Scarcity (Jack Randall #3) (16 page)

“She’s a looker, huh? Maybe I’ll get lucky and get to meet her?”

Jimmy frowned at that. His partner had much to learn. Every man had his weakness. For some it was booze, others blow. For others still it was power and money that were an addiction. For Manuel it was women. While his partner was a man of questionable moral compass, he kept his addiction confined to willing participants. Something Jimmy accepted as he had no room to talk. But he had started to think of the man as a younger version of himself, and the comment was not something he approved of.

He sat back and fixed Manuel in his gaze. Manuel felt the look and turned his head from the screen. Seeing the expression on Jimmy’s face, he sat up.

“Let me tell you something kid. This job you and I have? It requires a major character flaw. For better or worse, you and I both have it, and let me tell ya, it’s nothing to be proud of. You know the ones who came before you? My previous partners? They all let it consume them. The flaw that let them do the things we do took over, and they started to think they were special. That they were
allowed
to do the things they did, just because nobody held them accountable for it. Hell, they were even praised for it. Some ugly-ugly things. Pretty soon the things they did defined them. They became animals. That thing you just said? Don’t let those kinds of thoughts enter your mind. If they do, it tells me you’re heading down the same path as they did. And you know what? They’re all dead. They lost focus and became careless. This is just a job. Don’t let it become the definition of who you are.”

Manuel held his gaze and absorbed the words. He knew better than to make an offhand remark. The truth of the words rang true, and he had no choice but to accept them. The man was teaching him a lesson, one he had learned the hard way. His respect for Jimmy rose another notch.

“I understand. It won’t happen again.”

“Good man. Now tell me what you think we should do next.”

Manuel had already been thinking along those lines, and Jimmy joined him at the table so they could compare notes. Some points on the map were listed and a few visits to Google maps provided them with pictures of the addresses. Manuel game-planned each one, and then discussed how they would get away. Jimmy accepted most of his plans, and modified or rejected the remainder, explaining the flaws and giving him a chance to fix them. The sun was going down before they packed it up to leave.

It was time for a better hotel.

•      •      •

The box had arrived in the mail as any other package would. Luis had snatched it from the maid’s hands and set it on the table before ordering her out of the room. He took a long minute examining it from all sides while the parents impatiently watched. The address was written in plain blocked letters as if done by a child just learning to write. No return address was seen and the post office mark was that of Mexico City. There was nothing to distinguish it from any others.

On opening it, they found three items: a pre-paid cell phone and two envelopes. The negotiator quickly grabbed the envelopes before the father had a chance to.

“A moment please!”

The parents watched as he held the envelopes up to the light and examined them closely before selecting one to be opened. He pulled a small knife from his pocket and carefully slit the end open. Moving the other out of reach of the father, he shook the paper out onto the table and unfolded it by the corners. A quick examination showed it to be a list of dates and times and nothing more.

“What is this? I don’t understand. Why do they not tell us what they want?”

The negotiator spoke quietly and calmly, the better to keep the parents from getting emotional. “This is the way we will talk with them. The phone can’t be traced and doesn’t have a caller ID option. It’s pre-paid, so there’s no bank account or check number to track down. The police could attempt to trace any calls made to it, but they’re most likely on the move when we talk. It would take hundreds of men to do so and they know it. We’ll buy a charger and extra battery tonight and keep the phone ready. The list is the times we can expect them to call. As I expected, they’ll call three times a week. They may skip a day just to show us they are in charge. Do not get discouraged, this is how it’s done.”

The father just nodded and gripped the end of the table with both hands. He watched Luis reach for the other envelope.

“What is that?”

“I have to warn you first. It is a picture of your daughter.”

The father thrust out his hand. “Let me see it!” Luis held it out of reach. His size allowed him to keep the father at bay.

“Since we are alone, I will show it to you. But I feel I have to warn you. These men never send a good picture. It is meant to provide proof of life, but it is also to intimidate you, to play on your emotions. If you let it affect you, then the kidnappers win. You understand?”

The two of them steeled themselves, and when Luis had gained as much as he could from the moment, he placed the picture on the table. The father picked it up with trembling hands and sank down into the chair next to his wife.

She took one look and let out a cry, burying her head in his shoulder and closing her eyes. The father did better, muttering a prayer as he gazed at the photo.

Luis gently took the photo from his hands and viewed it with a magnifying glass. He took in the girl’s bruised face and bloody nose and mouth, and stifled a grin. The photo was perfect. He could clearly see the girl’s beaten face with the tears coming from under the blindfold. The paper in her hands was easily identified as a popular market tabloid, and he pulled a folder from his briefcase and made a show of comparing it to printed copies of the front page from the last few weeks.

“This was taken three days ago,” he announced. “She appears damaged, but otherwise unharmed. You must understand that they did this just for the picture. It is meant to draw a certain emotion.”

“How can you tell?”

“The injuries are all new. If they were beating her, she would have some older bruising. The gun is not even cocked and the safety appears to be on. It could not even fire if they were to pull the trigger. This photo is staged to scare you.”

The father took the photo from his hands and examined it again, looking for the things the man had mentioned. On verifying them himself, he saw the man was right. He nodded before laying the picture on the table in front of him.

“Unfortunately, there is nothing in the background that provides us any clue as to where she is. The first phone call is scheduled for two days from now. We’ll have to wait and be ready.”

Luis reached across the table and gently took the photo from the father again. This time he gave another quick look before putting it back in the envelope and into his pocket. The memory of the picture would work better than letting them keep it. Something he had discovered some time ago. Let their imaginations add to the image that they saw instead. It would better serve his purpose.

The father’s mind raced as he attempted to comfort his wife and rein in his own emotions. A man of logic and considerable intelligence, he soon saw the truth of the man’s words and was nodding in agreement. He raised his eyes to meet the negotiator’s and said the words Luis was waiting to hear.

“We will do as you say.”

•      •      •

Senator Lamar and his wife sat once again in the critical care unit. The activity outside the door was steady and sometimes even rushed. The hospital staff came and went in their color-coded scrubs, performing tasks that they couldn’t imagine. The nurses typed endlessly into the computers while others stared at monitor screens and tracked their patients’ progress in thick charts. The binders snapped open and closed with sharp cracks, but soon even these faded into the background noise outside the thick glass doors.

The activity inside the room was directly opposite that seen on the outside. Their daughter’s chest rose and fell with the hiss of the ventilator. The heartbeat on the monitor stayed irregular and the expressions on the attending nurses’ faces was one of concern every time they documented it, although they quickly tried to hide it after seeing the looks of the parents. It was plain to them that their daughter was not improving.

The senator watched as Dr. Fong entered the ward and stopped to see another patient. He couldn’t help but notice that his bedside manner was on par with that of a seasoned politician. The smile was reassuring. He always made physical contact, be it a handshake or a comforting hand on a shoulder or a patient’s foot. He was a natural educator, also, and was not above using the dry erase board to explain a procedure or some anatomical mystery. It worked. The patient always smiled and the family sat a little straighter after his departure.

Dr. Fong caught the senator’s gaze as he crossed the room toward the desk. He offered a quick smile and wave of acknowledgement before he grabbed a chart out of the rack and walked toward them. The chart was Tessa’s, and it had grown to two volumes since they had arrived. He paused outside the door to flip through several pages and graphs, turning the chart sideways to take in certain pages. His brow creased as he absorbed the information. He turned to ask a question of the nurse at the desk that the senator could not make out. The reply was a jumble of numbers that meant nothing to them. The doctor simply nodded as if he had expected the answer before turning to slide the glass door open.

The senator rose and automatically offered a hand which Dr. Fong grabbed while switching the chart to his other hand with a practiced movement.

“Morning, Senator, Mrs. Lamar. How are you two holding up?”

“We’re doing as well as expected.”

He smiled and pointedly looked at his wife.

“Is that true? He is a politician.”

She smiled a smile she didn’t really feel to humor the doctor before replying. “I got some sleep last night, don’t worry about me.”

“Okay.”

He walked in and sat on the edge of the girl’s bed and rested a hand on her foot. The chart was laid aside while he formed his thoughts.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any news good or bad. I had hoped to see some improvement in your daughter’s cardiac output by now, but it seems to have plateaued off. Her ejection fraction is low and we’re seeing some signs of ischemia.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Ischemia. It means her heart isn’t getting enough oxygen. I think it’s time we talk about the balloon pump I mentioned earlier. Do you remember me talking about that?”

“I remember something to that effect mentioned.”

Dr. Fong waved it away. “You had a lot on your mind. I’ll give you a refresher.” He stood and grabbed the dry erase marker and after taking a look at the board, erased it with the sleeve of his coat, something the senator thought showed some panache. A quick 2D drawing of the heart was soon on the board with the aorta protruding out the top and arching over the left side.

“Okay. If you can follow my lack of artistic ability, this is the heart and this is the aorta, the main vessel carrying blood away from the heart. This feeds the arteries that go out to the body. It’s a high pressure system, and the blood is oxygenated at this point. That means this blood needs to feed the heart, also. However, the pressure is too high to feed it directly. It would eventually damage the vessels it was flowing to. So it does it by way of back pressure. Are you still with me?”

The senator and his wife followed the lines as they appeared, along with the lecture, and both of them managed to keep up. They nodded to the affirmative.

“See this valve right here? It has flaps that open and close with each beat. One of them blocks the arteries leading to the heart when it’s open. Once the pressure drops a bit, the valve closes and the flap uncovers the opening to those arteries. The back pressure remaining in the aorta then pushes the blood into the heart’s arteries. If the pressure is too low due to a weak heart, the flow of blood becomes inadequate. Still okay?”

The senator smiled. “Still with you, Doc.”

“Okay, so what we do with the balloon pump is we go in through the femoral artery down here in her leg and we feed the balloon up and into the aorta right about here. Once it’s in place we program the machine to sense her heartbeat and inflate the balloon, like this, at just the right time to increase the pressure in this area. That forces more blood to the heart and provides it with more oxygen. The more oxygen it gets, the easier it is for it to function and that, of course, helps it to heal.”

Dr. Fong stepped back and examined his mess of squiggles and arrows and hoped he hadn’t jumped over their heads with the explanation.

“Did that explain it okay? If not, I’ll be happy to show you again. It’s important that you understand it.”

The senator looked at his wife and, getting a nod from her, he answered for them.

“I’d say we understand it okay. It sounds really simple actually. You can do all that with just a small wire in the leg?”

“I never say that it’s simple, there’s
always
a danger when dealing with the heart. The device has to be placed just right and monitored closely afterward. But for the benefit it provides, I would say it far exceeds the risk. I’ll need your consent to have it placed. Don’t rush. I’ll give you a few minutes to talk.”

He rose and left the room to talk with the charge nurse. Senator Lamar’s eyes were drawn to the dry erase board. While he had talked, the doctor had again erased the board with his sleeve and re-written what was previously there. He marveled at the man’s memory.

Turning to his wife, he saw her watching her daughter’s chest rise and fall. She looked close to tears. He reached for her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze and was relieved to get one in return.

“Honey?”

“I don’t like it. Another machine? But I trust him, and I don’t see how we have much choice,” she said.

“I think it’s best, too. I’ll go tell him.”

The senator rose and left the room, closing the door behind him.

“Doc?”

“Yes?” Doctor Fong turned. “What did we decide?”

“If you think the pump will help her, then we both agree that it’s what should be done.”