The Stranger Beside You (28 page)

Then the man’s voice was back.  “No more games.  You’re husband has my instructions.  You have twelve hours.  Then the boys die.”

59

Tom had to fight to stay awake.  In his condition if he fell asleep he might not wake up again.  Chelsea had done her best to patch him up.  She had hurriedly cleaned the gunshot with water and iodine, then she applied a sterile dressing and taped a thick gauze pad over the wound.  She gave him a handful of painkillers and said, “Don’t tell anyone where you got these.”

The train was speeding through the countryside.  His eyes were heavy.  In the seat next to him was a duffel bag containing the laptop computer from Gordon Baptista’s underground workshop.  Tom kept a protective hand on the bag.  He would be on the train for at least two more hours.  He thought about his boys, and he visualized the physical damage he would do to the man named Mr. Z if he harmed those children in any way.  The rage kept him from nodding off.

He had to get home.  He had to hurry.  The clock was ticking.  

•  •  •

They brought in a police sketch artist to try and produce a crude rendering of Mr. Z’s face.  Marcus struggled to remember every possible detail of the man.  The drawing slowly took shape.  Marcus worked with the artist to flesh out the nose and the chin, to thin the hair and narrow the eyes.

“That’s him,” Marcus declared at last.  “That’s the man who threatened my family.”

Within minutes the sketch was circulated to every law enforcement agency on the East Coast.

•  •  •

I looked out the front window.  There was a lot happening outside.  I spotted Chapman talking with Armstrong, Price, and Byron.  I couldn’t get the sound of Mr. Z’s voice out of my head.  The man on the line had not identified himself by name, but I knew it was him.  Josh’s frightened little voice haunted me. 

I waved my arm to try to get their attention.  Chapman saw me and nodded.  The four agents came in through the garage door.

“They’ve contacted me,” I said, a tremor in my voice.  “The people who have my children.”

Chapman gave me a look.  “When was this?”

“Just now.  There was a message on my phone when I got home.”

“Are you certain it wasn’t a prank call?”

“They put Josh on the line.  He’s the older of my two boys.  They let him say something.”

“Did the boy tell you anything?”

“Just that he was scared.”  I was getting worked up.  “You have to do something!  You have to find them!”

Chapman addressed his fellow agents.  “Get a tech squad in here.  I want that call analyzed backward and forward.  Make copies of it and have them find out whatever they can about the man’s voice.  See if the call can be traced.”

“My husband called,” I said.

The three male agents stared at me in disbelief.  Special Agent Armstrong was not surprised at all.

“He’s alive and on his way home.  He’ll be here tonight.  He told me that Mr. Z is the one who took our boys.”

“I can’t believe he’s really alive,” Chapman said.  “Even after everything Armstrong told me out there.” 

“Where is your husband now?” Special Agent Price asked.

“He’s taking a train from D.C back to New York.”

“We’ll have a car pick him up at Penn Station,” Chapman said.

“Wrong,” I said.  “
I’m
going to pick him up.”

60

Special Agent Price stood on the driveway and glanced out between the rows of homes on the other side of the street.  Rosemary Gladwell’s home stood silhouetted against the night in the distance.  Brynn Nelson had no idea how close her children actually were.  He found a moment to step away and find some privacy.  He walked up the street a few hundred feet, away from the commotion and radio squawk.  He glanced around to make sure no one had noticed him.  There were still plenty of curious neighbors standing in and around the street watching the excitement.

Price took out his cell phone and dialed.

“What’s the latest?” Mr. Z asked the instant he answered.

“Tom Nelson is on his way home from D.C.  He’s on a train headed to Penn Station.”

“Perfect.”

“Should we grab him?”

“No, he has a deadline to meet.”

“What about those two kids?”

“We leave them in the basement.”

“Just until we have the money?”

“No.  We leave them there forever.”

•  •  •

The cordless phone was ringing.  It was a number I didn’t recognize but I couldn’t afford not to answer a phone call at this point in my life.

“Hello?” I said.

There was a beat of silence on the line.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“It’s Marcus.”

“Oh my God, where are you?  How did you lose Josh and Ashton?  What happened?”

Another beat of silence followed.

His tone changed.  “Brynn, how did you know that the boys weren’t with us?”

“Because Mr. Z called.  The man who loaned you the money.  He has them, Marcus!  Mr. Z has my children!”

“How…how did you find out about the money?”

“That doesn’t matter.  What matters is that now I know the truth.  I know you needed the money because you’re on the verge of bankruptcy.”

I could hear the air going out of him.  “Brynn, I just…I…I can’t possibly tell you how sorry I am.  Tom is dead because of me…and now this…now those boys are in danger…and I just feel like a complete fool.”

I let his words hang for a long moment.  I wanted the guilt to grind down into him and cause him pain.  Then I hit him with a doozie.

“Tom is alive,” I said.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“That’s…impossible.”

“He’s alive, Marcus.”

And then I heard him begin to cry.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“We were hiding,” he said through tears.  “We ran to a cabin with the kids, and then your boys disappeared.  Mr. Z’s people busted in and took them.  I still don’t understand how it could have happened.”

“You’ve let us down, Marcus.”

His voice came back as a whisper.  “I know, and I’m ashamed.”

“Good.”

“What can I do to make it up to you?”

“Stay where you are.  Keep your family safe.”

“What about you and Tom?”

“Don’t worry about us.  Tom has a plan.”

“It better be a good one.”

•  •  •

The two brothers held hands in the dark.  Ashton kept sniffling, unable to stop his tears.

“It’s okay to cry,” Josh assured him.  “Sometimes that can help make you feel better.”

“Really?” Ashton asked, unable to see his older brother through the darkness.

“Yeah.  At least that’s what Mom always tells me when she cries at a sad movie.  She says it makes her feel better.”

“I miss Mommy and Daddy.”

“Me too.”

“My name is Rosemary,” the elderly woman said.

“My name is Josh, and this is my little brother Ashton.  Why are you here?  Did those bad men bring you here?”

Rosemary smiled, though she knew they couldn’t see.  “Well, this house is actually my home.  I live here, but those bad men locked me down here.  I’ve been locked in this room for a long time.”

“Really?” Josh asked.

“Yes.”

“How long is a long time?”

She didn’t want to frighten them.  “I don’t remember, because I fell asleep.”

“My Daddy died.”  Ashton’s voice sounded small and frail in the darkness.

“Oh, I’m so terribly sorry to hear that.”  And she truly was.  “Was he sick?”

“I don’t think so.  Mommy said he had an accident.”

Josh said, “It happened just a couple of days ago.”

Rosemary suddenly realized there must be a connection between their father’s accident and the fact these boys were now locked away with her.  Clearly the man with the beard was part of something larger.

“Are you scared?” Josh asked.

“Yes, I am.”

“If it would make you feel any better you can hold hands with us,” he offered in the sweet voice of an eight-year-old.

Again, she smiled in the dark.  It felt wonderful to no longer be alone in this world of blackness.

“Thank you,” she said softly.  “I would like that very much.”

•  •  •

Tom watched the city lights grow more prominent on the horizon.  He had the laptop computer and Daphne Fleming’s gun inside the duffel bag.  He checked the time on his watch.  The clock was ticking.  He was down to eight hours and counting.  He took out the pay-as-you-go cell Daphne had been carrying and called home again.  This time Brynn answered.

“Babe, it’s me,” he said.

“Tom?  Tom, is that really you?”

“I’m okay.  The train is right outside the city.  Are the boys with you?”

“No.”

Tom closed his eyes.  “I didn’t think so but hoped Mr. Z was bluffing.”

“I’ll pick you up at Penn Station in your Lexus.”

“Be careful.”

“See you soon.”

•  •  •

The next call Tom made was to Clive Rozzell.  He was still at the office.

“Clive, you’re fired.”

There was complete silence for a long moment.

“Clive, are you there, buddy?”

“Tom, you are dead.”

“And yet I’ve never felt better.”

“Where are you?”

“Never mind.  I need a favor.”

“Anything.”

“Who is the best computer hacker you know?”

“Give me a second to think.  Okay, the best around is a guy named Sylvester Noland.  He’s a freak, but there’s not a system in the world that can keep him out.”

“Beautiful.  You have his number?”

“What is going on, Tom?”

“Just give me the number.”

“Who did they pull from under that train?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.  Give me the number.”

Clive found Sylvester’s number listed in his Blackberry and passed it along.

“What do you need with a guy like Sly?”

“Got to go, man.”

“Call me in the morning, Tom.  I have a thousand questions.”

“I will if I’m still alive.”

61

I drove through the big white crosswalk in front of Penn Station and pulled to the curb.  There was a long line of yellow taxis outside the entrance.  A ton of people streamed in and out.  I opened my door and stood and looked over the roof of the car.  There was no sign of Tom. 

“Where are you?” I said out loud.

8
^th
Avenue was crazy with traffic.  I tapped the roof of the car with a lightly clenched fist, tempted to lock the door and go in after him, but then I spotted his familiar face as he emerged from the throng.  I rushed around the rear of the car and ran to him.  His eyes lit up when he saw me.  I wrapped my arms around him.

“Easy…easy!” he said, twisting away with a grimace.  “Bad shoulder.”  He was wearing a light jacket and I could see bloodstains showing through the fabric.

“Tom…you’re hurt!  What happened?”

“I’ll live.”

“You’ve been shot!”

“I’m fine.  Let’s go.”

I was still in shock at the sight of him bleeding.

“You need a doctor.”

“We’ll deal with that later.  Just drive.”

I helped him into the car and then steered it back into traffic.

“I can’t believe you’re alive!”

“Brynn, I didn’t want to put you through all that crap but my first priority was to keep you safe.”

“Let’s get you home.”

“Not yet.  We have to meet someone.”

“Who?”

“Someone with a very particular set of skills.”

I noticed the bag.  “What’s in there?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

•  •  •

There was a pizza joint next door to a cheap hotel.  We parked a block away. 

“Take a twenty in there and buy a pie.  Get the works,” Tom said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Wait inside until it’s ready, then bring the pizza to room 89 next door here and knock.  Got that?”

“Please explain what you’re doing.”

“We’re meeting someone.”

“Now?”

“Yes.  Just go.”

I nodded and reluctantly headed in and placed my order at the counter.  It took fifteen minutes to cook.  I entered the hotel and hurried down a sleazy hallway to room 89 as instructed.  I knocked twice.  The door opened and Tom smiled at me.  It felt wonderful to see his face again.

There was a grotesquely skinny guy sitting cross-legged on the bed typing on a laptop computer.  He glanced at me with an expressionless face.  Tom set the pizza box on the bedspread next to the greasy-looking guy and opened the lid.

“Nice pie,” the computer dude said.  “No anchovies?”

I shrugged.  “I told them to put everything.”

He grabbed a slice and stuffed half of it into his mouth.

Tom said, “This is Sly.  Clive recommended him.”

“Recommended him for what exactly?”

“This computer Sly is using belonged to Mr. Z’s employer.  He recently took a fatal bullet to the head, so I felt obliged to borrow it indefinitely.  For years he’s been depositing money into accounts all over the world.  If my guess is right, all of his account information should still be on this hard drive, and if it is, Sly here should be able to recover it.  Mr. Z wanted three million bucks for the return of Josh and Ashton.  If we can hack into the laptop and find those accounts, we can use the money we find to pay the ransom.”

I stared at him in awe.  The plan sounded feasible, at least to my computer-illiterate ears.  I sat on the edge of the bed and held Tom’s hand.  Together we watched the maestro destroy the pizza and attack the keyboard.

We sat and watched for hours.

At some point around one in the morning, Sly hit pay dirt.

“I’m in,” he said.  A tattoo of a serpent twisted all the way down his neck and disappeared down his shirt.  His head was totally shaved.

Tom leaned across the bed so that he could see the screen.

“There are literally hundreds of accounts here at dozens of banks around the planet,” Sly said.

“Can you access the accounts?”