video. Seeing his wife tortured had to affect him.

That was exactly what he told me, said Andie. But I'm still not sure what he's up to.

What do you mean?

Again, from the very beginning he was adamant about not paying a ransom. His wife cheating on him and all. And even after talking to him this morning, he didn't seem convinced that any amount of money could possibly save Mia.

Then why would he pay a ransom at all?

Like you said, it's possible the video did affect him. Maybe he can't stand to see her suffer. On the other hand, he's probably not willing to give up his entire fortune to save her - to pay what she's worth. So he pays a ransom on the quick, knowing that it will be rejected. And then

And then the kidnapper kills Mia, just like he killed Ashley Thornton. Her suffering is at an end.

Andie didn't answer right away. That was precisely her theory, but hearing the SAC articulate it made the whole thing seem almost too cold and calculating. Almost. It's a thought that crossed my mind, she said.

Martinez nodded. I'm not saying you're right, but I do like the way your suspicious mind works, Henning.

Andie did a double take. After the way he'd chewed her out in his office just minutes earlier, she would have bet her FBI shield that her next compliment was months in the offing. Thanks.

Martinez retrieved his weapon and resumed firing, talking between shots. Not to shift gears too abruptly, but the very notion of a phone call directly from the kidnapper to Salazar is a very interesting turn of events. Especially when you consider it in light of Crenshaw's two-kidnapper theory.

How do you mean?

He squeezed off three shots, pow-pow-pow, in rapid succession. You might say we have conflicting developments here. The e-mail message you found on that computer in the SWAT raid said Payment is due in five days. Delivery instructions to follow.' Now Ernesto tells us that he got a phone call that same afternoon, and the kidnapper told him to make the delivery last night. It seems to support Crenshaw's view that we're dealing with two kidnappers, one of whom is an imposter.

I don't see it that way, said Andie. The messages conflict because the kidnapper changed his mind.

And you would know that because

Because the e-mail message was sent from the Kwick-e Copy Center first thing in the morning, long before the kidnapper knew that Jack was being followed by the FBI. Only after Jack went through the courthouse metal detectors and that whole rigmarole did the kidnapper decide that he didn't want to deal with Jack anymore. So he contacted Salazar directly that afternoon. By then it was too late to retract the e-mail he'd sent in the morning.

Martinez switched from target practice to crisis-situation simulator. On-screen, a heavyset thug was ordered to put his hands up and come out of his bedroom. He started walking toward the agent, but from the shooter's perspective, it was like looking into a tunnel, the field of vision defined by the open doorway.

Plausible explanation, said Martinez, keeping his gun trained on the simulation suspect. But not dispositive.

Shoot! Andie shouted, but Martinez held his fire. He'd failed to notice that the bad guy had grabbed a gun from a high shelf on the bedroom wall, which was hidden from the shooter's view. In the world of FBI simulation, Paul Martinez was a dead man.

Andie raised an eyebrow impishly. You should listen to me more often, boss.

He said nothing, but she thought she detected just a hint of a smile.

The phone on the wall chirped, giving Andie a start. Martinez was standing nearest to it and answered on the third ring. Andie wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but when the SAC made eye contact with her and said, Yeah, Henning's standing here with me right now, she made it her business to catch his end of the conversation.

Interesting, Martinez said for the third time, speaking into the phone. We'll be right up. Meet us in the east conference room.

As he hung up, Andie laid open her hands, as if to say Tell me.

Our search of scuba divers has turned up a lead, he said.

I hope it's better than the one that led to our SWAT raid.

Much better, he said, his voice deadly serious. This one actually has a motive.

Chapter
26

It was still early when Jack left Miami, but with morning traffic he didn't reach Palm Beach until the very civilized hour of nine o'clock. Worth Avenue was one of the most exclusive shopping streets in the world, one designer boutique after another, the perfect place to drop eleven thousand dollars on an evening bag or trash your best friend's plastic surgeon behind her back. The HermA"s shop didn't open until ten, so Jack waited outside the front door, coveting the classic Silver Shadow convertible parked next to the Maserati across the street. Mia's friend Emilia was an assistant store manager, and at nine thirty she arrived with the door key in hand.

Jack, what brings you here? she said, shoving her tortoiseshell sunglasses above her hairline.

He handed her the Tribune. I thought I'd deliver the Miami paper. Just in case you don't get it up here.

Her eyes were drawn immediately to the headline, and Jack watched as she quickly read the article. About halfway through, her mouth fell open.

Something wrong? said Jack.

A noise came from her throat, something between a sigh and a groan. This was the kind of reaction that Jack could never have gauged over the telephone, making the drive worth the effort. What is it? he asked.

She read further, then said, I can't believe he printed this.

So, my instincts were right? You did talk to Malone?

She handed the newspaper back to him, her eyes glinting. Yes. He called me last night, pretty late. I thought for sure the article would be in tomorrow's paper, not today's.

What did he want?

At first, I thought he only wanted me to confirm that you and Mia were having an affair. I told him I didn't know anything about it, I swear. But then he played some tapes for me. It was clearly you and Mia. I couldn't deny it at that point. Obviously you couldn't, either. You admit it right here in the article.

Yeah, but that's not the part that interests me anymore. What I want to know is, how did Malone get it in his mind that I was going to pay Mia's ransom?

She swallowed so hard that Jack could actually see the lump bobbing in her throat.

Emilia, I need to know what you told him.

I wasn't trying to railroad you into anything. I was just trying to protect Mia.

Protect her how?

Malone said that he had it on good authority that Ernesto was refusing to pay a ransom. I was afraid for Mia. I figured that if it was printed in the newspaper that she was having an affair and that her husband refused to pay a ransom, she'd be dead as soon as the kidnapper picked up the newspaper.

So you told him I would pay the ransom?

I didn't say for sure you'd pay the ransom. I told him I thought you cared very deeply for Mia and you might pay something if Ernesto didn't. That's all. I wasn't trying to force you into anything. He twisted my words if he made it sound like more than that.

Jack studied her expression, and the welling in her eyes seemed sincere. He couldn't blame her for trying to protect her friend, and he didn't doubt for a moment that Malone would manipulate her words. It's all right, Emilia. You didn't do anything wrong.

Yes, I did.

Really, it's not your fault.

After I talked with Malone, I should have called you and made sure we were on the same page. But I never thought - She stopped herself, as if debating whether to say more.

You never thought what? said Jack.

I can't say I ever had much faith in Ernesto, she said, her voice shaking, but I always hoped that if someone had to step up and help Mia, you would do it. I never thought you'd flat-out refuse to pay a ransom.

Jack folded the newspaper in half, as if hiding from his own words.

Emilia said, And I never dreamed that you'd tell it to a newspaper reporter for all the world to see. For the kidnapper to see. How could you do that?

Although a little voice inside was telling him that he'd done enough for Mia, that he'd done far more than most men would, he suddenly felt as if he were shrinking right before Emilia's eyes. I'm sorry, said Jack, not sure what else to say.

Do you care about Mia or don't you?

You think I'd be here right now if I didn't care?

Then act like it. She aimed her key at the lock and opened the store door, then stopped. Her voice took on a slight edge, equal parts anger at Jack and concern for her friend. I won't even try to defend the lie she told you, Jack. It was a terrible mistake. But what are you going to do about it now, make her pay with her life?

Jack watched from the sidewalk as Emilia turned her back and disappeared into the store.