Patty Alvarez was fifteen years Martin's junior. When the most powerful man in Laurel County started courting her she had been scared to death, but she knew that marrying Martin meant security. And there was the prestige of being Mrs. Martin Alvarez. She would go from being a name scratched into the stalls in the high-school boys' room to the top of Laurel County society. So she had said yes when Martin proposed and had been happily surprised to find that she had grown to love the husband who doted on her.
The Martin Alvarez seated behind the large oak desk in the hacienda's home office was a man on the verge of violence. The only thing keeping him civilized was the absence of a target. Seated on the other side of the desk were FBI Agent Thomas Chandler, Detective Norman Chisholm of the Laurel County Sheriff's Office, and Ramon Quiroz, the Laurel County district attorney. Several other law enforcement officers were also crowded into the room. Two FBI technicians were working on Martin's phone.
"I know you've told Mr. Quiroz and several others what happened today, but I'd like to hear it firsthand, if you don't mind," Chandler said.
Martin looked ready to explode. He was tired of talking, he wanted action, but he restrained himself and recounted the day's events to the FBI agent.
"Patty rides every morning. Sometimes we ride together, but I had a conference call at seven, so she rode alone. She usually takes the same route and she's usually back between eight and nine. When she didn't return by ten I grew worried. I brought one of the men and we went looking for her."
Martin paused. Chandler watched him control his anguish and anger.
"We found Conquistador near the entrance to a canyon roughly four miles east of here."
"Conquistador is her horse?"
"Was. He's dead," Martin replied bitterly.
"And your wife was missing?"
Martin nodded. "But there was blood on the rocks where Conquistador fell."
"I've got my forensic people out there now," Chandler said. "They'll analyze the blood to see if it's from the horse."
He did not mention the other, obvious possibility.
"What did you do after you found Conquistador?"
"I called Ramon from my cell phone. Then we waited by the horse."
"Tell me about the call from the kidnappers."
"As soon as Norm arrived he told me to go home. He was worried it was a kidnapping and they'd call while I was out. They did, about two hours ago. They said no cops, but Ramon and Norm insisted that I bring you in."
"That was a very smart move."
"Unless they kill Patty," Martin said, turning his steady eyes on Chandler.
"These people want money, Mr. Alvarez. That's what this is all about. There won't be any money if they kill your wife."
Chandler waited a beat, hoping that Martin would relax a little. He didn't.
"Please tell me, word for word, as best you remember, what was said during the call."
"It was a man but he disguised his voice. He said, `We've got your wife. If you want her to live it will cost you one million dollars. We want it in unmarked bills. Nothing larger than hundreds.' I told him it would take a day to get the money. He said he would call back with instructions. I asked to speak to Patty. He hung up. That's everything. The call didn't take long."
"Okay," the FBI agent said.
"I want honesty, Chandler," Martin demanded. "Total honesty. What are my wife's chances?"
Chandler looked grim. He shook his head.
"I have no idea what your wife's chances are. There are too many variables. So I'm not going to guess or give you a best-case scenario. The honest truth is that I don't know. All I can promise is that we will do everything in our power to get your wife back."
3
The kidnappers told Martin to leave the ransom money under a log that crossed over Rattlesnake Creek in the mountains several hours' drive from Desert Grove. Martin's banker had the money ready, but on Chandler's instructions, Martin told the kidnappers that it would take two more hours for the bank to put the ransom together. Martin drove to the bank to pick up a large duffel bag stuffed with money while Chandler used the darkness to infiltrate a heavily armed team into the woods near the stream.
Thomas Chandler had been raised in Philadelphia, educated in Boston, and trained for his job in Quantico, Virginia. Nothing in his childhood, his schooling, or his FBI training had prepared him for lying for hours in a cold, damp forest on sharp, stony ground. Chandler had only been able to remain motionless for a little while. Soon he was shifting his body every few minutes, doing the best a city boy could to move quietly.
Scanning the area around the creek only took his mind off his discomfort for a little while. The wide stream twisted through the woods, the water deep and clear as it boiled over several boulders that changed the course of the creek. Through night-vision glasses the area looked like a neon video game.
Chandler was turning his collar up as protection against the cold mountain air when a noise made him freeze. He checked his watch. It was after ten, just about the time Alvarez would be arriving. A twig cracked and the agent saw a flashlight beam light up a stretch of the trail that wound through the woods to Rattlesnake Creek. Chandler focused his night vision-glasses on the spot where a tree felled by lightning lay across the waterway. Moments later Martin Alvarez came into view carrying a large duffel bag across his broad shoulders. Chandler watched Alvarez wedge the bag under the log. When he stood up, Alvarez cast a quick look around before returning the way he had come.
As soon as Martin disappeared up the trail Chandler trained his glasses on the duffel bag, but nothing happened. The bag lay under the log, the stream ran swiftly between its banks, and the stillness of the forest lay over the agent like a blanket. Chandler found it impossible to watch the duffel bag continuously. Besides, he knew that the snipers hiding in blinds throughout the forest and the other agents in the capture team were on alert. He shifted for comfort and closed his eyes. He was starting to nod off when fear of falling asleep jerked him back to his duty. Chandler chided himself, slapped his face to stir his adrenaline, and refocused his glasses on the log just as a man dressed entirely in black rose out of the creek and grabbed the duffel.
Chandler unholstered his weapon. "FBI! Freeze!"
Automatic fire sprayed through the woods from somewhere on the other side of the creek. Chandler hit the ground. The man with the duffel fled down the stream using the burst as cover. Chandler heard the other agents return fire. He got to his feet and raced into the frigid water. The fleeing man suddenly darted out of the stream and into the forest with Chandler in pursuit. It was hard to move in the dense underbrush. The agent tripped over a root and stumbled forward just as another burst of automatic fire shredded the foliage above his head, showering him with leaves.
As soon as the gunfire stopped Chandler regained his footing. He heard ragged breathing and the sound of someone smashing through the bushes. Then a shot rang out, followed by a sharp grunt, and one of the snipers yelled, "He's hit."
Chandler raced ahead until he burst into a clearing, nearly running into a large man wearing a ski mask and bleeding badly from a leg wound. The man tried to pivot on his injured leg and stumbled. Chandler drove into him, taking him to the ground. Moments later a chokehold ended the brief fight. By that time several other agents assisted in subduing the captive.