Page 5 of Billion-Dollar Ransom
Her kidnapper code name was Four, and she knew this was the make-or-break moment of the mission. If she didn’t keep these kids calm for the next thirty seconds, things could unravelrealfast.
Four lowered the Taser to waist level. She prayed she wouldn’t be forced to use it on one of the children. Using it on the driver had been bad enough.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” she said. “Please stay in your seats.”
“Who are you?” one kid asked.
Outside, the kidnapper’s partner backed the white BMW into an empty driveway. He killed the engine, stepped out of the car, glanced briefly at the nearest house, then tapped the key fob to open the trunk. The lid popped up, wobbled in the air, and steadied. The BMW driver jogged to the bus and went through its open doors.
His code name was Three.
Without a word, Three stepped up and hooked his hands under the arms of the unconscious bus driver. She needed to be out of the way. Keeping her head and neck supported, he quickly carried her off the bus and over to the trunk of the BMW.
Four didn’t acknowledge Three or his activities. She trusted him to do his part as he always had throughout their marriage. No, she was keeping her eye on the children, waiting to see if any of them would try to make a break for it (unlikely) or use their phones to text moms and dads (entirely likely).
But any message they might try to send would fail to reach its destination. Four had a device clipped to her belt that briefly killed all cell phone and Wi-Fi signals in a quarter-mile radius. Nearby residents might wonder why their shows suddenly ceased streaming.
“Cal and Finney Schraeder,” Four said, “please come with us right now.”
The children turned in their seats to gawk at two kids in a middle row. They stood up, a boy and a girl who were undeniably related. Most people assumed, incorrectly, that they were twins.
“Are we being kidnapped?” asked Finney, who was eight years old and a little taller than her nine-year-old brother.
Four had wondered how the Schraeder kids would react to their abduction. Angry tantrums? Flowing tears? Stunned silence? She had been prepared for all three possibilities, but she hadn’t counted on a direct question. The best response, she decided, was a direct answer.
“Yes,” Four said. “You are being kidnapped. Now, please, come quickly.”
Without another word and without resistance, the siblings began to move up the aisle. Perhaps, Four reasoned, their wealthy father or their ex-army stepmother had taught them how to react in this situation.
Which was smart, but also troubling. Because if they’d had a little family chat on what to do in the event of a kidnapping, the parents might also have taught them how to get the upper hand.
By the time the Schraeder children reached Four, her husband had stepped back onto the bus.
“The rest of you stay in your seats,” Three said, raising his voice a bit too much. “The police will be here soon. Donotstep off this bus!”
Four shot him a warning look. She knew her husband meant well, but she was worried he might have overdone it a little. She saw the children’s startled expressions. This was all sinking in. People in masks taking theirfriends…
“It could be dangerous on the street,” Four calmly explained to the children. “Cars drive awfully fast on this road. We don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“What about Cal and Finney?” asked one voice from the back.
“Especially not Cal and Finney,” Four replied.
CHAPTER 7
THE COLLEGE SOPHOMORE watching from the window waited until the two kids were seat-belted into the back of the white BMW and it had roared to life and peeled down the hill away from the motor coach.
Sophomore counted backward from twenty. No sirens. Excellent. She picked up the burner phone and called the only number in its memory.
“One hundred percent,” she said.
The call ended without a verbal confirmation that the message had been received. This was expected, but Sophomore found it a little unnerving. What if she’d spoken too soon, before the listener had connected and heard the words? Well, too late now.
Sophomore peered outside and waited to see if any of the remaining children would try to step off the motor coach. Now she began counting down from sixty. Thirty seconds in, no kids came running out. They were good little listeners. After thirty more seconds, there was still nothing.
Countdown over, Sophomore set about covering her tracks (wiping down the doorknobs and windows) before she exited the house, which had been on the market for about a year now. The asking price was way too freakin’ high—inheropinion, at least. But she supposed that worked to her mysterious employer’s advantage.
Sophomore had punch-keyed into the home just a half hour before. She’d set up by the window of a second-floor bedroom and put down her backpack, which was a little heavier than usual; in addition to the usual notebook, pens, makeup bag, and a paperback copy of Faulkner’sSanctuary,it contained disinfecting wipes and a 30,000-megawatt laser.
