Headed for the den, he changed his mind and walked into the kitchen. He stood there, commiserating with himself. “Bitch” was the choice epithet that flashed in his head, and he wished he had used it in Lisa’s presence.
He was reaching for the bottle of Scotch when his hand stopped in midair. His daughter’s face suddenly flashed in front of his eyes, and shame washed over him. How dare he be concerned about his personal feelings?
He left the bottle where it was and took a seat at the table.
Once again he wondered who BIS was, and if it even existed. To verify that it was legitimate, he remembered placing a call to the New York number John Dalton had given him. When Dalton answered, he had assumed he was on the up and up, and that no further proof was required.
Now, he began to pace the apartment. His mind searched for answers, but they were elusive.
Darkness fell and he was beside himself with worry. If BIS wasn’t a government agency, then his daughter was in worse trouble than he had first imagined.
Awake for most of the night, Blair’s mind flipped back to all that he’d been through. The first time he met Rena Castaway was important. Though he couldn’t figure out why.
He continued to toss and turn. He sought answers from a higher being. He offered to forsake every material thing he could think of. From the Scotch he enjoyed, to his cherished BMW. But his concessions not only seemed trite but ridiculous, and his cheeks burned with embarrassment.
Finally, he closed his eyes and washed everything from his mind.
Castaway came back to him.
He moved himself into a sitting position. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his raised knees.
Something to do with his meeting her, he realized. They spoke for a while. Then he was blindfolded and led outside…
The answer became clear.
His blindfold had come loose. And he had caught the last three numbers in the address plaque above the door. 756. This was the house where he had been held. The same house where Sandra was being held now. He could bet on it.
Just before dawn, Blair went from bed to bathroom, from condo to parking lot. Every second thought that processed through his mind contained the word, “please.”
Traffic was light at that early hour.
He passed the TriBeCa area and a few of the restaurants he frequented from time to time. He followed West Broadway to Chambers, then headed south on Church Street. He continued his progress past the New York Stock Exchange, and doubled back along Nassau. A few blocks over, he found a parking lot.
He left his car with the attendant and began to walk. He craned his neck from one side of the street to the next. Nothing was familiar. Just an endless combination of numbers, none of which fit.
It was a warm day. Sweat glued his shirt to his back. The hours passed from morning to afternoon, then to early evening. By the time darkness fell he knew there was no point in continuing. He would have to return tomorrow and begin his search over again.