Page 51 of Billion-Dollar Ransom
“Not targeting.Working with.”
“What?”
“The narco boys have long suspected that Old Man Schraeder and one of the most powerful cartels gowayback. They can’t prove any of it—the guy is too slippery for that.”
Nicky was only two bites into her turkey wrap, and already she felt like tossing it away. “The same Randolph Schraeder who goes on cable news ranting about wanting to get the border wall built and sending refugees back to wherever they came from?”
“There’s a lot of money in hypocrisy,” Mike said.
“Okay,” Nicky said. “Forget that for now. That’s a DEA headache. But in terms ofourcase—”
“I’m right there with you,” Mike said. “It’s looking more and more like Schraeder had his own family kidnapped.”
“He’d collect his own ransom and the insurance on top of that.”
“All stage-managed by the cartels and those assholes at Capital.” Mike took a long hit of his vape. The pale fumes floated above them for a moment before being swallowed up by the thick evening air over Westwood.
Nicky couldn’t stomach another bite of her turkey. The mom in her refused to waste food, so she wrapped it up and tucked it into her jacket pocket despite knowing she’d never return to it.
“Let’s see what Lindbergh can find,” Nicky said. “We need something real before we go after Schraeder directly.”
As they made their way into the building, Mike said, “Promise me you’re going to finish that wrap.”
“As soon as you promise you’ll quit vaping,” Nicky replied, “which, by the way, is just as bad as actually smoking.”
“You sound just like Special K.”
As soon as he mentioned Kaitlin, Nicky’s cell phone rang. She answered it eagerly, thinking it was her daughter giving her the obligatoryHey, Mom, I’m here and safe, now please let me go live my best lifecall.
That’s not who it was.
CHAPTER 55
“WHO IS THIS?” Nicky asked.
“My name is not important.”
Nicky Gordon didn’t recognize the number on her cell, although the call appeared to be originating from another country. A standard trick if you were trying to disguise the location of your phone. The caller was also using some kind of voice-distorting software; the tone modulated between masculine and feminine.
“Fine,” Nicky said. “Still need to call you something.”
“We do not have names. Only numbers.”
“So what’s your number?”
“My number will mean nothing to you, Agent Gordon. Listen carefully.”
She noted the reference to the plotters having numbers, not names, just as their lone witness, Ian Coughlin, had described during his interrogation.
Mike Hardy was straining to hear the other side of theconversation. Nicky raised her index finger, telling him to hold on. They both stopped short of the security check-in area to focus on the call.
“I’m listening,” she said.
“You have a mole on your task force.”
She’d already figured that out. “Who?”
The caller ignored her question. “Not only that, but this individual is intimately involved in the kidnapping plot you are investigating.”
