If Angels Fall (55 page)

“I’ll be there soon.”

“Tom, I’m praying for everybody.”

“I’ll bring him home, Doris. I swear I’ll bring him
home.”

Reed covered his face with one hand. His life was
slipping away, slipping through his fingers and there was nothing he could do.
The eyes of the whole newsroom were on his back. He heard a familiar tinkle of
jewelry and knew Molly was near. She touched his shoulder.

“Molly, I don’t know what to do. Talk to me, about
anything.”

“Go home to be with Ann, Tom.”

“I don’t know if I can face her. She blames me.”

“Tom, no one on this earth can think clearly when
something like this happens. No one.”

Reed turned to the window. “Thanks for getting
Tellwood.”

“Benson’s a vampire. He sent me to Berkeley. I don’t
think you saw me in the pack.”

Reed looked at her.

“He went crazy when he heard Keller’s name over the
police scanners. He grabbed your file, pulled up the Keller feature you wrote
yesterday, and said he was going to turn it into a Pulitzer. Planned to keep
you out by saying you were too distraught to be reached but your exclusive
Star
probe led to Keller, who retaliated by taking Zach before police could catch
him.”

“What?”

“It’s true.”

“He’s diseased.”

“Tom...” Wilson’s voice broke. “Tom, don’t hate me,
but what’s happened is news. I’ve got to write a story, Tom.” She glanced at
the news desk and swallowed. “They want me to interview you.”

Disgusted, he shook his head. But he knew the truth,
better than anyone. From across the newsroom, a telephoto lens was aimed at
him.

He had become the carrion and the ants were coming.

Zach Reed
stared into his hand before closing his fingers around their ticket out of this
rat hole.

Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

Zach crouched at the bottom of the basement stairs,
primed to make his move. It was all planned. Gabrielle and Danny had gone
upstairs to the bathroom. They were going to flush a whole roll of tissue
paper, plugging the toilet, then call the man.

Squeak-creak.

A TV was blaring upstairs. Good, that would help. The
toilet flushed, gurgled. It flushed again.

“Mr. Jenkins!”

Good, Gabrielle. Good.

The
squeak-creak
stopped. Someone walked from
the TV to the bathroom. A man’s voice over loud, rushing water cued Zach. He
padded up the stairs, breathing quickly, panting. Had to be brave. Only gonna
get one shot at this. Adjusting to the light, his eyes widened at what he saw.
Nothing had prepared him for this.

Enlarged pictures of Gabrielle and Danny covered the
living room wall. A worktable was cluttered with a computer, books, and papers
that had cascaded to the floor. The paint was peeling, blistering. Ignored.
Windows were sealed with ragged sheets. The place was desolate. Something icy,
something decomposing, reeking of death dwelled here. He spotted the three
binders, the printed names of Joshua, Alisha, and Pierce, paired with Danny,
Gabrielle ... and Michael.

Michael? How did he know his middle name?

Pasted to one wall were news clippings about the baby
girl they found last year in Golden Gate Park. Some of them were his dad’s.
Zach’s stomach knotted.

He’s going to kill us!

His eyes stung. The faces of his mother and father
circled him. He was going to collapse. The ceiling was coming down on him. Stop
it! Stop it! Stop it! Nobody’s gonna get you outta here but you. Quit being a
baby. Quit it! Hurry up!

Fist balled, he found the kitchen, scoured it until he
found the phone. A wall phone with a long cord and the dial pad in the handset.
He reached it easily, scanning the filthy counter for a magazine, a phone bill,
anything with an address. Nothing. He swallowed.

The splash of water on linoleum echoed from the
bathroom.

Hurry!

He couldn’t stop shaking. He sniffled, stretching the
cord from the kitchen to the rear entrance. Wait! He tried the door. Nope.
Locked solid. From the inside. Try the front door? No. No time. The cord was
long, allowing him to hide in the rear closet. Leaving the folding door open
slightly, he opened his fist and by a shaft of light read his father’s business
card.

TOM REED

STAFF WRITER

THE SAN FRANCISCO STAR

415-555-7571

It was his dad’s direct line.

Zach pressed the buttons for the number, shaking so
badly he misdialed. Please, he sniffed and redialed. There. He put the phone to
his ear, the line clicked, and began ringing.

Squeak-creak. Squeak-creak.

Keller sat before the TV news coverage of Zach Reed’s
abduction, his finger unconsciously caressing the body of Christ on the silver
crucifix around his neck.

They have not died. I can bring them back.

“...it is unbelievable what has happened...”

Skip Lopez, a green reporter for Channel 19’s
Action
News
team gripped his microphone.

“Zach Reed, the nine-year-old son of Tom Reed, a
reporter with
The San Francisco Star
, was abducted this afternoon from
this hobby store in Berkeley. Reed had been covering the earlier kidnappings of
two other San Francisco children, Danny Becker and Gabrielle Nunn, when this
latest abduction occurred...”

Squeak-creak.

W--what was -- Keller heard little voices. Water? The
bathroom?

“Mr. Jenkins, sir.” Gabriel was calling.

Keller left the living room and found Daniel and
Gabriel in the bathroom, fearful. “What is it?” Water cascaded from the toilet,
puddling on the floor. Obviously it was backed up. He found a plunger under the
sink.

“Step away,” he told them. A few solid churns cleared
the blockage. “Use the towels,” he pointed to the spilled water. Returning to
the news, he stopped in his tracks.

Michael?

He hurried back to the bathroom.

No sign of Michael.

Sydowski shouted
Reed’s name again.

Why was he yelling his name, holding up his phone?

“Tom! Tom, it’s Zach!”

Zach?

But Zach’s kidnapped, how could he be calling? ... Zach!

The impact of the call hit Reed like a bullet, nearly
short-circuiting his brain. He flew across the newsroom, seizing the phone from
Sydowski.

“Zach!”

“Dad?” He was crying.

Reed lost his breath. Had to think clearly.

“Zach, where are you?”

“I don’t know. I think we crossed the Bay Bridge.”

“Are you hurt?

“No, but I think he wants to do something bad to us.”

“Us?”

“GET A NUMBER, ADDRESS, AREA CODE,” Sydowski scrawled
on the note he thrust into Reed’s face.

“Zach, is there a number -- ”

“The other kids are here too, Dad. Gabrielle and
Danny.”

“Zach, is there a number on the phone? Something with
an address? Can you see any buildings you know? Run to a neighbor?”

Zach left the line and Reed heard him moving the
handset.

“We’re locked in and all it says on the phone is
4-1-5.”

“4-1-5? That’s all it says?” Zach was in the city.

“We don’t have a tap up yet! He’s in the city. Tell
him to hang up now and dial 9-1-1. An address will flash for the dispatcher.”

“Daddy, I don’t know what to do.” Zach was whimpering.

“Zach, son, listen to me carefully -- ”

“Tom, do it now!”

“Dad? He tricked me, Dad, he tricked me so good. He
said Mom was hurt and -- ”

Reed gulped. “He lied. Listen -- ”

“Now, Tom! Tell him to call 9-1-1 now!”

“Zach, listen to me. Hang up now and -- ”

“Hang up! Dad, no! You come and get me!”

“Son, listen, hang up and dial 9-1-1!  We’ll get the
address!”

“Dad, you have to come get me, please!”

“Zach, listen to me! Do as I say!”

“Dad, don’t yell at me.”

Reed covered his face with his free hand.

If only he could reach through the Pacific Bell cables
and pull him to safety. If only he could touch him. He didn’t want to lose him
this time, this was his last chance. His only chance.

Sydowski was talking softly, forcefully, to someone on
another line then turned to him. “Goddamnit, Tom, do it now!”

“Zachary, you do as I tell you! Hang up and dial 9-1-1
now!”

“Daddy, I’m afraid.”

“Do it, son, I’m going to hang up!” Reed sniffed.

“Dad, don’t. Daddy! Don’t, please!”

“I love you. Call 9-1-1 now!”

“Dad, he scares me, he going to do something to us!”

Reed squeezed the phone, clinging to the fiber-optic
thread connecting him to Zach. The plastic handset cracked under his grip.

“You call 9-1-1 now, or I’m going to kick your butt.
Do it!”

Reed slammed the phone down, his heart breaking as he
buried his face in his hands. The newsroom was silent, except for a camera’s
clicking, and Molly Wilson’s tape recorder being switched off. People had
gathered around Reed’s desk; men muttering curses, women covering their mouths.
The lifeline to Zach had slipped through Reed’s fingers, paying out deeper into
an abyss with each second.

Wait until it happens to you.

Sydowski remained on his open line to the 911 supervisor.
A minute passed, two, five. The newsroom had caller ID, but Zach’s call had
come up blocked. Finally ten full minutes ticked by with no 911 call to the
emergency line from Zach. It should have come within thirty seconds.

Something had happened. Something went wrong. It was
in Sydowski’s face.

“Tom.” Sydowski squeezed his shoulder gently. “Tom,
the fact that Zach called is a good sign for many reasons.”

Reed waited to hear them.

“He’s alive. He’s thinking. And he got to a phone.”

“Why didn’t he call 9-1-1?”

Sydowski shook his head. “It might not have been safe
for him to call again.”

“He could make that call in two seconds. I’ll tell you
what happened -- Keller caught him on the phone!”

“You don’t know that and you’re gonna eat yourself up
playing the worst case scenarios, so shut it off.”

“You tell me how.”

“Go home to your wife.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“She blames me for this and she’s right.”

“Tom, don’t beat each other up over this. It won’t
help.”

“I can’t go home without Zach. I promised I’d bring
him home.”