CHAPTER 44

“ARE YOU SURE THAT’S HIM?” Longshore asked, pointing at the mystery guest now engrossed in the game as the second half kicked off.

“No doubt about it,” replied the security agent.

“Well, there’s no crime in what he’s done, but the whole thing makes me nervous.”

“People mortgage their homes when they sense a sure bet. He’s not the first insane gambler to walk through the casino doors.”

“Yeah, but there’s no such thing as a sure bet.”

“Tell that to NBA fans.”

“This is the NFL and everything doesn’t always go as planned. What could make him so certain the Dolphins are going to win?”

“Maybe he knew about the fix?”

“No way. Not him. Why would he get mixed up in all this?”

“Why not? If there’s a fix on, it’s easy money. There’s your sure bet.”

Longshore couldn’t fathom the idea proffered by one of his security agents. Nothing really surprised him in this business any more. Gambling brings out the worst in people in the worst way. People throw their hard-earned money into the wind—or worse, someone else’s hard-earned money.

But this idea surprised him.

* * *

CAL ARRIVED AT HIS HOTEL in downtown Houston just in time to see the start of the second half. He shed his clothes and took a quick shower. Under normal circumstances, Cal would have lingered in the steamy shower and contemplated the events of the last 48 hours in great detail. But he didn’t have time for that. Besides, what more was there to think about? They rescued Jake. Noah was going to win the Super Bowl. And Cal wanted to be there to see it. He wanted to soak up the atmosphere at Reliant Stadium before writing his masterpiece. At the moment, doing that meant foregoing his usual contemplative shower.

He toweled off and stared at the television. Moments later, he jumped up in the air and pumped his fist as Seattle scored a touchdown to take a 20-14 lead. Cal then danced a little jig that looked like a cross between a rain dance and a man walking across hot coals. Fortunately, no one was around to see it.

Cal pulled out his bag and dug through it for a pair of clean clothes. But he stopped. There was a letter in his bag.

“To Cal” was scrawled across the front of the envelope.

Who would have left me a note?

Cal ripped the envelope open, scrambling to unfold the paper and read its contents. Who knew where I was staying? The letter was simple:

Cal,

Do something good.

Room 552 Hilton Americas

Deuteronomy 24:7

Padre Ramirez

Do something good? What else was there to do? He had saved Jake. Hernandez’s men were dead, his operation crippled. What was left?

Cal’s hands trembled as opened the bottom dresser drawer to discover a Bible. Deuteronomy 24:7? Sounds like some all-night biblical diner.

It had been a while, but Cal remembered how to look up Bible verse references. He read it aloud:

If a man is caught kidnapping one of his brother Israelites and treats him as a slave or sells him, the kidnapper must die. You must purge the evil from among you.

OK. It’s a final judgment. Vicious, perhaps. Or maybe it’s justice. It wasn’t what Cal expected from the priest, a man of enormous grace. Maybe Cal was reading too much into it. Surely the priest wasn’t suggesting killing the man. Or was he? Whatever he meant, what did he expect Cal to do about it?

Then there was the address. What was going on in that hotel room? Was that the insurance policy?

Then Cal made sense of the cryptic note: Hernandez had kidnapped another player’s child. But who? There wasn’t time to guess who it was.

Call the FBI. Give them the information. Go to the Super Bowl. That was standard protocol in this situation. But there wasn’t enough time. His old mission was re-assigned again: Save the kid.

* * *

HERNANDEZ TURNED HIS CELL PHONE off and slung it onto the bed. He was worried: Diaz wasn’t answering. Hernandez hated the dirty work. That’s why he hired men like Diaz, men with no conscience, men who worshipped money just a little bit more than he did. It’s how he wielded his power. Money meant power, just not always control. And right now, Hernandez’s money and power proved meaningless in his mercenary efforts to guarantee the outcome of the Super Bowl. Now he had to do the dirty work himself.

Hernandez looked at the kid, gagged and tied to the executive business chair in the corner. He exerted no effort to keep the kid quiet and sneak him into the hotel. Threaten a kid’s mother if he does anything to draw attention to himself and you usually get one compliant child. But no need to take any chances now. Not at this point. It would all be over in an hour or so. The Dolphins win, Hernandez makes his millions—and the boy goes back to his family. He also makes his boss very happy. Not that he was afraid of the man who hired him, but there was no need to sully his reputation with a botched job. The only thing more powerful than money was fear.

He turned the television up and watched the game. It was too close for Hernandez to relax. Without the help of the quarterback, Hernandez’s insurance plan wasn’t perfect. In fact, it was far from it. But it didn’t have to be perfect—just adequate. Yet with the game’s score so tight, it might have been more perfect than Hernandez ever imagined.

“Third down and one from the Seattle 20-yard line. You get the feeling the Dolphins aren’t going to be satisfied with a field goal here, Tim.”

“Absolutely not! This is the Super Bowl and here’s their chance to take command of this football game.”

“Newton in the shotgun. He takes the snap. Nobody’s open. He’s scrambling to the outside. He gets a block on the outside. He’s got the first down and more. One man to beat. Newton with the spin move and he’s going to put it in the end zone. Touchdown Dolphins! With the extra point, the Dolphins are going to take a 21-13 lead late in the third quarter. Oh, man, who would’ve ever guessed this upset in the making? This might be one of the biggest upsets in the history of the Super Bowl!”

Hernandez smiled. Not much longer and this would all be over.