The Target
Page 53
"Just to imagine that Molly's his daughter. Now that's got to be a real shock to Ramsey's system, having to go to Mason Lord. At least the little girl should be safe now. I hear that place is a fortress." He sighed. "Unfortunately, with Mason Lord's resources, I don't blame Ramsey a bit for not wanting to try his protection. I did try to talk him into calling the FBI, but he refused, said this was the safest way to go for the moment, and he's probably right. He also wants the little girl protected from the cops asking her questions, psychologists all over her. At least until we find out who's behind all this." Savich sighed again. "You want to see some photos we just got from a military satellite?"
She smiled at him. "Do you know something of interest, sir?"
"A bit." He punched buttons on MAX, waited a moment, and then the two of them watched photos of Mason Lord's huge house come onto the screen. Dillon hit another button and the photo changed to another view, this one from east of the vast grounds. "These shots just came in. I counted six different men stationed around the grounds. Now on to the boss man himself." He hit a key and Mason Lord's lean, very handsome face appeared on the screen. "He ain't bad, is he?"
"No. Who's that? His daughter?"
"Nope, that's his new wife. She's younger than the daughter."
Sherlock made a rude noise. They looked at more photos. Finally, he hit a key and said, "This is Molly Santera and Emma, her daughter."
Sherlock was silent for several moments. Then she said, "We've got to do more, Dillon."
Special Agent Dillon Savich, chief of the Criminal Apprehension Unit at the FBI, tilted back his chair, looked up, and said, "What do you suggest, Sherlock?"
"For starters I'd go see that farmer in Loveland, Colorado. You know, the one who said he'd sold the truck that later turned up being driven by the guys chasing Ramsey."
He felt a tingling down his spine. He sat forward, his eyes never leaving her face. "You think this guy knows who they are."
"Yes, it makes sense. I think we should go there, talk to him, have a really serious talk. Besides, at the moment, there aren't any other leads."
"Agreed. I'm with you on this one-that farmer knows. One of the guys from the field office in Denver can take a ride up there and talk to the farmer."
She was shaking her head. "No, Agent Anchor is already involved. I'll bet he's also already verified to his own satisfaction that the farmer didn't have a clue that he'd sold his truck to the kidnappers. In other words, his mind is already made up and I doubt he'd change it unless something smashed him in the nose. The word about Agent Anchor is that he's got an attitude problem. He brown-noses up the chain of command at the Bureau and tromps on local law enforcement. Nope, it's got to be one of us who goes. We're not on the FBI's side. We're on the kid's side."
"And that makes a difference?"
"Maybe this time it does," she said thoughtfully, lightly stroking her fingers over two thick black strips that were MAX's speakers. She remembered hearing Dillon hoot when MAX had made his first statement, which was, if she remembered correctly, "Hooray for the Redskins."
She said, "If it were a simple kidnapping, that would be different. But this is big, Dillon, and no one has a clue who's behind it and what they want. Well, maybe Mason Lord does. You know, that's got to be one of the reasons Ramsey's there."
"All right. I'll phone the field office and let Agent Anchor know we're coming." Savich swiveled his chair back, pulled out his directory, and punched out some numbers on his telephone. The phone rang busy. "Damned thing. I think e-mail should be mandatory for everybody in every department and in every field office in the FBI, maybe even everybody in the world."
She shook her head at him, picked up the phone, and punched in the same numbers. When it was answered, she asked to speak to Agent Anchor. She said to Dillon, "Phones hate you. It's time to face up to it. Just let me do the dialing from now on. Oh yes, hello, Agent Anchor. Agent Sherlock here from the CAU in Washington. I'm fine, you? Good. I wanted to ask you about the Santera kidnapping. Un-huh. Now, about that farmer you interviewed who claimed he'd sold his truck after his wife had reported it stolen?" In an instant she was staring at the phone as if it had bitten her. "You're kidding me."
She waited some more, nodded, then said, "When? How? Any leads?"
She asked more questions, then listened for a couple of more minutes. Slowly, she hung up.
She smiled at him. "Do you know something of interest, sir?"
"A bit." He punched buttons on MAX, waited a moment, and then the two of them watched photos of Mason Lord's huge house come onto the screen. Dillon hit another button and the photo changed to another view, this one from east of the vast grounds. "These shots just came in. I counted six different men stationed around the grounds. Now on to the boss man himself." He hit a key and Mason Lord's lean, very handsome face appeared on the screen. "He ain't bad, is he?"
"No. Who's that? His daughter?"
"Nope, that's his new wife. She's younger than the daughter."
Sherlock made a rude noise. They looked at more photos. Finally, he hit a key and said, "This is Molly Santera and Emma, her daughter."
Sherlock was silent for several moments. Then she said, "We've got to do more, Dillon."
Special Agent Dillon Savich, chief of the Criminal Apprehension Unit at the FBI, tilted back his chair, looked up, and said, "What do you suggest, Sherlock?"
"For starters I'd go see that farmer in Loveland, Colorado. You know, the one who said he'd sold the truck that later turned up being driven by the guys chasing Ramsey."
He felt a tingling down his spine. He sat forward, his eyes never leaving her face. "You think this guy knows who they are."
"Yes, it makes sense. I think we should go there, talk to him, have a really serious talk. Besides, at the moment, there aren't any other leads."
"Agreed. I'm with you on this one-that farmer knows. One of the guys from the field office in Denver can take a ride up there and talk to the farmer."
She was shaking her head. "No, Agent Anchor is already involved. I'll bet he's also already verified to his own satisfaction that the farmer didn't have a clue that he'd sold his truck to the kidnappers. In other words, his mind is already made up and I doubt he'd change it unless something smashed him in the nose. The word about Agent Anchor is that he's got an attitude problem. He brown-noses up the chain of command at the Bureau and tromps on local law enforcement. Nope, it's got to be one of us who goes. We're not on the FBI's side. We're on the kid's side."
"And that makes a difference?"
"Maybe this time it does," she said thoughtfully, lightly stroking her fingers over two thick black strips that were MAX's speakers. She remembered hearing Dillon hoot when MAX had made his first statement, which was, if she remembered correctly, "Hooray for the Redskins."
She said, "If it were a simple kidnapping, that would be different. But this is big, Dillon, and no one has a clue who's behind it and what they want. Well, maybe Mason Lord does. You know, that's got to be one of the reasons Ramsey's there."
"All right. I'll phone the field office and let Agent Anchor know we're coming." Savich swiveled his chair back, pulled out his directory, and punched out some numbers on his telephone. The phone rang busy. "Damned thing. I think e-mail should be mandatory for everybody in every department and in every field office in the FBI, maybe even everybody in the world."
She shook her head at him, picked up the phone, and punched in the same numbers. When it was answered, she asked to speak to Agent Anchor. She said to Dillon, "Phones hate you. It's time to face up to it. Just let me do the dialing from now on. Oh yes, hello, Agent Anchor. Agent Sherlock here from the CAU in Washington. I'm fine, you? Good. I wanted to ask you about the Santera kidnapping. Un-huh. Now, about that farmer you interviewed who claimed he'd sold his truck after his wife had reported it stolen?" In an instant she was staring at the phone as if it had bitten her. "You're kidding me."
She waited some more, nodded, then said, "When? How? Any leads?"
She asked more questions, then listened for a couple of more minutes. Slowly, she hung up.
