Zapwired, p.12
Zapwired, page 12
42
I arrived for the meeting with Dalton fifteen minutes ahead of time. The immediate area was void of security cameras, at least as far as I could tell. It also had to be one of the least trafficked neighborhoods in Manhattan.
Precisely at eleven, the SUV pulled up to the curb about 50 yards away and kept its motor running. Rena Olsen opened the back door and led Sandra out onto the sidewalk. The sight of my daughter sent my heart rate soaring. Sandra waved awkwardly and I wondered why—until I noticed she was handcuffed to Olsen. Of course, I realized, they were taking every precaution that my daughter couldn’t break free and run to me. Olsen said something to Sandra and quickly hauled her back into the vehicle.
I was still staring at the SUV when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped. “What the—”
John Dalton had a smirk on his face. “I had to be sure you came alone, so I got here early. What news do you have for me?”
“It’s done. I convinced Jeremy to switch production to SI.”
“And how do I know you’re not just saying that to get your daughter back?”
“You have my word.”
“Not good enough.”
“Why not?”
“I have to see an actual purchase order from Jeremy to Starlight Industries.”
“Christ! Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Why didn’t you ask? Seems obvious to me.” He indicated with his hand.
The SUV accelerated, screeched to a halt next to us.
Dalton reached for the front passenger door, hopped in, slammed it shut. “No PO, no Sandra,” he said, and the SUV sped off.
*
On the way back to my condo I took a call from my ex-wife. She wanted to know when Sandra would be coming home. I told her Protection Services needed to make sure it was safe to release her. “This’ll take one more day,” I said. “Two at the most.”
“Is there something going on you’re not telling me, Blair?”
She knows me too well. “No,” I lied. “Everything is fine.”
43
The minute I was settled in my apartment I sent a text message to Jeremy, explaining that my bank wanted to see a copy of the purchase order to SI, and asked that he send it to me as soon as possible via email. Then, to add weight to my request, I explained that my account manager insisted on seeing copies of all POs that I placed with manufacturers, in order to support my line of credit.
Next, I called Dalton on his cell and said, “With the time difference between here and Tel Aviv, I won’t have anything back until at least seven or eight tonight. I’ll let you know when I receive it.”
Of course, I didn’t mention that after the launch quantity of a hundred thousand pieces was manufactured, Jeremy would switch production back to SDC. I figured by the time Dalton found out the truth, I’d have my daughter back and it’d be too late for him to do anything about it.
“Fine,” Dalton replied. “I’ll expect your phone call.”
*
I worked in my home-office for the balance of the afternoon. Dinner was a tuna sandwich but I only ate half. I had my cell close at hand and once eight o’clock passed I began checking for emails every few minutes.
The PO arrived at a quarter after the hour and I immediately forwarded it to John Dalton, along with my message: NOW YOU HAVE PROOF. WHEN DO I GET SANDRA?
His email back confirmed receipt: I’LL CONTACT YOU IN THE MORNING.
*
I was up at five, dressed in a navy sport shirt and pair of jeans.
By the time nine o’clock came and went I’d run out of patience. I used the house phone in the kitchen and punched in Dalton’s cell. It rang for over a minute without him picking up. What the hell’s going on?
I forced myself to wait until a little after ten when I tried his office. A mechanical voice brought me up short: “The number you have reached is out of service.”
I stared at the receiver, figuring I’d entered the wrong digits. I hung up and tried again.
“The number…”
It can’t be!
I connected to directory assistance.
“For what city, please?”
“New York,” I pronounced carefully. “Blackwell Industrial Solutions.”
There was a pause. Then: “I’m sorry, there’s no such listing.”
My pulse went haywire. If his company doesn’t exist, then what do I do now? How will I get Sandra back?
I ran through a mental list of who I could call. Andrew Sciascia’s name came up. But he was away, on his damn safari. And the last thing I’d do is reach out to Joshua Bennett, his still-wet-behind-the-ears assistant. That pretty much left Jeremy.
A text rather than a phone call would avoid the need for an explanation, so I sent it: NEED HELP HERE IN NEW YORK.
His reply came a few minutes later: CALL THE NUMBER I GAVE YOU.
I disconnected, took out my wallet and found his note, a number to call in case of emergency. I entered it. A mechanical voice answered, male and robotic: “After the tone, please state your name, address, and phone number.”
I did as instructed, tempted to hold on to the receiver as long as possible, as if this act alone could bring help that much sooner.
*
Scant minutes later someone rang from the lobby of my building. I was shocked by the quick response. Without hesitation, I pressed the buzzer, then opened the door and waited in the hallway.
Lisa Brandt came out of the elevator and walked toward me without a smile or a hello. I was about to tell her this wasn’t a good time, that I wished she’d have called first, when she said, “I got your message.”
“What message?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“Your phone message.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Blair,” Lisa tugged on my arm, guiding me back inside. “Come take a seat for a minute.”
44
Abdul Masri was in a Hyundai Genesis, relieved that he was no longer cooped up in the safe house.
Their men had been running surveillance on Mandy Anderson and her boyfriend, Frank Roberts, for a number of weeks. They heard every word the two said to each other, thanks to the listening devices set up throughout their home. They also monitored all their phone conversations.
A few days ago. they had listened in as Blair told Mandy that Sandra would be returned to her within a day or two. Then, this morning, they overheard her talking with Frank.
MANDY: “No follow-up from Blair. I’ve left two more phone messages. Even tried to text him. He promised I’d have my daughter back by now.”
FRANK: “So what do you want to do?”
MANDY: “I don’t know. But this has gone on long enough. I want Sandra home.”
FRANK: “Then call the police.”
MANDY: “Do you think I should? The man I spoke to, John Dalton, said he was with Federal Protection Services.”
FRANK: “Try calling him, then.”
MANDY: “I did. No answer.”
FRANK: “Leave a final message for Blair. Give him twenty-four hours. Tell him if you don’t have Sandra back by then, you’ll be calling the cops.”
*
Yassin had paused the recording and turned to Masri. “They’ve left us no choice. A call to the police will eventually bring in the FBI for a kidnapping case. We need to put the backup plan into action.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
They spent the better part of an hour, going over the details, leaving nothing to chance.
*
It was now 2:15 in the morning.
Masri had three of their best men with him. He’d picked the strongest and most ruthless. He raised the volume on the portable monitor. Not a sound was coming from the Anderson residence. They turned the corner of the street and parked in front of the house. Luckily, this was a rather old subdivision. The lots were generous; the homes far enough apart for sufficient privacy.
Omar Aziz was the tallest of the group—just over 6’3”. A man in his late twenties, he had a shaved head, mustache, and a muscular frame that rounded out at 240 pounds. He was assigned to Frank.
Yousef Fayed was 5’11” and weighed far less. But what he lacked in heaviness he more than made up for in brute strength. Mandy was his responsibility.
The third man, Ibrahim Abdallah, was the driver. He’d remain in the car and act as the lookout. He was wearing the same mic and receiver as the others so he could communicate with them at all times. He was dressed in a white dress shirt and navy suit. He was picked because of his lighter skin tone.
If an insomniac was out walking his dog, or a neighbor came home from a late night out, Abdallah would warn the men, then pretend to be sleeping off a drinking binge. Should the police stop by, they’d take him at his word that he was doing the right thing and not driving home drunk.
Masri grabbed a large carry-on bag and led the way out of the vehicle. Weeks ago, when they began keeping tabs on Mandy and her boyfriend, they’d made a duplicate key to their house. Masri used it now and quietly opened the door. He knew the code and quickly disarmed the entry alarm. He left the carry-on bag in the kitchen and the three men headed for the master bedroom.
Masri put his ear to the door. Once satisfied, he opened the door to reveal Frank and Mandy sleeping peacefully. He indicated with a nod for the men to proceed.
Aziz and Fayed simultaneously snatched the pillows from beneath Mandy’s and Frank’s head, used their superior strength to suppress resistance, then began to smother them. At first, both were flopping like fish out of water, but within seconds they were subdued. And in a little over two minutes, both were dead.
Aziz began posing Frank’s body. A push here, a pull there, and he soon had Roberts sitting upright, as if he were relaxing in bed and watching television. Aziz had brought cigarettes and lighter along just in case, but they weren’t necessary. He removed a cigarette from Frank’s package sitting on the nightstand and placed it between the man’s lips. Then he took Frank’s gold lighter and put it in his right hand.
Masri watched with satisfaction. The murders meant nothing to him. Two more infidels meeting a just fate. Good riddance.
He activated his communication device and the lookout gave him the “all clear.” He flashed the okay to Aziz and Fayed and the men stepped outside. Fayed slipped into the car and positioned himself in the back, out of view. Aziz opened the trunk and returned with a naked girl’s body cradled in his arms.
She was the perfect lookalike for Sandra. Similar age, height and weight. She was a runaway, living on the streets for quite some time. They’d been watching her. She kept to herself and wouldn’t be missed.
They’d brought her back to the house and locked her in one of the spare rooms in the basement. Just before they left this morning, she was suffocated, stripped, and wrapped in a blanket. She weighed practically nothing. Her body was easily carried out to the car and placed in the trunk.
Aziz now entered Sandra’s bedroom and positioned the girl in the bed. He stepped up to the bureau, found a pair of pajamas in the top drawer, and put them on her. He set the girl’s head just so on the pillow, pulled the bedcovers up to her chin, then left the house and joined Fayed in the back seat of the vehicle.
Meanwhile, Masri was in the kitchen, which was one room away from the master bedroom. He turned all four burners on the stove to low, put out three of the four flames, then raised those three to high, intending for the gas to fill the house as fast as possible. He set a teapot on the fourth burner. Next, he poured water into a cup until it was half full. He inserted a teabag and carried it, along with his carry-on bag, into the master bedroom. He set the cup down on the nightstand next to Mandy’s side of the bed.
Masri had left the door wide open. He removed a gas mask from his bag and put it on. Then he took out a portable meter and waited. He knew how long this would take and settled in for the duration. The first half-hour was bad enough; the next fifty-five minutes seemed to go on forever.
Finally, the gas meter hit the red zone. Masri returned to the kitchen and shut off all burners except for the one under the teapot. He came back to the bedroom and unlocked the window. It was oversized and easy for him to climb through. Once out, he lowered the window from the other side until there was only room for his hand to pass through.
It was dark and took a moment for him to feel around in his bag. When he located the mini flamethrower, he reached back in with it. Yassin had researched what Masri was about to do. Death-by-asphyxiation would not show up—if there was even an autopsy on badly burned bodies, which was unlikely.
Masri pulled the trigger. A flame shot across the room and the gas ignited with a huge “WHOOSH!”
Masri raced toward the car and hopped in, smiling at the sight of the fire now enveloping the rest of the house.
As Yassin had calculated, a later investigation by the fire marshal would conclude that Mandy had made herself a cup of tea and accidentally turned the burner to low instead of off. Somehow, the flame went out and gas began to fill the home.
Later that night, Frank went to light a cigarette and the house became an inferno. Everyone was fried to a crisp. And the look-alike, because she was wearing Sandra’s pj’s, would be presumed to be the real Sandra.
Mission accomplished.
45
I remained just inside the doorway, waiting for Lisa’s reason for being here.
“You called a number that doesn’t exist,” she said when she saw I wasn’t willing to budge.
I was shocked. “You? You’re Jeremy’s contact?”
“I’m sorry, Blair. I was under orders not to tell you.”
“What about ‘No lies between us’—remember?”
“Blair—”
I cut her off. “You’re the girl Jeremy wanted to fix me up with, aren’t you? When I refused, he changed tactics, found another way for you to keep tabs on me. Our meeting at Billie’s wasn’t a coincidence, was it? You weren’t stood up by whoever the hell that guy was supposed to be—Robert? Richard? You feigned an interest and began acting as if we were, what…” I snapped my fingers. “A couple? Yet all the while you were just babysitting me!”
My voice rose. “Tell me—what does that make you, Lisa? Not only a liar, but a whore?”
She gestured palms down for me to relax. “If you come sit and give me a chance, I’ll explain.”
“I’ve heard enough lies.” I jabbed a finger at the door. “Get out!”
“I’m not leaving until I have my say.” She planted her feet. “Yes, I was asked to get close to you, to get you to like me, get you to confide in me.”
“Am I right? Is Jeremy behind this?”
“Yes. He was worried. He told me I’d have to invent a creative way to meet you. The plan was to become friends only. I was supposed to tell you that I wasn’t ready to get deeply involved with someone. That I was just looking for a buddy relationship. Someone to have some innocent fun with. When we ended up at your place, I had no intention of falling for you. It was the only time in my professional career—” she hesitated “that I permitted myself to become attracted to one of my assignments.”
My jaw dropped. “Is that what I am to you? An assignment? How many other times have you seduced men … in the line of duty?”
She sucked in her breath. “It was … totally unprofessional of me, I know. But like I said, I fell for you, Blair. And now I want to help.”
“So that story of you being a masseuse was all bullshit,” I sneered.
Lisa tried to make light of it. “I am a masseuse. That’s my cover. And I’m damn good at it—as you’ve experienced.”
“So, what’s your real job?”
“Does it matter? Jeremy asked me to look out for you. And a good thing, wouldn’t you say? After Montreal, and you nearly getting killed?”
I couldn’t have been more surprised. “That was you, in the white SUV?”
Lisa nodded. “I caught a flight right after you left, after first making arrangements with one of Jeremy’s contacts for the vehicle, with a weapon in the glove compartment, to be waiting for me upon my arrival.”
“Who was in the blue truck?”
“I don’t know. They got away.”
“Well, who do you think it was? You must have an idea.”
“I’m not authorized to speculate on who it might’ve been.”
“Not ‘authorized’?” I reached for the door.
“Take advantage of my offer, Blair. I’ll keep it strictly business, if that’s what you want, only, please … don’t shut me out. Your life is obviously in danger.”
I didn’t know what to believe. But it occurred to me how I could find out. “Tell me who you and Jeremy work for, so I know who I’m dealing with.”
“Sorry. I’m not at liberty to reveal our employer.”
I opened the door. “Last chance, Lisa.”
“I don’t have clearance. It would compromise my mission to reveal—”
“What mission?”
She struggled with a decision, then shook her head helplessly.
I put my hand on Lisa’s shoulder and edged her into the hallway.
“Blair—”
“Come back when you have clearance.” I slammed the door shut.
46
I headed toward the den, changed my mind and walked into the kitchen, my thoughts in turmoil. Dalton? Jeremy? Lisa? Who’s who? Or are they all playing me? Each for a different, self-serving reason?
I started to pace the apartment, beside myself with worry, searching for answers. It all seemed hopeless.
My cell rang.
“Hello, Blair,” John Dalton said.
I pushed the phone away from my ear, looked at it briefly, and put it back. “John?” I said, disbelieving it was him.
“One and the same.”
“What are you trying to pull? You said you’d call me first thing this morning. I’ve tried everything to find you! You didn’t answer your cell! Your office line’s been disconnected!”
