CHAPTER 72

MCLEAN, VIRGINIA

NASH came speeding down his street at close to seventy miles an hour. He slammed on the brakes and came to a stop directly in front of his house. Maggie was out the door and up the walk like a shot. He’d already told her what he wanted her to do and explained it in a voice that made it clear there was no room for debate. They weren’t even halfway through their first glass of wine when he decided to call home and check on the kids. He tried the home number first and then Shannon’s mobile number and got nothing. His tension began to rise, and Maggie did her spousal duty and told him to relax. Five minutes later he got the same result, and his blood began to boil. Maggie tried to reassure him by offering what she thought were plausible explanations. He didn’t buy any of them and started dialing the phone every sixty seconds until finally on the fifth try Jack answered.

The ten-year-old’s weak attempt at a cover story crumbled in the face of his father’s anger, and he spilled the beans. Nash threw two twenties on the table and grabbed his wife by the wrist. Nash offered his apologies to the poor manager who had so proudly set aside his best table. Maggie mumbled something about one of the kids’ being sick. They ran two red lights and were home in less than two minutes. During the brief car ride Nash explained that she was to go into the house, lock the door, turn on the alarm, and grab one of his guns from the safe in the mudroom. When Maggie tried to tell him he was over-reacting, he ignored her and hoped she was right.

Nash made sure Maggie was in the house and then sped off. He stopped at the end of the block and looked both ways. There was nothing but a few parked cars. He wondered which way she would have turned and guessed right. He sped off and stopped in the middle of the next intersection. He looked left and then right. Two blocks down he saw the lights of a police cruiser. Nash spun the wheel and floored it. As he drew closer he saw the minivan just beyond the police car parked in the middle of the street. The driver’s door was open. Nash threw the car into park and breathed a sigh of relief. She’d been stopped for driving without an adult in the car. His worst fears behind him, he got out and approached the police officer, who was standing on the boulevard talking with a woman who looked to be in her late forties.

“The other vehicle sped around the van and stopped in front of it. Blocking the road.”

Nash froze. He looked past the van. There was no other vehicle. He turned to look in the back of the police car, expecting to see his daughter. It was empty. Nash’s heart began to race.

“Two men,” he heard the woman say. “They were in a big black Suburban. Both of them dressed like those FBI guys in all black. They cut her off and then pulled her from the van. They threw her in the backseat of the Suburban and took off that way, toward Glebe Road.”

Nash joined them on the boulevard. He checked his emotions and looked at the police officer. “My name is Mike Nash. I work counter-terrorism for the CIA. That is my van and that was my daughter who was taken. I need you to get on your radio and put out an Amber alert on that truck and those men and my fifteen-year-old daughter. Her name is Shannon Nash.” Nash stared at the dumbfounded officer for a few seconds and then said, “I’d appreciate it if you’d step on it, officer. Before I lose my cool and start screaming.”

The officer nodded. “I recognize you from your photo.”

“Yes,” said Nash, “I’m going to call the FBI right now. Please,” Nash said urgently, “get that Amber alert out right now.”

The officer grabbed his shoulder-mounted radio and called in to his dispatcher. Nash called Art Harris from the FBI and filled him in as best he could. Harris said he would dispatch agents to the scene immediately, as well as to the house, and that he would make sure that the Amber alert was in place. He was about to call Rapp when his phone rang. He looked down and saw Shannon’s face smiling back at him. The call was from her.

Nash swallowed hard and answered his phone. “Hello.”

No one spoke for a second, and then a man with a slight accent said, “I have your daughter.”

“Prove it.”

“Daddy!” The voice was cut short.

“Is that proof enough?”

Nash closed his eyes and told himself to keep it together. “What do you want?”

“I want you.”

“All right.”

“I will trade your life for hers.”

Nash was nodding without knowing it. “All right. Where do you want to meet?”

“You will know soon enough.”

“I’m right here. I’m standing in the exact spot where you pulled her from the van. Come back. I’ll put my gun in the middle of the street and we’ll make the exchange.”

There was laughter. “We will see who is the real coward. The world will see who is the real coward. In one hour you will know where we will make the exchange.”

“How?”

“Turn on your TV.”

The line went dead. Nash stared at his phone, his hand beginning to shake. He was about to call Maggie, but stopped. He had no idea what he would say to her. He decided to call Rapp instead. If anyone could figure a way out of this it would be him.