Snake Eye (27 page)

Finally, once Missy was free, she threw her arms around her mother’s neck. The words came in between sobs. “I-saw-what-they-did-to-you…. Are-they-going-to-rape-and-kill-us?”

“No, honey, of course not,” Rossi replied. “Mr. Chow wants to use us as hostages. We wouldn’t be any good to him dead.”

The pre-teen was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“So, am I,” Rossi replied. “But the FBI will find us and everything will be fine.”

“No,” Missy replied. “I’m sorry about what I said back at the store. It was a mean thing to say.”

“Yes,” Rossi agreed soberly. “It was. It’s true that I went to bed with Dex, but I thought I was in love with him, and that we were going to have a lasting relationship. But Dex isn’t the man I thought he was—and I made what turned out to be a very public mistake. I’m sorry if the other kids teased you about it.”

“That’s okay,” Missy replied staunchly. “Vanessa says that I should be proud of you. And I am.”

The FBI agent was surprised. “She does? You are? That’s nice to hear.”

The conversation might have continued except for the fact that they heard the rumble of powerful engines, followed by a distant shout and a distinct jerk as the barge went into motion. Rossi went from crack to crack before finding one that looked down the length of the barge. She
could see a central walkway flanked by wooden racks, dozens of vertical tubes, and other paraphernalia the agent wasn’t sure of. And beyond them Rossi could see a taut cable and the back end of a tug. The name on the stern read
Chow Endeavor
.

Then, as the barge followed the tug out into an unidentified waterway, Rossi began to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. She had never been on one before, but the barge was clearly set up to serve as a launching platform for fireworks, and Samuel Chow had sponsored the New Year’s Eve fireworks display for the last three years. Would the authorities think to search a barge out in the middle of Lake Union? It didn’t seem very likely.

Missy threw her arms around her mother’s waist, and the FBI agent gave the pre-teen a hug as the temperature started to drop. It was going to be a long, cold afternoon—and the night would be even worse.
But there’s always reason to hope
, Rossi thought to herself,
even if it’s hard to see why
. The tug gave a mournful toot, the barge followed it out into the ship canal, and the sky began to darken as a cold rain fell. It formed a curtain around the barge—and everything within was lost.

The FBI’s command post, which was normally set aside for major emergencies, had been activated and was crammed with representatives from half a dozen law-enforcement agencies. And all of them were scared, worried, and angry. Special Agent Christina Rossi and her daughter Missy had been missing for more than twelve hours by then, and every person in the room knew that the odds of finding them dwindled with each passing hour. Demont was there, as were Haxton, Theel, Hawkins, the entire SNAKE EYE team, plus personnel from the SPD, the King County sheriffs department, and the DEA.

The murmur of conversation ended as Demont closed his flip-phone and made his way up to the front of the room. He had flown in from Washington D.C. in the wee hours of the morning and looked uncharacteristically rumpled. A box-shaped lectern and microphone rested on a folding table. The SAC lifted the mike, got a nod from a technician, and opened the meeting. “Good morning. For the benefit of those I haven’t met, my name is Harley Demont. Thank you for coming. The purpose of this meeting is to provide you and the agencies you represent with the latest information regarding the abduction of Special Agent Christina Rossi and her daughter Missy and enlist your help. Each of you should have received a packet of information including a synopsis of what we know to date, photos of Agent Rossi and her daughter, and a contact list. If you don’t have a packet please raise your hand.”

There was a brief pause while two additional packets were distributed. “Okay,” the SAC said, “let’s begin. At 6:46 p.m. yesterday evening, Mrs. Vanessa Garrett contacted Supervisory Special Agent Theel to inform him that Agent Rossi and her daughter had failed to return home at the agreed-upon time. It should be mentioned that Mrs. Garrett is married to Rossi’s ex-husband, which makes her Missy’s stepmother.

“During the subsequent conversation, SSA Theel learned that when Rossi failed to show up, and Mrs. Garrett was unable to contact her by phone, she took it upon herself to visit the shopping mall where mother and daughter were headed. While checking the parking lot, Mrs. Garrett was able to locate Rossi’s car. The vehicle was locked, but while peering through the window, Mrs. Garrett noticed an envelope. The words, ‘For The FBI,’ were visible on the front of it.”

At that point Demon turned to make eye contact with his audience. “I’ll come back to the envelope later. Both the SPD, the FBI, and members of the SNAKE EYE team under the leadership of ASAC Hawkins responded to the scene where the vehicle was opened and the envelope was recovered. While that was being evaluated agents worked with mall security to obtain surveillance video of the parking lot. Please direct your attention to the video screens as we roll that tape.”

Inez, who was seated with the rest of the SNAKE EYE team, bit her lower lip as the footage appeared on the previously dark screens and a Maxima that the ICE agent recognized as being identical to Rossi’s pulled into a vacant slot. “Rossi and her daughter exited the car at 10:26,” Demont continued dispassionately. “And went directly into Nordstrom’s. Now, watch what happens next.”

Inez and the rest of the law enforcement personnel watched as two identical vans pulled into the slots adjacent to the Nissan. A man got out of the van on the left. He scanned the immediate area before going over to examine the front end of Rossi’s sedan. “We think he was checking her license plate,” the SAC explained, “to ensure that they had the right vehicle. If so, that suggests
someone else followed Rossi to the mall before summoning the vans. Watch what the suspect does next.”

The audience watched intently as the man straightened up from inspecting the plate, turned toward the nearest surveillance camera, and raised his right arm. “We had that enhanced,” Demont commented. Here it is.

Another video segment appeared, but this one had been magnified, and there was no doubt about the suspect’s identity. The man in the parking lot was Joe Chow—and the middle ringer of his right hand was in an upright position. No one laughed.

“That’s right,” the SAC confirmed grimly. “Many of you will recognize the man on the video as Joe Chow, a slimeball who is wanted for murder, human trafficking, and numerous other crimes. We believe that the fact that he made no attempt to hide his face, and even went so far as to give us the finger, is highly significant. More on that in a few minutes.

“At exactly 11:14, Agent Rossi returned two items of clothing to Nordstrom’s and money was credited to her account. Then, at 11:29, Rossi and her daughter reentered the parking lot and returned to the Maxima. They say a picture is worth a thousand words—so here it is.”

Inez felt cold lead trickle into the pit of her stomach as her friend made her way across the parking lot and approached the Nissan. Mother and daughter were just about to enter their car when a man emerged from the van on the right and took control of Missy. Meanwhile the passenger side door of the van directly behind Rossi opened. The FBI agent had already begun to turn when Chow stepped out. The snakehead hit Rossi and caught her as she fell. An angry mutter ran through the audience as the unconscious woman was loaded into the van. The girl followed. None of the other people in the parking lot saw what took place, or if they did, chose to get involved.

“By the way,” Demont added soberly, “Rossi knew something was up. Later, when Mrs. Garrett arrived on the scene, she found a collapsible baton laying halfway under the Maxima. SSA Theel confirms that Rossi was in the habit of carrying one just like it. Okay, where does that leave us? Well, both of the vans used in the abduction were stolen from a car lot on Aurora. They were found parked in front of this building at 7:05 a.m. this morning. They were about to be towed when ASAC Haxton arrived for work, recognized the vans for what they were, and had them impounded. Some quick work by the forensics people turned up two sets of prints on the rear surface of driver’s seat. All of the prints were Rossi’s, and judging from the way they were positioned, it appears that she put them there on purpose. So, in spite of whatever injuries she may have sustained during the abduction, there is every reason to believe that she was alive immediately after being kidnapped.”

Inez heard murmurs of approval, a chuckle or two, and a “Go Rossi!” from Detective Tolley.

“And that brings us back to the envelope I mentioned earlier,” the SAC said, as his eyes swept the room. “Once they got it open the forensics people found a single sheet of paper inside. Here’s what it looks like.”

The law-enforcement officials shifted their attention back to the screen where the PowerPoint presentation had been. What they saw was a fingerprint, or a thumbprint, centered at the top of the page. The words immediately below had been written in what Inez thought was a childish scrawl. “If you want Agent Rossi to remain alive stop looking for me.”

Demont gave his audience a moment to read the message before stabbing the print with a red dot from his laser pointer. “By now I doubt that any of you will be surprised to learn that this thumbprint belongs to Joe Chow. So,” the SAC concluded, “here’s how we see it…. Chow
knows
his apartment was wired,
knows
we heard him commit murder, and
knows
that bullets from his
gun were recovered from Mr. Pasco’s body. Rather than play defense, Chow went to offense, and abducted Rossi. Because her daughter was present he took her, too. And, having scored points, Chow rubs our noses in it. The question is why? Is this guy flailing about? Or does he have a plan? We can’t eliminate the first possibility, but ASAC Hawkins and his team know this perp, and they have a theory. Dale?”

Hawkins rose and made his way up to the front of the room where Demont surrendered the microphone. The ICE agent had been up all night and looked tired. But there was fire in his eyes. “First, please allow me to join Special Agent in Charge Demont in thanking you for all of the extra hours that both you and your people have put in looking for Rossi. I know she gets more than her share of press, but I’m here to tell you that Agent Rossi is one hell of an agent, and we need to bring her back.”

The words brought a scattering of applause along with a “Right on!” “You can say that again!” and a, “Well, said.”

“Now,” Hawkins continued, “this may be a situation in which a borderline psychotic is running amok and that’s all there is to it. The fact that he’s taking chances, flaunting his identity, and making nonspecific demands seems to support that theory. But we don’t think so. We believe he’s waiting for something—a way out of the country because that’s the only chance he has. And, given a recent meeting with an agent of the Chinese Military Intelligence Directorate, we figure China’s where the scumbag plans to go. How is anybody’s guess…You saw what the Chow family had going off Whidbey Island. These people are professional smugglers—which means anything is possible.

“So, assuming we’re right, this bastard took Rossi as a way to waste our time, burn our resources, and generally piss us off. Then, when the magic moment arrives, he’s going to vanish into thin air. Will he release Rossi and her daughter at that point? I hope so, but this guy is a cold-blooded killer, so don’t count on it.”

Hawkins paused to let his words sink in. “The SAC and his people have the lead on this, but my team will continue to watch Samuel Chow twenty-four-seven. Because, if somebody is trying to arrange for transportation, then it’s probably him. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky. Other than that, and our ongoing efforts to find Joe Chow’s mistress, I’m sorry to say that we don’t have any actionable leads.”

With that the ICE agent returned the mike to Demont, who reestablished eye contact with the audience. “Okay…. Individual team briefings and assignments will follow. Any questions?”

“Yes,” a uniformed sheriff’s deputy said. “What about the media?”

“Good question,” the SAC replied. “While it’s going to get messy, especially given Agent Rossi’s high profile, we plan to hold a press conference tomorrow. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get some decent tips. It’s worth a try. Please refer media inquires to Agent Kissler.”

The meeting broke up shortly after that, and Inez was on her way out when Hawkins waved her over. “Olivia, I have a job for you.”

The ICE agent nodded. “Sure, boss. What’s up?”

“You remember Dexter? The guy who owns the apartment house where Chow lived?”

“The pervert? Who could forget? Poor Christina. She deserves better than that.”

“He’s bent,” Hawkins admitted, “but don’t forget the wreck of the
Zhou Spring
. He was straight up with that one.”

“True,” Inez agreed thoughtfully. “So, what do you have in mind?”

“Talk to him,” the ASAC instructed. “He was in contact with Chow so it’s worth a shot.”

Inez raised an eyebrow. “Should I tell him about Rossi?”

Hawkins paused for a moment then nodded. “Yeah, go ahead. Maybe I’m wrong, but it’s my guess that he cares more about Rossi than we do, and that’s a lot.”

Inez eyed her supervisor with a new-found sense of respect. “You know, there are times when I think you’re fairly smart.”

Hawkins winced and shook his head. “Not smart enough to take Chow off the street when I could have.”

Inez couldn’t think of anything to say—and could do little more than stand and watch as the team leader walked away.

The wind came in from the southwest to chase white caps across Lake Union. The tug that was anchored off Gas Works Park rolled slightly in response, and jerked at its anchor as if eager to depart. Chow and his men preferred to spend their free time on the work boat rather than on the barge that wallowed a hundred feet away. The sixty-five-foot tug had a galley, four bunks, and a head, all of which made it a heck of a lot more comfortable than standing on the wind-swept barge while the Chinese pyrotechs wired things together.

But, comfortable or not, Little Chow insisted that one man stand guard in front of the stern cabin at all times lest Special Agent Rossi attempt to escape. To make that duty more palatable, and thereby reduce the bitching he would otherwise have to endure, Chow had authorized two-hour watches. Meanwhile most of
his
time was spent up in the tug’s roomy pilot house watching DVDs and sleeping.

Now, as 3:00 p.m. approached, it was time for Kwong to leave the fuggy warmth of the smoke-filled wardroom for the open barge. “Here,” Paco said, as the smaller man made for the door. “Take this. I hope the ladies like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches ‘cause that’s what they’re getting. Bring the thermos back when Skinner relieves you. And don’t fall in—that gold jewelry will take you straight to the bottom.”

There was general laughter as Kwong gave Paco a one-fingered salute, accepted the sack, and opened the door. The truth was that Kwong didn’t know how to swim, but the other snakeheads didn’t know that, and he wasn’t about to tell them. A ladder led down to the waterline where an inflatable boat rose and fell with the waves. Kwong descended the ladder, dropped the sack into the boat, and waited for a wave to lift the inflatable before making the transfer. Once both feet were planted in the Zodiac he sat down. An inch of water was sloshing around the bottom of the boat, which meant the sack was wet. Kwong took a peek inside and was pleased to discover that the sandwiches were protected by Ziplock bags. It wasn’t because he cared about the prisoners—but because he didn’t want to make the sort of mistake that would give the other guys an opportunity to pull his chain.

Kwong placed the food on his lap and pushed the oars into position before releasing the painter. Then, having checked to ensure that no one was looking, Kwong began to row, something he did rather poorly since it was only the second time in his life that he had touched a pair of oars. Meanwhile, from his vantage point on the deck of the fireworks barge, Tian Lei (Sweet Thunder) watched with amusement as the snakehead thrashed his way across the intervening stretch of water. Tian Lei wasn’t his
real
name of course, but one that the Premier had given him after a particularly impressive display in Bejing a quarter century earlier. But a great many things had changed since then. Industries that had formerly been supported by the state had been forced to make it on their own or fold. Pyrotechnics was no exception. Which was why Samuel Chow had been able to hire Lei and his team and bring them to Seattle. It wasn’t the sort of assignment that the fireworks master
wanted
, not at his age, but one does what one must.