“How do you know—”
“Or, you act normally, alert no one, and do exactly what we say. You have no guarantees from us except that we will kill him. I think you know we are willing. But we don’t give a damn about your son. Only about you.”
A voice cried from the background.
“Dad! No, don’t—”
O'Kelly heard a slap, then silence.
“We are more than willing to let your spawn escape to gain increased cooperation from you. Because we have a special use for you. And you will be helpful to us because you know that your son will never be safe.”
“What do you want?”
“There will be no ransom. There will be no stalling. There is a black SUV waiting below on Park Avenue. If you are not in that vehicle in five minutes, your son dies. You are to come down from your second floor perch. Do not bring your armed muscle.”
“They will follow me once they see I’m leaving.”
“Make sure you get outside. Then whatever happens, do not pause, do not stop, do not seek to do anything except find your way to that vehicle. Do you understand?”
Thoughts and scenarios flew threw his mind, options and risks and assessments that could not be made with any confidence without data, without time.
“This is not something the both of you are going to get out of, O'Kelly. Make your choice: your life or your son’s. In four minutes, a decision will be made one way or the other.”
The connection was broken.
Mitchell O'Kelly did not hesitate. He had been presented with an impossible choice, and he didn’t need any more deliberation to make his decision.
Outwardly calm, he walked quickly out of his office and down the hall. Luckily the ground floor was only two flights down, otherwise there would be no chance to escape without being closely followed. Completely contrary to habit, he entered the stairway to the surprised expressions of the secretaries and leapt down the steps in painful bounds. His aging frame wasn’t up to this sort of shock, but it seemed likely he would soon have more serious concerns.
The CEO of Citigroup burst out from the lobby stairwell and walked like a man possessed toward the main entrance. He was not spotted until he had crossed nearly two-thirds of the distance. Shouts came from the voices of his security team, and his peripheral vision sensed several shapes converging from behind. They would reach him in seconds.
He was through the doorway, the sunlight of the clear October day blinding him momentarily, his eyes squinting desperately to find the black SUV.
There. Blackened windows hid the occupants. O'Kelly surrendered all pretense of casualness and sprinted toward the truck.
“Mr. O'Kelly!”
His bodyguards cried behind him. The men were under the strictest orders. They would have him in their arms within seconds for this dangerous breech of protocol, especially after recent events. The black vehicle was still fifty yards away. He’d never make it.
Hornets buzzed past his head. There were screams. He heard bodies fall heavily to the ground. He didn’t look back. He ran harder, the backdoor of the SUV opening, arms grabbing his, pulling him in violently. The vehicle lurched forward with screeching tires and he was thrown backward into a seat.
But he had seen. In a split second upon entering the truck and turning his head toward the plaza in front of the building, it was all too clear.
The fiends had shot and killed the men that had been charged to protect him. Their bodies were strewn across the cement and steps, people racing in panic away from the scene.
O'Kelly closed his eyes. God only knew what they were going to do to him.
8
Rebecca Cohen sat in the back of the FBI vehicle, nearly sick from the lurching dash through traffic. Staring at the choppy video feed on her phone was surely not helping the situation. They should have just called. But they needed to see each other.
“On the tarmac, Rebecca,” said a pixelated Savas, his phrases peppered with staccato pauses. “This is getting a bit insane.”
They had not been back a day before the next crisis had pulled them apart again. This time it was sudden disappearances of important people both in New York and in Washington. Congressman, aides, more CEOs, workers at the Federal Reserve Board. Whatever theories they had before were jettisoned. Whatever was going on, it was highly coordinated and professionally implemented.
“Feels like we’re back under siege from Mjolnir,” she said to the frozen face of Savas. “John?”
There was a pause, and then the connection reestablished. “Lost most of that except for Thor’s Hammer. But I think I know what you were saying.”
They had split their team at Intel 1. Savas had taken ex-Marine Frank Miller with him to DC. They would soon be on their way to the Capitol. Cohen had called another agent on their team, JP Rideout, and they were going to meet at the headquarters of Citigroup. The other cases were reported disappearances, no shows and quiet vanishings. But not at Citi. There were witnesses. There were bodies. There had been a failed pursuit by NYPD.
The sedan jerked to a stop and Cohen dropped the phone, the connection with Savas lost. She quickly texted him that she had arrived and would talk to him later. He would soon be busy as well.
The driver opened the door for her and she stepped out quickly, heading for the crowd of police and decorations of yellow tape in front of the building. The glass and steel structure towered above her. Horns blared like a strong wind from the snarled traffic of rubberneckers. Here to see the bloodbath. She counted four bodies. Two were near the exits, and two had moved toward Park Avenue before they were cut down. A black NYPD detective met her.
“Agent Cohen?” he asked. “I’m Tyrell Sacker. You’re it for the Feds?”
“No, we have a crime group en route and another special agent from my division.”
“Which is?”
“Intel 1.”
The cops eyes opened wider. “Well, we need the best. Reports are coming in from all over the city. The radio’s total chaos.”
“I know. Look, we’re going to go through this thoroughly, but can you tell me what you’ve put together? Is there enough for a summary?”
Sacker nodded. “A crowd of witnesses, and security cams to go back to and verify. But it still doesn’t make sense, even if the testimony agrees so far. Their CEO literally comes sprinting out of the building, ignoring the calls of his security team, running straight for a van or SUV. He was scheduled for meetings all day and was already late for one in the building. It’s like he went nuts. His team bolted after him, and, well, you can see what happened to them.”
“Shots came from the vehicle?”
“Doesn’t seem so. None of the witness reported seeing anything in the truck but some dark figures pulling O’Kelly inside. The shots were professional, agent Cohen,” Sacker said, looking back toward the bodies. “No evidence of misses. I mean, how often does that happen? I’d bet there were gunman positioned and waiting.”
“We’ll have our ballistics teams here soon, and we’ll need to get all the CCTV footage from all security cameras in the area.”
“On that. I’m point for this scene, so you’ll be talking to me.”
Cohen smiled. She liked Sacker immediately. He was gritty yet polite, sharp with an underlying empathic feel. She hoped that she could trust him.
“All right, we’ll work out the coordination of this investigation soon. For now, take me up to the crime scene. I want to get a look at the victims.”
The Capitol Police officers glared at the hulking form of Frank Miller with suspicion. Savas stood with him before the grand entrance of the Russell Senate Office Building. The stately marble, lofted steps, and the presence of twenty to thirty uniformed officers in combat gear sporting military-grade automatic weapons made an undeniable impression. He was as polite as possible.