“Big enough to hold two hundred thousand in cash?”
“Yup. He used the name Bernard Sikes. Totally bogus identity, of course.”
“So this guy Sikes, or whatever his real name is, puts two hundred thousand dollars cash in an empty safe deposit box rented by Falcon. That’s what you’re telling me?”
“You got it.”
“Why?”
Zack shrugged. “Hell if I know. Why don’t you ask Falcon?”
“I just might do that. But obviously there has to be more to the story. There was two hundred thousand in the box when Theo and I went there. I took ten thousand for Falcon’s bail. So who came after me and took what was left? Riley?”
“No,” said Zack. “He swears he didn’t.”
“Sikes?”
“Uh-uh. Riley says it was a woman. An old woman at that. The way Falcon set things up with the bank, three people were authorized to access the box. Falcon, Sikes, and the woman.”
“She got a name?”
“Marianna Cruz Pedrosa.”
Jack searched his mind for some recognition, but there was none. “Have the Bahamians tracked her down?”
“This is where it gets interesting. I didn’t hear this from Riley, but I was talking to a buddy on the Bahamian police about this.”
“And?”
“As you can imagine, there are more than a few women by this name in the world. But the local cops have checked all kinds of databanks and computer lists, and one woman has really caught their interest.”
“Why?”
“A woman named Marianna Cruz Pedrosa went missing over twenty-five years ago. She was a university professor in La Plata, Argentina, back in the mid-seventies. She and her husband were taken from their home in the middle of the night. No one ever heard from them again. It’s like they just vanished.”
Jack fell silent for a moment. “No,” he said finally, “I’ll bet they disappeared.”
“Vanished. Disappeared. Same thing.”
“Not exactly,” Jack said, as the pieces to Falcon’s puzzle finally started to fall into place.
chapter 52
V ince was not getting the response he wanted from the headquarters. He was listening to Chief Renfro on speakerphone, and she didn’t like the idea of Vince-with or without Swyteck-approaching the motel in any kind of swap for the injured hostage. Vince was prepared to make a host of arguments to the contrary, but he was a lone voice. The mobile command vehicle was starting to feel less like the nerve center of negotiations and more like a SWAT staging area. Sergeant Chavez, two members of his tactical team, and his best sniper were standing near the door, as if waiting for the chief to say “Go.” The Miami Dade Police Department had its negotiator in the room, but if body language meant anything, she was actually standing behind the MDPD’s SWAT leader. The MDPD director himself-the local equivalent of the county sheriff-was participating by conference call, and he was siding completely with Chief Renfro.
“Look,” said the director, “the guy has already shot two officers, killed one. It appears that he’s wounded one hostage. It makes no sense to send in a negotiator with a civilian in the hope that a known killer has suddenly lost his itchy trigger finger.”
“We’re not sending anybody in,” said Vince. “The deal is that he puts the injured girl outside the door. Then Swyteck and I go and get her. We never set foot inside the motel room.”
Chavez said, “I like the first part of that plan. When he opens the door and lays the girl on the stoop, that’s our chance to take him out.”
Renfro said, “What’s the likelihood of success on that shot?”
Chavez deferred to his lead sniper, who answered in a thoughtful monotone and without any sense of arrogance. It was simply the best judgment from a highly trained professional who fully understood the gravity of his work. “Subject in the open doorway. Girl on the ground. He’ll probably be moving quickly, perhaps even erratically, since we are dealing with an agitated and clinically paranoid subject. Definitely won’t be standing still. Second story of the apartment building directly across the street offers the clearest line of sight. Distance is just about one hundred yards. Slight angle should have only minimal adverse impact on bullet trajectory. We do have rain and wind to contend with. Unless this rainstorm turns into a hurricane, I’d say we’re close to a sure thing here.”
Renfro said, “I don’t want to wing him now. Last thing we need is for him to go back inside and tear into those hostages like a wounded animal.”
“Understood,” said the sniper. “I’m talking about a kill shot to the head.”
Vince said, “Nothing’s a sure thing. Any attempted takeout brings a chance of dead hostages.”
“We breach at the crack of the sniper fire,” said the director. “If the shot doesn’t take him out, we will.”
“No offense,” said Vince, “but that won’t do much good, unless your team can fly faster than one of Falcon’s speeding bullets.”
The SWAT leader spoke up. “You’d be surprised how quickly we can move. We’ve been studying the blueprints. There’s a maid-ser vice hallway that runs directly behind the rooms on this eastern wing of the motel. We can cut through the back wall. It’s just sheet rock on studs. Conservatively speaking, we should be able to position a team as close as two rooms away without Falcon ever knowing we’re there.”
“If he hears you cutting through walls, it’s disaster,” said Vince.
“He won’t hear us.”
“And what if he comes to the door with a hostage in tow?”
“Then we’ll respond accordingly,” said Chavez.
“What does that mean?”
“It means we’ve done this before. We adapt.”
Vince could have debated that point, but he knew when he was outnumbered. In truth, he didn’t totally disagree with the strategy. He hoped it was because they were right. He feared that it was because of the way things had gone so horribly wrong the last time, his disastrous face-to-face confrontation with that monster who had stolen a five-year-old girl, and then stolen Vince’s eyesight.
“You on board, Paulo?” asked the chief.
Vince didn’t answer right away.
“Paulo, you with us?”
“Yeah,” he said without much enthusiasm. “I’m all in.”
“Good,” said Renfro. “Then proceed as planned. Tell Falcon to bring the girl to the door, and give him every assurance that you and Swyteck will come and pick her up. Any questions?” The mobile command center was silent. “Excellent,” said Renfro. “Good luck, team.”
Vince ended the call. The SWAT members headed toward the door. Chavez was the last to leave. He stopped on his way out, laid a hand on Vince’s shoulder. “Look at the bright side, Paulo. Falcon won’t live long enough to know you lied to him.”
Vince couldn’t tell if it was a bad joke or if Chavez was just being a total jerk. He gave him the benefit of the doubt by simply not responding. He turned, walked the familiar path back to his chair, and was about to take a seat when he heard radio squelch in his headset. He adjusted the earpiece, and the voice came clear.
“Sergeant Paulo, you there?”
Vince didn’t recognize the speaker. “Paulo here. Who’s this?”
“Officer Garcia, perimeter control.”
“Go ahead.”
“Got a little situation here at Biscayne and Seventeenth.”
Rookies, thought Vince. He couldn’t imagine why it took the lead negotiator to handle perimeter control, but he wasn’t too harsh in his response. “I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t handle, Garcia.”
“Actually, sir, it’s a little complicated. There’s someone here who insists on seeing you.”
“Who is it?”
“Wouldn’t give me a name, says it wouldn’t mean anything to you anyway. But she says she can definitely be of help to you.”