“Over here by the light,” the voice continued, the hand gripping his tighter. “It’ll be fifty dollars, same as usual.” Father Tolbert lumbered along in a stupor, fighting the urge to stay.
Then Alex, a twelve-year-old runaway, fell to his knees and took the priest inside his mouth, and Father Tolbert surrendered.
Yes, Rome, that’s where I’ll do it. I’ll atone for my sins and end this nightmare. Hell is waiting for me anyway. I’ll end my life at the Vatican.
5
T hrobbing and tender, the knot on the back of Robert’s head pulsated in concert with his heartbeat, but he barely noticed.
Thorne pressed a fresh ice pack to the contusion. “I leave your ass for a couple of hours and look what happens.” Thorne, tall, lean, with milk chocolate skin and piercing brown eyes, shook her head in disgust.
Robert jerked the ice pack out of her hand and stomped over to the bedroom window of the Napier’s guesthouse. The night rain left a cloudless morning blue sky, and the estate grounds buzzed with activity, as FBI agents and Chicago detectives filed in and out of the large Tudor mansion five hundred feet away. Robert replayed the details of the kidnapping over in his head just as he explained to the authorities.
It was a well-planned ambush to the letter. The assailants waited for the perfect spot, just before they reached the restaurant parking lot. Two SUV’s, toting machine gun wielding assholes, surrounded them within seconds, and dragged Samuel from the car. Then, an oddity occurred, another SUV showed up, apparently coming to their aid.
Robert shut his eyes tight and struggled to conjure up more details, but only saw masked faces, although the distinct voice of a tall statuesque man who’d come to help, rang clearly in his ears. The voice, a thick baritone, distinct and commanding, was one he’d never forget, but he chose to leave the detail out of his recounting to the agents and detectives who questioned him. In his three year experience as a bounty hunter, he knew you always held something back from the police until you knew exactly who was on the team, and who on the team was a fuck up.
“What do you think they’ll ask for?” interrupted Thorne, easing up behind him.
Truth was Robert didn’t have the slightest idea. Donovan had been out of commission at the CIA for over ten years, and even if he hadn’t, it was highly unusual for someone to target a child as retaliation. If they wanted to hurt Donovan, they could’ve killed him right there.
“Hopefully, it’s just money,” said Robert. “I’m sure they know about Alison’s wealth. Maybe it’s just a shakedown.”
“Let’s hope so,” said Thorne, heading for the bathroom. “That’ll mean we can get this over quickly. Give’em the money and catch their sorry asses later.”
Thorne shut the bathroom door hard behind her. Robert plopped down on the white Indian embroidered couch, hoping the entire episode was just about money. It would end quickly, and they would help the FBI track down those behind it. If they found them before the authorities did, they’d dish out a little justice of their own before turning the kidnappers over to them.
Robert recalled the first time he laid eyes on his godson. Donovan and Alison had brought Samuel home from the adoption agency wrapped in a navy blue and gold blanket from Donovan and Robert’s alma mater, the University of Michigan. Robert fell in love with the child in an instant, and with no children of his own, considered the boy as his too.
Thorne marched out of the bathroom as the phone rang. Robert answered. It was FBI agent-in-charge, Ken Baxter. He asked Robert to come back to the main house for a few more questions.
Inside, the main house was crowded, but not noisy. Agents and detectives searched the house for clues, while others simply stood guard.
Robert and Thorne were directed to the family room, where they saw Donovan on one side, with four agents huddled around him asking questions. Alison sat to the left side, sprawled out on a thick black leather couch, a compress on her forehead, tears streaming down her face.
“Over here, Mr. Veil,” Agent Baxter called to their right.
Agent Baxter, a portly handsome man, in a dark blue suit and red paisley bow tie, waved them over to the bar where he sat sipping what looked like club soda with a twist of lime. He thanked Robert for coming over so quickly and greeted Thorne, who gave him a nod. She went over to Alison, sat down, and stroked the distraught mother’s hand.
“We’ve cleared you and your partner, Mr. Veil,” said Agent Baxter.
“Oh?”
“Yes,” the agent continued. “You’re not a suspect. You’re free to go.”
Robert sat down on the stool next to the agent. “Thank you for clearing us, but we’re not going anywhere. We want to help.” Agent Baxter took a long sip of his drink, sat the glass down then stood. “I understand how close you are to the boy, but you’ll only get in the way.”
“You’re right. He’s like a son to me, and I’m not exactly new at this.
We have resources that might help,” said Robert.
“I know who you and your partner are. I know your reputation, but please go back to Washington D.C., and if our seventy-five years of FBI experience fail, we’ll give you a holler.” Agent Baxter walked away before Robert could respond.
Thorne stepped up beside him. “What gives?”
“We’re cleared as suspects, but the FBI wants us out of town,” said Robert.
“And?”
“Call Evelyn back at the office, and tell her to put a hold on all of our cases until further notice. We’re not going any fucking where.” Thorne smiled. “Damn right.” She pulled out her cell phone and stepped outside.
Robert sat down next to Alison, who seemed to be resting more comfortably. Donovan, finished with the platoon of agents around him, limped over.
“How are you holding up?” asked Robert, standing to give his friend a hug.
“As best I can,” said Donavon. “I’ll feel better when we hear something.”
“What do the suits think?”
“That it’s just money, which means we should get a note or a call soon.”
Robert was aware that most kidnapping requests for money came within twenty-four hours. Every hour after that was not a good sign.
“Donovan, Thorne and I want to join the search. See what we can work up,” said Robert.
Alison stirred and sat up. The compress fell in her lap, eyes swollen, red, and pouring water. “Haven’t you done enough?” she snorted.
“Enough? What do you mean?” asked Robert, taken aback.
“What have you brought to our house?” she continued, through the tears.
Stunned, Robert considered for the first time the possibility someone in his past or present was responsible for taking Samuel. He and Thorne had put away some pretty despicable characters over the years, inside the CIA and on their own, some international terrorist and kidnappers, others, serial killers and crime lords.
“You’re just upset,” said Thorne, moving closer to Alison. “We’d never do anything to…”
“How do you know?” Alison bellowed. “How do you know this isn’t because of you and Robert?”
Robert fidgeted. Fact is, we don’t know. He cleared his throat. “We can’t be one hundred percent, but I doubt this has anything to do with any of our cases.”
Everyone in the room soaked in uncomfortable silence. Only Alison’s snorting and crying were audible. Robert took her by both arms and stared into her eyes. “Thorne and I intend to do whatever we can to get Samuel back safely. You have my promise.”
“I don’t want your fucking promise,” Alison snapped, snatching out of his grasp. “I want you out of here now!” Robert opened his mouth to speak. “Robert, if you care about Samuel you’ll leave us alone!” Alison screamed, collapsing on the couch in a frantic heap.
Donavon, in tears, sat down next to his wife and stroked her hair.
Robert searched for the words, but none came.