Monday

MIKE WAS SUDDENLY SUSPICIOUS. “Rita,” he said in a stage whisper. She came out of the kitchen wiping her hands in a towel. “Ya ever see that guy before?” He was standing close to the front window and the jerk of his head indicated that she should look outside.

She reached for the curtain, but Mike grabbed her hand. “Just look! Don’t let him see ya!”

She squinted through the dusty lace curtains. “The guy with the cap?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Probably someone from the factory.”

“Now? It’s past midnight. No one is going to the factory.”

She looked again and watched as the figure continued around the corner. “Let’s not get jumpy. We’ll be out of here in an hour.” She went back to the kitchen and ran some water into a pan. Then she called, “I’m taking a washcloth downstairs so she can clean herself up a bit. And I’m bringing her down some old clothes.”

“As far as I’m concerned,” he called back, “we can dump her just the way she is now. You think anybody is goin’ to give a damn?”

“Just watch the top of the stairs,” Rita told him. “I want you nearby in case she has some other tricks she wants to try.”

Mike shuffled into the kitchen. He hated the thought of Emily going free. They were already set up for kidnapping charges and he had added rape and assault. There was no longer sentence waiting for them if they just buried her behind the house. He wasn’t sneering at the extra money. He just didn’t think it was worth giving her the chance to point him out from the witness stand.

But Rita had made one point that had registered with him. Some crime boss might be behind the kidnapping. He had stuck his neck out for a shot at an extra fifty thousand. But he didn’t want to cross anybody big just for the satisfaction of putting the crazy bitch away.

Rita came up from the basement. “No more trouble from her. She’s sitting down there sucking her thumb. Never even moved while I washed her off.”

“Did you have to dress her, too?” he asked sarcastically.

“No, she’s doing that herself. In slow motion.”

He walked back into the living room. He and Rita had been pacing around the house since they had packed their things into the stolen car. They had spent the whole evening waiting for 1:00 A.M., when they were supposed to take Emily out to a public school parking lot and leave her bound and blindfolded on a bench. Mike moved to the edge of the window and for the hundredth time, glanced out through the curtain. There was another man crossing under the streetlight.

He pulled back, afraid that he might be seen. He waited an instant and then leaned out again. The man was still there and he didn’t seem to be going anywhere. He had walked out of the light and down to the corner of the brick factory building. But he was still standing in the shadows right where the other one had disappeared.

Mike eased over to the side window and looked across the empty lot to the cross street. It seemed as gloomy as always—another industrial building with trash piled on the street outside. This one had windows across the second story. The lights were out and there was no sign of activity. He went back to the front window and found that the second man he had seen had also disappeared. “Take it easy,” he told himself. He went back into the kitchen for another glance at the clock. 12:20. They didn’t have to wait any longer. What difference would it make if they dropped her off a half hour early.

It was just by chance that he saw another figure crossing to the back of one of the houses down the street. Auto headlights from a car turning at the farthest intersection panned across the open lots. They silhouetted the form of a man running from the street.

“Rita!”

She turned instantly and came up next to him at the kitchen window.

“There’s somebody out there,” he said, again whispering as if to keep a secret. “I saw him movin’.”

“Probably lives in one of those houses,” she answered. “I saw people down there before.”

He hurried back to the living room. Through the front curtains, he could now see both of the earlier men at the corner of the factory building and a third man walking toward them. He went to the side windows. A car was parked on the street in front of the darkened industrial building. He caught sight of a person moving from the car to the building and then of a steel door swinging open. In the dim light behind the door, he could see other people inside.

“Christ!” he called out as he pulled away and ran back into the kitchen. “There’s cops all over the place.”

Rita looked at him, her eyes a wide open question. “You sure?”

“Look for yourself,” he told her. “You have any more bright ideas?”

She thought for an instant. “Yeah, I do. I think if they have us surrounded we’ll have a much better chance in court.”

“We’re not giving up,” he snapped.

“You’d rather shoot it out with the entire New Jersey state police? For Christ’s sake, Mike, the judge won’t blow you away with an assault weapon.”

“Get the bitch up here, quick.”

“I’d rather give up before someone sees what you did to her.”

“Get her up here. She’s going to be our ticket through all that heat.”

“Mike, please! They have sharpshooters. Don’t think like a gangster. Give it up and take your chances.”

“Get her, dammit. If I die then she dies, too.”

“Okay,” Rita said. “But I’d rather not be included. Let me go out waving a bedsheet.”

“No, fuckin’ way. We’re goin’ to need someone holdin’ her and someone drivin’. We’re doin’ this together.”

She moved slowly to the basement door, but hesitated.

“Hurry up,” he called after her. “The fuckers are closing in!”

Emily was sitting on the corner of the bed, dressed in the plain housedress that Rita had brought down and resting her head in her hands. Rita wondered if she had enough strength to make it up the stairs. She lifted Emily’s face and the dead eyes confirmed what she had already guessed. They would have no more trouble with their prisoner.

“C’mon. We gotta get you outta here.” Emily rose slowly as Rita prodded her shoulder and shuffled toward the steps.

Mike had doused the light on the back of the house and crept into the darkened bedroom where he could look outside without being seen. Another car had pulled up at the factory building. There was someone moving along the fence at the back of the property. Then he noticed another man, crouched low, already in position.

Two out front and two in the back, he counted mentally. There’s a whole bunch of them in the factory, probably up in the darkened windows. And maybe there are a couple of backups still in the cars. Then he remembered the one he had seen across from the street to the back of the neighboring houses. They probably had guys hidden in the shadows over there, too. Eight, maybe ten of them all together, covering the house from every side, getting into position to rush the place. Or maybe just planning to wait, knowing that he had to come out eventually.

He heard footsteps in the kitchen and went back to find Emily standing in the middle of the room with Rita practically holding her up. He moved directly into Emily’s face.

“Pay attention, because if you don’t, you could get yourself killed.”

Her eyes struggled back into focus.

“There are cops out there with guns. They have this place surrounded.”

Rita’s face jerked around. “What guns?”

“They’re cops! They’re not doin’ parkin’ tickets!”

She started for the window.

“Stay away from there,” Mike snapped. He reached to the wall and switched off the light. “You could get your head blown off.”

“Mike, this is crazy. We never bargained for a gun fight.”

’They won’t fire if they see this bitch in front of us.”

Emily was taking in the situation. Color was returning to her face. Mike pushed her back into a darkened corner. “Now listen,” he hissed. “We’re going to walk out the side door, open the garage, and get into our car. And then we’ll drive right out of here. All of us, includin’ you. Nobody is going to stop us, and there won’t be any shootin’, because they won’t risk you gettin’ blown away. So just stay right with me, keep your head up, and walk nice and tall, you understand?”

Emily showed a trace of a smile. “Fuck you,” she said to Mike.

His hand shot to her throat. He pulled the gun out of his pocket and touched it to the bridge of her nose. “I could kill you right now.”

“Go ahead,” she answered. “Just as long as I know that you’re going to get yours.”

He pulled her away from the wall and pushed her into the darkened living room. “You’re goin’ out first and you’re goin’ to tell them, ‘Don’t shoot. Hold your fire.’ Loud and clear, so that everyone understands it. Then you yell, ‘I’m Emily Childs.’ You read me?”

Emily laughed. “I’m going to tell them they’re a bunch of wimps. I’ll dare them to fire.”

Mike reached for the door handle. “Say whatever ya want. They’ll see you.” He looked back at Rita. “Ready?”

Her face was ashen. “As ready as I’ll ever be …”

“Stay close to me,” he said. “Right behind me.” Then he told Emily. “You move nice and slow. If you try to take off, you’re dead!”

The front doorbell rang!

Mike and Rita froze. Emily laughed. “Give it up, Rita. You’re in enough trouble without murder.”

“Shut up!” Mike wrapped an arm around her neck, putting her in a chokehold.

“She’s right!” Rita pleaded.

Mike’s eyes darted from the side door to the front door. He couldn’t walk out the front door, right into their arms. And there were probably more of them at the side door, as well.

“I’ll tell them you never hurt me,” Emily coached Rita until Mike’s arm cut off her breath.

The bell rang again.

“Let’s give it up,” Rita said.

“We’re not givin’ anythin’ up. Not while we have her.”

“Well, what’s your next big idea?” The sarcasm in Rita’s voice masked her fear.

Mike tightened his chokehold. He backed Emily into the darkened kitchen.

A fist pounded on the outside of the front door. “Open the door, Rita,” a voice boomed. “This is the police. We need to talk to you.”

Rita turned to look at Mike, then back to the door and finally back to Mike. “What should I do?”

“Tell them to come on in. Tell them door is open.”

She was shocked, unable to move.

Mike’s voice hissed out of the darkness. “Do it!”

She turned back to the front door. “C’mon in. It’s open.”

A silent pause and then a voice said, “Come to the front door and open it, Rita.”

“Don’t,” Mike called. “Sit down on the couch. Quick.” She moved over to the sofa and lowered herself easily.

“Come to the front door, Rita, and open it slowly.”

“Tell them you can’t walk. Tell them to come on in.”

Rita didn’t understand the strategy. But she yelled through the door, “I can’t. I can’t walk. You’ll have to let yourself in!”

There was no response. The only sound was the hiss of Rita’s breathing as she wondered if they might have gone away. Then the door exploded open, swinging freely until it slammed against the wall. But there was no one there. The open doorway was filled with blackness.

“Where are you?” Rita screamed.

The response was a dark-clad figure that sprung through the opening and tumbled into the room. He rolled into the shadows and came up on one knee with a stubby assault rifle aimed directly at Rita. Her scream pierced the air. Another form turned around the edge of the door and pointed a blinding light into her eyes. “Don’t move,” he warned, and then he stepped carefully into the room, aiming a pistol with his free hand.

Rita’s hand started up to block the light from her eyes.

“Don’t move!” the voice screamed. She froze like a statue. Then her wide eyes panned from one man to the other. They were dressed in black, with their pants tucked into boots. Each wore a helmet and a thick black vest.

“Where is he?”

Rita stuttered.

“Where’s Mike? Where is he?”

“Right here!” Mike pushed Emily into the kitchen doorway. Then he rose up behind her. The flashlight illuminated both their faces and then glistened off the pistol that was pressed into Emily’s ear.

“Get that fuckin’ light out of my face,” he ordered. The officer saw Emily’s fear and lowered the light. “You can see I got the lady,” Mike said. “Who’s goin’ to kill her? You guys? Or me?”

A third assault trooper bounded into the doorway.

“Come on in,” Mike said. “Join the party.”

The new arrival saw the situation and glanced at the two officers who were already in the room. Their weapons were poised, but their faces were raised from their sights. They had already decided not to fire.

“Close the door,” Mike ordered. The new officer looked to the other two for directions. “Close it!” he screamed insanely, and the man reached behind him, found the doorknob, and swung the door closed.

“Good.” Mike was beginning to feel the thrill of power. “Real good. Now, I want all of you to lay the guns on the floor and then push them away, under the coffee table.”

“No way,” answered the one with the flashlight.

“Then you better start usin’ them. Because at three, I’m goin’ to use this one.” He pushed the muzzle of his revolver harder against Emily’s face.

“One…”

“Okay!” The trooper with the flashlight bent over and carefully placed his pistol on the floor. His partner, still on one knee, slowly set down the rifle and then the third officer let his automatic pistol drop from his hand.

“Under the table,” Mike ordered. Rita watched openmouthed as the black-clad figures obediently pushed the cache of weapons up against her toes.

“You two,” Mike said, nodding at the two original invaders, “get flat out on the floor. Down on your faces.” They moved slowly to all fours and then stretched out on their bellies. “Spread eagle. Hands and feet out!” The two followed his instructions.

“You get out of here,” Mike said to the third policeman. “Go back to your boss and tell him exactly what’s goin’ down in here. Anybody comes near this place, and your buddies’ brains get spread all over the rug. Then tell someone to call me. Someone high up, because there are things he’ll have to do for me if he wants these guys to stay alive.”

“You’ll get yourselves killed,” the officer warned. His glance lingered on Rita.

“That’s for sure,” Mike said, “because you’re not takin’ either of us alive. So you understand your choices. You either let us go, or all of us die together. Including your friends and this lady here.”

The officer eased open the door, keeping his eyes on Mike, and then backed through the opening. Only when he was on the outside step did he turn and dash off into the blackness.

“Get the guns,” Mike told Rita. He stuffed his own pistol into his belt, exchanging it for one of the assault rifles. He took one of the police automatics and slipped it into his pocket. Then he released his grip on Emily’s throat and pushed her down onto the sofa, keeping the assault rifle trained on her head.

“Check out these two.” He nodded at the two men stretched out on the floor. “Careful. Go around behind them. Lift the vests and check their belts.” Rita removed a handcuff set from each of them and took the pistol that one of them was wearing at his back.

The telephone rang. Rita looked expectantly at Mike.

“Let it ring! We’re not ready to talk to them yet.” He raised his voice above the telephone’s interruption. “Both you guys put your hands behind your backs.”

“Look, Mac …” one of the assault troops began.

“Shut up! Behind your back! Now!”

Their hands moved until Rita could pull them together and snap the handcuffs into position. “You’ll never make it,” the other officer warned.

“Then neither will you guys” Mike smirked.

The telephone stopped ringing. Rita looked even more frightened. “They hung up,” she said. “We should have answered.”

“Fuck ’em! I might not answer the next time, either. Let them sweat a bit.”

 

It was almost 2:00 A.M. when Andrew and Helen arrived on the scene. The negotiations had already begun, and Lieutenant Borelli pulled the two of them into the industrial building on the next street that he was using as his command post. Together, they peered out of the darkened second-floor windows at the blank shape of the house.

“I have two men trapped in there,” Borelli said, his tone suggesting that Hogan and Restivo might be responsible for their situation.

“I’m sorry,” Hogan answered. “I know I’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

The lieutenant put aside some of his hostility and took on the tone of a professional. “We’ve been talking with him on the phone. There’s a negotiator on the line with him right now. But we’re running out of time.”

Hogan’s expression changed to a question.

Borelli went on. “He wants safe passage out of the neighborhood and a one-car escort to the airport. From there he wants a plane.”

“What for?” Hogan asked. “He’s got to know that someone will be waiting for him wherever he lands.”

’That’s what the negotiator is trying to sell him. But this guy isn’t making a lot of sense. He’s enjoying the attention. We’ve got one hour to agree and to tell him that his plane is waiting.”

“Or what?” Hogan asked.

“He shoots one of my men and has the other roll the body down the front steps. Then we get another hour until he shoots the other officer and tries to fight his way out. He’ll be using your lady as a shield.”

Andrew nodded. It was a situation he had been in many times himself. Rita and Mike were finished and they probably knew it. But they also knew that they would be facing life in prison and they weren’t going to let that happen.

Just as certainly, there was no way the State Troopers were going to give them an escort to anywhere. The whole purpose of the standoff was to keep them from hurting anyone else.

“What’s the plan?” Helen asked, hoping that the cooling of Borelli’s earlier rage applied to her, as well.

“We’re going to agree, provided they leave both of our men in the house. We’ll tell them that if either one is hurt, there will be no plane. Then we’ll take him when he comes out in his car.”

“What about Emily Childs?” Hogan asked.

“We won’t shoot first, except to take out his tires. Maybe when it’s obvious that he’s not going anywhere, he’ll decide that there’s no point in getting him and his girlfriend killed. Because we’ll make it clear, if he shoots the lady anywhere along the way, then we start shooting.”

It was the same decision that Hogan would have made himself. Assure the safety of his officers first, and then try to save the hostage. He also agreed with stopping the car as soon as it cleared the house. There was no point in trailing them out to the airport. Then the showdown would have to happen when they tried to board the plane. And there was absolutely no sense in letting them get on the plane. All that did was move the showdown to another city. The fact was that at some point, Rita and Mike would have to decide if they really would rather die. If they did, nothing could save Emily.

“Can I help?” Hogan asked.

“Not now,” Borelli answered. “You and your friend have helped enough.”

 

Mike stood in the kitchen doorway, tugging the telephone cord to its full length. He had the assault rifle at his hip, panning in the general direction of the two officers lying on the living room floor. Rita was sitting across from Emily, half aiming a pistol in her general direction.

“One car,” Mike was saying, “with just one cop inside. I don’t want to see another cop car around here. In fact, you better make damn sure there aren’t police cars anywhere along our route.” He listened for a few moments. Then he snapped, “I don’t give a fuck about other towns and other jurisdictions. You get ahold the other jurisdictions and tell them no cars along the route. If you can’t do that, then put someone on the line who can.”

His voice was spirited, almost cheerful. Mike was enjoying the power. He had the whole state of New Jersey out there begging him to come to terms.

They had started with assurances that he wasn’t actually a kidnapper. Someone else had taken the woman by force. Sure, he was in trouble, but it was the kind of trouble he might be able to get out of, if he didn’t make things worse. Give up the two officers right away. Everyone understood that he had taken them in a moment of panic. And then negotiate the release of the lady. Of course, they would have to take him and Rita in. But they would have an attorney appointed within the hour.

Mike mocked those offers. The guys in the black suits who had charged into the house with assault weapons didn’t look like lawyers. He wanted a car to the airport and then he wanted a plane.

Each negotiator claimed not to have the authority to give in to his demands and Mike kept asking for someone who did. They kept going to higher and higher officials and, one by one, he kept telling them to fuck off. Maybe he should demand to speak to the governor.

“He’s going to get us all killed,” Emily repeated to Rita. She had been explaining the scenario ever since Mike had answered the phone. The three of them would walk outside with her in the front as a human shield. Once they were away from die front steps, she was going to turn on Mike, kicking at him until she broke free. Then she would run to the police. Whether she got free or not, Mike would have to kill her because there was no way she was going to get into his car. And once he did, then Rita and Mike would be standing in the middle of an army of troopers, all of them armed and mad enough to fire. “You don’t have to get shot to pieces,” Emily whispered. “All he has to do is tell them you’re coming out without your guns. Then they can’t fire at you. They have to arrest you. And I’ll tell them, I swear to you, I’ll tell them how you tried to help me.”

Rita stood up and looked at Mike, who was smiling as he listened to the pleading over the telephone. “This isn’t going to work,” she suddenly announced.

He snarled at her. Then he yelled into the phone, “No! No! No more time. I told you what I want and when I want it. You have five more minutes. Then I kill one of these guys. Maybe that’s what it’s goin’ to take to get through to you.” He backed into the kitchen for the length of time it took him to hang up the phone. Then he returned to the living room and walked around behind the two prone police officers. “Doesn’t sound like your buddies out there are takin’ me seriously. So who’s it goin’ to be? Which one of you guys wants to be first?”

 

Angela’s plane had left Heathrow just before midnight, in time to get London’s bankers to Zurich before the Swiss banks opened. Despite the hour the plane was crowded. Apparently the English were very appreciative of the Swiss financiers’ legendary discretion.

She had landed in London early in the morning, checked into a business suite, and connected to her office computer over one of the bank’s leased circuits. In the early afternoon—early morning in New York—she had watched Walter’s transaction, transferring funds to Fassen Bank. Instantly, she had sent the recorded phone message that would free Emily. Then she had freshened up, and gone back to the terminal for her Zurich flight. She had slept comfortably in her First Class seat until the wheels went down on final approach.

As soon as she came through the door she saw the lights of Zurich, still glowing even though the sky was beginning to fill with morning light. Close by, there were the garish logos of global companies, flashing in neon at the tops of the buildings. Farther off, she could see the streetlights of the old city, with the occasional flicker of automobile traffic. It was less than spectacular. Zurich insisted on being unobtrusive. There was nothing dramatic about the city until daylight brought the background of jagged mountains into view.

A taxi was waiting at the head of the queue with the passenger door open. Angela slid in, pulling her bag into the seat after her. She gave the name of a modest hotel in the banking district that was even more discreet than the banks. She knew that she would attract very little attention. Businessmen using the hotel frequently arranged for companions to join them in their rooms. She had stayed there once herself and had been approached in the bar by an Englishman who thought she had been sent over by the service.

At the desk, she signed in as Susan Schwartz and smiled at the clerk when he tried to compare her with the passport photo. Then she refused the services of the bellman and saw herself to her room.

The morning sun was pouring in through the starched curtains. Angela tossed her bag on the bed and went to the window. Traffic was building in the streets and there was a crowd pouring out through the doors of the streetcar at the corner. There wouldn’t be any time for her to catch up on her sleep. Hardly enough time to take a shower. The banks would be opening soon and she wanted to be in and out of Fassen Bank as quickly as she could. She checked her watch and calculated that it was two in the morning back in New York. By now, Emily Childs had been dropped off in a school parking lot. Within a few hours, her safety would be assured. Angela knew that once Emily was safe, someone would have to think about sending a message to stop the transfer of funds that Walter had initiated. She wanted to have the money out the door and into another bank before that message came.

 

A minute before his deadline, Mike heard the telephone ring. He broke into a smile. “I hope it’s for you,” he said toward the two officers. “Otherwise, your time is up!”

He backed into the kitchen and returned with the handset “Yeah,” he said. Rita watched his face darken and felt certain that the police outside were calling his bluff. But then one corner of his mouth curled up into a sneer. “Yeah,” he said again. “Only not in fifteen minutes. Now! I want everyone out of that buildin’, and I want all the police cars out of here. Just one car, out in the street, clear of the driveway. And one driver. I’m going to take a long look around and if those two jerks are still standing across the street, or if one of those mothers is still in the backyard, then the whole thing is off. Each of your guys gets it in the back of the head. And then me and the lady here take our chances.”

He listened for a few seconds and enjoyed what he was hearing. “Okay,” he finally said. “You have five minutes to clear everyone. Make sure you get ’em all. You don’t want to make any mistakes.”

Mike let the phone fall to the floor. “Well, what do you know,” he announced proudly to everyone. “We’re getting a police escort to the airport.”

They waited quietly, listening to the sounds outside the house. Voices called to one another. Auto engines burst into life, followed by transmission sounds and the squeal of turning tires. Then there was silence, broken only by the sounds of their breathing. The captured officers listened with trained ears, trying to identify what was taking place outside. Rita looked about carefully, as if the enemy might already be in the house. Mike checked and rechecked the position of the pistols in his belt and pocket and then wiped the sweat from his palms down the legs of his trousers. Emily sat at the edge of the sofa, tense as if waiting to spring. She didn’t care about the police outside. All her energies were focused on the man who had delighted in torturing her. No matter what anyone else did, she would make certain that he didn’t get out alive.

Headlights flared in the front window curtains and Rita crossed the room to look out. “It’s the police car,” she said, her voice fearful of the ordeal that it represented. The moment had come. She would be stepping out into a no-man’s-land.

“Pull the curtain,” Mike told her. “Look around. Tell me if you see anybody.”

She looked carefully, touching her forehead to the glass so that she could widen her field of vision. “Nothing out there,” she said. She kept looking. “Just the police car. Nothing else.”

“How about the factory?”

She went to the side window. “The cars are gone. The lights are out. But I can’t tell if anyone’s there. It’s too dark.”

He thought. There were probably people still in the second floor windows. Maybe a sharpshooter. Sure. If they caught him out in the open, it would make sense to take him out. But he could handle that. He had a bulletproof shield. As long as he kept close to the lady, no one would dare fire.

“Okay, now check out back. There were two of them back against the fence. Take that flashlight and look out the window. All along the bottom of the fence.”

Rita went close to the prone policeman and lifted the lamp from the floor. She stepped over their bodies on her way to the back of the house. When she snapped on the light, she was startled by its brilliance. Aimed through a back window, it illuminated half the yard and let her see even the spaces between the fence planking. She panned slowly. There was no one there. Then she went to the kitchen window and moved the light back and forth across the litter-strewn lot between the house and the next cluster of buildings.

“They’re gone,” she called from the kitchen.

Mike’s mouth drew into a narrow smile. “They’re not gone. They’re just hiding, waitin’ to pop up the minute we show our asses. But the only thing they’ll see is the bitch’s face.”

He slung the assault weapon over his shoulder and pulled the police automatic from his pocket. In one step, he was hovering over Emily. “On your feet!” She stood immediately.

“Fasten the cuffs,” he ordered. Rita looked at the manacles dangling from Emily’s hands and then took the key from her pocket. She unlocked the cuffs that had been fastened to the bed and then connected each of them across to Emily’s other arm.

“Okay,” she said. Mike prodded Emily toward the door and then reached around her for the knob. The door swung back from its shattered frame.

Instantly, his arm was around her throat and the muzzle of the pistol against her ear.

“We go real slow,” he told Emily. They moved through the doorway, with Rita pressed close behind.

“One step, then stop.” His chokehold lifted Emily off her feet and deposited her on the next step, where he joined her immediately. Again and again he moved her down until they were on the path leading to the driveway. Emily had imagined that she would be able to throw an elbow or get her fingers close to his eyes. But the handcuffs kept her hands in front of her and his hold was like a vise. She was choking each time he lifted her feet off the pavement.

He moved her slowly to the driveway, always keeping her on the street side, with his back to the house. Rita moved with them, hiding behind the shield that they afforded. Then they backed up to the garage door, which Rita raised.

“Turn on the light and look around.”

She did, and opened the car door to look inside. “All clear,” she whispered.

“Kill the light and get into the backseat.”

She switched off the light, stepped around the car, and climbed into the back behind the passenger seat.

Mike took one last look up and down the street. There really was no one beside the uniformed policeman sitting behind the wheel of the waiting cruiser. He pulled Emily back into the garage, along the driver’s side of the automobile.

He opened the back door, ducked down behind it, and pushed Emily into the seat next to Rita. “Put your gun right up against her head. Up high, so they can see it.” Emily felt a new weapon against her temple, but Rita wasn’t pressing it into her skin.

Mike reached over the driver’s seat and pushed the front door open. He used this as his shield while he closed Emily’s door and slid in behind the wheel. He started the car, turned on the high-beam headlights, and rolled slowly out of the garage, his face below the height of the steering wheel. If they were going to turn a marksman loose, this would be their moment. But there was no hint of an attack as they rolled slowly down the driveway and bounced onto the street. Mike straightened up in time to see the cruiser pulling slowly away, its red and blue lights spinning furiously. He fell into line behind it and followed it toward the corner, which was masked by the wall of the factory across from the house. “Make sure they can see the gun,” he snarled at Rita. “Keep it up high.” The cruiser turned the corner. Mike leaned forward to see if anyone was waiting on the other side of the building. It looked clear and he made his turn keeping close on the taillights of his escort.

The shots went off together, sounding like a single explosion instead of series of small pops. The sports utility truck lurched as two of its tires were shot out. Something struck the back of the car like a fist, setting the frame resonating like a kettledrum.

“Shoot her!” Mike screamed. He fought the wheel to keep the car on line and stepped down on the gas pedal. “Blow her fuckin’ head off! Shoot her!”

But Rita was already falling forward, an expression of total amazement distorting her features. The gun she was holding dropped with her hand into her lap. She pitched ahead until the top of her head hit the back of the front seat. Then she crumpled into a kneeling position and fell against the door. There was a spreading bloodstain in the middle of her back, matched perfectly to the round hole that had been punched through the back of the seat and was leaking upholstery.

Emily couldn’t reach the pistol that was falling away with Rita. She was being tossed first to her left and then to her right by the abruptness of the car’s maneuvers and then slammed forward by the sudden crash. As the gunshots had sounded, the police cruiser had accelerated ahead and then swerved sideways to block the road. A figure had bounced up in the backseat and begun aiming an automatic weapon. Mike had kept the pedal to the floor as he veered right to circle behind the police car. When he had seen the rifleman in the backseat, he had cut to the left, aiming straight at the gunman. His truck deflected off the rear quarter of the cruiser, slamming both policemen against the inside of their own car. The weapon fell harmlessly out the window.

Mike swung the wheel to the right, tearing the bumper and half the trunk from the cruiser and scattering it across the road behind him. He hadn’t planned it, but he had turned the escorting patrol car into a barricade of debris that blocked the two police cars coming in pursuit.

Shots rang out from every side. The windshield starred and the passenger window shattered. There were more thumps against the sides of the car, one striking Rita’s body and pushing it over against Emily. But even with the blown tires, the truck was gaining speed, leaving the rattle of gunfire behind. And there were no cars with wailing sirens gaining on them. Just a few more seconds were all that he needed to put enough space between him and the police so that he would have a chance to make a getaway.

He caught only a quick glimpse of Emily rising up behind him, not enough time for him to get his hand back from the wheel to protect himself. Certainly not enough to reach for the automatic that was in the seat next to him. Emily threw her hands up over his head. The chains that he had fastened to her wrists fell heavily across his chest. Then she heaved back, pulling the links across his throat.

Mike wasted an instant trying to steer the car and then lost another precious moment when he fumbled for the weapon. By the time he got his hands up to the chain it was already biting into his flesh.

Emily raised her knees against the back of Mike’s seat, letting her use every muscle in her body for leverage. Then she pulled back, ripping his head back and lifting him right out of his seat.

His arms flailed wildly. His hands reached around behind his head so that he could get a grip on the chain. But in that position, his strength was no match for the force Emily was generating. He felt his windpipe snap and could taste his own blood in his mouth. And then there was no air. Mike’s feet were off the pedals, kicking frantically in search of any kind of leverage. His heel flew forward and smashed the center out of the dashboard.

The truck kept rolling ahead, angling gradually toward the sidewalk. It was still traveling at a good rate of speed when it jumped up on the curb, sheered off the top of a fire hydrant, and ricocheted off the wall of a brick building. From there, it angled back into the road, crossed the street, and slammed into an industrial trash Dumpster on the other side. All the while Mike was struggling, his efforts getting weaker. All the while Emily kept her knees braced and her body taut as she pulled back with all her strength. When the car came to rest, Mike made no movement to escape. His finger never even twitched in the direction of the pistol or the assault weapon.

Emily thought that he was dead. But she kept her weight hanging from the chain that was looped around his neck. She was crying hysterically when the police pried open her door and lifted her out.

 

Walter had been up all night, drinking black coffee and pacing in circles around Amanda, who was dozing on the family room sofa, and Alex who had finally nodded off in a soft chair. His fear and anxiety were driving him like rocket motors.

He should have heard by now. There was already sunlight in the windows, which meant that it was late morning in Zurich. The money should already be gone from Fassen Bank. The order to free Emily, it should have been given hours ago.

She was supposed to have been left off safely, in a spot where she would be easily found. But that hadn’t happened. Maybe she had never been set free. Or maybe her jailers had dropped her deep in the woods or in some deserted building where she would never be found. Walter didn’t know. All he could do was agonize over the dreadful possibilities.

It had to be the sadistic pervert who had been holding her. The fiend had taken such pleasure in describing how he planned to violate her and mutilate her if he wasn’t paid. Walter had believed he really meant it and wanted to meet his demands; $50,000 was a pitifully small amount compared to what was at stake. But Andrew Hogan had never taken him seriously. Hogan had insisted that the bastard was only a hireling, useful only in as much as he might lead them to Emily. Now it seemed obvious that Hogan had guessed wrong. Emily had not been released on schedule.

The one thing Walter couldn’t let himself think about was what her keeper might have done to her. Twice, he had given assurances to the man, and both times he had broken his word. Once, it was because he had cooperated with Andrew Hogan, the second time because Hogan had barged in with a blundered attempt of his own doing. The deceptions could have driven the psychopath beyond his point of control. Emily might have paid the full price of his madness.

“Nothing? No word at all?” Amanda’s sleepy voice asked as she snapped out of her slumber and read her father’s anxiety as he paced with his coffee gripped tightly in his hand. She lifted up from the sofa and glanced over at her brother. “I guess we haven’t been much company for you.” Then she moved slowly by him and into the kitchen, where she poured the dregs of the pot into a cup.

“She should have been found by now. I sent the money. They were supposed to let her go.” He shook his head in self-recrimination. Then he sank into the sofa that Amanda had just left. She leaned on the kitchen counter. “We’ll just have to wait … and hope.”

“I tried. I did everything I could,” Walter said, shaking his head in despair. He raised his eyes to his daughter, expecting a consoling word or expression. But she remained dark and silent. He knew she would never completely forgive him.

The telephone rang and Amanda sprang to answer. Alex bolted out of his chair and rushed to her side. Walter stood, looking after them, too frightened to follow. He watched her lift the receiver, but didn’t hear her say a word. For what seemed an eternity, she listened gravely.

“What is it?” he finally managed.

She held up a hand, telling him not to interrupt.

“Jesus, is she all right?”

Amanda was nodding, but he couldn’t tell whether she was answering him or agreeing with something that was being said over the phone. “Okay,” she said. And then, “Yes, I know how to get there… of course … he’s right here … certainly he’ll come… we’ll all be leaving right away …”

“For Christ’s sake, tell me. Is she all right?”

Amanda smiled and nodded enthusiastically, but then her expression narrowed as she went on listening. With her change of mood, Walter’s sudden joy was dashed.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” he begged.

She waved the questions away and went on listening. “But that’s not serious,” she interjected. She nodded at what she was hearing, thanked the caller several times, and finally hung up the phone.

“They’ve found her. She’s okay. She’s going to be just fine.” She hugged her brother and they locked together in a swinging, dancing embrace.

“What was the problem?” Walter demanded again.

Amanda hesitated for an instant and then explained that there were superficial wounds in the course of the rescue. “They’re going to keep her in the hospital for a day or two. Just to make sure everything is all right. It’s routine. Just a routine precaution.”

 

He bought an armful of flowers from the florist in the hospital lobby and smiled at everyone on his way up to her room. As he neared her doorway, he stopped for an instant to check his tie and smooth down his hair. He started into her room but was stopped in his tracks by her battered appearance.

Her face was swollen around a red welt that she had gotten during the car crash. An enormous white dressing circled her head. Both her hands were bandaged to protect cuts she had gotten from her shackles. There was a terrible fatigue in her expression, undoubtedly the result of her ordeal, and a simpleminded look in her eyes that probably came from the solution that was being dripped into her arm. He ran to her, dropped the flowers at her feet, and lifted her into his arms. “I’m so sorry,” he said, and then he repeated it over and over again.

He left Emily asleep, with Amanda by her bedside, and went down to the hospital cafeteria to join Andrew Hogan. Andrew took him step-by-step through the last hours of her captivity, the attempted escape, and the car crash that had killed her captors.

“She told me she had killed someone,” Walter said, as soon as Andrew had stopped speaking. “I was holding her, trying to console her. She wasn’t fully conscious. But she mumbled, I killed him, Walt. I killed him.’ Who? What did she mean?”

“Emily is heavily sedated,” Andrew said.

Walter nodded. “I know, I know. She’s in a daze. But she seemed positive that she killed someone.”

Andrew went into more detail than he intended about the last minutes of Emily’s captivity. “At some point, probably after the woman was shot, Emily got the handcuff chain around the guy’s neck. She pulled back hard, obviously trying to make him stop the car.”

“And that’s what killed him? She garroted the bastard?”

Hogan shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. The man died in the car crash. The impact broke his neck. That’s what the police officer on the scene is going to write in his report. He assured me there would be no problems for Emily.”

“But, she thinks …” Walter persisted.

“She’d been through hell,” Andrew said. “She has every reason to hate the prick who caused it. And yet killing someone is hard for her to accept.”

Walter felt indicted. “I never intended for her to suffer. I never wanted to see her hurt.”

“Oh?” Hogan asked. “What did you intend?”

Walter looked flabbergasted. “Intend?”

“Yeah. When you and your young lady planned this whole thing, what was it you intended?”

“You think… that I… ?”

Hogan walked toward the exit. Walter kept pleading his innocence until he realized that no one was listening.

He finally fell off to sleep in the backseat of the car while Alex drove them back home. “Her ear,” Amanda kept repeating. “It’s gruesome! It must have been awful for her.”

“There’s plastic surgery,” Alex finally offered. “They do wonders.”

“But the shock! Do you think she’ll ever get over it?”

“Mom’s a strong lady. I think she’ll do just fine. I really do.”

Walter was scarcely awake when he noticed the blinking light on his telephone answering machine and played back his secretary’s message. “Mr. Hollcroft called,” Joanne said, her tone conveying due reverence for the president and chief executive officer. “He heard about Emily and he wants you to know how shocked he is. He insisted that I tell you that he and the bank are completely behind you. He wants to know if there is anything he can do for Emily, or for you.”

“That’s most considerate,” Walter said, hoping that his secretary might carry the remark to Jack Hollcroft’s secretary. “I’ll call him right away.”

“Oh, you can’t do that,” Joanne cautioned. “He’s going into a meeting with a few of the directors. It’s expected to run late. But his secretary did say that he hoped to talk with you at your earliest convenience. He didn’t mention anything specific, but she said she thought it concerned some international transactions that he didn’t completely understand.”

Walter breathed deeply. There was very little that the chairman didn’t completely understand.