Linda Lovely - Marley Clark 02 - No Wake Zone (23 page)

Calm down. Panic won’t help.

A sick hunch told me to reach Weaver pronto. If May’d been
kidnapped, it would be counter-productive to spread the alarm and stir up a
media hornet’s nest.

“Sorry, Donna,” I stammered. “I’m a little confused.”

“That’s okay,” Donna answered. “Hope you feel better soon.
Why don’t you drop by the office tomorrow? Say, the other phone is ringing.
Bye.”

Why the hell would someone harm—or kidnap—May? Did they
think she could help them get their mitts on that damned nonexistent riddle?

Though my body stayed rooted in Ross’s computer chair, my
mind raced like a hyped-up gerbil scrabbling on a wheel. The telephone on
Ross’s desk rang and I jumped. Not sure why I answered. It wasn’t my phone.
Habit, I guess.

“Maritime Museum,” I mumbled.

“You’re doing well, Colonel Clark,” a distorted voice
commented. “You haven’t lost your head. That’s good. Very good—if you hope to
see your aunt alive again. We tapped all the museum phone lines. So I know you
just hung up from Robinson Realty. Your aunt ran straight into our arms when
she thought you’d been hurt.”

“Bastard.” In my head, I screamed. The actual sound I made
came closer to a whimper. Breathe, I told myself. Concentrate on every word.
Listen to background noises, to his accent.

“We can listen in on every phone call—cell or hard-wired,”
the voice continued in mechanical singsong. “Don’t think about phoning for help
or emailing. We have that covered, too. Plus we have observers inside the
museum. They paid admission. More money for your cousin’s coffers. Look out the
door at those happy tourists. Care to guess which ones have you under
surveillance?”

My hand tightened on the receiver. “Why are you doing this?”
I worked hard to keep my volume under control. “I’ll kill you myself if you
harm May.”

I figured the disembodied voice belonged to either Kyle or
Hamilton. But sharing my conviction could only make things worse.

“A touching, foolhardy threat,” my tele-tormentor replied.
“We hold all the cards. You haven’t been dealt a hand. So let’s not waste time
on theatrics, shall we? You asked what we want. The answer is simple—Weaver.
And, you, Colonel Clark, will acquire her for us. Just telephone and ask her to
meet you at the museum. Tonight at eight-thirty, half an hour after closing.
Tell her you can’t say more over the phone. Instruct her to come alone. We’ll
listen to every word.

“If you try to warn Weaver, we kill your aunt,” he
continued. “If you speak to anyone besides your cousin, we kill your aunt.
Clear enough? Until the museum closes, you and Captain Ross will confine
yourselves to his office. You won’t talk to another soul. I’ll call with more
instructions at eight o’clock, after the museum doors are locked.”

“What you’re asking is impossible,” I objected. “Ross is in
a board meeting with Duncan James. Duncan’s expecting me to go home with him. I
have to speak to him at least long enough to beg off.”

“Well, well, guess you’ve turned this into a party for
three. When the gentlemen join you, tell both of them our arrangement. I hope
Captain Ross’s office has three chairs. Or maybe you’d prefer to sit on Mr.
James’s lap.”

The accompanying noise sounded more like a hyena’s bray than
a laugh.

“How do I know May is alive? I won’t do a thing until I
speak to her.”

“Oh, I expected that and arranged a little party-line call.
I’m not with her, but my colleagues say she’s very spirited for her advanced
age. My associates will now let Mrs. Carr say a few words—a very few.”

“Marley,” Aunt May croaked, her voice hoarse and low. “I’m
fine, kid. Just be brave—like your Grandpa Brown. Keep your fears at bay. We’ll
make it through this.”

“May, are you really okay? Have they hurt you?”

“That’s it.” My nemesis cut May off. “I may let you speak
with her later—if you behave. Remember, your aunt is family. Weaver is an FBI
agent. This is her battle, not an old woman’s war. Consider carefully where
your loyalties lie.

“Your aunt told my friends she wasn’t afraid to die, that
she’s lived a good life. The question is will she be awarded a good death. If
you force my associates to kill her, I promise this old woman won’t die
peacefully in her sleep. Similar unpleasant finales will also await Captain
Ross and your Mr. James. Do as you are told, and you’ll all be around to
celebrate your aunt’s birthday.”

A click. Disconnect. I couldn’t seem to loosen my grip on
the phone. Static buzzed in my ear. Somehow it seemed that returning the
receiver to its cradle would end my connection to May forever.

Finally, I hung up, grabbed pencil and paper, and started
writing. First, I made notes about the call—time, instructions, voice, stray
noises, May’s words. Next I penned a script for my call to Weaver. I didn’t
trust myself to vocalize without a cheat sheet. The caller had one thing right:
this was Weaver’s war. She’d orchestrated our play to trigger a reaction.
Surely, she’d be on red alert.

I believed the caller would kill May if I failed to follow
orders. What was one more body? I also was certain he meant to murder May,
Ross, Duncan, Weaver and me, as soon as he discovered the FBI agent had no new
evidence. Stalling would buy a little time. There wasn’t another play.

I took several deep breaths, exhaled, and dialed Weaver’s
cell. She answered immediately. I read from my notes, swallowed repeatedly
trying to keep my voice neutral. I hoped any distress in my tone would seem
natural, given my message. “Something’s come up and I can’t discuss it over the
phone. Can you meet Ross and me at the Maritime Museum tonight? Around eight thirty? It’s urgent.”

“Marley, how about toning down the drama? I’ll come get you
now. Where are you?”

“No, please,” I countered. “There’s a traitor in the FBI.
Come alone. It’s a matter of life and death. Yours. I can’t say more. Please
come at eight-thirty.”

I hung up. Sweat trickled down my back. Weaver’s alarm bells
had to be clanging. Unfortunately, I couldn’t count on those bells leading the
agent to the proper conclusion.

What else could I do? An inkling of an answer stirred in my
brain.

Ross and Duncan sauntered into the office at five after five. Absorbed in an animated discussion, my angst didn’t register until they
turned to say howdy.

“What’s wrong, Marley?” Ross demanded. “Are you sick? You’re
white as a jib sheet.”

“Close the door, please.”

Standing in the office threshold, Duncan raised an eyebrow
but did as he was bid.

My gaze locked on Ross. “I am so sorry. I never intended to
put either of you in danger.”

I didn’t sob. No hysteria. Tears gently rolled down my
cheeks. I could tell my demeanor scared Ross and Duncan. It couldn’t be helped.
My fright—the suffocating kind you feel when your actions, or inaction, might
harm a loved one—held me tight in its grip.

I blurted out the news. “May’s been kidnapped.” Ross reacted
as if he’d been punched in the gut. He sagged like a deflating beach toy. He
would have sunk to the floor if his desk hadn’t served as a supporting pillar.

“Let’s hear it,” he said stoically. “All of it.”

I’d never seen such an expression of hatred cross my
cousin’s face. While I hoped his rage was focused on the kidnapper, I wouldn’t
fault him if his broad brush of anger tarred me with equal blame. My guilt at
dragging May, Ross and Duncan into this quagmire squeezed my chest in a vise.

I couldn’t change the past. My only hope—our only hope—was
to affect the future.

I gave a bare-bones synopsis of my phone calls, repeated
Donna’s account of May’s disappearance, outlined the caller’s demands, and
reported my monologue with Weaver.

“Are you certain the kidnapper’s monitoring all the phones?”
Duncan asked.

“Given that he could repeat my entire conversation with Donna,
I don’t think he’s bluffing,” I answered. “And his claim of email omniscience
isn’t much of a stretch if he has a worthwhile hacker in his employ.”

Ross put his finger to his lips and motioned us in. “Is
there a bug?”

I’d conducted a thorough search—a skill acquired while
stationed in Turkey—and found none.

“I’m relatively confident there’s no bug in this office,” I
whispered. “If we talk softly, I think it’s safe enough. And I may have figured
out where they’re holding May.”

Ross’s head snapped up.

I consulted my notes. “Aunt May urged me to be ‘brave like
Grandpa Brown.’ Ross, I don’t have a Grandpa Brown, and, if memory serves,
there’s no such relative on the Woods family tree either.”

Ross shook his head. “No.” His forehead creased.

“Next May said to ‘keep fear at bay.’ Could she be telling
us she’s in Brown’s Bay? When Eunice and I were down on your dock, I spotted a
cabin cruiser anchored offshore. Maybe they picked that location in case they
needed to grab Eunice as a back-up hostage if anything went wrong.”

Ross’s face turned red. His hands balled into fists. “You’re
grabbing at straws. Hell, that Grandpa Brown clue could mean anything. There’s
a Brown Street in Spirit Lake. Or maybe Mom was telling us her kidnapper’s
named Brown. She’s nearly eighty and someone’s holding a gun to her head!”

I sensed Ross was desperate to reject the notion Eunice
might be in danger, too. “I could be wrong. But while we were talking, I heard
a distinctive clink of metal rigging against a mast. They were on or near a sailboat,
like that large catamaran tied to your neighbor’s dock. Plus I heard the
Queen’s air horn—it sounded really loud. The man called about four-thirty.”

Ross sank into a chair. “The Queen would have been near
Brown’s Bay. How many times did the horn blow?”

“Three,” I replied.

“They’re in Brown’s Bay.” Ross dropped his head into his
hands. “When I piloted the Queen, I gave three blasts on the horn every time we
entered the bay to say howdy to Eunice. The younger captains continued the
tradition. God, we have to warn Eunice and figure out a way to rescue Mom.”

“Could one of us sneak out?” Duncan wondered.

“Too risky—at least before the museum closes. The caller may
be blowing smoke about surveillance. Then again, it could be true. Look at all
those people wandering about.” I pointed at the gawkers clearly visible through
the office door’s sidelight windows.

“Phone calls and emails seem equally chancy,” I added. “But
maybe we can use the Maritime Museum’s website. Ross, you built your own site
to save money. Do you still maintain it and host it on a local server?”

Ross looked at me. “Yes. I use the Mac on my desk for
updates. What do you have in mind?”

“Could you add a big banner to your home page—immediately?
Promise the first fifty people who call Weaver’s number a free pass to Arnolds Park and eligibility for a grand prize drawing.

“To qualify, callers must repeat a phrase as soon as their
calls are answered. I seriously doubt the killer’s monitoring your website. I
only hope someone in cyberspace visits your site within the next couple of
hours.”

Ross rubbed his hands together. Having something to do
recharged his optimism. “Our hosting service claims we average fifteen thousand
click-throughs a month. We only need one person. If we don’t take a chance, we’re
all dead. I have no illusions this guy will let Mom—or any of us—go, even if we
follow him like sheep.”

With a decision made, we debated the banner’s message. We
considered listing two phone numbers for contestants—Ross’s home phone plus
Weaver’s private line. After my cousin pointed out Eunice was likely to be in
the garden and callers might get an answering machine, we nixed that option.

We had to count on Weaver. She’d answer her phone. She had
the resources to react.

Next we struggled with wording. Finally, Ross fired up his
Macintosh, typed the copy and pulled in eye-catching graphics. In less than
five minutes, he posted a red banner across the top third of the museum’s
website. A pulsing Queen icon drew the eye directly to our headline:

BECOME AN INSTANT WINNER! QUALIFY FOR A $5,000 GRAND PRIZE!

In slightly smaller type, the banner promised the first
fifty callers would receive a season’s pass to Arnolds Park good for their
entire family—Duncan’s idea—plus eligibility for a $5,000 drawing. To become
instant winners, cyber visitors simply needed to dial Weaver’s number and read
a paragraph of promotional copy:

“Prepare to be ambushed! Our museum is full of surprises!
Heart-stopping moments for every family member. So, even if your aunt claims
she’s tied up in Brown’s Bay, insist on bringing the whole clan. Drag your
spouse out of that house on the hill. Plan on having a blast!”

If Weaver didn’t get the overall picture, we figured more
words wouldn’t help—they’d just make callers think the banner was a hoax or too
weird to comply. Message posted, we crossed our fingers. Time to brainstorm
ways to seize the offensive.

At eight o’clock, a museum guide walked by the office.
Noticing Ross’s closed door, an anomaly, she frowned. Ross pasted on a smile
and saluted her, but didn’t open the door. The museum volunteer took the hint
and pantomimed inserting a key in a lock and turning it. Ross nodded assent.

We heard the motorized doors at the rear grind closed. At five after eight, Ross, Duncan and I were alone.

“Let’s open the door. It won’t feel quite as much like
prison.” Duncan moved from his perch on the edge of Ross’s cluttered desk. He
swung the door open. Simultaneously the phone rang. Could they still see us?

“What?” Ross answered and punched the telephone’s speaker
option.

“Ah, the sound quality tells me I’m on speaker. Excellent.
It’s best if you all hear this. We think Weaver will comply with Marley’s
request. So far, the three of you have behaved prudently. No phone calls or
emails. We have one final request. Unlock the side door, the one that brings
visitors into the Chamber offices.”

“I can’t,” Ross replied.

“I was led to believe you’re rather fond of your mother,
Captain,” the voice hummed with menace.

“The Chamber has its own alarm system.” A vein danced a
peripatetic jig in my cousin’s temple but his voice remained calm. “I don’t
know the code to deactivate it. The door between Chamber offices and our museum
is locked when the last employee leaves. Any attempt to get in will trigger an
alarm at the sheriff’s office. Our insurance company insisted on separate
alarms. That way, if there’s a theft, the insider suspect list is halved.”