Читать книгу Christmas Kidnapping - Cindi Myers, Cindi Myers - Страница 12

Chapter Four

The call came at 6:13 a.m., forwarded from Andrea’s home phone to Jack’s cell. He sat up on the sofa, where he’d fallen into an exhausted doze sometime after three, and snatched up the phone as the last notes of “What It’s Like” sounded. “Hello?”

“Agent Prescott. Are you alone?”

The voice wasn’t familiar, and the echoing quality of it made Jack suspect it was being filtered electronically to disguise it. “Andrea is here with me, but no one else.”

“Good. Let me talk to Dr. McNeil.”

Andrea was already standing in the doorway to the bedroom, staring at him with equal parts hope and dread. Jack held the phone out to her. “It’s him. Or somebody with him.”

She pressed the phone to her ear, clutching it with both hands. “Hello? Is Ian all right? Please let me speak to Ian.”

“Your son is safe. For now. Do you have the money we asked for?”

“I’m going to the bank to get it as soon as they open. I don’t keep that kind of cash in the house.”

“That’s fine. You haven’t told anyone about what happened?”

“Only Jack. And my babysitter and her husband know, but only because she was there when he was taken. She doesn’t remember much and we made them both swear not to tell.” The words came in a rush, all her anxiety translated to speech. She wanted these men to know she was cooperating with them. She would do anything to see her son safe.

“Good. I’m going to give you an address. Write this down.”

“Hold on. I need paper and a pen.” She motioned and Jack thrust a notepad and pen into her hand. She copied down the address the man dictated and read it back to him. “Where is this?” she asked. “It doesn’t sound like Durango.”

“It isn’t. But I’m sure you can find it. Bring the money to this address by noon today. Agent Prescott can come with you, but no one else. If we even suspect police or FBI or anyone else is around, we’ll slit Ian’s throat and let him bleed to death right in front of you.” He ended the call.

Andrea sank to the floor, her legs no longer able to support her. Jack lowered himself beside her and pulled her close. “I heard,” he said. “He’s trying to intimidate and frighten you.”

“It’s working.” She covered her mouth with her hand in a vain attempt to stifle her sobs. “My poor baby.”

Jack let her cry for a minute or so. Then he held her away from him and shook her gently. “Come on. We’ve got work to do. We’re going to get Ian back today. Focus on that.”

She nodded and sucked in a shaky breath. “Okay. What do we need to do?”

“Take a shower and get dressed. I’ll make more coffee. Then we’ll plan our strategy.”

When Andrea emerged from the bedroom fifteen minutes later, showered and wearing fresh clothes, Jack handed her a cup of black coffee. “I’ve decided I should go by myself to meet these people,” he said. “This smells of a trap and there’s no need to put you in danger when I’m the one they really want.”

“My son is in danger. There’s no way I’m not going with you to get him.” Her eyes blazed and her face had taken on some color for the first time in hours.

He hadn’t really thought he could convince her to stay behind, but he felt he had to try. He nodded and picked up a gun from the kitchen table and handed it to her. “Then you’ll need this.” She stared at the compact weapon, matte black and deadly looking.

“It’s a Beretta Storm,” he said, pulling the slide back to reveal an empty chamber. “Nine millimeter, double-or single-action trigger, ambidextrous safety.” He placed the gun in her hand. “Do you know how to shoot?”

She nodded. “Preston took me to the range and made sure I was competent.”

“Good.” He nodded toward the box of ammo on the table. “Load it, and be ready to use it if you have to, though I hope you don’t have to.”

He pulled out his Glock and checked the load. The last time he had fired the weapon was the day Gus died.

“Preston had a Glock like that,” she said. “I still have it in the gun safe at home.”

He holstered the weapon again. “We could be walking into a trap,” he said. “We’re going to have to be on our guard.”

She nodded. “We have to find the address first.”

He picked up the notepad with the scrawled address and walked to the laptop on the coffee table. A few minutes of searching online and he came up with a location. “It’s about twenty-five miles out of town, near the community of Bayfield. Do you know it?”

She sat next to him and laid the now-loaded weapon beside the computer, the barrel facing away from them. “I’ve driven through it a few times. From what I remember, there isn’t much there—a few houses, maybe a gas station. I guess the kidnappers chose it because it’s remote and probably not very busy this time of year.”

“Let’s see if we can get a look at it.” He pulled up Google Earth and keyed in the address. By zooming in and maneuvering the mouse, he was able to get a bird’s-eye view of a cluster of buildings alongside a river. “Pine River,” he read. “This address looks like a fishing camp.”

He switched to Street View and studied the image of what appeared to be boarded up buildings. The image had been captured in the summer and showed a dirt road leading into the property, and the surrounding woods. “It’s a pretty good setup,” he said. “The river protects them on one side and there are dense stands of trees on the other sides. It’s well hidden from the road, and from the looks of the place, no one has lived there for years.”

“If we drive in there, we’ll be trapped,” she said.

“We’re not going to drive,” he said. “At least, not right away. We’re going to park some distance away and hike in cross-country. And we’re going to do it long before noon. I want a look at this place and whoever is there before they expect us.”

“I just realized the man on the phone referred to you as Agent Prescott. How did he know your name?”

“Because I’m the one they’re really after.” He looked at her. “If things go bad out there, I want you to take Ian and run, as far and as fast as you can. Don’t worry about me.”

Her eyes shone with tears and her face was the color of paper. She nodded. “I don’t want to leave you,” she said. “But I have to save Ian.”

“We’ll need to dress warm, with good boots and warm coats, hats and gloves,” he said. “We can swing by your house on the way to the bank and get what you need. The weather forecast is calling for a major storm cell to move into the area by afternoon.”

“The bank opens at nine,” she said. “If we leave here at eight thirty, we can go to my house, then the bank, and leave from there. I can change shoes in the truck on the way down.”

Now that the pressure was on, she had pulled herself together and was all business. “You would have made a good cop,” he said.

Her expressive face revealed anger and pain. “I know you probably mean that as a compliment,” she said. “But I don’t see it that way.” She picked up the gun again and stood. “I’ll be ready to go when you are.”

* * *

THE FIRST FLAKES of snow began to fall as they moved away from Jack’s truck. They had parked the vehicle off the road, hidden by a thick stand of juniper, to the west of the fishing camp. It had taken almost an hour to reach the camp from Durango, the last thirty minutes on a winding snow-packed road that crossed and recrossed the Pine River. “We’ve got to hike about two miles,” Jack said. “We’ll have to find a place where we can watch the camp without being seen.”

Andrea pulled down the knit cap on her head and checked that the gun was secure at the small of her back beneath her winter coat. She hoped she wouldn’t have to fire it, but she would if it meant saving Ian. “I’m ready,” she said.

Jack led the way into the snowy woodland. He moved swiftly but silently, sinking to his shins in snow with each step. Andrea tried to follow in his tracks but was soon out of breath and sweating beneath her layers of clothing. As the snow began to fall harder, she told herself this was a good thing. The storm would keep everyone at the camp inside and the snow would help muffle the sound of their approach.

After they’d walked for half an hour or so, Jack stopped. Andrea moved up beside him and looked down on the river some ten feet below. Ice rimmed the frothing brown water. “If we walk along the riverbank from here, we should come to the camp,” he said.

She shivered, as much from fear of what lay ahead as from the cold soaking through her clothing. Jack pressed something into her hand—the key to his truck. “Do you think you can make it with Ian back to my truck by yourself?” he asked.

She stared up at him. “You’re coming with us, aren’t you?”

“I plan to. But just in case something happens—can you find your way by yourself?”

She folded her hand over the key, then slid it into her coat pocket. “I can do it. I follow the river, then turn left. That will eventually take me to the road. Your truck is parked just past the telephone pole with the sign tacked to it about a farm auction next month.”

Jack clapped her shoulder. “Good job, remembering that sign.”

“How’s your leg?” she asked. All this hard hiking couldn’t be good for his wounds.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” He turned away and started walking again before she could say anything else.

When he stopped again, she could make out the corner of a building maybe fifty yards ahead, the wood siding painted dark green, icicles hanging from the metal roof. Jack dropped to his knees and motioned for her to do likewise.

Snow soaked into her jeans and wet the cuffs of her coat as she crawled along behind Jack. She couldn’t see anything from this height other than snow and Jack himself ahead of her. Then the undergrowth receded and they were in the clearing, behind a building. At the corner of the structure, Jack stood, his weapon drawn. She rose also, her back to the building, heart thudding painfully.

Jack peered around the side of the building. “What do you see?” she whispered.

“Nothing,” he said. “But there are a lot of buildings here. We’re going to have to get closer if we’re going to find Ian.”

The camp looked deserted, the windows in the cabins boarded up, the sign that read Office on one building hanging crooked from a single nail. But the tire tracks in the packed snow of the drive looked fresh, and the smell of wood smoke mingled with the scents of pine trees.

There were nine cabins overall, eight arranged in a half circle, with the office, a larger structure that looked as if it had once contained a residence as well as a store, sitting to one side, nearest the narrow drive that led from the main road. A rusting metal arch marked the entrance to the camp, the sign hanging from the top unreadable from Jack’s position.

He waited, ears straining to hear any sound beyond the whistle of wind through the trees. The cabin they were standing behind was probably empty. In the five minutes or so they had been standing here, he hadn’t heard any sounds from inside. If someone had so much as walked around in there, he and Andrea would have known about it.

Behind him, Andrea shifted her weight from foot to foot, feet crunching on the snow. He checked his watch. A few minutes past ten thirty. If Anderson or whoever he worked for was planning an ambush, they were probably already in place. They’d done a good job concealing themselves, though it would be easy enough to take up positions in the cabins and wait for Jack and Andrea to drive into the yard. Then the kidnappers could converge and take them prisoner or simply open fire and kill them before they had a chance to act.