Wilson looked at Carter curiously, wondering if he would ever be able to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. He simply nodded. It’s too late to keep me out or expect me to walk away, he thought. For the next few hours, Wilson studied the eight volumes of history, discussed disclosure timing with Carter, and mulled over dozens of contingencies. It must have been a trait he inherited from his father, Wilson thought.
Regardless, he knew that as soon as Wayland Tate placed his plan for divesting corporate restructuring into his hands, Hap and his people would have only a couple of days to find Emily. He prayed they’d made sense of her clues.
When Wilson left Carter’s home, he considered stopping at Brattle House to confront his mother, but he wasn’t ready for that. Hap had assured him that they were safe and that was enough for now. As he drove to the Back Bay apartment near the Fielder Building, he decided it was time to bring in the authorities, mostly because of what he’d read during the past several hours. His concern for Carter’s safety was growing.
49
Hap — Boston, MA
There was dead silence in the twenty-by-fifteen-foot bedroom where Hap Greene and his associates-Driggs, Jones, Potter, Irving, and an independent decoding specialist named Rachwalski-had set up a strategy room in Wilson’s Back Bay apartment. Coffee cups, water bottles, and paper plates with the remains of pizza and sushi were strewn over the round table in the center of the room.
Hap sat back in his molded plastic chair staring at the wall covered with hundreds of pieces of paper ranging in size from post-it notes to flip charts. Taped to the top of the wall written in black ink on folded flip charts were Emily’s three messages with potential keywords underlined:
Dooon’t woooorrry …(break in voice and deep breath) … I’mmm jet … (whimper) … fiiinne.
I only have a few seconds. I’m on a seesaw with my emotions but I’m fine. They let me call my parents to tell…
Mom and Dad, it’s me. Sorry I missed you. Just wanted you know that we’re back. We had a glorious time. When we arrived by sea at the San Marco port and I saw the Campanile d’Oro and the Palazzo Ducale, I started crying because it was so wonderfully beautiful. And where we stayed was only minutes from San Marco. Never fear, I’ll tell you all about it when we visit you next week. I love you.
Underneath the three messages were eleven columns of pieces of paper in various shapes and colors. Each column was labeled with a yellow three-by-five-inch index card bearing a keyword written in black ink. Under the “jet” column there were no names because everyone in the room had concluded that the word jet simply referred to jet airplane and airport. Under the “seesaw” column were the names of airports near the sea-i.e., Boston (Logan), Atlantic City (NJ), Baltimore (MD), Nantucket (MA), San Francisco (CA), and Teterboro (NJ), which wasn’t as close to the ocean but had the teeter-totter link with seesaw. The “sea” column listed airports containing those three letters-Seaside (FL), Seattle (WA), Seaboard (AL), and Seaview (MI). Under the “port” column were airports with that word-Portland (ME), Portland (WI), Portsmouth (NH), and Newport News (VA). The d’Oro column identified airports with the words oro or gold-Hillsboro Beach (FL), El Oro (Mexico), El Toro (CA), Goldsboro (SC), Bayboro (NC), Gold Bay (British Columbia), and Teterboro (NJ). And, so on for eleven columns.
Of the 300 airports listed, only 128 of them reported that private jets with international flight plans had landed between Saturday afternoon and Sunday night. Of the 128, there were thirty-two that appeared in more than one of the eleven columns and showed more than one private jet landing during the critical period. Of the thirty-two, only eight were located within two hours by air from Boston, but the landing records provided no additional clues. Emily could have arrived at any one of the eight airports. The eight were listed on a flip chart that hung in the middle of the wall. Cap-d’Oro, Nova Scotia; Portland, Maine; Portsmouth, New Hampshire; Clarksboro, New York; Seaview, Michigan; Teterboro, New Jersey; Newport News, Virginia; and Bayboro, North Carolina.
Hap stood up, walked to the flip chart and marked three of the eight airports with a check. “We have to start somewhere. Mark your top three. We’ll send teams to four airports at the same time beginning with the top four vote-getters,” he said as he returned to his seat and watched the others take their turns at marking the chart.
When they were finished, Hap stood up again. “Driggs, you’re at Teterboro. Potter, you take your team to Cap-d’Oro. Irving, you take Portsmouth. Jones, you’ve got Bayboro. If we haven’t found anything in twenty-four hours, you’ll be given the next four airports and another twenty-four hours. If we haven’t found her by then, I’m not sure we will, unless she can give us more information. Call me on my cell phone if we need to talk, otherwise, check in with the office every two hours for updates and reports. Concentrate your efforts within a five-mile radius of the airport and start with the executive terminal grounds themselves. We’re all on twenty-four-hour duty for the next two days, so get your rest when you can. Good luck.”
After the four team-leaders left the apartment, Hap joined two other associates in the living room waiting for a briefing from Wilson on his session with Carter Emerson. When Wilson arrived at the apartment ten minutes later, a little past midnight, he nodded at Hap’s men stationed outside the twelfth-floor apartment and walked through the entryway into the living room.
Hap started the discussion by updating Wilson on the targeted airports.
“What if she’s not at one of the eight airports?” Wilson asked.
“Assuming we don’t get any new information that would cause us to change or expand our target sites and we can’t find her within the next forty-eight hours, we’ll have to bring in the FBI,” he said, pausing to see Wilson’s response.
Wilson nodded. His own doubts about whether the government would fully expose the secret partnership had been superseded by his concern for Emily. But after reading Carter’s history, he’d conceded that no democratic government would be able to sweep this under the rug. “Will she have a chance, if it comes to that?”
“Of course, but the FBI will have to find her before Tate and her captors figure out what’s happening.”
“Let’s bring them in now,” Wilson said bluntly.
“I think that’s exactly what we should do. Given the extent of Carter’s documentation and Tate’s penchant for murder, it makes no sense to wait. I can meet with the head of the FBI’s corporate crime division first thing tomorrow morning. Her name is Kirsten Kohl and she’s as good as they get. They’ll need a day to debrief Carter and develop a plan of attack, but Tate won’t do anything rash during the next couple of days, as long as you’re spinning out the division he wants. With any luck we’ll find Emily while you’re buying us time by following Tate’s wishes,” Hap said with the same confidence he’d displayed earlier in the day.
“Tell me the truth, Hap. What are our chances of finding her in the next two days?”
“Her clues are good, Wilson. They allowed us to narrow it down to eight airports. I think our chances of finding her are very good, as long as they don’t move her.”
Wilson ignored the last part of Hap’s comment for the moment. “What will you do when you find her?”
Hap hesitated.
Wilson already knew what he was going to say before he said it. It was the only thing that made sense under the circumstances, but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow.