The Senator's Choice (6 page)

They roared down the road until they reached a parking lot where they
’
d left one of their vehicles.

“Jones and Shepherd, you
’
re with me,” Matthews said. “Hammond, Zellers — you two see if you can get a scent. They
’
ve already got a good head start on us. Let
’
s move.”

Zellers and Hammond jumped out of the vehicle and scampered into the black Ford Escape awaiting them. Its tinted windows gave them the cover they needed in most surveillance missions, though it didn
’
t matter at the moment. Finding Luke
’
s abduction point was essential to tracking him. Without it, they
’
d be groping in the dark and putting their fate in blind luck. It was something they knew Matthews wasn
’
t willing to risk, in this case or any other.

Zellers contacted Shepherd. “Talk to me. I need to know his route to school each morning.”

“He always took the quickest way.”

“Come on, Shepherd, I have no idea which way that is. Help me out.”

“Oh, okay. He went down Fern Street, took a right onto Madison and then a left onto Victory. At least that
’
s what I have in the file here.”

“Where
’
d you get that info?”

“The senator
’
s security detail. They pre-approved the route. Though if it were up to me, I would
’
ve gone a block further to Pinkston and taken a left there instead of Madison and then—”

“That
’
s enough, Shepherd. We
’
ll take it from here.” Zellers hung up and plotted the route using his GPS.

“Tell me where to go,” Hammond said.

“Turn right onto Madison. I doubt they would
’
ve tried to snatch him on a busy street like Fern.”

Hammond nodded and navigated their vehicle onto Madison and slowed down. “What are we looking for?”

“An orange Diamondback Grind Pro bike,” Zellers answered. “It
’
s like a BMX.”

“Now you
’
re talking my language.”

The two men scanned the neighborhood. The kidnappers were professionals and wouldn
’
t leave the bike in an open area. Zellers and Hammond scanned the usual suspects —
sheds, tall grass, bushes
— any place that wouldn
’
t be immediately conspicuous.

“Wait, slow down,” Zellers said. “Over there.”

Hammond brought the vehicle to a stop and they both clambered out. Zellers strode toward what he believed was a tire sticking out from a thicket in an empty lot. “That
’
s it,” he said.

Hammond quickened his pace to join his colleague. In a matter of seconds, both of them were standing over Luke
’
s bike. “
Call
‘em,” Hammond said.

Zellers was already dialing. “We found Luke
’
s bike.”

“Where?” Matthews asked.

“In an abandoned lot off Madison, just three blocks from the school.”

“What else do you see?”

“There are some tire tracks here,” he said as he snapped his fingers at Hammond to begin inspecting them.

“Can you tell what direction they left in?”

“It appears as though the vehicle left in a hurry back toward Fern, but I can
’
t tell which direction.”

Hammond stooped over the tire tracks and took several pictures. He then emailed them to Shepherd.

“Okay, got it,” Matthews said. “
Shepherd
’
s telling me he got the pictures of the tire tracks. He
’
s going to analyze this and try to figure out which vehicle they belong to.”

“Assuming they haven
’
t changed the tires already.”

“Zellers, your optimism is overwhelming.”

Zellers and Hammond continued to scan the area for other clues. Nothing.

“You there, Zellers?” Matthews asked.

Zellers adjusted his earpiece. “What
’
ve you got?”

“Nothing too specific,”
Shepherd said.
“They likely belong to a mid-sized sedan, but I can
’
t narrow it down any more than that.”

“What do we pay you for?”
Zellers quipped.

“For this,” he shot back. “There
’
s a GetGo gas station on the corner that has surveillance of its pumps. Based on all the intel I have, he was taken somewhere between 8:15 and 8:20 if he left for school around the same time each morning. If you see a mid-sized sedan pulling onto Fern, you should be able to locate the car.”

“
Good work, Shepherd. You
’
re still overpaid.
”
He hung up.
“Let
’
s go look at some film.”

***

THE GETGO STATION MANAGER cautiously eyed Hammond and Zellers. “I can
’
t let you just look at my tapes without a warrant.”

“A young man
’
s life is at stake here and you want to quibble over a warrant?” Hammond said.

“Sorry. It
’
s company policy.”

Zellers, listening in over Hammond
’
s comlink, was already in action. “Can you spoof the number, Shepherd?”

No answer — just furious pounding on the keyboard in the background.

“
Shepherd?
”

“Done. Sorry it took so long. I just had to create a patch through the main server and—”

“
I don’
t need an explanation, just instructions.”

“Oh, right. Uh, call me and I
’
ll patch you through.”

Zellers dialed the number and waited for Shepherd
’s command.

“You
’
re on,”
Shepherd said.

The phone inside the GetGo rang and a clerk answered it. Zellers asked to speak to the manager.

“Herb!” he heard the shout pierce his ears. “Someone wants to speak to you.”

A pause for several seconds. “This is Herb.”

“Herb, this is Grant Cooper,” Zellers said, disguising his voice with some husk and bass.

“Oh, Mr. Cooper. What can I help you with?”

“It
’
s more like what you can help the gentleman in your store with,” Zellers said. “I
’
ve already received a call from one of our FBI field offices that you
’
re impeding an investigation of national security. If you value your job, I suggest you do as that man requests.”

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” The manager hung up the phone and returned to Hammond.

Satisfied with his performance, Zellers grinned as he overheard the frazzled manager tell Hammond that his boss just called and ordered him to grant him access to the store
’
s surveillance footage. Then some footsteps and a brief tutorial on how to access the previous morning
’
s tapes.

***

“WHAT AM I LOOKING for here?” Hammond said.

“
I don’
t know,” the manager said.

Hammond glared at the man and then pointed at the com piece in his ear. The man slinked out of the room.

“You there, Shepherd?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah, I
’
m here. Look for the timestamp between 8:15 and 8:20 — and then tell me what you see.”

Hammond scrubbed the video back and found the time stamp. “Got it.”

“And?”

“And, I can
’
t tell a whole lot from the video. Just cars turning into the neighborhood. Lots of mini-vans. Why anyone drives one of those contraptions is beyond me. They
’
re ugly, slow and expensive to operate.”

“They
’
re actually much cheaper to operate than a four-wheel drive SUV or a large sedan — about 12 and 10 cents cheaper per mile, respectively.”

“
Shepherd?
”

“Yeah.”

“Get a life.”

“I
’m just
—”

“
Forget it. I just don’
t need a lesson in operating costs among American vehicles right now, okay?”

“What do you need?”

“Actually, I know exactly what I need. I need you to enhance a picture of the only mid-sized sedan to pull out of Madison and head west onto Fern. If you can get a closeup on these plates, we
’
re golden.
”

Hammond grabbed a screen shot and transmitted it to Shepherd. And waited.

“Got anything yet?”

“I
’
ve got a profile on all the Toyota Camrys with an Ohio license plate.”

“That
’
s not helping.”

“Just give me a second.”

Hammond listened as Shepherd pounded the keyboard into submission.

“Bingo. I
’
ve got the plate and it
’
s a silver 2010 Toyota Camry that was reported stolen two days ago. I
’
m putting the license plate into the system now and starting a search.”

“A search for what?”

“For where it went.”

“Okay, we
’
re headed back to meet you.”

***

MATTHEWS CALLED SENATOR DANIELS on his burner phone to give him an update.

“He
’
s going to be all right, don
’
t worry,
” Matthews said. “He
’
s a bright kid.”

“I
’
m just afraid that they
’
re going to force my hand. I can
’
t jeopardize his life, you know that.”

“
I understand. We
’
re doing all we can. I
’
ll keep you apprised of any new developments, but this is our first solid lead. We still have no idea who is behind this, but we
’
re going to keep digging.”

Matthews hung up and awaited the return of Zellers and Hammond.

“Got anything, Jones?”

“
Well, we
’
ve got no leads other than the car they were in. For all we know, they could
’
ve ditched it by now. But I started thinking—”

“And?”

“And what if the car wasn
’
t really stolen. They just reported it stolen. We
’
re not inclined to look into who owned the car — and it
’
s not like the police are out there searching for a stolen Camry. Who knows how many of those are stolen each day?”

“There are 2.1 Camrys stolen per day,”
Shepherd chimed in.

“
Thanks, Data,
”
Jones snapped.
“If they think that the senator is complying with their demands, they know they
’
ve got basically free rein to do what they want.”

“Then why report the vehicle stolen?” Matthews challenged.

“In the remote case that they do have someone searching for them, the police are less likely to cast a suspicious eye on the person whose vehicle was stolen, seeing them as a victim, not a criminal.”

“Good work. Look into it and let me know what you find.”

Several minutes later, Hammond and Zellers strode through the door.

“I hope you bums found out something while we were out there doing all the dirty work,” Zellers said.

Jones looked up from his research. “We found out how many Camrys are stolen each day in the U.S. from genius over there.”

“Oh, that ought to help us find Luke, huh?” Zellers said.

“No,” replied Matthews, “but I do know that there hasn
’
t been any activity from the Columbus PD since it was allegedly stolen.”

“Worthless,” Zellers said.

Jones stopped and looked up again. “Hammond, fix me something to eat. I
’
m starving.”

Hammond stopped and glared at him. “Would you like for me to wear an apron for you, your imminence?”