CHAPTER 3

RIVERA HIT SEND ON HIS disposable cell phone, removed the battery and threw it out the window. Transmitting a photo of a man’s son he took by force was unpleasant, but it had to be done.

He checked his watch. It was 10:30 and they had 30 minutes to reach Boeing Field and prepare Mr. Hernandez’s Gulfstream G450 for the flight back to Juarez. They had a schedule to follow, if only for Mr. Hernandez’s pleasure. He didn’t tolerate tardiness or inefficiency of any kind, yet he never actually fired anyone. He just made sure you never came to work again. It was a major reason his operation ran so smoothly. The examples made of a few served as sufficient motivation for the other employees.

Rivera glanced in his rearview mirror. Jake was slumped in the back right corner, duck tape over his mouth. Rivera thought the tape was unnecessary but Morales insisted. It was Mr. Hernandez’s orders, and a wise directive. One empathetic employee and the plan would disintegrate—and Mr. Hernandez had too much riding on this job to have any missteps. Jake stared listlessly out the window as they neared the airfield.

Airport security personnel were paid to look the other way at any destination Mr. Hernandez’s planes flew to. And while Seattle was not a regular route, three of the guards were paid handsomely for those occasional visits.

In secret Rivera hoped it would be a different guard, one who might want to fully inspect the vehicle and politely decline any bribes. But it wasn’t. The security guard didn’t even glimpse at Rivera as he waved him through to Mr. Hernandez’s hangar.

In thirty minutes, Rivera would fly out of the city, leaving behind its bitter coffee, its dreary weather, and his darkest sin.

* * *

NOAH GASPED FOR AIR. How could this be happening? How could anyone take Jake? What kind of monster would do that to a six-year-old boy—his boy?

He calmed down, returned to his truck and began driving toward the airport. The rain hardly concerned him any more, neither did the Super Bowl. He only wanted his son back.

He had to think. What was the best course of action? He had to put aside his desire for vengeance. Its value was far less than Jake’s life. Revenge was something he couldn’t think about. But he felt helpless. He couldn’t feign an illness or an injury for fear of losing Jake. He needed outside help. But first, he needed to call Ellen.

He dialed her number on his cell phone.

“Hey. You at the airport yet?”

Noah couldn’t think of a gentle way to break it to Ellen. “It’s horrible, Ellen. I found Jake’s soccer ball. These men called me and said they had Jake. Said they would kill him if I didn’t lose the game.”

“Wait, slow down. What are you saying?”

“Jake’s been kidnapped.”

Ellen went silent for a moment. Then came a fury of questions, screaming and sobbing. Noah could barely answer Ellen as he struggled to fight back his own tears. Eventually, he broke down, too, and couldn’t tell whether the drops in his field of vision were raindrops or tears.

Finally, Ellen composed herself and asked the most important question, the one question that needed to be answered.

“So, what are we going to do?” she asked.

“Well, the only thing I can do—fly to Houston and make sure we lose the Super Bowl.”