Touch & Go (Tessa Leoni, #2)(89)

“We don’t,” her fellow FBI agent, Hawkes, countered. “Sounds like the whole exchange happens long distance. We pay, the Denbes provide an address, then we get to rescue them.”

“Talk about a KISS approach to kidnapping,” Wyatt drawled. “Keep it Simple, Stupid. Which is exactly what they’re doing.”

“Insurance company won’t go for it,” Nicole warned.

“Denbe Construction will threaten to sue if they don’t,” Tessa countered. She was standing next to Wyatt. Her hair smelled like strawberries, and he really did want to remove that plain black hair elastic, just to see how it fell around her shoulders. Now was not the time or place to notice such things, of course, and yet he did. “After all, the policy contains a risk-of-imminent-death clause, and here’s a video of the insurants stating they’ll be killed if monies aren’t delivered. Seems pretty slam dunk to me.”

“We need more information,” Nicole continued primly. “That’s the whole point of the negotiations. We should be demanding concessions, such as the release of the girl. Instead, we’re being squeezed just as tightly as the insurance company. Told nothing. Ordered to deliver everything. We take all the risk, they gain all the reward.”

Wyatt held up his hand. “Let’s talk about that. Before we get too far into what this video doesn’t tell us, let’s discuss what it does.” He ticked off one finger: “Experienced captors.”

“Professionals! We already knew that!” Nicole, still twirling her hair.

“We thought in terms of hired muscle, most likely former military. But what about prior kidnapping-for-ransom experience? You guys have databases. Got any lists of professionals, known offenders who’ve done this kind of thing before? That might tell us something.”

Nicole frowned, but nodded. She gestured to Hawkes, who started typing.

“They’re using an iPhone.” Tessa continued brainstorming. “Given that tomorrow’s phone call will be in FaceTime. They’ll dial Justin’s number in the FaceTime mode and once we pick up, it’ll be like a video conference. We can see and hear them, and they can see and hear us.”

“Given the quality of the video,” Hawkes said, “an iPhone would work. Now, FaceTime requires a Wi-Fi connection, but that’s not really an issue in this day and age. Could be they have Wi-Fi available at their location, or they brought a Mi-Fi, creating their own hotspot.”

“Can we trace it?” Wyatt, the nontechie, asked.

“The Wi-Fi signal? If the signal were unsecured and we were within distance to receive it, yes, there are some tools that could lead us to the source. But that means being able to pick up the Wi-Fi signal, identifying it’s the one being used by the UNSUBs and already being within a few hundred yards—or less—of the broadcast location.”

Wyatt took that to mean no. “What about the iPhone?”

“Don’t have a phone number to trace; the call number was blocked when Justin dialed customer service. Best guess, given these guys are pros, is that the iPhone is either stolen or a knockoff. Big black market for consumer electronics, making it easy enough to pick up a couple of disposable phones for a job like this. At least”—Hawkes shrugged—“that’s what I would do.”

“The girl was surprised,” Tessa said quietly. “Justin appeared to be talking off the cuff, but this video, the way they intoned the words. It’s almost like Ashlyn and Libby were following a prewritten script. The threat of death… You could tell that caught Ashlyn off guard.”

“She didn’t freak out,” Wyatt murmured, though the look on her face, the moment after reading that line, would haunt him.

“They’re unharmed,” Nicole said. “Not beaten, like Justin. Also, holding up well given the situation. Seems to indicate that thus far, they’ve been treated better than he has.”

“They’re not worth more if beaten to a pulp,” Wyatt said bluntly. “Justin is. But I agree. Whatever threats the kidnappers are using, it’s enough to gain cooperation without rendering them hysterical.”

“Professionals,” Tessa murmured, the obvious distinction.

Wyatt bent over, scrutinizing the video. “Background looks like wood paneling,” he said.

“Agreed,” Hawkes seconded.

“Consistent with many hiking lodges.” He turned this around in his mind, trying to think through the logistics. “The Denbes will provide the address of their location once the money is transferred,” he muttered out loud. “Meaning the kidnappers have to wait around to ensure their demands have been met, most likely somewhere close enough that the family continues to play by the rules, even when on the phone with us. Then, the moment the payment has been wired to the designated account, two things will happen at once: Law enforcement will descend upon the provided address, and the newly wealthy kidnappers will flee the premises. If you ask me, proves once and for all they’re definitely in northern New Hampshire.”

Three pairs of eyes greeted him with open skepticism.

“City cops,” Wyatt informed them dryly. “You’re accustomed to dozens of uniformed officers who can be anywhere and everywhere in five minutes or less. Now, in my neck of the woods, closest backup is an easy twenty, if not forty, minutes away. Plenty of time for experienced kidnappers to make their exit, before we can make our entrance.