“Not at all.”
Longstreet took a seat in the back, behind the others.
His sudden presence threw Spann off balance, but he recovered quickly. “Thank you all for coming,” he said. “The ring and medallion are confirmed to be genuine. SA Pendergast’s latents are on them: deliberately pressed there, it seems, to leave us no doubt that the unsubs have him. Exhaustive tests on the four items — ring, medallion, letter, envelope — have turned up no latents besides his. No DNA, fiber, hair — nothing.”
He started the PowerPoint presentation with the press of a button. An envelope appeared on the screen. “This was postmarked at the General Post Office, 10001, at three PM yesterday. It was dropped in a post box around the corner and arrived this morning. Since today is Tuesday, it could have been dropped in the mailbox anytime Sunday or Monday up to three PM, as the first collection of the week in that box is at that time. The letter itself is dated Monday, but that means very little. There are no cameras on the mailbox itself, but plenty along the avenues and streets leading to it; all those are being reviewed.”
He pressed on to the next image: a long windswept beach.
“This was where Agent Pendergast was last seen, at dawn, sixteen days ago. He was on extended leave, working a private case. I won’t go into the details of that case because they almost certainly aren’t relevant. He struggled on the beach with a deranged killer, and both were swept into the sea and disappeared. An exhaustive search turned up nothing. The water was fifty-five degrees, in which a man can live for about an hour. We believed he was dead until we received this package. So he was either picked up by a ship or washed up on a beach somewhere. In either case, those who discovered him — once they discovered his identity — have decided to use the agent as bait in a prisoner exchange. We’re doing an exhaustive analysis of any ships that might have been in the area at the time, as well as of the tidal currents.”
Another press of the button and a scanned copy of the letter appeared.
“The letter was typed on a computer with a fixed-pitch font and then photocopied multiple times to blur any telltale characteristics. Here it is.”
To SAC Spann:
1. We have in our control SA Pendergast.
2. The enclosed objects removed from his person are proof.
3. We propose a trade: the FBI have a man named Arsenault in custody; you release him, we release Pendergast.
4. We assume you will require proof that Pendergast is alive. We will provide that proof through an email communication — see item 5.
5. We have set up a secure email address for communication. The email you receive will contain in the subject line the following random sequence, as proof it is from us: Lv5C#C&49!8u
6. You will release Arsenault from Sing Sing, where he is currently incarcerated, provide him with a passport and travel funds, and put him on a plane to Caracas, Venezuela.
7. We must hear from Arsenault by noon on the seventh day from the date of this letter. By that time, Arsenault must Skype us from Plaza Bolivar, Caracas, standing in front of the Bolivar statue, to confirm that he has been released and is a free man.
8. After that Skype call comes in, we will release Pendergast.
9. If the Skype call does not come in, or if Arsenault indicates he has been coerced, tortured, or abused in any way — Pendergast dies.
10. Any deviation from this nine-point letter will result in Pendergast’s immediate death. The 7-day deadline is absolute and non-negotiable.
“And here is the email we received today.” Spann pressed a key and another slide came up: the photo of a man — Pendergast — looking shockingly emaciated but clearly alive, lying on a dirty piece of canvas. Next to him, unfolded, was a copy of USA Today, carrying yesterday’s date. “We’re throwing all our best IT resources into tracking that email address, but it looks like the setup is double-encrypted and probably untraceable.”
Spann now went through the plan he had worked out for negotiating with the hostage takers. It was classic, based on the Bureau’s — and his own — long experience with abduction and kidnapping situations. Don’t agree; lowball the first offer; keep the perps continuously engaged; buy time with small requests. Wear them out, slowly remove their control — all the while tasking all the best agents with tracking them down.
He went through all this with the group, putting one agent in charge of each aspect of the investigation. He reserved the actual negotiations for himself.
“And in the end,” he said, “we have a fallback: if this strategy doesn’t work, we give in to their demands. We release Arsenault. And we get Pendergast back.”
He paused and looked around, waiting for comments.
“Of course you know they’re going to kill Pendergast regardless,” said Longstreet in a low voice.
“Killing a federal agent would bring the death penalty down on them,” Spann said. “Once their man is released, why take such an extreme step?”
“Because Pendergast would be the witness who would put them away for life.”
A silence. Spann wondered how to respond. “Mr. Longstreet, these men are clearly not stupid.”
At this, Longstreet unfolded himself from his chair in a sort of easygoing way, then strolled to the front of the room. “I’m sorry to be blunt, Agent Spann, but I believe this plan of yours will pretty much guarantee Pendergast’s death.”
Spann stared at Longstreet. “I respectfully disagree. This is classic, exhaustively researched and tested SOP.”
“Which is exactly why it will fail.” Longstreet turned easily toward the group. “Pendergast is on a boat. Drug smugglers, almost certainly. He got pulled from the water; they eventually realized who he was; and they cooked up this scheme. It is a very stupid scheme and these are very stupid people — although they clearly believe they are being very clever. That is why Pendergast is in such extreme danger. If they were smart, as you believe, your plan might work. But they are not. Whatever we do, they are going to dump the body and run.”
“Drug smugglers?” Spann asked. How the hell did he know this?
“Arsenault is a drug smuggler. It stands to reason these are his colleagues. They’re desperate to free him before he sings.”
Longstreet was now strolling along, back and forth. “So what do we do?” He held up a spidery finger. “A: We stage a panic. We give in to all their demands immediately. We appear to do anything necessary to save our precious agent. We keep them engaged — as long as we’re talking to them, Pendergast won’t die.” He held up a second finger. “B: We lean on Arsenault, hammer and tongs—but very quietly. Maybe he’ll ID them. C: They’re hiding in a boat somewhere, so we scour the Atlantic seaboard. D, and this is most important: We smoke them out. How? By bringing Arsenault down from Sing Sing to New York. I might add that this entire operation needs to be kept absolutely secret: not only from the press, but also from the NYPD and even compartmentalized within the FBI, limited to this team and a few of the top brass.”
SAC Spann stood there, looking first at Longstreet and then at his strike force. They had focused their entire attention on Longstreet. Without anyone realizing it, just like that, Longstreet had taken over. Spann felt the slow burn of humiliation and anger.
21
In the subterranean vastness beneath 891 Riverside Drive, Constance Greene sat before a worktable in her small library, brow furrowed, violet eyes focused. All her attention was directed at what sat upon the worktable: an ancient Japanese vase with a simple ideogram baked into its glaze. Three sprigs from a miniature quince tree were tucked within, the flower buds shivering ever so slightly as she worked.