Got the Look (26 page)

The color had not yet returned to Jack's face, which apparently telegraphed the fact that something important had happened. Jack felt the need to sit down if they were going to talk about it. They went to the living room, Andie on the couch and Jack in the armchair. He didn't come right out and tell her that he'd spoken to Cassandra, but he told her everything else, which made it easy enough for Andie to deduce that he and Cassandra had formed an alliance of some sort.

This concerns me, said Andie.

Why? Because you told Cassandra not to talk to me, and she did?

Frankly, that's part of it.

What do you expect when the FBI's pat answer to every question is Sorry, I can't answer that.'

I use that response only when protocol dictates it.

Why would protocol dictate that you tell me nothing about Teresa and Gerard Montalvo? And don't tell me that you're sorry, you can't answer that.

Lots of reasons. Not the least of which is the way you haul off and make important strategy decisions without consulting me. Like letting the kidnapper know that we're pursuing the Got the Look Rapist.

He doesn't know you're onto him. Right now, he thinks the only way the FBI discovers his past connection to Mia - or Teresa - is if he doesn't play ball with me. You don't see that as a strategic advantage?

No, damn it. We're issuing a BOLO for Gerard Montalvo by the end of the day.

You can't do that. It will look like I broke our agreement. He'll think the BOLO issued because I told the FBI that he was the Got the Look Rapist.

She massaged between her eyes, as if a massive headache were coming on. You're making me crazy.

Sorry, but it's you and your tight-lipped rules that got us into this mess. If my life's on the line, I need to know everything you know.

She thought for a moment, as if fighting the urge to tell him that it was out of the question. All right, look. You and I don't have to like each other, we just have to get along.

She was starting to sound like his ex-wife, but he let it go. What are you proposing?

I'll go to my ASAC this afternoon. I'll see if I can get you approved for a higher level of clearance.

That's a start.

But I'm not pulling the BOLO. It's going out by the end of today.

Then what do I tell psycho boy?

Tell him that it wasn't you who figured out that he was the Got the Look Rapist, it was the FBI. You were actually doing him a favor by tipping the FBI's hand more than twenty-four hours before the BOLO issued.

That's not going to placate him.

Do you have a better idea?

Jack slowed down, trying to sound as calm and collected as he could. I think this little misunderstanding points out one thing. You and I need to settle on an overall strategy, and we need to stick to it.

I agree with that.

Good. Here's how I see it, and you tell me if you disagree. Every time I talk to this guy, he tells me no cops. So, step one is for me to talk the talk and walk the walk as if I'm going at this alone, no police, no FBI.

I don't recommend that you go it alone.

Granted. But I have to create that impression. Which means that I do the negotiations, I deliver the ransom. You guys are never far behind me, but you're out of sight. Agreed?

In concept, yes. But I want you to think twice about paying a ransom. Mr. Thornton paid a million dollars, and it didn't help.

Yeah, but that first kidnapping was different, the one with the auto mechanic in Georgia. He paid how much ransom?

Nineteen thousand dollars.

And his wife was released unharmed. So the way I see it, I'm not married to Mia, and we didn't even date that long. But I have a little more money than that auto mechanic. So our magic number may be somewhere between nineteen thousand and a million. Hopefully closer to nineteen thousand.

But if you pick the wrong number with this guy it's game over. He kills Mia. My recommendation is that you string out negotiations as long as possible, never agree on a number. Your dialogue should be structured so that you elicit clues about his whereabouts. We slowly build one piece of information on top of another until we can either box him in and force a surrender or move in with Hostage Rescue and take him out. I can coach you on what to say and how to get him talking.

That sounds great in theory, but you're trying to buy more time than he's willing to sell. I say I pay a ransom, but I insist on a simultaneous exchange - I hand over the money and he releases Mia at a specific time and place. That's your opportunity to take him out.

That's an option, but I have to warn you: A simultaneous exchange is a volatile and dangerous scenario.

The only other option is to drag this out indefinitely and see more home movies of Mia being tortured. I don't want that.

Nobody wants that. But please consider what I'm saying. I know what works and what doesn't.

Jack paused. He was suddenly reminding himself of the clients who came to him for his expertise as a trial lawyer and then proceeded to tell him how to try their case. I will consider it, he said, but we still have to be prepared to pay a ransom. Even under your plan, it may ultimately come down to a matter of how much money we can pony up.

If you want to pay a ransom, I can't stop you.

I'm looking for more than the FBI's passive acquiescence. What I want to know is, are you willing to put any money on the table to obtain Mia's release?

You know the FBI would never do that. Payment of a ransom is the responsibility of the victim's family - or in Mia's case, her boyfriend's responsibility.

This is different. I'm helping the FBI to catch a serial kidnapper. He murdered his second victim and tortured his third.

I can't put in a funding requisition for ransom money. I'll be laughed out of the bureau.

Then call it something else. It's more like a funding request for an undercover operation, don't you think?

If I were using an agent to deliver a ransom as bait, I'd say yes, arguably. But I can't put federal dollars in your hands to pay over to some lunatic as ransom. It's not the same thing.

What if I agree to use the money only as bait, like the proof-of-life payment I was supposed to deliver in downtown Miami? Would that fly?

Not in a simultaneous exchange where you deliver the ransom. That's all I need for the kidnapper to figure out that you're toting marked bills. Then I'll have two dead civilians on my hands.

Can you at least focus on trying to get some money? We can talk delivery logistics once we know what your number is.

She paused, then said, I'll see what I can do.

How much do you think you can get?

I have to be honest. Budget is tight these days. Since nine-eleven, every spare nickel seems earmarked for Homeland Security.

How much? said Jack.

She seemed almost embarrassed to say it. I could probably get approval for twenty thousand dollars.

Twenty thousand? said Jack, scoffing. He killed Ashley Thornton because a million wasn't enough.

Her husband was extremely wealthy. You're not her husband, and you're not wealthy.

He already rejected ten thousand dollars as proof-of-life money. We have to put serious money on the table.

I can't promise anything. When I put in a request to grant you higher security clearance, I'll try for more funding. But you have to give me something in return.

That's fair. What?

I want you to promise not to pursue Gerard Montalvo. That's my job, not yours.

He thought about it, then chose his words carefully. I promise I won't interfere.

She didn't push, but it didn't take a genius to realize that a promise not to interfere wasn't exactly a promise to stay out of the hunt. She flashed a hint of skepticism and said, Do you remember the first time the kidnapper talked to you? He warned that if you crossed him, the person who pays is the one you care about more than anyone else.

Yeah. At that point in the game, I wondered how he even knew that Mia and I had been seeing each other, let alone that I cared that much about her. I guess she told him right off the bat.

I'm not so sure he was talking about Mia. I think he meant you.

What?

To a self-centered sociopath, the person you care about more than anyone else is yourself. In other words, if you screw up, you will be the one who pays. And he didn't mean in dollars.

Jack wasn't sure if she was right or if she was trying to scare him into being more cautious. Either way, he got the point.

Andie continued, In all the kidnappings I've handled, I've never lost a messenger. Don't be my first.

Don't worry about me, he said. I'm worried about what's going to happen to Mia when you issue that BOLO for Gerard Montalvo and he thinks I reneged on my promise.

I'm worried about that, too.

Well there you go, said Jack. We finally agree on something.

Chapter
40

That night, Jack and Theo paid a visit to Miami's hottest new dance club. It was work, not play. They were following the next logical lead along the thread that connected Mia to Teresa, notwithstanding Jack's promise to Agent Henning. He'd agreed not to interfere, not to crawl under a rock.

Jack wasn't the clubbing type, so the trip required a little advance preparation.

South Beach is yesterday's news, Theo told him.

What? You can't mean the South Beach? As in Ocean Drive, art deco, Gucci-clad bimbos, hard-bodied hotties with pocketfuls of ecstasy and their adjusted gross income draped around their necks in the form of fourteen-karat gold? You mean that South Beach?

No way, said Jack.

Seriously, dude. It ain't happenin' there no more.

That kind of exaggeration was heresy on Miami Beach, but it was music to the ears of the Miami Design District. Nestled in the heart of Little Haiti - Miami topped even Port-au-Prince in HONK IF YOU LOVE HAITI bumper stickers - the Design District was conceived in the nineties as a collection of furniture showrooms and boutiques that catered to cutting-edge designers and architects. Naturally, certain city planners scoffed at the idea of supermom dropping off her kids at private school on her way to a tennis lesson, picking up her girlfriend from the spa, and then heading up to Little Haiti for some shopping. After all, they didn't call it Little Haiti because it was filled with wealthy white folks. But the designers came, and some big names, too. Art galleries, antique shops, and trendy little restaurants popped up. Soon, word got out - Like seriously, girlfriend, I found a Roche Bobois leather sofa for just nineteen thousand dollars - and the Design District was the In Place.

Then came the velvet ropes. Actually, the district had just one velvet-rope club, but Miami was the kind of place where one of anything could constitute a trend.

Club L'fant was arguably hotter than any nightspot on South Beach. Like everything else in the Design District, it had been converted from an old warehouse, but it was the only place in the neighborhood still hopping at 1 A. M. Two bouncers stood outside the main entrance, each with a hand on the velvet rope. Their names were Lionel and Richie, for real, and any joker who linked their names together and started humming Three Times a Lady was immediately bounced as way too old to be there. Lionel was French, six five, conversant enough in English to keep out the losers and have his way with the ladies. Richie was six feet three, a Miami High dropout, an ex-con.

And he was a friend of Theo's.

How you doin,' my man? said Richie. Jack watched as he and Theo shook hands eleven different ways, finishing with a smile and an exchange of punches to their rock-hard biceps - the standard prison-yard ritual.

This here's my buddy Jack.

Your buddy? said Richie. Looks more like your accountant.

Jack had expected him to say lawyer, but he was somehow even more offended. Theo laughed and said, Nah, he's cool. But this visit is business. Bizzniss.

What kinda business?

Need to speak to the owner. You think you can arrange it?

Tony's upstairs in his private club. No way I can get both you and Mr. Stiff in there. Maybe he'll come down and meet you at the bar, if you want to call in some old markers.

Theo's expression turned serious. I'm calling them in.

No problem, bro.

Theo gave him a friendly slap on the arm, his way of saying thank you. The red velvet ropes parted, Richie stepped aside, and Jack and Theo entered, much to the envy of the block-long line of beautiful people waiting to get inside.

Club L'fant was in a serious party mode, with every table full, the dance floor packed, and the waiting line three deep at the bar. Designer clothes and flashy jewelry were everywhere, people outfitted to show off their money, their buff body, their collagen lips, their Botoxed brows, and in many cases, their utter lack of taste. It was a fashion paradox, the way a quest to be different could make everyone look the same. One trend was especially obvious. Some women seemed to think it stylish to rip the designer label from their jeans - and about half of the backside of their pants right along with it, so that their bare skin brushed up against the guys whenever they squeezed through the crowd. As Jack made his way to the bar, he learned how to say nice ass in five different languages.