Zapwired, p.10
Zapwired, page 10
Finally, the elevator arrived. I stepped in, hardly acknowledging a woman and her child, either of whom may have said hello.
I hurried out on my floor. The door to my apartment was standing slightly ajar.
I cautiously approached. “Hello? Excuse me?” I stupidly called out.
No response.
I was hesitant to enter so I waited, listening for any suspicious sound. I took out my phone, punched in 9-1-1 but didn’t press SEND. Instead, I opened the door all the way and stepped inside.
I half expected the condo to be turned upside down, but everything was in order. I took my time walking through it, searching for anything amiss. By the time I reached my bedroom, I felt a bit of tension easing ... until something on the bureau caught my eye.
There was a business card sitting on top of a child’s jacket that I immediately recognized. I’d purchased it for Sandra on her last birthday.
I snatched up the card. It was John Dalton’s and had two words written on the back: “Call me.”
34
In the kitchen, I took a seat at the table and clenched my fingers around the house phone. My daughter’s jacket was a clear threat. I furiously punched in the number on Dalton’s business card. It rang once, went silent for a few seconds, then began ringing again with a different tone.
“Dalton.”
“What the fuck is this supposed to mean?”
“Mr. Anderson, you don’t have to yell. I’m right outside your building. You know my car. Come down and I’ll explain.”
“No! Explain now, you—” The line went dead.
I didn’t hesitate, just grabbed my house keys and flew out of my apartment. When I exited the building, the Buick SUV I’d ridden in once before was parked under a street lamp half a block away. An attractive brunette in her early twenties was holding the front door open.
I ignored her, angrily got in, grabbed the handle and slammed the door shut without giving her a chance to close it for me. She shrugged and climbed into the back seat.
I turned to Dalton. “What the hell are you trying to pull?”
“Blair—” He indicated the woman. “this is Agent Rena Olsen. Rena, meet Mr. Anderson.”
“I don’t give a shit who she is. What’s going on with my daughter?”
“Blair, you need to relax. Maybe this will help.” He nodded.
Agent Olsen leaned forward, holding a syringe in her hand. Before I could react, she jabbed it into my shoulder and pushed the plunger.
Dalton said, “You’re going to listen now, Anderson, not argue.”
“What d-did you g-give…” I lost my train of thought. My arms and legs felt like they belonged to someone else. A soothing calm came over me, but I remained lucid.
Dalton allowed a tiny smile; one of the few times I’d seen one on him. “Congratulations. You’re the first to try our latest experimental drug outside of the lab. Cool, huh? Complete paralysis, and yet you are hyper focused. Its intended use is to subdue violent individuals while keeping them alert for questioning. So now you have no choice but to listen to what I have to say.
“I told you about SDC, that they had a terrorist connection. Recently we received a tip that they were keeping tabs on your daughter, most likely to kidnap her, hold her hostage, and force you to back off helping us.
“We spread our net and came up with a lead. A group of men we’ve had our eyes on for the past number of weeks. My people began watching them, following them wherever they went. Which turned out to be very fortunate for you.
“You see, Sandra had spent this afternoon at the house of a friend, Jody Harper, and got permission to have dinner there. But she was driven home by her friend’s mother earlier than expected. She was about to call out her hello when she heard her mom and Frank talking in their bedroom. She crept up to the door and listened. Mandy was telling Frank that she’d already spoken to your daughter’s school, requested a records transfer, and that their move could now proceed as planned.”
How does he know all this? I wanted to ask, but I was still frozen.
“Hearing confirmation that the move to California was imminent, Sandra panicked. She called out to her mother that she was home and going to bed. But she had no intention of doing so. She remained awake until she heard the toilet flushing, and soon afterwards Frank or Mandy—possibly both—were snoring.
“It was just past 10:00 p.m. Your daughter apparently remembered what you’d said, that if she heard her mother discussing the move to LA again, she was to connect with you right away.
“Sandra raided her piggybank, pocketed a little over $20, put on her jacket and slipped out of the house. Her intention was to find a taxi or bus—whichever she spotted first—and take it to your place, an address she knew by heart. But she didn’t get very far.”
I noticed I was holding my breath.
“A dark-gray van pulled up. Two guys in ski masks jumped out and started for your daughter. Luckily, these were the very men my team had been keeping track of. My agents flew out of their own vehicle, drew their weapons and fired warning shots above their heads to make sure they didn’t hit Sandra. The men dove back into the van and sped off. We now have your daughter in protective custody.”
Protective custody? I needed to get clarification but couldn’t formulate the words. All I could visualize was my poor little girl desperately trying to make her way to me, with no clue of the danger she might run into.
Dalton read my mind. “Sandra is fine. And we’ll take you to her. She’s anxious to see you. She is the one to tell us exactly how the evening played out. But these people are ruthless, Mr. Anderson, and will stop at nothing. It’ll be best if she remains with us for the time being. Meanwhile, you need to convince Jeremy to switch manufacturers. To make it more palatable, I’m going to offer a quid pro quo: You go back to Israel and do what I’ve asked, and I will guarantee that your daughter doesn’t leave New York, even if Mandy moves to California.”
“H-How—” I started to say, the drug wearing off, albeit slowly, “c-can you k-know t-that?”
“Beg your pardon?”
I repeated the question.
“Easy. Sandra also told us about what your ex-wife has planned. We’ll get the judge who heard your original case to recuse himself. Judge Carmichael, who owes us a favor—never mind why—will be appointed. Believe me, Mandy won’t be buying your daughter beachwear. Ever. So, do we have a deal?”
My voice had returned. “What if Jeremy still won’t cooperate?”
He shrugged. “Make him … now that you understand what’s at stake. But not a word about your daughter. I mean it, Blair. Do not take this lightly. We still haven’t learned what Jeremy knows, or doesn’t know, or whose side he’s even on.”
35
After I accepted, Dalton told me I’d have to be blindfolded. The address where I was being taken was a top-secret safe house that BIS used in emergencies. Olsen reached over the seat, placed the blindfold over my eyes, and tied it. The drive took close to 45 minutes.
I was helped out of the vehicle by Dalton, up a short flight of stairs, and inside. Then I was led into the room where Sandra was being held. My blindfold was no sooner removed when my daughter came charging into my arms.
Rena Olsen and Dalton were standing beside us. I asked them to please leave and give us some privacy. They appeared reluctant but nevertheless obeyed.
Sandra was her perky self. I didn’t know what story they’d fed her, but it had apparently worked. I planted a kiss on the top of her head and told her I loved her.
“I love you, too, Daddy,” she said. “And it’s all true. I heard them talking. Mom and Frank are moving to California and taking me with them. They don’t care if I ever see you again.” Her tears welled up.
I gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Listen carefully: It isn’t going to happen. You mother and Frank might be moving, but you are not going with them.”
“H-How do you know?”
“I—uh—can’t tell you that. You have to trust me, darling. You’ll be staying in good old New York.”
She smiled, gradually at first, until it blossomed. “Really, Daddy?”
“Really.”
The room we were in was of average size, with a closet, dresser, and its own bathroom. I led her to the bed and sat down beside her. “I have to take a trip to see ‘Uncle’ Jeremy,” I said, “but I won’t be gone very long. While I’m away you’ll be staying here. These people work for the government and they’ll take good care of you—protect you from those bad guys in that van who wanted to hurt you—until I get back.”
I held my breath and waited. Sandra shrugged and said that was fine. But I couldn’t tell if she was putting on a brave front for my benefit.
*
Dalton blindfolded me once again. As he led me out of the house, I had an ominous feeling. The gray van story seemed too pat. The whole BIS thing didn’t quite add up. Something was being kept from me. There was no way I could put my full trust in John Dalton.
We descended the stairs and he guided me into the back seat of what I assumed was his vehicle, and we were off. After a few miles of right and left turns, obviously meant to make sure I couldn’t get my bearings, he reached over and removed the blindfold.
Olsen was in the front passenger seat. I’d never seen the driver before—male, in his mid-thirties. He introduced himself as Agent Ian Atkins.
The night was clear. I could pick out the rebuilt World Trade Center in the near distance, sitting on the same site as the original Twin Towers.
We were approaching FDR Drive when Dalton explained: “You’ll have to talk to Mandy tonight. It’s almost midnight. Late, but it could be worse. You’ll be driven there now. We can’t take a chance on her waking up in the morning and finding Sandra missing. Explain to her that this terrorist group that the government has had under suspicion has been tailing you. Your daughter overheard her discussion with Frank about taking her to LA so she left the house to try to find you. Keep this part brief: terrorists targeted her, we intervened, and now she’s in temporary protective custody. It’s doubtful your ex will believe you, so give her this…”
Dalton handed me a different business card. It had his name, followed by “U.S. Protective Services” and a phone number.
He continued: “When Mandy calls, I’ll back up your story, and make sure she understands she is not to tell anyone. And especially not to call the police, since we are not working with them at this point. They’re not in the loop. If the cops become involved and fight us for jurisdiction, it’ll make our job more difficult. And it’ll be a lot longer before we’re able to release your daughter.”
“What about Mandy’s boyfriend?” I asked.
“Roberts? Don’t worry about Frank. I’ll speak to him. When I’m through, he won’t be talking to anyone, especially his lawyer.”
A horn honked behind us and we pulled over to the curb.
“That’s my ride,” Dalton said. “Rena will be with you the rest of the way. I’ll be returning to the safe house to await Mandy’s call. I’ll have her talk to Sandra to ease her fears. Any other questions?”
I had plenty, but I shook my head, then watched as Dalton exited the SUV.
*
We pulled up at Mandy’s house. Olsen looked over her shoulder. “Keep it short, Mr. Anderson. Agent Atkins and I will be waiting to drive you home.”
I stepped out of the vehicle, took my phone in hand, and punched in my ex’s number. Mandy always kept her iPhone on her nightstand by the bed, on soft ring, which wouldn’t matter because I’d been told Frank was a heavy sleeper.
I was almost at the front door when she answered in a groggy voice. “H-Hello?”
“It’s me,” I said. “I’m right outside and we need to talk.”
“Go away, Blair.”
“Go look in Sandra’s room, then let me in.”
The phone went dead.
Less than a minute later, my ex threw open the door and demanded, “What’s going—” She stopped short, clearly expecting to see our daughter standing beside me. “Where’s Sandra?” she yelled.
I ushered Mandy back inside and closed the door behind me.
“Blair, if you think—”
“For once in your life, you need to shut up and listen.” I gave her the spiel that Dalton coached me on, pretty much word for word.
“Bullshit!” she spat. “You’re a goddamn liar!”
I produced Dalton’s card. “Call him.”
She snatched the card from my hand, went charging into her bedroom and returned seconds later with her phone. She stared at Dalton’s card for a moment in obvious disbelief, then entered his number.
I stood in the foyer, listening in on the one-way conversation. Mandy nodded occasionally and repeated “Uh-huh” too many times. Her questions were often interrupted by what I assumed were Dalton’s ready answers. Then her voice went from combative to conciliatory. “Thank you very much, sir.”
There was a pause. Then: “Darling? Are you okay? Are they treating you alright?”
A minute or so later, Mandy was yelling, “Frank! Frank! Get out here! Now!”
He came out of the bedroom, half asleep, hair badly in need of a comb-over. When I came into focus, he rose to his full height and exclaimed, “What the hell are you doing here, Blair?”
“Just leaving,” I replied and pointed to Mandy’s phone. “You’re up, numbnuts!” I turned to let myself out.
36
I was in my office Monday morning, pondering my dilemma. I’d agreed to return to Israel but hadn’t a clue how to convince Jeremy of the necessity of my trip. I was weighing various ideas—none of which I liked—when Jeremy reached out to me via Skype, and I figured I’d caught a break.
“We have a problem with our lawsuit,” he opened.
The video feed came into focus. My own face popped up in the top left-hand corner of my computer screen. “What problem?”
“We served them papers last week. To my surprise, we got served in return.” Jeremy sighed. “Looks like it won’t be as quick a process as I thought.”
“So what does this mean for our launch?”
“Nothing. It means nothing, boychick. That’s why I’m talking to you, in case you hear more rumors. Ninth Wave Electronics isn’t going to go away quietly. Fine. Our lawyer assures me we’ll still end up winning in the end. Meanwhile, carry on like normal. Okay? Remain confident.”
“I can’t remain confident after what you just told me, Jeremy. Look—it would be best if we discussed this in person. I’ll hop on the redeye and see you tomorrow afternoon.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yup.” I sensed his hesitation, but my friend had presented me with the perfect opening.
“Hold on…” The screen became scrambled, along with his voice.
I disconnected. He tried making contact again; I ignored him. Ten minutes later, I emailed my flight information.
*
I called my secretary into my office.
“Nora, I have an appointment with Marianne Lattanzi of Arrow for tomorrow at 11:00 a.m. But as you know, I’m off to Israel tonight, so I need you to go in my place. Don’t over-explain. Just give Marianne the sample and let her try it for herself. She needs to see how Zapwired works. Then do your best to get her to place an order.”
Nora’s face lit up. “Really? You finally trust me enough to have a face-to-face with a buyer?”
I was taken aback. “What do you mean? I’ve always trusted you.”
“Yeah. To do the follow-up. Never to take the lead.”
“Well, congratulations. You’ve been promoted.”
*
Lisa reached me on my cell and asked how my mother was doing. I explained about the false alarm.
“Well, that’s good news,” she said with relief. “Let’s celebrate. I can come over tonight.”
“I can’t, I’m sorry.”
“Why not?” There was disappointment in her voice.
“I have to go on another trip.”
“Where to now?”
“Israel.”
“Again?”
“’Fraid so.”
“I want her name and number.”
“Whose?”
“The girl you’ve obviously got stashed away in Tel Aviv.”
37
Jeremy was at Ben Gurion when I arrived a little after five in the afternoon, dressed in mustard-colored shorts and beige-flowered short-sleeved shirt. As usual, what he was wearing made me feel conspicuous in my suit and tie.
“You okay?” he asked once we were on the road.
He was driving a new Audi A8, so I asked him how he liked it.
“It handles better than any other car I’ve owned. But enough about me. You ready to get down to business now, or should we wait until we get to your hotel?”
“Hotel,” I said.
“Fine. But relax, would you? You’ve either had too much coffee, or your nerves are getting jumpy all on their own.”
*
I checked in, went to my room and tossed my carry-on onto the bed, then went downstairs to the bar where Jeremy was waiting.
“So, tell me,” he said, “why the need to talk face-to-face?”
“You know the reason.”
“If you mean the lawsuit, I don’t believe you.”
“What’s not to believe? You promised the knockoff would be crushed. Now Ninth Wave is countersuing.”
“They can countersue all they like. In the end, we’ll win. And the judge will order them to pull their product and make it disappear. How do I know? I’ve dealt with this bullshit before. But it doesn’t matter. Less than one percent of knockoffs of TV-advertised toys ever make it, right? And that’s only if the original meets with success. So, for today, it’s not an issue. But I know the real reason you’ve come all the way here. You want me to switch manufacturers. And you should know, I’m not about to change my mind, even if you come back six more times.”
Jeremy had ordered my usual Scotch for me. I picked up my glass and took a few sips. “It won’t hurt to do this, Jeremy.”
