Chapter Three
It took the detectives over fifteen minutes to stealthily make their way through half the maze of ductwork, counting the turn-offs until they reached the room Hutch had seen the man come out of earlier.
“Hurry it up, Starsk,” Hutch hissed at the figure ahead of him who had paused to review the blueprint.
Starsky adjusted his grip on the rifle and waved the little mag light back toward his partner. “I’m doing the best I can up here. I can’t see more than two feet in front of me.”
Hutch glanced up at his partner’s backside for the hundredth time. “Well, the view back here’s not so great, either.”
˜ ™
The fifth path of the ductwork was the pay-off. The ceiling vent revealed an office space that was bare except for a dilapidated desk and chair and a second door that apparently led to another office or closet. A single guard sat in the room, dully skimming through a hot rod magazine.
Starsky twisted himself around to face his partner, while Hutch peered through the grate. “Only one guard here, and who knows how many more outside.”
“And what’s behind Door Number Two, Monty?”
“I don’t know, but that sure doesn’t look like Carol Marol to me.”
“If it is, she sure needs a shave.” Hutch grinned as Starsky began his trek backwards. “Let’s see if we can make a trade for what’s behind the next curtain.”
˜ ™
The adjoining room revealed through the grate was barely illuminated from a single low-watt bulb hanging from the ceiling. Even so, it was enough for them to make out the bound figure slumped in a chair. The captain appeared to be either asleep or unconscious, his chin resting on his chest.
“Okay, Sherlock,” Hutch hissed to Starsky’s darkened image. “We didn’t consider how we’re going to unscrew the grate from the inside.”
So close to victory, Starsky’s frustration was evident, even through the camouflage paint. With an angry snort, he lunged forward, throwing his entire weight upon the ventilation grate. Who was more surprised when the metalwork gave way freely was a toss-up among the three men. Dobey’s eyes popped open, and he instinctively looked upward toward the source of the disturbance, just in time to see a dark visage clutching the ventilation grate swing into view. Starsky would have fallen completely through by his own momentum if Hutch hadn’t lunged forward and caught him by the belt, leaving him to dangle from the opening by his hips.
“Hiya, Cap’n,” Starsky whispered as he gently swung a few feet from his superior.
“Starsky.” Dobey’s voice was raspy with fatigue and pain. “You are the ugliest black man I have ever seen.”
A grunt drew the captain’s gaze back up to the vent opening. Hutch’s strained face came into view, wisps of blond hair had crept from under the knit cap and were plastered to his damp forehead. Dobey cocked an eyebrow. “I stand corrected.”
“Up or down?” Hutch grunted.
Starsky quickly looked at the floor, assessing his options. “Up.”
“Figures.” To his credit, Hutch managed to haul Starsky in with minimal noise. Dobey peered into the darkness, though in the dim light, his view was minimal. Minute shuffling noises indicated Starsky returning through the ductwork and the setting down of the grate. An instant later, he swung out again, this time, by more controlled means. Starsky hung for a minute from the opening, then dropped almost soundlessly to the floor in a crouch. Hutch tossed down the rifle and followed suit a moment later, then crossed to the chair to untie the captain. Starsky moved to the door, pressing his ear against it and straining to hear any sounds of alarm.
“Don’t think that I’m not grateful to see you two, but these turkeys were pretty explicit about what they would do if the Department tried anything. Edith and the kids...are they all right?”
“We’ve been working with Sanderson, Cap’n. He’s doubled the field agents at your house, so it’d take a tank for Andrews to get to them.” Dobey uttered a deep groan when his hands were finally freed, and he immediately cradled his right arm, wincing as he did.
“How bad?” Hutch knelt in front of the older man.
“I’ll live. They knocked me around a bit, but I think the only real damage is my shoulder—probably broken.” Dobey looked from one man to the other. “You two look ridiculous.” A genuine smile briefly creased his face with a new thought. “Wait until Andrews sees you two. Now that my hands are free, I’m gonna show that boy a thing or two about ‘boot licking’.”
Starsky swore under his breath. “And when you’re finished with him, Hutch and me get our turns.”
Hutch nodded. “Cap’n, how many men are out there? It’s time to start thinking about how we’re going to get out of here.”
Both Starsky and Hutch looked back toward the ceiling vent from where they had come.
“Don’t even think about it,” Dobey growled.
“Well, there’s always the cavalry.” Hutch crossed to the corner of the room farthest from the doorway and pulled out the two-way radio, speaking to Sanderson in a hushed voice. Starsky moved back to the door, listening intently for any movement or changes on the other side.
Before Hutch had a chance to finish, Starsky’s urgent whisper of “Company!” forced him off the radio. He passed Dobey his Python and drew the machine gun from his shoulder. The captain sat back in his chair, his bindings kicked into a corner, Hutch’s weapon held tightly in his left hand. Starsky and Hutch flattened themselves against the walls on opposite sides of the door. There was a moment of collectively held breaths until the door swung open.
“You grunting and groaning in here, boy?” The thug approached Dobey, kicking him in the shins to awaken the apparently sleeping man. “Wake up, nigger, I’m talking to ya!”
The brief monologue allowed Starsky and Hutch enough time to determine that the man was alone. One silent, swift move from Starsky, and the captor was laid out on the floor from the rifle stock meeting the back of his cranium.
Hutch retrieved the discarded ropes from the corner and bound the guard. For good measure, he removed his knit cap and stuffed it in the man’s mouth. “There, that’ll keep you from ‘grunting and groaning,’ boy.”
Dobey looked from one man to the other, then spoke in hushed, urgent tones. “What next? Whatever it is, we’d better do it right. I don’t want any of these turkeys getting away to retaliate against Edith and the kids.”
Hutch compassionately gripped the other man’s arm. “Got it, Captain. Well, one option is, we can sit tight and wait for Sanderson and his team to move in, then take care of Andrews and any of his goons that come back here.”
Starsky shook his head. “Too risky. We’re trapped like rats in here. It wouldn’t take much for them to blast their way through—our protection’s too limited.”
“Back through the vent?”
“Not with his broken shoulder. We’d be too slow if we got discovered.”
“Then our only option’s to take the scenic route.”
“How soon before Sanderson shows up?”
Hutch grabbed Starsky’s arm, peering at his watch. “He promised it’d be no more than fifteen, so we’ve got just over ten minutes to kill.”
“Nice choice of words.”
Dobey, who’d been watching the exchange like a spectator at a tennis match, finally broke in. “If you two clowns are finally finished, I’d say we’d better get a move on.”
“You heard the man, Starsk.”
“I love it when he takes charge.” Starsky moved to the doorway and cracked it open, peering into the outer room. Seeing it was clear, he nodded to the other two.
Hutch helped the captain stand, then steadied him when he staggered. He quickly slipped an arm around Dobey for support and led him toward the door. Hutch made eye contact with Starsky, his blue eyes expressing concern for their superior’s condition. Starsky nodded in understanding, then determinedly slid through the outer room to the door leading to the hallway and freedom.
˜ ™
Starsky called out to the guard in the hallway with some forced amusement in his voice, “Hey! Come in here. You gotta see this.” When he cleared the doorway, the guard was knocked unconscious with a sharp blow behind his ear.
After propping the captain against the wall, Hutch dragged the limp body of the second guard into a darkened corner and relieved him of his weapon. “Captain, do you know how many of them there are? Any idea where they’re holed up?”
Dobey thought hard, dredging up sounds and conversations. “I heard them say more than once they were ‘going up.’ They might have meant the next floor, but I never heard their footsteps above me. It’s an old building, so I should have heard something. They must have meant the roof.”
Hutch shook his head. “Pretty sloppy then, if we were able to approach the building without being detected.”
Starsky’s expression turned smug. “Maybe it was our superior stealth and wreath-like—”
“Wraith-like,” Hutch interjected.
“Wraith-like prowess that—”
“No, they’re just short on brains,” Dobey grunted. “And big on fire-power. I don’t know where they’ve been storing it, but they’ve got enough juice to light up an entire city block.”
“So Andrews and his flunkies have got some significant backers.” Hutch scowled. “And if that’s the case, why would they need that much muscle and money?”
“I’ve heard at least a dozen different voices, all spitting out the same racial garbage. This is a lot bigger than just some bigoted punk who got kicked off the force.”
Starsky’s expression turned deadly. “You think it’s the Klan?”
“It’s not the local VFW. Klan or neo-Nazis. Look, are you two going to stand around flapping your jaws, or are you going to rescue me?”
Starsky looked at his partner. “He doesn’t do the damsel in distress thing very well, does he?”
“Sleeping Beauty, he’s not. But he’s right. We’d better get moving, or we’re going to miss our welcoming party.”
˜ ™
With the hall guard out of the way, the trio decided getting out of the building via the same stairwell by which Starsky and Hutch had entered was the safest option. Their trek down the first two hallways was uneventful, but the third contained another bored-looking guard. He was avoided simply by ducking into a storage closet and waiting for him to pass. Since they had no way of knowing whether or not his duties included checking in on the captive or with the other two guards—who were hopefully still unconscious—their escape became even more urgent. The trio hurried down the last hallway to the stairwell. Starsky glanced at his watch. “Six minutes until the cowboys arrive.”
“Yeah, well, I’d rather be outside when they get here than holed up with the Indians.” Hutch peered through the door’s window, then cautiously pushed the door open. He slid into the stairwell, one hand easing the door shut behind him. He cautiously took a step toward the railing, looking it up and down for the presence of guards. The tip of a rifle stock harmlessly poking over the rail two stories below warned him of their presence, and he quickly withdrew from the line of vision. After a moment, he heard footsteps and the sound of a door opening and closing. He waited a count of ten to ensure it wasn’t a ploy, then pulled the hallway door back open to usher in Dobey and Starsky.
The three quickly made their way down the flights of stairs, hugging the walls and pausing at each doorway for Hutch to cautiously peer through its window, then signal the others on again. The captain continued to cradle his arm, his face graying from the pain.
“Hang on, Cap’n,” Starsky encouraged. “Only two more to go.”
As soon as the words were out of Starsky’s mouth, the slamming open of a door above their heads clamored throughout the stairwell, followed by the rush of angry voices. None of the fleeing men needed any prompting to begin a mad dash down the remaining steps. Immediately, they heard the sound of pounding feet behind them, and gunshots pinged off the handrails and pelted the floor close to their feet.
“Let’s hope Sanderson’s watch is fast!” Starsky hissed as he checked his pace, careful not to plow into Dobey, struggling before him.
Hutch ground to a halt before the final landing, only six short steps from the door leading outside. In his concentration on the stairs before him, the captain failed to notice that Hutch had stopped, and rushed into him. Hutch stumbled forward and was greeted by several shots, missing him by inches. Starsky lunged forward and jerked his partner up behind him onto the relative safety of the stairs.
Hutch slung the M-16 off his shoulder. “I’ll give you cover...”
“...and I’ll get you on the flipside.”
“Just stay out of my way when I come through.”
“Gotcha.” Starsky retrieved Hutch’s Python from the captain and tucked it in his waistband for a right-handed draw. The rifle was slung back over his shoulder, then he drew his own Beretta. He looked at the captain. “Ready?”
At his superior’s nod, Hutch stepped forward to the guardrail and turned upward, firing the M-16 at the men taking aim from the upper landing. The machine gun fire forced the kidnappers back, allowing enough time for Starsky to rush down the last stairs and jerk open the door, then brace it with his hip. Captain Dobey immediately followed, charging through as Starsky drew the second pistol and began returning fire over top of his partner’s M-16. Hutch then leapt down the short flight, hitting the open door hard with his shoulder and bouncing off to run in the captain’s wake. Starsky backed away from the door, still firing, but once he cleared his opponent’s line of vision, turned and bolted after the others.
˜ ™
Federal Agent Fitzwallace shifted in his seat, out of boredom and agitation. With a quick movement he rotated his head, releasing some of the tension. The guard over the Dobey house had almost doubled in response to the impending ransom drop. Their next step would prove to be riskier than they had originally planned. The radio clipped to his belt crackled to life. “Fitzwallace here.”
The responding static was broken up by a familiar voice cursing. “We’ve been made. You know what to do when the call comes in.”
“What? How the—?”
More vehement cursing cut him off. “He’s doing it right now. So you just do what you’re getting paid to do!”
Fitzwallace switched off the two-way and reattached it to his hip, then turned up the agency’s receiver inside the van, knowing that any moment, he’d be put into action by Dispatch.
˜ ™
The three men pelted away from Building 209 and across the loading yard, ears straining for sounds of pursuit or rescue. As soon as they made it to the next building, they plastered themselves against the wall. Starsky peered back through the growing darkness. “If Sanderson doesn’t get here soon...”
The captain swore under his breath. “If anything happens to Edith and the kids...”
“Here they come!” Starsky shouted, shouldering the rifle and siting it on the first man that poured out of the building. The shot was true, striking the thug in the calf and laying him out. The second shot ripped into the next man’s forearm, spinning him to the ground. Starsky’s third and fourth bullets effectively forced the rest to take cover or stream back into the building. Just before a volley of gunfire retaliated back at them, Hutch dove and rolled out past the security of the building, then leveled a round from the M-16, causing the remaining felons to scatter. Starsky popped back out as well, firing from both pistols, providing Hutch with the cover he needed to scramble back to his place next to Dobey.
The three of them looked skyward simultaneously at the sound of an approaching helicopter. Hutch nodded approvingly. “The Feds sure know how to make an entrance.” He drew the two-way radio to his mouth. “Sanderson, this is Hutchinson. We have a visual on you up there. Watch for gunfire from the roof, possible snipers.”
Static crackled on the line. “Hutch, what are you talking about? ETA three minutes. We’re driving in off Washington Street!”
Hutch’s gaze quickly followed the helicopter hovering in their direction. As it turned to face them, the three could just barely make out the armed figure leaning out of the bubble and opening fire.
˜ ™
Rosie lay on the floor a few feet from the television, watching a cartoon rerun, while Cal attempted to read his history assignment at the dining room table. Every time his mother looked up to the clock, Cal could see her and followed her gaze. Though she said nothing, he could feel her tension until he couldn’t stand it.
“Momma, I—” Before Cal could finish his sentence, they heard the lock turn in the front door and four FBI agents stormed in. Rosie looked up in bewilderment, clutching a toy rabbit to her chest.
“Agent O’Neill, ma’am. I’m sorry for the intrusion, but I need for all of you to come with us immediately.”
“I don’t understand.” Edith stood. “What is it? Did something—?”
“No, ma’am, I don’t wish to alarm you, but we need to vacate the premises now.” The agent gave Edith a telling look, mouthing the word “bomb.” She then wasted no time putting the children in motion.
“Cal, gather up your books. Rosie, honey, bring your bunny and come here.” Her youngest simply remained where she was, staring at her in fear. “Rosemarie, don’t make me tell you twice.”
Rosie scurried to her mother, clutching Edith’s leg in fear. Edith scooped up her daughter and put an arm around Cal as he returned to her side. With a visible effort, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin—the very picture of dignity. With a nod to Agent O’Neill, she followed the man out the door, surrounded by the three other men.
The small family was quickly ushered out of the house to the curb, where they climbed into an unmarked van, followed by two other agents. As the side door slid smoothly shut, Fitzwallace gave O’Neill a brief nod of satisfaction before scrambling around to the driver’s side of the vehicle.
The navy van sped down the road, leaving in its wake a dozen federal agents to search the Dobey home for a bomb that wasn’t there.
˜ ™
“Run!” The cry was simultaneous as the three plowed down the alley toward the only possible shelter. The large dumpster wasn’t ideal, but at least offered some refuge from the rapid fire nipping at their heels. Miraculously, no one was struck, having had the advantage of running in the opposite direction of the gunman, which forced the pilot to swing the helicopter in their direction as they sped away.
As soon as they dropped panting behind the container, Hutch grabbed the radio out of his pocket. “Sanderson, I don’t know where you and your boys are, but now would be a great time to make an appearance.”
They all cringed as the gunshots ricocheted off the face of the dumpster, rocking the container against their backs. Hutch described the scene and gave their location.
“What is he using, a bazooka?” Starsky asked incredulously, his voice rising over the whirring of the blades.
“Well, we can’t just sit here.” Hutch looked over to his partner. “They keep us pinned down, and Andrews will just walk right up here and take us out from either side.”
The captain looked up and down the building, then pointed. “There’re a couple of doors and windows. Maybe we can get inside.”
Starsky looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Are you kidding? That guy’d pick us off like¾”
Dobey’s glare alone stopped Starsky mid-sentence. “This dumpster’s on wheels, isn’t it?”
“Oh.” Starsky grinned. “That’s why you’re the captain.”
It took some effort for Starsky and Hutch to find a purchase on the sides of the dumpster without offering any part of their bodies as targets. The captain remained between them, matching his steps to Hutch’s, as they finally got the groaning container moving toward the building’s doors. Gunfire continued to rain down on them in a shower of sparks.
Hutch was finally close enough to reach out and try the door, which was securely locked. He pulled his hand back an instant before gunfire from the helicopter tattooed the doorway. A quick series of shots from his own weapon obliterated the lock, and the door opened on its own.
“That’s great,” Starsky hollered. “But how are we gonna get in without getting nailed?”
The three looked around quickly, hoping for inspiration. Starsky happened to look up and was rewarded. He quickly spun around to face the dumpster and, faster than Hutch had ever seen his partner move, reached out to the side to grab the lid of the container and pulled it open toward him. The metal cover flipped over on top of the trio, standing up like a shield. The angle at which Starsky held it was enough to provide some cover from the aerial assault.
More shots pelted the lid, almost knocking it out of Starsky’s hands. While the bullets made indentations in the metal, none of them ripped through. Starsky gave a wry grin to the other two. “Sometimes I amaze even myself.”
“That doesn’t say a lot,” Hutch quipped. When Starsky leaned around the side of the dumpster and returned fire, providing a cover for his partner, Hutch quickly reached out and lifted up the remaining section of the lid. “Get ready, Cap’n.”
At Hutch’s nod, Dobey propelled himself from under the cover of the dumpster lids through the darkened doorway. Gunfire again rained down, but none found its mark. “You next, Starsk.”
“Why me? You go.”
“Because,” Hutch barked in exasperation. “Because my arms are longer.”
“Oh.”
Hutch slid to the center of the dumpster and supported both lids, then watched as Starsky dove through the open doorway. Just as he prepared to drop one of the covers, a shot found its mark through the two-inch gap between the lids, slicing open his forearm. Hutch gasped in pain and dropped to one knee behind the safety of the container. The lids crashed down above him and lay like a roof over his head.
“Huuuutch!” came Starsky’s cry from within the building.
“I’m all right, I’m all right!” Hutch called back through gritted teeth. Starsky’s anxious face peered out from just beyond the doorway.
“Hutch, slide the M-16 in here!”
Hutch awkwardly slipped the safety on and slid the weapon a few feet into the doorway. Starsky’s hand dashed out and dragged it out of the line of fire.
The sound of several voices and running feet turning down the alley caught Hutch’s attention. A quick look over his shoulder confirmed that Andrews and his cronies would soon be upon them, and another flurry of shots from the helicopter ensured their safe passage.
“Starsky!” There was an edge of urgency in Hutch’s voice. “Don’t waste a lot of time there, pal!”
Starsky took advantage of the sudden pause in the helicopter’s firing and rushed out of the doorway, the M-16 blazing. Dust swirled up around them, marking the helicopter’s unexpected departure to the open loading area adjacent to the warehouse. Just beyond it, Starsky could see several federal vehicles sliding to a halt as agents poured out with guns drawn. To his left were the retreating figures of Andrews and his men, running full tilt through the dust and debris lifted by the whirling blades as the helicopter settled.
“They’re gonna fly outta here!” With a curse, Starsky tore down the side of the building into the whirling debris field. Andrews and several of his men had boarded the helicopter, which was quickly lifting off. The dirt whipped up by the blades’ rotation made it almost impossible to see from the ground, but the federal agents had effectively subdued the felons who were unable to escape with Andrews.
With a burst of light, someone from within the helicopter again open fired, this time on the federal agents making the arrests. Several took cover, but a few fell beneath the onslaught. Planting the machine gun against his ribcage, Starsky opened fire on the helicopter, but the ammunition clip quickly emptied. Starsky threw down the weapon, knowing Hutch had carried the extra clips. Within seconds, the helicopter would be out of range. The rifle was quickly unslung, and Starsky dropped to one knee to steady himself.
Blinking back the sweat out of his eyes, Starsky sited the pilot in his crosshairs. The instant his finger tightened on the trigger, the man sitting in the co-pilot’s seat leaned forward, taking the bullet high on his shoulder instead. A trace of a smile crept onto Starsky’s face as he continued to watch through the scope—it was Andrews. The helicopter bucked once as the wounded man fell against the pilot, but then righted itself and bore east, away from the warehouse district. As the bird lifted farther away, Starsky could see Andrews turn in his direction, recognition playing across his features. Starsky sited and fired again, but the helicopter was quickly out of range.
Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, Starsky dogtrotted back to Hutch and Dobey. Sanderson and a paramedic were there, binding Hutch’s flesh wound. The captain already bore a sling.
“He all right?” Starsky asked the paramedic as he knelt next to his partner.
“I’m fine.” Hutch sounded annoyed by the medical attention.
“I wasn’t asking you. I was asking him.” Starsky jerked his finger at the other paramedic. “Is he?”
“Fine? He will be. Nothing some stitches and a tetanus shot won’t take care of.” The paramedic completed the first aid with a strip of tape to hold the gauze in place.
“I don’t need any stitches or a¾”
“You shut up,” Starsky told him. “You’re delirious from the pain. Captain, how are you holding up?”
“Sanderson tells me that they got away, Starsky. They got away!” Dobey’s voice escalated. “We’ve got to find them before they¾”
Sanderson steadied his friend as Dobey lurched to his feet. “Harold, that’s not all of it.”
The tension between the small group crackled. Sanderson cleared his throat before continuing. “There was a mole in my department. Two, actually. We got a call just a few minutes ago. They...they took Edith and the kids.”
“No!” Captain Dobey leaned back against the wall of the building, his legs no longer able to support him.
Starsky’s and Hutch’s reactions were urgent. “No! How?”
Sanderson ran his hands through his thinning hair. “There was—supposedly—a bomb threat made. The two rogue agents—we know now that it was Fitzwallace and O’Neill—apparently got Edith and the kids into an FBI van, supposedly to take them to a safe house. The other two agents accompanying them were found in the abandoned van, dead. Fitzwallace and O’Neill switched vehicles at that point, and...well, they took Edith and the kids.”
The captain’s voice was almost too quiet to hear. “This never would have happened if you hadn’t tried to get me out.”
“Come on, Harold. You know as well as I do, they wouldn’t have let you live, let alone¾”
“There was a chance they wouldn’t have harmed my family! Yeah, they probably would have killed me, but not Edith and¾” Dobey’s voice choked off in rage and horror. “Why? Why did you risk them? I told you not to¾”
“Harold, I¾”
“No.” Starsky stopped the agent with a hand on his arm. “Captain, it wasn’t Sanderson’s fault.”
Dobey’s wild gaze turned toward Starsky and Hutch. “You two?!”
Hutch started to explain, but Starsky interrupted him as well. “No, not Hutch either, Captain. It was my idea. If you want to blame someone, blame me.”
Hutch tried to override his partner. “Blame Andrews.”
But Starsky continued. “Hutch didn’t agree to it at first, neither did Sanderson. If you have to blame someone¾”
Starsky wasn’t prepared for the force of the backhanded blow that lashed across his jaw, as Dobey’s fear boiled over into rage. “You! Who the hell do you think you are, risking my family so you could play hero?” The captain continued to shove the unresisting Starsky as he ranted, shrugging off the restraining hands of Hutch and Sanderson. “Huh? I told you not to try anything, but you didn’t listen to me—you never listen to me!”
With Hutch slinging an arm across the captain’s chest from behind and Sanderson restraining him by his uninjured arm, the two were finally able subdue the larger man. At that moment, an agent jogged up to the volatile group and held out the receiver from a field telephone. “Captain Dobey, it’s him—it’s Andrews.”
Sanderson’s and Hutch’s grips fell away. The captain’s hand was trembling as he took the receiver and held it up to his ear. “If you hurt them¾”
“Shut up and listen to me.” Andrew’s
voice sounded strained. “I should kill
them all right now, do you hear me? I
should put a bullet between each of their eyes, then leave them out in the
desert and let the vultures out there strip them down to nothing. Do you hear me?”
Dobey’s voice shook. “Yes, I hear you! Tell me what you want me to do.”
“That’s better, you stupid nigger. You’ve got one last chance. Do you hear me? You do anything—you or your bootlicking suck-ups—and you’ll never see any of them again.” Andrews moaned before he continued, a response to the first aid he was receiving from one of his men. “And you tell that kike, Starsky, his life isn’t worth spit right now, because when I’m through with you, I’m going after him. You go home, Captain. You go home and wait for my call. No cops. No Feds. No traces—nothing. You’ll get your instructions then. Oh, and Dobey—the ransom just tripled, got it?”
“That’s...how the hell do you expect me to come up with three million dollars?”
“What’s the matter? Aren’t they worth it? What price would you put on their lives, Captain?” There was silence on the line for a moment while Andrews let his words sink in. “Twenties and fifties, out of sequence. Now go home, nigger. Go home and worry about what I’m doing to your wife...and maybe the girl, too.”
The line went dead.
˜ ™