“Oh, my gracious, Ryan…I’m so sorry,” Sarah said flustered, slamming her fist on the seat. “In the midst of everything I forgot to tell you Jarrod sent us a message. He says he’s been taken to a warehouse fifty-two minutes from his house. He must have timed the ride. He’s seen Jer…he’s okay.”
“Are you kidding me? That’s fantastic, honey,” Ryan said excitedly. “Jarrod’s flippin’ unbelievable! We may be able to pinpoint his location.”
“While you were sleeping, I found an industrial complex that looks to be about the distance Jarrod specified. I’ve got the address right here,” she said, reaching into her blouse pocket to retrieve a slip of scratch paper from the motel.
“I’ll be damned! Now that’s the Sarah Marshall I know,” Ryan said, pumping his closed fist. “Load the address in the GPS and let’s find where our guys are located. These bastards will wish they’d never messed with us.”
“How will we know the right location without alerting the kidnappers?” she asked.
“Short of staking out the entire complex and looking for a black van, the only way we’ll know for sure is if they can signal us from inside. Send Jarrod another message. Tell him we’ve discovered their location but need help identifying the exact place. Maybe if they can create a diversion, something that will be an unmistakable signal, we’ll be able to mount a rescue.”
“Ryan, he also said the machine works. They must have put something together in the warehouse. Could he use the machine to signal us?” she asked.
Ryan felt his stomach constrict. He looked across at Sarah with a mixture of envy and disappointment. The goal the two cousins had chased for the better part of their lives was finally realized. Jarrod had harnessed gravity. Ryan had long suspected that his dream of building a frictionless crane capable of circumventing gravity was only a pipe-dream. Jarrod’s theoretical research was the more practical path, but it still hit him hard that Jarrod was the victor in their life-long challenge. Yet that was all behind him now. He resolved to be the better man and congratulate Jarrod at the first opportunity. Man alive, what next? It’s amazing how my life’s changed so dramatically since Detective Westbrook showed up in Taos.
“Good idea. Ask Jarrod that question in your message.”
The vehicle’s GPS unit directed them onto the Bayshore Freeway, indicating a twenty-six mile journey to the address where Jeremiah was being held. Before entering the freeway, Ryan glanced at the fuel gauge on the Durango and decided to stop at the Chevron station near the freeway onramp.
As he fueled the vehicle, Sarah recognized that the Denny’s Restaurant next to the gas station prominently displayed a Wi-Fi connection. She decided to send her next message to Jarrod: JC: Heading your way. Can machine send signal to where you are? Sarah.
She sent the message with positive vibes that Jer would be safe and unharmed. But then she received Jarrod’s next message almost immediately in return: Entire troupe moving. Big plan for machine. Heard mention
‘South.’ Danger! Don’t get too close. Contact Morris, PAPD.
“Ryan,” Sarah shouted, hastily stepping out of the SUV to read Jarrod’s message aloud. “We’re too late!”
“Damnit,” he lamented, slumping his shoulders from the latest news. Jarrod’s message further provoked his frustration; he berated himself for tarrying much longer than was prudent. Had Sarah and he not fallen asleep earlier, they might have been able to catch up with Jeremiah before they departed. Now there was nothing but an obscure message as their latest lead.
“We need to contact this Morris. We can’t continue without professional help. I know Dad’s working on something-he’s going to need our cooperation with the authorities. Please, can’t we get help?” Sarah implored.
“Sarah, we’ve discussed this,” he replied emphatically. “I can’t turn myself in! I’m not going to jail while Jer’s missing. God only knows how long it would take to get me out…by then it could be too late. Please don’t ask me to do that, Sarah.”
“Ryan, I didn’t mean for you to give up,” she explained. “But we need to call Morris. The police need to know Jarrod’s suspicion about a plan for the machine. It may mean something…maybe the police can set up roadblocks, who knows? I’m going to call them, Ryan. This is too big for us to handle alone,” she said, determined to have her way.
“Alright, you win. But don’t give them our location,” he said, watching as she fished her cell phone from an oversized purse. “They’re going to demand you turn us in…you know that. And remember, Jarrod said they could trace us with the cell phone, so shut it down as quickly as possible.”
“I’ll only tell them about Jarrod’s last message, I promise. I’m still behind our plan, but we need every available resource.”
Sarah made the call to the Palo Alto police and was connected to Lieutenant David Morris. She provided a full accounting of everything she’d heard from Jarrod, carefully deflecting his warning that she and Ryan immediately turn themselves in. She asked about Sela, and Morris confirmed that she, too, had been abducted, presumably by the same men.
“There’s a world of hurt coming down on these guys, Mrs. Marshall,” he told her. “These are very dangerous men. Please don’t compromise your safety or our ability to solve this case. Let us handle the situation.”
Sarah promised to stay in touch, but nothing more. She then terminated the call and removed the battery from her iPhone, confident she had accomplished Jarrod’s instructions.
As they were leaving the Chevron station, Sarah recognized a Catholic church by the cross prominently displayed high atop a steeple. She crossed herself and closed her eyes, praying that the path that lay ahead would lead them to rescue their missing son, Sela, and Jarrod Conrad.
FORTY-THREE
Washington, D.C.
09:00 HOURS
Under the best of times, passing through security at the Hart Building was an arduous effort, but never more so than when entering the U.S. Senate offices outside the customary hours of operation. Before admittance it was mandatory for everyone to step through ultrasensitive metal detectors and send all purses or briefcases through an X-ray device. But anyone accessing the building outside normal business hours between 8:00 a.m. and 8:00 p.m. was required to answer a battery of additional questions explaining the necessity for entry. Ever since the much-publicized anthrax letter in 2003, entry to all congressional offices was under very tight security.
Ben Dare had called each of the senator’s staff and ordered that they get to the office immediately; he didn’t explain the particulars, except to say their presence was required for a matter of utmost urgency. He arrived at the Hart Building just before 8:00 a.m. and explained to the lead security officer that his entry was imperative. He confided that while he wasn’t at liberty to disclose the urgent matter that required the staff’s early presence, he gave assurance that they would shortly receive an official memo explaining the breach in protocol.
Senator Alfonse Coscarelli arrived shortly before nine and was indignant that security demanded an explanation for his staff’s early arrival. He informed them that a family matter was the cause, and his chief of staff would be preparing the requisite documentation, including an official account as security stipulated. When he finally entered his office, he called Ben for a briefing on the status of efforts to find Sela and Jeremiah.
“Ben, can you give me an update?” he asked, using the intercom that linked their two offices. He slumped behind his ornate desk, feeling weary and disoriented.
“Good morning, sir,” Ben replied. Promptly entering the senator’s office, he was shocked by the strain etched on his boss’s face. He had never seen the senator look more disheveled. Alfonse took pride in his appearance, believing the office he held demanded strict attention to superlative sartorial decorum, but the news of the kidnappings had evidently superseded this habitual propriety.