The Senator's Choice (15 page)

“Geez, Matthews. It
’
s not like we
’
ve caught the guys yet.”

“I know, I know, but—”

“And we are professionals.”

“True. And as much as I want to agree with you on all those accounts, there
’
s something about this case that isn
’
t sitting right. I mean, these guys aren
’
t demanding money.”

“Ransoms don
’
t have to be.”

“I know, but that
’
s rarely the case.”

Jones took a deep breath. “Well, maybe this is the best way to get away with it. If there
’
s no money that exchanges hands, it
’
s hard to convict them of anything in court, much less even charge them.”

“Unless we catch them.”

“You plan on catching these guys and turning them over to the authorities?”

Matthews shrugged. “Once I know Luke is safe, all bets are off.”

Jones smiled.
“Yeah, we don
’
t want this to become the new template for kidnappings, now do we? It
’
s probably best to send a message.”

“It
’
ll be one I
’
ll be happy to deliver.”

Jones patted Matthews on the knee again. “I know Luke
’
s family for you, but he feels like family to us too. But don
’
t worry
— we
’
re all keeping our heads cool and using our best instincts. We
’
re going to find these guys.”

Moments later, the tires barked and signaled a successful touchdown in Mansfield. A few minutes later, the team split up to scour the area and find out what they could learn.

Hammond and Zellers headed toward the refueling station, while Matthews and Jones investigated the hangars.

Hammond banged on the window with his fist, startling the fuel operator who
’
d fallen asleep. The man fell out of his chair before he stood up, red-faced from getting caught napping.

He opened the door. “Can I help you?” he said, tucking his shirttail in and smoothing out the front of his shirt.

“Yeah, we
’
re wondering if you
’
ve refueled any helicopters here tonight,” Hammond said.

The man
’
s eyes darted back and forth. He bit his lip and slowly shook his head. “
I don’
t recall any.”

Hammond
’
s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

The man nodded. “Pretty sure.”

Zellers tapped Hammond and pointed at the tip jar sitting on his desk.

“Do you always get hundred-dollar tips, uh—” Hammond said as he looked at the man
’
s name tag stitched onto his shirt “—Tyler?”

Tyler shrugged. “Sometimes. A lot of rich dudes fly in and out of here.”

“Any rich dudes that fly helicopters fly out of here tonight?” Hammond pulled out a pair of hundred dollar bills and waved them at Tyler. “Perhaps this might jog your memory.”

Tyler snatched the money and jammed it into his pocket. “Now that you mention it, I seem to recall one landing here earlier tonight.”

“Do you remember what kind it was?” Hammond asked.

Tyler held out his hand.

Instead of filling Tyler
’
s hand with another note, Hammond grabbed four fingers and started to bend it backward. “
I don’
t have time for these games, nor do I have the money. Now, what kind of helicopter was it?”

“Owww, oww, owww. Okay, I
’
ll tell you. Just let go,” Tyler said.

Hammond released his fingers. “
I don’
t have all night and I
’
m not gonna ask twice.”

“There was an Astar 350 in here tonight.”

Zellers held up a photograph Shepherd had given them of the three men. “Any of them look like this?”

Tyler peered at the picture. “
I don’
t know. It was dark and—”

Hammond grabbed Tyler
’
s hand again. “Think.”

“I only saw one of them,” he said before letting out another yelp. “Let go.”

Hammond let go. “Which one was it?”

Tyler pointed to one of them. “This guy. That
’
s the one I saw.”

“Is he the one who left you a big tip?”

“Yeah. He said it was to keep my mouth shut.”

“Glad you used your better judgment. I
’
ll be sure to tell him you didn
’
t say a word when I see him.”

Tyler backed away into his office. “Thank you. Now can you just leave?”

Hammond spun and headed toward the door. Zellers winked at the man and tossed a fifty-dollar bill at him. “Be safe — and awake.”

Hammond wasted no time in alerting Matthews over his com link. “They were here tonight,” he said.

“Good work,” Matthews answered.

“Have you found anything yet?”

“We
’
re working on it.”

***

MATTHEWS WATCHED AS JONES SHINED a flashlight through the window on the door leading into the hangar the farthest from the terminal. They
’
d already successfully dodged the security guard patrolling the area on a golf cart before Matthews noticed him again. He tapped Jones on the shoulder.

“Duck.”

The two hid behind a transformer located a few feet away from the door and waited until the patrolman
’
s headlights disappeared. Jones returned to the door and began to pick the lock. A few seconds later, it clicked.

“We
’
re in.”

Matthews followed Jones into the hangar as they began looking for clues that someone had been there. He wasn
’
t hopeful they
’
d find anything, but he wanted to be thorough. This case left no room for mistakes.

As his flashlight swept the mostly vacant hangar, something caught Matthews
’
eye and he stopped. He held the light on an object and started walking toward it, picking up his pace as he went.

“What is it?” Jones asked.

“Luke.”

“Say what?”

“Luke
’
s been here.”

Jones watched as Matthews hustled toward a volleyball lying just beyond a supply closet. “And this random volleyball tells you this how?”

“It
’
s not a random volleyball,” Matthews said as he scooped it up. He slowly turned the ball around in his hand as he honed the light on it. “Does this look random to you?”

Jones shook his head. “What
’
s this all about?”

“Ever seen
Castaway
with Tom Hanks?”

“I wish I hadn
’
t. Bored me to tears.”

Matthews punched Jones in the arm. “Watch your mouth. That
’
s one of the best movies Tom Hanks ever made.”

“After
Big
it was all downhill from there for me.”

“Well, this is Wilson,” Matthews said as he tossed the ball in the air. “I made Luke watch this movie with me when he stayed with me one summer.”

“I bet he hated it.”

“I bet you better get that closet open before I take you down right here.”

Jones laughed and then sighed. “People and their movies.”

“What
’
s your favorite?”

“
Taken
with Liam Neeson.”

“Figures.”

Jones jiggled the handle and had the locked pick before Matthews could make another snide comment about his partner
’
s movie tastes.

Matthews flipped the lights on and glanced around the room.

“What are we looking for?” Jones asked.

“A clue. Anything that Luke might have left us about where he
’
s headed or any other information about these guys.”

Jones saw a piece of cardboard peeking out from underneath one of the shelves. He raked it out with the end of his foot. “Like this?”

Already crouched on the ground, Matthews picked up the paper and stood up. “Exactly.”

“And where are they headed?”

“It says ‘Idaho
’
.”

“Is that Luke
’
s handwriting?”

“Looks like it to me.”

“Well, all right, Luke.”

“Yeah, let
’
s hustle back to the plane. Maybe Shepherd can find us a link between Ophion and Idaho — and I
’
ve gotta wake up Senator Daniels. He
’
s gonna want to hear this.”

CHAPTER 22

SENATOR DANIELS DUCKED into his favorite pub and glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching him. He knew they were, even if he couldn
’
t see them. Whoever was behind Luke
’
s kidnapping had gone to great lengths to ensure that he didn
’
t contact the authorities — or anyone else. And while he had managed to communicate with Seth Matthews without detection, such good fortune was bound to evaporate at some point.

The Old Bag of Nails Pub off Nelson Street in downtown Columbus had become a celebrated meeting point for Daniels and his two eldest sons. Over the years, they
’
d both laughed and cried there. Today, he doubted there
’
d be much laughing, nor did he think any tears would be shed. It was sure to be a time filled with angst and questions —questions he couldn
’
t answer but wished he could.

He meandered toward a booth in the back and waited on his two sons. Ben and Mike were usually prompt — and given the circumstances, the fact that they were a few minutes late began to concern the senator. He checked his watch again: eleven thirty-three.

Where are they?

A waiter brought him a menu and asked him if anyone else would be joining him.

“I hope two more,” he said.

He checked his watch again and craned his neck to see near the door. Still nothing. He pulled out his phone and double-checked his calendar to make sure he had the right time and place. There it was: Tuesday at 11:30 a.m. Meet with boys at Old Bag of Nails Pub.

Where could they be?

His phone buzzed. It was Sarah.

“Hey, honey. How are you?” he said.

“That
’
s what I wanted to know from you. Are you all right?”

He smiled. Her smooth voice made him forget about his troubles, if only for a moment. “Yeah, I
’
m fine.
”

“Are you sure? I mean, last night you were acting kind of strange.”

“I know. I
’
ve just been under a lot of stress lately and—”

“Why don
’
t I come over and make dinner for you tonight?”

He liked the idea, but then remembered the disaster his house was after getting shot at the night before. A team of contractors had already descended on his house that morning to clean up the mess, but he wasn
’
t sure if they
’
d be done before she arrived. And how would he explain it if she saw them? Remodeling? Interior decorating? Sarah was too smart for that. He had to insulate her from what was happening.

“I
’
d love to, but I
’
ve got quite a bit going on tonight. Maybe another night this week.”

“Okay. But don
’
t get too busy for me that you don
’
t have time to give me a call and let me know what
’
s going on, especially if you need someone to talk to. I know this is a big week for you.”

“Thanks, honey. I appreciate it.” He hung up and sighed.

Disaster averted — for now.

He picked up his phone to call Ben when he heard a familiar voice.

“Dad?”

Daniels looked up. “Hey, son. I was just about to call you.”

“I know. Sorry,” Ben said. “I was running a little bit late. Mike
’
s right behind me. I saw him searching for a parking spot as I was walking in.”