Dark Justice(73)

MORSE: You had taped that interview. Did the task force view it?

WADE: There was no time. If that video was accurate, the power grid would be hit within hours. So I briefed them to the best of my ability.

MORSE: I understand you were interrupted during that briefing with another piece of information.

WADE: Actually, two. The first involved the tracking of Hannah Shire’s cell phone. That tracking was now in place. But it soon became clear that Mrs. Shire’s phone had been turned off. The second involved Emily Shire. A Santa Barbara police officer had just gone to her place of business. There he had an “odd” encounter with the office receptionist, who seemed terrified to talk to him. The woman claimed a “fake FBI agent” had already been there looking for Emily.

MORSE: So Miss Shire had also disappeared?

WADE: Yes. Apparently aided by a man in the office, Dave Raines, who’d left in a hurry soon after she did and had not returned. And it took some amount of questioning on the officer’s part to persuade the receptionist to say that much. The officer found Miss Shire’s vehicle in the back parking lot of the building, all four tires slashed. He obtained the plate number for Mr. Raines’s car and put out a BOLO—a Be On The Lookout.

MORSE: Did this disturbing news about Emily Shire lead you to now believe Hannah Shire’s story?

WADE: Yes, it did. Further, the receptionist was able to identify the man as matching the sketch we had drawn the previous night, after Mrs. Shire’s interview. The supposed FBI agent calling himself ‘Rutger.’ We already knew one of those men was dead, and now the other was after Emily Shire.

MORSE: Did you think that mother and daughter were together?

WADE: We didn’t know. We had to look for both of them. At the same time we had to put priority on the video. In her calls to Homeland Security, Hannah Shire had been insistent that the word “Raleigh” was crucial in finding the encryption key. We had to act on that theory—it was all we had.

MORSE: Did it occur to you that perhaps Hannah Shire had been attempting to track down this “Raleigh” on her own? That this is at least one of the reasons she’d been on the run? That in fact she had nothing but the best of intentions in trying to save her country?

WADE: On her own? While taking care of a mother suffering from dementia? And without the help of any law enforcement. In fact, while running from law enforcement. No. Frankly, Chairman Morse, it did not occur to me that any private citizen would attempt such a feat.





Chapter 47


Monday, February 25, 2013

What happened?

I lay in the dark, stunned, my head throbbing from having hit a hard floor. Somewhere nearby my mother moaned.

“Mom?” I leaned toward the sound.

“Shut up.” A man’s voice, cold as ice.

“Haannnah.” Mom croaked out my name.

Panic rushed me. “I’m here—”

“I said shut-up.” A hand cracked across my face. My head reeled to one side, pain shooting through my cheekbone.

Someone gasped. “Mom!” Emily’s voice, calling for me.

“Emily?” I spoke her name weakly, my hand to my face. Was she here too? Last I remembered she’d been in the car with her Grand. I was getting in . . .

Rational thought surged through my mind. They’d found us. The Bad People. The terrorists. Thrown us into the back of a van.

Where were they taking us? How would I save my mother and daughter?

Somewhere on a different plane my heart managed to beat. I tried to pull in air, but so little found my lungs.

Beneath my body, an engine rumbled.

Time swayed. One moment terror squeezed my throat. The next I . . . what? Faded away? Then came to. And the cycle began again. I didn’t know how many minutes passed. Five? Thirty?

No one spoke. In time my eyes became accustomed to the darkness. I made out the forms of two men across from me. Emily, hunched in a corner. My mother, lying on the floor. Unmoving.

Fear for her pushed me to sit up. “Mom?” I slid toward her.

“Stop moving.” The man who’d hit me raised his hand again.

I jerked around to face him. “What a big man you are. Kidnapping an eighty-two-year-old woman.”

He hit me again.

“Stop it!” Emily choked.

The pain shook me, but I was beyond caring. My mother needed me. I began moving toward her again—and the van stopped.

Somewhere up front, a car door slammed. Behind us, a vague grinding sound.

The van’s side door slid back, powered by a short, muscular man with a shaved head, hard-edged goatee. He held a gun. Daylight filtered inside the vehicle. I turned toward Mom—but hands grabbed my arms and forced me out of the van. I spun around, seeking my daughter, my mother, seeing two other men pull them out. Emily first. She fell into my arms, and we hugged hard. I heard Mom’s cries, and let go of Emily to catch her as she was pushed from the van.