Get Back Jack (17 page)

He nodded, “The same amount as the first. $1,030.00.” He shifted the car into reverse, turned the radio volume down. “Geez! Even my kids don’t blast my eardrums like that!”

“What do you make of the deposits?” Kim asked between thoughtful crunches.

“Dunno. You?”

They returned to the expressway and continued toward Lake Forest, while Kim considered what would likely happen when and if Reacher got Neagley’s message, whatever the message was.

Kim tried to think about the deposit numbers, but she was too tired to hold them in her head, so made a quick note of the amounts and then she focused on the circumstances. She could usually see the hidden relationships others missed.

Two deposits of the same amount, five years apart. If the second was a signal from Neagley, did that mean the first was a signal from Neagley, too? Probably.

Or at least it meant the deposit amount was a signal and Neagley knew about the signal and what it meant and she duplicated it now because it had worked five years ago to get Reacher’s attention.

But what about the other two deposits? Were they signals as well? From whom? Neagley? Or Dixon? Or someone else?

A hundred-and-one grand was one hell of a signal, if that was the case.

Maybe if she finished the coffee and chocolate, her synapses would fire correctly again and she could figure things out.

Gaspar said, “We’re close to Neagley’s. Let’s talk about your money theory. Suppose this is all about money. Which is as good a guess as any.”

“High praise, Chico.”

He grinned. “So if this is about money, you figure it’s what? Somebody got cheated back in the day?”

“Makes sense.”

“Who has the money? And who wants it?”

“I figure that’s what we’ll ask Neagley when we get there. If nothing else, it’ll be fun to watch her squirm.”

“Assuming you’re doing the teasing, not me. And from an assured clear distance,” he said, as he turned the Crown Vic onto Neagley’s street. Her address was two dark and silent blocks ahead.

They could see Neagley’s home clearly in the distance.

While most of the homes in the sleepy neighborhood were closed up for the night, Neagley’s was flooded with bright lights and three local police cruisers were parked out front. The newer, reengineered versions of the Interceptors. No match for the Crown Vic, should it come to a challenge. Which Kim hoped it wouldn’t.

“What the hell do you suppose is going on here?” Gaspar said, as if he was asking no one but himself.

Kim turned on the police scanner inside the Crown Vic. She heard the usual radio calls between dispatch and patrol units.

“Ten-forty-three, please,” the dispatcher requested. Polite.

“Ten-eighty-five; ten-sixteen; ten-ninety-six,” an officer responded.

“Ten-sixty-nine,” she said.

“Say what?” Gaspar asked.

Kim easily located the Illinois State Police 10-codes list on her laptop and translated. “Dispatcher wants information. He says he’s delayed due to a domestic problem involving a mentally disturbed subject.” She looked up from the screen. “I told you Neagley was crazy, but you didn’t believe me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied. “Though her brother can get a little agitated, too, don’t you agree? What else?”

“The dispatcher says ten-sixty-nine, message received.”

Gaspar scowled. “How wacky is that? Who could remember all those 10-codes? We only had fifty in the Army.”

“Soldiers have notoriously bad memories. They didn’t want to over-tax your systems.” Kim’s caffeine high had finally kicked in. She felt buzzed with energy.

Most agencies had abandoned the old 10-codes in favor of plain words because 10-codes varied too much from one jurisdiction to the next. But here in Illinois, where they were invented back in 1937, not only did they remain in use, but the locals had devised quite a few extras in the past seventy-five years.

“Well, 50 ten-codes should be enough for anybody,” Gaspar groused. “In the Army, we never had a situation that didn’t fit somewhere.”

Kim turned the scanner’s volume down. Before she could formulate a snappy reply, the answer to an earlier brain-teaser gobsmacked her. She grinned. “I know what those deposits to Reacher’s bank account mean.”

“You do?”

“Ten-twenty-eight.”

“In Army-speak, that means loud and clear,” Gaspar said.

“Ten-four.”

“Wrecker requested? What the hell is that?”

Kim laughed out loud. “Okay, Chico, okay. Ten-four means okay.”

Her mirth only annoyed Gaspar further. “No, it doesn’t. In the Army it means ‘wrecker requested.’ In the civilian world, it means ‘acknowledged.’ What’s acknowledged?”

Still chuckling, Kim replied, “Think about the deposits. You’re good with numbers. Meanwhile, park the car. Let’s go see what’s going on here.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Sunday, November 14

12:13 a.m.

Chicago, IL

As instructed, Gaspar parked the Crown Vic along the curb behind one of the cruisers, making sure to leave enough room for an easy exit. They left the vehicle unlocked and walked down the tree-lined sidewalk toward Neagley’s home, which looked like it had been owned by a railroad baron once upon a time.

The house was set back from the road and surrounded by at least an acre of green all around. Lots of doors and roofs and huge windows and giant garages. The brick pavers alone would have cost Kim a year’s pay.

The first uniformed officer they reached stood leaning against his patrol car which, upon closer inspection, was a private security service vehicle, not Lake Forest PD. Kim pulled out her badge wallet and showed it. Gaspar did the same.

But before she could introduce herself, probably because of his assumptions about their jurisdiction, the guard said, “No need for the FBI. We’ve called the locals. The kid’s run away a dozen times before. We’ll probably find him in the next hour.”

The former secret service agent Kim remembered standing guard at Neagley’s office came out the front door and hustled down the long and winding sidewalk toward the police vehicles ahead on the street.

Kim called out. He turned, saw them, and waited for their approach.

“What’s your name, anyway?” Gaspar asked when they were within hailing distance.

“Never give up, do you?” he said. “We didn’t report a kidnapping. Why are you here?”

“Is Ms. Neagley inside?” Kim asked.

“She is.”

“I’ll meet you there,” she said to Gaspar, leaving him to interrogate Nameless as well as possible while she traveled the sidewalk he’d used to reach the curb.

The air smelled like home to Kim. This Chicago suburb was a long way from the Michigan farm town she grew up in, but Midwestern fall smelled clean and cold here, too. 

The wide-open space around Neagley’s house allowed cold wind to blow through her lightweight overcoat. She hugged her arms to her body and thought about how cold Paul would be now, and much colder he’d be as the night wore on, if he’d run out without a good warm fleece and knit cap, at least.

The front door of the house stood open and every light on the lower level was ablaze, spilling brightness onto the front pavers and lawns like outdoor floodlights.

Wearing the same clothes she’d worn in New York earlier, Neagley stood just inside the entrance, talking with two uniformed officers, her back to the door. Which allowed Kim to approach the group unnoticed.

Kim listened to the conversation while forcing herself not to gape at the home’s spacious open floor plan and pricey interior decor. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen as many wing chairs collected in one place. She counted fifteen from her vantage point at the entrance. Not to mention the artwork she recognized and the sheer volume of high-end stuff everywhere. Several heavy wood pieces were tall and dark and solid enough to require a forklift simply to rearrange the furniture. Could this possibly be Neagley’s taste? She’d seemed much more practical up until now.

Neagley was explaining the situation to the officers as if she were dictating a police report. “He was in bed by nine, like always. Morrie was here the entire time. I got home late and when I went in to check on him, he was gone. We inspected all of his usual hiding places before we called you. He likes to hitchhike. So get a BOLO out and do the best you can until daylight.”

So the former Secret Service guy’s name was Morrie. Wonder why he didn’t want to reveal it? One small mystery solved, anyway.

Kim’s pocket vibrated and she considered ignoring it. Under the circumstances, perhaps the Boss had something positive to offer. She turned her back and pulled out the phone.

She could feel Neagley’s eyes burning holes in her back. “Yes?”

He said, “Berenson snatched the kid. Found him outside, a couple of blocks down. I’m working on video. Should have it soon. Show Neagley alone.”

“Okay,” she said and was about to disconnect when she realized he was still talking.

“And Otto?”

“Yes.”

“Dean has Dixon. Intercepted her at Kennedy when she deplaned. Working on that video, too. No mistake.”

“Current locations?”

“Unknown. Still checking.”

“Anything else?”

“Reacher’s on the way. Might be there already. Stay alert,” he said and terminated the call.

Before she could slide the phone back into her pocket, Kim looked up into Neagley’s bottomless gaze. She felt the woman’s anger pulsing off her like sonic waves.

Neagley’s hand shot out, grabbed the phone from her hand and dropped it into her own pocket before Kim had time to blink.

Neagley dismissed the officers and they left, promising to promptly report anything they found.

“What did he want?” she said, glaring at Kim and referencing the phone call.

“You make it hard to tolerate you, you know that?” Kim snapped. “Give me my phone.”

Neagley stood like a sentry at the gates of hell, which was probably where she wished she could send Kim right about now.

“Fine. Keep it. I hate the thing anyway.”

Neagley said nothing.

A moment ago, Kim might have tried to deliver the news kindly, but Neagley wouldn’t appreciate kindness and Kim didn’t have the patience. “He said Berenson has your brother.”

Neagley showed no response at all. “What else?”

Briefly, Kim considered mentioning the Boss’s promise to send video of the kidnapping, but instinctively held back. She didn’t trust Neagley. She’d wait to receive the video, watch it first, and then decide when or if to reveal it to Neagley. The Boss was looking for the missing and he had superior resources; Neagley couldn’t do more. Kim would learn more about the situation and show her the video before daylight.

“Dean has Dixon.”

“And?”

“We don’t know where they are.”

“Like hell he doesn’t,” Neagley said, nostrils flared half a second.

Will you look at that. The ice queen feels something.

“Get Gaspar in here and follow me.” Neagley turned and strode toward the back of the house.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Sunday, November 14

1:43 a.m.

Chicago, IL

Gaspar and Kim were seated at Neagley’s oversized kitchen table at the back of the mansion. She’d made coffee and poured large mugs full and the aroma wafted enticingly. Kim’s nerves were humming and her skin felt too tight on her frame. Gaspar had assumed his usual slouch, but his eyelids were open, which was about as anxious as he normally allowed himself to appear.

Neagley’s cool demeanor had returned as quickly as her anger had flashed, leaving Kim to wonder whether she’d seen any anger at all. Neagley requested and received Gaspar’s cell phone, disabled it, and stuffed it with Kim’s inside a signal-shield box.

Kim couldn’t retrieve the Boss’s encrypted video of the kidnapping using the phone even if she’d wanted to. And if she couldn’t talk to the Boss for a while, Neagley could hardly blame Kim for holding back when the video was finally shared.

“Cooper can’t hear you or see you,” Neagley said when they’d settled in. “My home is a bug-free zone. You can speak freely. So let’s get to it.”

“You first,” Kim said, not believing Neagley’s boast. Even if the Boss’s sophisticated equipment was temporarily thwarted, Neagley’s home was probably more wired than the Pentagon. Someone was always eavesdropping. To assume otherwise was foolish and Kim was not a fool. “Where’s Reacher?”

Neagley replied, “I told you, I sent him a message—”

“Yeah. Days ago,” Gaspar said. “How long does it take for him to pick up?”

Neagley continued as if he’d never spoken. “I wish to hell he was here because we could use some help. But we can’t wait for him.”

“How do you contact him?” Gaspar asked.

“You found my message, so you should know that.” She smirked. “Can’t figure it out?”

The woman was too smug and Kim was tired of taking her crap.

“You told him 10-30. ‘Request assistance, non-emergency.’ Why not 10-19? If you’d asked, he might have contacted or called,” Kim revealed, even though it might not have been the best time to play that card and she hadn’t explained her hunch to Gaspar or told him about the Boss’s warning yet.

Neagley shrugged. “He knows what to do.”

“What happened with your brother?” Kim asked.

Neagley looked away briefly. Then she turned a steady gaze toward Kim and said, “Paul is autistic. We never leave him alone, even to sleep. He’s a good kid in many ways. But he’s very clever and he’s sly. He was upset about what happened in my office yesterday and he was angry about his arm wound and who knows what else goes on inside his head? Somehow, he got away from Morrie tonight and ran outside. Morrie and I discovered him missing when I got home from New York, and we looked for about half an hour before we called for help. I guess we know now why we couldn’t find him.”

“It’s not your fault,” Kim said, automatically, as she would have said to any kidnapping victim’s family. But Neagley wasn’t just a normal sister.