“Is she alive now?” Thompson took a step toward the man. He looked as if he might hit him, which was what we all wanted to do.
“She’s alive. I saw her about two hours ago. She was home free unless you fucked this up. Which you’re doing big time. Now back off, just like the detective said. Back the fuck off, man.”
“How do we know you’re partners with Soneji?” Thompson asked.
“One. Ten million. Two. Disney World, Orlando—The Magic Kingdom. Three. Park at Pluto 24.” He reeled off the exact wording from the ransom message.
Thompson stood his ground. “We’ll negotiate for the girl’s release. Negotiate. You do it our way.”
“What? And kill the girl?” Jezzie Flanagan had come up directly behind Thompson and the rest of the FBI posse.
“Put your guns down,” she said firmly. “Let Detective Cross make the exchange. If you do it your way and the girl dies, I’ll tell every reporter in the country. I swear I will, Thompson. I swear to God I will.”
“So will I,” I said to the FBI special agent. “You have my word on it.”
“This isn’t him. It isn’t Soneji,” Thompson finally said. He looked at Agent Scorse and shook his head in disgust. “Let them go,” he ordered. “Cross and the ransom go to Soneji. That’s the decision.”
The icy contact man and I started to walk again—I was shaking. People were staring at us as we continued our trip toward the orange motor-trams. I felt completely unreal. Moments later we were inside one of the trams. We both sat down.
“Assholes,” the contact man muttered. It was his first sign of any emotion. “They almost blew everything.”
We stopped at a new Nissan Z in Section Donald, row 6. The car was dark blue, with tinted gray glass. No one was inside the sports car.
Brimmed Hat started the car, and we made our way out toward I-4 again. Traffic leaving the park at noon was almost nonexistent. A day at the beach, he’d say.
We headed back in the direction of Orlando International. Due East. I tried to get him to talk, but he had nothing to say to me.
Maybe he wasn’t so cool and collected. Maybe he’d been scared shitless back there, too. The Bureau had almost blown everything; it wouldn’t be the first time. Actually, the move at the park was probably no more than a bluff. As I thought about it, I realized it was their last chance to negotiate for the release of Maggie Rose Dunne.
A little more than half an hour had passed before we entered a private-plane annex a few miles beyond Orlando’s main terminal. It was past one-thirty now. The exchange wasn’t going to be in Disney World.
“The note promised this would be over by one-fifteen,” I said as we climbed out of the Nissan. A warm tropical breeze blew at us across the airfield. The smells of diesel fuel and baking macadam were thick.
“The note lied,” he said. He was as cold as ice again. “That’s our plane. It’s just you and me now. Try to be smarter than the FBI, Alex. It shouldn’t be too hard.”
CHAPTER 24
“SIT BACK, relax, and enjoy the ride,” he said once we were on board. “Seems like I’m your friendly pilot, too. Well, maybe not so friendly.”
He handcuffed me to an armrest of one of the plane’s four passenger seats. Another hostage taken, I thought. Maybe I could jerk the armrest out. It was metal and plastic. Flimsy enough.
The contact man was definitely the plane’s pilot. He got clearance, and then the Cessna bumped on down the runway, gathering speed slowly. Finally it lifted off and was airborne, banking to the southeast, drifting out over the eastern section of Orlando and St. Petersburg. I was sure we were under surveillance thus far. From here on, though, everything depended on the contact man. And on Soneji’s master plan.
The two of us were silent for the first few minutes of flight. I settled back and watched him work, trying to remember every detail of the flight so far. He was efficient and relaxed at the controls. There were still no signs of stress. A professional all the way.
A strange possible connection entered my mind. We were in Florida now, heading further south. A Columbian drug cartel had originally threatened Secretary Goldberg’s family. Was that a coincidence? I didn’t believe in coincidences anymore.
A rule of police work, especially police work in my experience, was passing back and forth through my mind. An important rule. Fully ninety-five percent of crimes were solved because somebody made a mistake. Soneji hadn’t made any mistakes so far. He hadn’t left us any openings. Now was the time for mistakes. The exchange would be a difficult time for him.
“This has all been planned with a lot of precision,” I said to Brimmed Hat. The plane was gliding farther out over the Atlantic now. Toward what destination? To make the final exchange for Maggie Rose?
“You’re so right. Everything’s tight-assed as can be. You wouldn’t believe how buttoned-up things are.”
“Is the little girl really all right?” I asked him again.
“I told you, I saw her this morning. She hasn’t been harmed,” he said. “Not a hair on her chinny-chin-chin.”
“That’s real hard for me to believe,” I said. I remembered the way we found Michael Goldberg.