The Abduction (20 page)

Allison arrived home at midnight, just in time for a telephone conference that would map out the final weekend of the Leahy-Helmers campaign. She pitched her business suit into her bag for the cleaners, threw on a bathrobe, and took the call on the couch downstairs, so as not to wake Peter. Helmers and his chief adviser were patched in from their hotel in California. The media consultants connected from New York. David Wilcox and his lead pollster originated the call from a campaign headquarters that, at this stage of the game, was busy around the clock. Allison and Wilcox had yet to make peace since their blowup earlier that week, but with the election looming, everyone seemed to understand that, like it or not, they were stuck with one another for a few more days.

The meeting followed the usual agenda, beginning with the latest polls. The race was dead even in the popular vote, but Howe was beginning to pull ahead in the decisive electoral college. Two hundred and seventy votes were needed to win. Howe had a lock on a hundred and eight. Leahy could count only seventy as firm—down from over a hundred just two weeks ago. They could write off both Ohio and Pennsylvania, despite last week’s advertising blitz. Florida and California were the big undecided states.

“We need Allison in Florida,” said Wilcox. “Howe is invading the whole damn state.”

Allison rubbed a throbbing temple. Now that she’d actually spoken to the kidnappers, the campaign in some ways was little more than a distraction. But she didn’t dare reveal that she and Peter were preparing to pay Kristen Howe’s ransom. “What about Eric?” she asked.

Helmers cleared his throat. His voice was raw from a week of nonstop stumping. “I think it’s best if I stay on the West Coast. We need both Florida
and
California to win the election. Howe needs only one or the other, and he’s clearly focusing on Florida. Allison should go head-to-head with him down there, and I’ll do my best to pull in California.”

Allison asked, “What about the pledge I made to devote my full attention to finding Kristen Howe? I told the American people at my press conference that I was suspending all personal appearances.”

“And you
did
suspend them,” said Wilcox. “You did your job as attorney general to make sure the investigation is properly focused, but now it’s time to resume normal campaign activities. You’re running for president. Not sainthood.”

She bristled at his tone. She was about to put him in his place when Helmers spoke up again. “Allison, think of all the people who believe in you. Thousands of workers who have been out there killing themselves day after day, many of them since New Hampshire. Some haven’t been paid in a month, but they keep showing up for work. It’s all for nothing if you don’t get back out there. Please, I can’t do this by myself.”

Helmers’s voice had actually cracked. His plea seemed to catch everyone off guard, including
Allison. An eerie silence lingered as she mulled things over, like the deceptively calm passing of the eye of the hurricane.

“Don’t cheat your destiny,” added Wilcox, breaking the silence. “It’s no accident you’ve come this far. Things happen for a reason.”

Allison paused, confused by his cryptic remark. She shook it off, responding more to Helmers than to Wilcox. “All right, gentlemen. I’ll do Florida.”

A cheery sense of relief buzzed over the phone lines. They were quickly saying good-bye, as if the candidate might change her mind if the meeting continued. She snagged Wilcox before he could sign off. “David, stay on the line.”

The others disconnected, leaving only Allison and her strategist on the line.

“What is it, boss?” His tone was light, like in the old days, when things were good between them.

“I was confused by that comment you made about my destiny. How it’s no accident that I’ve come this far. How things happen for a reason. What exactly were you talking about?”

“Nothing specific.”

“You must have had something in mind.”

He chuckled, but it seemed like a nervous chuckle. “Not really.”

“David, if you don’t tell me what the hell you meant, I’m not going to Florida.”

“Relax, okay? There’s no big mystery here. It’s just something you told me a long time ago, in one of our more serious discussions. You called it the Leahy creed—the way your mother used to say that everything happens for a reason. That’s all I meant.”

She gripped the phone, thinking. She did have a
vague recollection of a relatively deep conversation with David over Dewars on the rocks in O’Hare International Airport. “All right. Forget it.”

“What did you think I meant?”

“David, I said forget it.”

“Fine. I’ll fax you a Florida schedule.”

“I can’t wait,” she said, then hung up the phone.

Bright Florida sunshine glistened off the black sheen of limousines as Lincoln Howe’s motorcade entered the University of Miami campus. With the third largest state’s twenty-five electoral college votes still up for grabs, the general had two South Florida stops planned for Saturday morning, then afternoon rallies in Orlando and in Jacksonville.

Two vans and the limos stopped beside the Palm Court of the McLamore Plaza, a central campus meeting spot. A circular fountain shot thin spires of water straight into the air. They bubbled at the apex, spilling foam like huge roman candles. Forty-foot palm trees offered spotty shade, leaving most onlookers in need of hats and sunscreen. More than five thousand people had showed up, even more than expected. The crowd was spread across the campus lawn, facing a stage near the plaza, cheering and squinting into the morning sun as the general stepped down from the limo. A brass band cranked up the campaign theme song, “I’m a Yankee Doodle Dandy.” The crowd surged forward, but the Secret Service kept them at bay.

“We love you, Lincoln!” a beaming woman shouted over the music. He smiled and touched a few outstretched hands as he moved quickly toward the stage. He paused for the cameras as they passed the press corps, then continued on
his way to the backstage area. Buck LaBelle was waiting for him in an out-of-the-way alcove. He pulled the candidate away from the Secret Service escorts for a last-minute pep talk.

“Good turnout,” said the general.

“Good media coverage, too,” said LaBelle. The crowd was clapping to the music, keeping time. LaBelle seemed energized by it. “I think this is the place to drop the bomb.”

“I thought we agreed that was tomorrow.”

“It may be too late by then. I feel it. Now’s the time.”

“Fine by me. The sooner we get this out of the way, the better.”

LaBelle turned serious, shifting into his teaching mode. “Your tone of voice is very important, General. The first part is matter-of-fact: ‘It has come to my attention that the FBI is investigating the possibility that the kidnapping was orchestrated by one of my own supporters, designed to elicit sympathy and further my campaign.’ Second part, get angry and indignant: ‘So far, the only thing political about this kidnapping is the investigation, itself—which is headed by my opponent, the attorney general.’”

Howe winced. “I don’t like the second part.”

“The second part is the key.”

“Leahy has walked on eggshells trying not to say anything that might politicize the investigation. I’ll look like a bully if I start making bald accusations.”

“It’s like we talked about at the airport, General. Sooner or later the press is going to hear that the investigation may be turning against your own campaign. You can’t let Leahy or the White House be the ones to leak it to them. We have to steal their
thunder. If they reveal it, you can bet your ass the American people will be suspicious of us. But if we do it ourselves, and if we do it
my
way, they’ll get angry—not at us, but at
them.
Trust me.”

“I can’t just get all huffy and say the investigation is being politically manipulated. Let’s face it, Harley Abrams doesn’t come across as a man who’s politically motivated. We need a hook. Something that will lend credence to our claim that Leahy is manipulating things to her advantage.”

The marching band reached its big finish. The crowd clapped to the music, then erupted in one enthusiastic cheer. Howe and his campaign manager were deep in thought, oblivious to the noise.

“I’ve got an idea,” said LaBelle, his face alight. “We’ll tell them, about the campaign spending controversy.”

“
What
spending controversy?”

“You haven’t heard?” he said, making a face. “It’s unconscionable. Leahy and her band of unscrupulous political hacks have demanded that the Howe family take down all of the Find Kristen billboards we’ve put up across the country. They want us to stop running the TV commercials advertising the tips hot line. According to those cynics, it’s just a backhanded way of promoting the Howe name—and therefore the Lincoln Howe candidacy. They claim it’s illegal campaign spending.”

“They’re actually saying that?” he asked incredulously.

“Well, admittedly it’s just a rumor at this point. But a reliable one.”

“Why didn’t I hear about this before? When the hell did it start?”

“When?” LaBelle said as his mouth curled into a smirk. “Right now.
You’re
starting it.”

Howe was dumbfounded. From center stage, the speaker’s voice suddenly boomed over the loudspeaker. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, it is my great pleasure to present to you a true American hero, a man who will bring honesty and integrity back to Washington—the next president of the United States of America—General Lincoln Howe!”

The marching band cranked up again. A swarm of red, white, and blue helium balloons raced for the sky. Five thousand people jumped to their feet, cheering wildly.

Howe locked eyes with his campaign manager for a tense, expectant moment, the wheels turning in his head. Finally he drew a deep breath, then gave a quick and solemn nod of agreement. LaBelle smiled thinly, patting him on the back with encouragement.

“Go get ’em, General.”

Howe put on his campaign smile and hurried up to the stage, waving with both hands to throngs of adoring fans.

Kristen Howe woke to a dimly lit room. She lay on her back, staring up at a grimy airduct stain on an old popcorn ceiling. The stiff pillow crackled beneath her ears as she slowly turned her head to scan her surroundings. The double bed beside hers was empty but messed, as if someone had slept there. Atop the bureau rested a color television set that was tuned to CNN, though the sound was muted. Heavy drapes covered the window, while airborne dust motes floated in the narrow rays of sunlight streaming in at the edges. A diagram was posted on the back of the chain-locked door, showing where to exit in case of fire.

Kristen had been awake when they’d stopped late last night at the Motel 6, a typical two-story building with separate outside entrances for each room. Before going inside to register, that Repo guy had laid her low in the back of the car and handcuffed her to the seat frame. She didn’t dare scream for help, since she couldn’t be sure how far away he really was. They’d parked in the back, away from the highway, directly in front of their ground-level room. He’d led her inside without cuffs or a blindfold. She never looked at him, however, and she closed her eyes and pretended to fall asleep the moment he laid her in the bed. She didn’t want to see his face—not after
what happened earlier, after she’d looked at that other guy named Johnny.

She heard a toilet flush, and the bathroom door opened. Repo was back. She shut her eyes so tightly that her eyelids quivered.

“You don’t have to close your eyes,” he said.

She gulped, afraid to speak. “I didn’t see your face. I promise. I didn’t. I didn’t look last night, either.”

“I’m not going to blindfold you, Kristen. So just open your eyes.”

She made a face, closing them even more tightly.

He smiled halfheartedly. It was kind of cute, the way she thought she could erase her memory by squeezing her eyes shut. He gently sat on the edge of the bed. “Kristen, I know you saw my face last night.”

“No, I
didn’t.
I didn’t see anything.” Her eyes were still shut.

He sighed, shaking his head. “Okay, you didn’t. But it doesn’t matter if you see my face now.”

“You’re going to kill me. Just like you killed Reggie.”

“No,” he said, agonizing. “I promise I’m not going to kill you.”

“Reggie’s dead. I know he’s dead.”

He paused, not sure how much to tell her. “Yes. Reggie is dead.”

Her body stiffened.

“But I didn’t kill him,” he said. “Johnny killed him. That guy who got killed last night.”

“Why did you kill your friend?”

Repo looked away, then back. “Look, we’re both in deep shit, so I want to be honest with you. But you have to open your eyes. I can’t lead you around like a Seeing Eye dog.”

She opened her eyes. Her line of sight aimed at his torso at first, then slowly drifted toward his face.

“There,” he said, “that wasn’t so hard. Was it?”

She shook her head, avoiding his eyes. He shifted on the bed, facing her more directly. “Kristen, I’m involved with some very bad people. People who will do whatever they get paid to do. If a guy gets fired and wants to burn his old boss’s house down, they’ll do it. If some lady wants her ex-husband beat up, no problem. And if somebody wants to kidnap a twelve-year-old girl, they’ll do that, too.”

“What if somebody wants to kill that girl?”

“They’ll do it. But I won’t. That’s why I killed Johnny. We had a disagreement, I guess you’d call it, as to whether we should let you go.”

“Then why don’t you just let me go now?”

“Because you wouldn’t be safe. I know that sounds crazy, but if I just drove you back to Nashville and gave you back to your mom, they’d find you. These people would find you.”

“The police will protect me.”

“They
won’t.
They say they will, but they won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“I
know,
damn it!” He drew a deep breath, rubbing his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just, when I tell you I know, you gotta believe me. I have experience in these kinds of things.” His expression soured, as if he were suddenly looking inside himself. “Six years ago, I went to court and testified against a guy who was selling drugs in our neighborhood. Not just the jerk down on the corner. The big guy who was supplying everybody. The cops said they’d protect me if I went to
court. Said I had nothing to worry about. So I did it. And the minute the trial was over, the cops disappeared. They didn’t do shit for protection.”

“What happened?”

He looked away, sinking deeper into the past. His voice was flat and distant. “I came home from work one night, and I just found them. Laying there on the kitchen floor, blood everywhere. My mother and my sister. They killed them both.”

“This is that sister you mentioned before? The one I remind you of?”

“Yeah. But don’t worry. You’re not gonna get shot. Not if I can help it.”

She paused, studying his face. He suddenly seemed more human to her. “Why do you work for such bad people?”

“It’s not really a choice you make. It’s just survival. I was eighteen years old when all this happened. I figured the creeps who killed my mom and my sister would probably come and kill me next. The cops were no help. So, you know, in my neighborhood if you wanted real protection, you went to work for—” he stopped, deciding not to use names. “Well, you went to work for the man who could protect you. So that’s what I did. It’s been six years and nobody’s touched me. Nobody dares.”

“So, this man you went to work for—he’s the one who’s going to come looking for me?”

“You and me both. I killed his nephew. And for some reason, his nephew wanted me to kill you.”

Her eyes welled with tears. “Why would they want me dead?”

“I don’t know. It has nothing to do with you or anything you did, though. It’s just that somebody, somewhere, decided it was necessary. Maybe it
was Johnny. Maybe it was his brother—the other guy who was in the house with us. Maybe it was their uncle. Or maybe it was the person who hired us in the first place. Whoever that is.”

Silence fell between them. Kristen broke eye contact. She was looking right past him. “It’s my grandfather,” she said.

“What?”

She nodded toward the television. The picture was on, but the sound was off. “My grandfather is on the news.”

Repo shook off the confusion. For a second, he’d thought she was confirming that Lincoln Howe had hired him. He turned toward the set and switched on the volume.

Howe was standing at a podium with flags and balloons behind him. The candidate had a solemn look on his face as he spoke into the microphone. “It has come to my attention that the FBI is investigating the possibility that the kidnapping of Kristen Howe was orchestrated by one of my own supporters as a political ploy to elicit sympathy from voters. So far,” he said in an indignant tone, “the only thing political about this kidnapping is the investigation itself—which is being manipulated by my opponent.”

The image on the screen quickly shifted back to the CNN anchorwoman. “General Howe made the remarks earlier this morning at rally on the University of Miami campus in Coral Gables, Florida. Neither the FBI nor the Justice Department has confirmed or denied that the investigation is, in fact, focusing on a Howe supporter. In a written statement, Attorney General Leahy has stated only that it would be improper to comment on an ongoing investigation.”

Repo hit the
MUTE
button, then looked at Kristen. Her expression was pained and incredulous. She asked, “The FBI thinks my grandfather hired you to kidnap me?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I guess maybe they do. Honestly, I don’t know who hired us. But the thought has crossed my mind, you know, that maybe your grandfather or one of his supporters was behind it. You wouldn’t know anything about this, since you haven’t seen any of the news. But people feel sorry for your grandfather since you were kidnapped. So sorry that it might even get him elected.”

“But—
no,
it can’t be him!”

“Maybe it’s not him. I hope it’s not. But we just have to be extra careful for a while until the FBI sorts this out. This is why I can’t just turn you loose. For your own good, I mean. We just have to stay out of sight, at least until the election is over. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

She nodded, staring at the television in disbelief. She sniffled and wiped her nose. “I understand,” she said as her worried eyes met his. “I can’t go home.”