Page 47 of Holding His Hostage
Joanne slowly sat up, her hand clutching his arm. She looked utterly shaken. “What if McKenzie won’t give us the money?”
“Then we fake it,” said Mac. “Use dummy bills, make the drop, and get your daughter back. We’ve done it before. Just don’t tell the US Marshals office.”
Sloan nodded. “It won’t fool them for long, but it could buy us crucial minutes to get April and get the hell out of there.” He touched her back lightly. “Are you able to walk? We need to get to the warehouse and find McKenzie.”
“Yes.” She stood, her legs visibly trembling. “Just let me grab my phone.”
Sloan crossed to Mac, lowering his voice. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this McKenzie character. She’s Joanne’s dead husband’s lover.”
Mac nodded. “Champ and I will stay on your six.”
They drove to the warehouse in the HERO Force SUV, arriving just after noon. In the light of day, the river gleamed a foreboding gray, whitecaps on the surface from the heavy wind. The building itself was made of brick, a faded sign painted across the windowless facade reading POUGHKEEPSIE PLUMBING SUPPLY.
Sloan convinced Joanne to wait in the car while he, Mac, and Champion headed for the office they’d investigated last night. This time he carried pepper spray, a weapon for an animal that might or might not appear, and wore the same pack on his back that he had last night.
He knew something was wrong as soon as he saw the office door standing slightly ajar. He drew his weapon, the other men doing the same. When he reached the entrance, he stood to the side before kicking it open with one leg and moving into the doorframe.
Everything was gone. Every paper, everything that had been on the desks and shelves except the plumbing parts on the tables. He carefully moved inside, clearing the room as he went, and opened the filing cabinet where they’d hit pay dirt last night. It, too, was empty. “Son of a bitch.” He ran a hand through his hair. McKenzie had gotten wind of their visit last night and was gone.
“This was all full of paperwork. Records, that sort of thing.” He sighed heavily. “Let’s check the warehouse. We never made it in there last night.”
He drew his weapon, again holding it at the ready. There were two weathered metal doors that seemed to lead to that area. It was dark inside and the glass dirty, making it impossible to see into the warehouse without going in.
The door squeaked loudly as he pulled it open, the combination of mold and rust assaulting his nose. It was dark, dank, and very cold, making him wonder if the heat was turned on at all. He pulled a flashlight from his pack as Mac and Champion did the same.
Row upon row of tall industrial racks filled the space, boxes on more than half of them. Near the ceiling, a catwalk encircled the entire warehouse, a long walkway bisecting the space to connect the two sides. The sound of running water came from deeper in the building, and Sloan followed it, looking for the source.
Halfway down an exterior wall, a series of old metal pipes ran from the ceiling to the floor, an ice sculpture forming where one of them had burst. He followed the flow of water to an open grate, a throwback to a time when virtually anything could be connected to the public sewer system directly.
“There’s nobody here,” he said, his voice echoing in the space. “McKenzie probably saw us come in last night and figured she’d clear out of Dodge. We’re going to have to get April back the hard way.”
“We can handle it, Dvorak. We’ve got the men.”
Sloan shook his head as he turned and walked past them. “I goddamn knew this wasn’t going to be easy.”
25
There was no snow tonight, the bright light of the moon throwing everything into relief. Jefferson Park sat in the middle of downtown Poughkeepsie, a wide space containing a playground, basketball court, picnic area, and a small amphitheater showcasing local graffiti. The entire park was surrounded by buildings, including the library and courthouse, though this part of downtown was deserted at night.
At its center stood a statue of Thomas Jefferson, flanked by a park bench and a large black garbage can. That was where the drop was to be made. Joanne had been told to come by herself. If any of the men could have passed for her size and physique, they would have gone instead, but in the end, it needed to be her, leaving Sloan terrified he could end up with both her and April being gone—or worse.
Sloan and Moto were positioned in the library with a prime view of the statue, Champion on the roof with a high-powered sniper rifle. Mac and Trace were in the courthouse, Chop and Razorback in a van parked close to the basketball court, and Gavin and Asher each stationed farther out at either end of the park.
Chop and Razorback had been surveilling the area for nearly nine hours but had yet to see anyone who could be Bannon or one of his associates, much less Joanne’s daughter.
Sloan checked his watch. Nine fifty-four. Any second now, a series of events would be set in motion, the final outcome still unknown, and the tension was eating him alive. It occurred to him he had more to lose tonight than he’d ever called his own, and he said a silent prayer for help. Champion’s voice came over the comm set in his ear. “Here comes Jo.”
He opened his eyes. She was walking up one of the sidewalks that went out from the statue like bicycle spokes, the shade of mature trees hiding her form before she emerged once more into the moonlight. He lifted his binoculars to his eyes. He could hear her breathing, the anxiety she so barely held under control. Her voice was a whisper in his ear. “I don’t see anyone.”
“Don’t talk,” snapped Sloan. “You can’t let them see your mouth moving. Just put the money on the bench and get out of there.”
Mac spoke next. “I’ve got eyes on a dark minivan heading your way. One block out, east side of the park.”
Sloan stared through the binoculars. “Get out of there, Jo.” She appeared from the shadows walking quickly out of the park, and the invisible noose around his neck loosened a degree. He trained the binoculars down the road, the minivan approaching in the distance. “It’s got tinted windows. Can you see inside, Champion?” The sharpshooter had a night vision scope on his rifle, which he hoped could see through the glass.
“Affirmative, but I don’t see the girl. Got two male tangos in the front seat.”
The van approached the center of the park, stopping just behind the van with Razorback and Chop inside. “Fuck,” said Razorback. “I think we’ve been made.”
