Omorphi (80 page)

“Don’t worry, man, you’re in good hands,” Jorge said softly.

Michael managed to turn his thousand-pound head and look around the room. That’s when he noticed that the wall above Smitty’s desk was covered in television and computer screens.

S
QUAWKS
and bleeps emanated from various speakers around the room, and Michael figured out that one of the speakers spewed information from a police scanner. Each screen above the desk showed footage of a limousine from various angles as it traveled at high speed down various streets and a highway. Three guys operated radios and computers, and the screens flipped from image to image and back again.

“You tracked the limousine?” Michael asked.

“Yeah, our guys are on it.” Lisa pointed to the big flat-screen television centered on the wall. “It’s parked at that hotel right now.”

“How long has it been there?”

“A couple of hours. A doctor entered the hotel about fifteen minutes after they got there, and our guess is that he’s been called in to take care of Christy. He was in pretty bad shape when the limo picked him up.”

Tears pricked Michael’s eyes. “They ran him down,” he whispered.

“Yeah, we got that from the security footage in the alley. Christy’s one determined little man, Mike. You should have seen him climb that dumpster and the fence.”

Michael knew just how determined Christy would have been. “Can I see the footage?”

“Not right now,” Smitty said evenly. “We’re trying to figure out who the kidnapper is and what his next move will be.”

“The kidnapper’s name is Yosef Sanna. He’s the son of Greek shipping tycoon, Petros Sanna of Sanna Shipping. He was one of Christy’s abusers and is obsessed with him. He’s also seriously into knives. Check the airport. I’d bet he has a private plane waiting to take them back to Greece.”

Smitty hit speed dial on his cellular and put it on speaker.

“Runway C3!” someone shouted into the phone. The whine of jet engines and the whoosh of planes landing and taking off sounded in the background.

“Smitty. Find out if you have a private jet on standby.” He hung up without further comment.

“What are the FBI and the police doing?” Michael asked.

“They have an APB out on the limo.”

“That’s it?” Michael was incredulous.

No one responded.

“What’s the name of the hotel?”

“It’s the—”

“Look.” Someone pointed to a monitor screen. Sanna, accompanied by four big goons and a nervous looking man in a gray suit, who Michael assumed was the doctor, exited the elevator in the lower garage of the hotel and headed toward the limousine.

Michael’s panic began to rise. “Where’s Christy?”

One of Smitty’s people, an older guy with long gray hair, pointed to a duffle bag carried by the goon who brought up the rear. “There.”

“They put him in a fucking bag?”

“No doubt he’s unconscious, Mike,” Lisa said softly.

Smitty’s phone rang, and he put it on speaker. “Go.” His voice was even, authoritative.

“One!” came a shout over the phone.

“Have you identified it?”

“Some Greek shipping company. Sanna, the guy said. It’s being refueled now.”

“Can you stop the refueling?”

Only the whine of jet engines could be heard for a long moment. Then, “Operations says the fuel truck ran out of fuel and has to go back for another load.”

“Excellent. Get the flight plan, delay the captain, and whatever you do, don’t let that plane take off.”

“For how long?”

“Have you seen the news?”

“The kid?”

“Yes.”

“Hell, why aren’t the Feebies here yet?”

“They’ll get there in time. I’ll see you in a few.”

Smitty and his guys stood and began donning flack jackets. Michael held his hand out. “Let me have your phone, Lisa.” She handed it over. “What do you have Mr. Santini’s number under?”

“Mafia.”

If Michael weren’t out of his mind with worry over Christy, he would have laughed. He found the number and dialed.

“Santini!”

“Mr. Santini, it’s Michael.”

“Michael, where in God’s name are you?” he bellowed into the phone.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m fine. We found Christy.”

“Oh for God’s sake, where?”

“They’re getting back into the limousine and heading for the airport. Yosef has a private plane waiting to take them to Greece. They have Christy in a—” Michael nearly choked on the words. “In a duffle bag. A light blue duffle bag.”

“Where are they now?”

Michael looked at Smitty. “What’s the name of the hotel?”

“The Clarion.”

“They’re leaving the Clarion now. Listen, the plane has been delayed, but I don’t know for how long. You need to get the FBI and the police there now.”

“How do you know this, Michael?”

He glanced at Smitty, unsure what he could say. “You met Lisa’s Uncle Smitty at the waterfront. Remember?”

Nero swore a blue streak in Italian, and then asked in English, “Where are you now?”

“I’ll be at the airport when you get there.” Smitty shook his head adamantly, and Michael ignored him. He took a deep breath and gathered his courage. “How’s Jake?”

“He has a very bad concussion, but he’ll be all right.”

Michael was so overwhelmed with relief he felt faint. “And Sophia?”

Nero was silent.

“Mr. Santini? You still there?”

“She’ll be okay, Michael. What about your injuries?”

“Lisa has a nurse in the family. I’m taken care of. I’ll see you at the airport.” Michael hung up without waiting for a reply.

“Is Jake all right?” Lisa asked.

“Bad concussion, but he’ll be okay. Sophia’s okay too.”

“You’re not going with us, kid,” Smitty said calmly.

“Bullshit!” Michael struggled to get up from the cot and fell back.

Smitty didn’t respond and left the office with his guys.

“Let’s go, Jorge.” Michael half rolled onto his good hip and managed to get his good leg over the edge of the cot so he could stand.

“You’re in no condition to go anywhere, Michael.”

“If you won’t take me, Jorge, then you have to take me, Lisa.”

They exchanged looks. “Mike, Uncle Smitty doesn’t like interference when he works.”

“If one of you doesn’t take me, I’ll take a cab!” Michael hobbled to the door.

“All right! All right!” Jorge stood. “But don’t get any wild ideas about interfering.”

Lisa stood and threw on an old army jacket. “Son of a bitch, Mike. Smitty’s never gonna forgive me for this.”

T
HEY
sped down the highway in Jorge’s sedan. Michael sat sideways in the backseat with his leg cast on the bench seat and his wrapped arm in his lap. Though the agony was far less than it had been, he was still in a lot of pain. He shifted on the seat and tried to find a way to sit without his thigh and back hurting so much. “Why’d you wrap my arm?”

“Lainy thinks your elbow is broken. You need to have your dad check it out,” Lisa answered.

“Where do you want me to go when we get to the airport?” Jorge asked.

“Do you know where the private jet terminal is?” Michael asked.

“I have no freakin’ idea.”

Lisa sighed. “Follow the signs to the FedEx terminal.”

J
ORGE
pulled into the FedEx lot and parked the car. “Now what?”

Lisa pointed to a single story, plain, brown building. “That’s the private plane terminal.”

Michael opened the car door, and Lisa reached over the seat and grabbed his shirtsleeve. “Where are you going?”

“To find out what’s on the other side of that terminal.”

“We already know there’s a private jet on the other side of it.”

“Yeah, a private jet that holds Christy.” Michael leveraged himself out of the car using the doorframe.

“Mike, dammit, you can’t go in there!” Lisa swore as she and Jorge exited the car.

“Why not?”

“One, because Smitty will see us and kick my ass! Two, because you could blow his guys’ cover! Three, if this Yosef guy is as dangerous as you say he is, you could get yourself killed!”

Michael ignored her and began hobbling across the parking lot toward the terminal.

“Mike!” she hissed as she caught up to him. “What are you going to tell the reception desk when you go in there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mike, stop!” She put a hand on his arm. “We need a plan.”

“What are you thinking, Michael?” Jorge asked as he joined them.

“I need to find a way to get on that plane.”

“Are you nuts?” Lisa asked.

“And do what?” Jorge asked.

“Get Christy off it.”

“You are nuts, man. Any one of his goons could beat you into the ground.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Lisa rolled her eyes. “Give Smitty’s guys a little time to work their magic. That’s the least that you can do!”

Michael mulled this over. “Is there a place we can go to watch the plane?”

She thought about it. “Do you have any money on you?”

Michael shook his head. “I lost my phone, my wallet, everything in the attack.”

“I have twenty bucks on me,” Jorge said.

“I have about thirty. Let’s go to the Observation Restaurant and get something to eat. It looks out over the private tarmac.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know, Mike. We’ll have to see what they’re doing with the plane.”

A
POLITE
hostess agreed to seat them at a window table despite their jeaned attire after Michael flirted and explained that he had been nearly mortally wounded in a mugging, and his friends were taking him out for a conciliatory dinner.

“That performance was Academy-Award worthy, Mike.”

Michael huffed a laugh as he stared out the window at the lone plane on the tarmac. “It got us in here, didn’t it? Who are those guys down there by the plane?”

Jorge leaned around Lisa and looked out the window. “Looks like the ground crew is arguing with the copilot.”

“How do you know?”

“My older brother is an airline pilot.”

“Oh. What do you think they’re arguing about?”

“The ground crew probably says there’s something wrong with the plane, and it can’t depart.”

Lisa winked and gave Michael a thumbs-up. “That’s Smitty’s crew down there.”

A number of service trucks approached the plane at the same time. One bore the name of a catering company, another the name of a linen company, a third had an FAA insignia on it, and a fourth trailed luggage platforms behind it piled high with luggage. Michael noticed that they parked strategically around the plane as if to block its every possible escape route.

“See?” Lisa said.

“Yeah.”

“Look.” Jorge pointed to a government vehicle approaching with an immigration insignia on it.

“Why’s Immigration here?” Michael asked.

“It’s immigration and customs. It’s standard procedure for a private plane leaving or entering our country. They need to check everyone’s documents and search the plane for contraband, drugs, cash, and stolen goods,” Jorge answered.

How about stolen people?
Michael thought bitterly. All he needed was a ground crew jumpsuit, and he’d be able to get on the plane. The question was how to get one. He scrutinized the small extension that jutted out from the end of the building and watched personnel come and go freely onto the tarmac. “Where’s the restroom?”

“Back out in the lobby,” Lisa answered.

“Be right back. Order another lemonade for me?”

“Sure. What do you want to eat?” Jorge asked.

“Chicken Caesar salad.”

“You got it.”

M
ICHAEL
hobbled back out to the lobby and looked around for the restroom sign.

“Can I help you?” the concierge at the reception desk asked.

“Um, yeah, can you tell me where the restrooms are?”

“Down the hall.” He pointed across the lobby.

Excellent.
From what he’d seen of the building’s layout, that was exactly where he needed to go. Michael hobbled down the hall, deliberately passing the water fountain and men’s restroom and looking around as if he were lost. He saw an open doorway and heard a locker door slam shut.

“Hey, Tom! How much longer until they clear this bird? I was supposed to be off half an hour ago!”

Michael flattened himself against the wall near the doorway.

“Hell if I know, Gary. My guess, it’s gonna be a while. There’s a mechanical problem, it’s short on fuel, and the flight plan isn’t approved yet, and now customs has a problem and wants to search the plane.”

Michael heard a second locker door slam and footsteps approach the doorway. He quickly turned and hobbled back to the water fountain and pretended to drink as the two men exited from the locker room and headed down the hallway toward the door that led to the tarmac. When he heard the outside door open and close and he was sure the hallway was empty, he slipped into the locker room. It was a small room with only twelve lockers in it, and he went from locker to locker until he found one that was unlocked. He opened it and looked inside.
Eureka!
He snagged the dirty jumpsuit, industrial gloves, safety earmuffs, hardhat, and a blue bandana for good measure and headed to the bathroom.

He couldn’t do anything about the cast on his leg, but he could remove the wrap on his arm. He slowly unwound the bandage, tears filling his eyes as pain shot the length of his arm when he straightened it out. He left just enough of the bandage on to give him some protection and support. He stepped into the jumpsuit and was pleased that whomever it belonged to was big. It slid over the bulky cast easily. He rolled the leg cuffs twice and the sleeve cuffs once, then exited the bathroom stall. He shoved the used bandage in the trash, tied the bandana around the lower half of his face, and pulled the thick industrial gloves on over his bandaged hands. He set the earmuffs over his ears and the hardhat on his head. Now all he needed was airport ID. He patted the pockets of the jumpsuit. Nothing.