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TOM COULDN’T TELL SVEN the truth over the phone. He paced the lab, frightened for his son. The lab phone rang. He let the phone ring until the sound hurt his mind. He dreaded answering it. No one called that phone...not until ten minutes ago. It was a company line that no one used.
When he couldn’t stand it anymore, he answered, trying to sound professional even while his voice shook.
“AIT, this it Tom.”
“Do you want your son dead?” The voice was deep, raspy. Tom tried to listen to the nuances of language and dialect, tried to figure out if he’d ever heard the person before. He had nothing. Maybe the voice was disguised. Maybe they’d never met. It didn’t change the fact that the person had access to a private line of one of the most secure companies in the country. It didn’t change the fact that someone had kidnapped his son.
“No. I’ll do what you ask. Please don’t hurt Bryce.”
“You called Sven. You told him your son was missing. What kind of option does that leave us? Do you want the body of that dear teenage boy to end up in an alligator-infested swamp?”
“I didn’t tell Sven about you. I swear,” Tom couldn’t believe they had found out. How? The lab’s phone had to be tapped. Or on video. Either way, the lab, which was supposedly the most secure location in Washington State outside of Hanford and the military bases had been compromised.
His unseen enemy had no compassion. His son was just another business transaction to the guy. His son’s kidnapper said, “And yet Sven is rushing to meet you. When he calls, tell him you heard from your son. If Sven thinks your son is missing at the end of the night, we will air express his corpse to you in pieces from Miami.
Tom froze. He had never been so stuck in his life. He couldn’t turn on Sven or Drake. They had gotten him out of some really tough times. He couldn’t let his son die either. He said, “He’s already on his way. I’ll tell Sven that Bryce is okay. But I can’t get the sphere. There has to be something else. It will take months to breach this security even from the inside.”
His enemy chuckled, low and without humor. “Yes. Months to breach security. I have others on the inside as well. You’re not alone. In the meantime, tell everyone that your son decided to take the rest of the school year off, backpacking in Europe perhaps? He will be back next semester in the fall if everything goes well. Keep quiet and do what you’re told. It’s best for everyone. I’ll send weekly tapes of your son’s progress.”
The drone of an empty line replaced the threats. Tom swallowed hard. He felt like crying. He brought his fist down on the counter, rattling the beakers. The side of his hand hurt now with a sharp ache. It wasn’t as bad as the ache in his heart. Tom was going to betray Drake, the man who gave him this job, the man he’d watched go from a green trainee to the head of a multimillion dollar company.
His son’s life was worth Drake. Tom was going to betray the best friend he’d ever had, the man who had saved his life twice, a man he loved like a brother. He would betray Drake to save Bryce, even if it killed him.
Tom paced the entry doors of the building, waiting for Sven. He had to do this right. Now that he knew the lines were tapped, Tom couldn’t trust anything. The idea of his son held by a terrorist group terrified him. He had to find a way to fix this. Maybe if he got Sven away from the building he could fill him in on what was happening, make sure safeguards were in place so that his betrayal of Drake wouldn’t be so bad.
Sven had a way of fixing things. He really could use the man’s help. With Sven and Drake, Tom could get his son back unharmed without giving up company secrets. He had no idea how to pass that information to his friends without compromising his son.
The foyer was unseasonably warm. The receptionist must have turned up the heat again. As Tom paced, sweat collected on his collar. He wiped his forehead with the inside of his sleeve and tried to talk himself down. His chest hurt and he wondered if it was anxiety or a heart attack.
The phone in the lobby rang. With a frown, Tom answered.
It was the enemy again, taunting him. The raspy voice said, “You look nervous. Go wash your face. Sven is close now.”
Slamming the phone down, Tom paced. They could see him. The bastards would see everything he said to Sven. There was nothing he could do short of giving them exactly what they wanted. If he made any signal at all, it would cost Bryce his life. Tom wasn’t willing to do that, not even for Sven or Drake. Sweet Mary, he was in trouble.
Tom went to the bathroom. His face was covered in sweat, his armpits damp. Taking a paper towel, he ran it under the water and mopped his face. He hardened his expression into a smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes, but might just work.
It was a matter of pretense, not just outwardly. He had to fool himself into forgetting for a few minutes the reality of his life, to speak words as if they had no meaning. He stood in front of the mirror until his face could match earnest words with a rueful grin, “My son called. He’s fine.”
Earnest, not honest.
It was the dead of night when Sven arrived. Tom could see the headlights swerving into the parking lot under one of the lights. Sven walked to the door with tough precision, that military step that sometimes bleeds over into civilian life. There were few people Tom trusted without question. Sven was one of those people. For the first time, Tom was giving Sven a reason not to trust him. He prayed Sven would never find out.
Tom greeted Sven at the door with that same grin, well-practiced, and a man-hug. “Sven? I’m sorry I bothered you. Bryce just called a few minutes ago. He’s fine. He missed his flight and didn’t think to call.”
Tom sweated the questions, the comments, the little touches of humor that would come in the following weeks regarding his son.
Sven clapped him on the back, “Well, sir, if Bryce is anything like me at that age, you’re lucky to get notification that he’s left the country much less missed a flight.”
The ‘sir’ came from years back. Tom was about ten years older than Drake and Sven. They’d been to hell and back together. From the way things were going, Tom was about to drag them all into hell again.
Tom agreed, “Yeah. I should have known he’d check in eventually. This job is making me paranoid.”
“I hear you.” Sven said. They talked a bit in the foyer, nothing important, just little tidbits of gossip about the guys they knew and the typical catching-up stories of men who had known one another years back and were getting reacquainted.
It was late. Finally Tom said, “I didn’t mean to keep you. It’s past eleven. Let’s pack up.”
Sven said, “I’ll be around if you need me.”
They shook hands and Sven left, whistling while he sauntered out. That was new. Sven had never been a happy-go-lucky sort of fellow. His serious demeanor had shifted to something else. Had Tom not been so worried about his son, he might have asked what the whistling was about.
The more he talked to Sven, the more likely he would give something away. Instead, he walked the hall back to the lab to collect his stuff with a worried frown, fretting about Bryce. Tom grabbed his briefcase and lunch pail.
The kidnappers wouldn’t leave Tom alone. They called while he picked up his briefcase in the lab. The voice said, “That went well. Your son will live for now. The plan and proof that your son is still alive are taped to your back door. Don’t worry. We didn’t approach your house until your wife left at ten.”
Tom hung up the phone feeling a dread that he had never felt before, not even in war. These people knew where he worked. They knew where he lived. They knew his wife’s schedule. It had to be an inside job, someone with clearance. Tom couldn’t talk to anyone. Not with his son’s life in the balance. And now his wife’s, too. He had to find a way out of this.
He arrived home to find a manila envelope taped to the back door. There were no signs of anyone breaking into the back, even with the tall fence. The dog eagerly wagged his tail, ready to be let in. There were no footprints, nothing to show that someone had been there. Nothing except proof of his son’s kidnapping, proof that his son was alive.
The video started with a non-descript cell of concrete and metal. Bryce sat on the edge of a prison bed facing the camera. He said, “Hey, Dad. I’m fine. I’m supposed to tell you that I’m well-fed and that my needs are taken care of, and they are. Please don’t worry about me.”
A voice-over left specific instructions for Tom before the video faded. The last directive was to destroy the video after he watched it. The plan was chilling. Tom listened as the voice droned on. You will engineer a power outage at Advanced Innovative Technologies. Switch off the tracking device of the sphere and await further instructions. We will have the mind-control device, with your help or without.
Tom shredded the document in the envelope and pulled the tape out of the cassette, breaking it with ruthless anger. The plan was straightforward enough, a goal-oriented action, leaving the particulars to Tom. The kidnappers were clear in what they wanted. Tom was to do their bidding without question. If he didn’t, the videotape would be the last time he saw his son alive.
Before he even sat down, the phone rang. The Caller ID gave an unknown-name, unknown-number. Tom swallowed hard. He lifted the receiver and paused.
Before he said hello, the kidnapper said, “Will you do what we ask?”
“Yes.” Tom said without hesitation.
“You won’t tell anyone, not even your wife.”
“No.” Tom said.
The line went dead. Presumably all was well. Feeling older than his years, Tom hung up the phone.