Page 79 of Billion-Dollar Ransom
She tried to salvage the moment. “If I pick one of the children, you’ll show them alive and unharmed?”
“No,” One said in a tone of gleeful malice. “I want you to pick one of the children so that when that child’s face is destroyed with a shotgun blast, you’ll know I’m serious.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Nicky saw Randolph Schraeder try to contain his rage and fail. Spectacularly.
“Stop antagonizing him, you stupid bitch!” Schraeder bellowed from his screen. Then he leaned forward as if to speak directly to the kidnapper. “Listen to me,whoeveryou are,” he said, this time without the thunder in his voice. “This is Randolph Schraeder. Ignore the feds. I oversee this operation. And I am prepared to pay you right now, no questions asked. Just tell me where to send my plane.”
One ignored him. “So who will it be, Agent Gordon? Brave little Cal? Or sweet young Finney? Would you find it useful to hear them cry first?”
“She doesn’t speak for me!” Schraeder shouted. “Didn’t you hear me tell you to ignore her? Do not touch one hair on the heads of my children! I’ll give you anything you want!”
But One heard exactly none of that, because Nicky had given Hope the signal to mute Randolph a split second before he called her a stupid bitch. The billionaire was, for all intents and purposes, screaming into the void.
James Haller must have realized this, because he hurried outside the Sandbox to call his client directly in a kind of sidebar. On-screen, Randolph looked furious when one of his assistants pushed a phone in his face, insisting he take it. He refused at first but eventually gave in and took the call, turning his back to his computer camera.
Well, that’s one good thing about having Haller here,Nicky thought. Wrangling Randolph must be a full-time job.
“There’s no reason to do that,” Nicky said to One with as much calm as she could summon. One had to know she wouldn’t flinch, no matter how horrifying the threat.
One had to understand thatNicky Gordonwas the only obstacle between him and the billion dollars.
There was a great and terrible silence on the line. Nicky scanned the faces of everyone in the Sandbox: Mike Hardy. Jeff Penney. Hope Alonso. Ross Lindbergh. If one of them was the mole, she couldn’t tell; none of the faces betrayed a thing. Randolph Schraeder turned back to the screen as James Haller rushed into the room.
As if One were waiting for the return of the entire party, his synthesized voice finally spoke again.
“Here is what will happen. The billion will be delivered to a former military airstrip in the Antelope Valley, about an hour north of Los Angeles. The billion will be placed on the tarmac no later than three a.m., otherwise Schraeder’s wife andchildrendie. The billion will be left unattended, otherwise the wife and childrendie. If I detect police presence anywhere near the airstrip, the wife and childrendie. If anyone tries to follow the pickup aircraft, the wife and childrendie. If there are tracking devices on the ransom, theydie. If these conditions are met to my satisfaction, the hostages will be released and their locations shared with Mr. Schraeder.
“Do you understand these instructions and agree to follow them?”
Now it was Nicky Gordon’s turn to be quiet, because this was not her money. There was only one person in this room who could agree to these terms.
Randolph Schraeder said: “Pay the sons of bitches.”
CHAPTER 89
Friday, 2:57 a.m.
RANDOLPH SCHRAEDER’S PRIVATE plane arrived at Sargent Field just before the three a.m. deadline.
It was a minor miracle that the plane had made it on time, even in the middle of the night, when air traffic was quieter. But One must have known precisely how long it would take. They had considered every detail, every possible factor.
Kidnappers usually planned these things down to the second.
Sargent Field was a decommissioned World War II–era airstrip on the outskirts of Palmdale, California. The site had been intended for use as postwar housing until developers realized that there wasn’t exactly a demand for homes in the high desert so far away from Los Angeles. All that remained now was a ghostly grid of almost-streets and a few sample bungalows that had been taken over by desert squatters.
This was where Jeff Penney and a small elite unit of SWATofficers holed up, about three phantom blocks away from the airstrip. Nicky prayed none of One’s spotters had watched them move into position.
The moment the location was given, all available FBI and LAPD forces gathered around that dusty scrap of an airstrip. In the bright light of day, the airstrip looked like it had been made by a bored giant scraping a fingernail along the desert floor. At night, it was barely noticeable. You had to know it was there.
Yes, Nicky Gordon was well aware that One had warned them not to watch the handoff. But One had to know they would be watching anyway. Nobody just drops a billion dollars in the desert, shrugs, and walks away.
Nicky had stayed back in the Sandbox with Mike Hardy, Ross Lindbergh, and Hope Alonso, who were busy gathering all possible eyes on that tiny strip of desert. LAPD air support, the National Guard—whoever was available at this ungodly hour. But when Schraeder’s private plane landed, all they had was Jeff Penney’s SWAT video feed from three blocks away.
“I need more eyes online,” Nicky told Hope.
“We’re working on it,” she said. “There’s just not much out there.”
One most definitely knew that too. And the wide-open desert spaces meant that it would be easy to spot any law hanging around. His choice of a handoff location was brilliant, Nicky had to admit.
