Cure

42

March 28, 2010

Sunday, 12:31 a.m.

Whitestone, Queens, New York

After picking up all the equipment that Curt had rounded up for them, Grover and Colt had retraced the route that they had used that afternoon traveling from CRT’s main office out to Whitestone, Queens, a trip that had been very worthwhile indeed. The first thing they had learned that afternoon was that the group that had kidnapped JJ were not quite the amateurs Grover and Colt had earlier suspected. The perpetrators were cleverly and covertly watching the location where they were holding the child, 3746 Powells Cove Boulevard. It had only been over the last fifty or so years that professional kidnappers had realized that surveillance was a smart move, so that if the authorities, by one mechanism or another, were closing in on the hideout, the people holding the victim could be alerted to move on if there was time or kill the victim and hide the remains in a previously prepared location. Without the victim or the victim’s remains, prosecution of the case was always difficult at best. The only reason Grover and Colt had discovered these watchers was because they had specifically looked for them. It was two guys in a black SUV tucked into a neighbor’s driveway.

The second important thing they’d been able to achieve on their afternoon reconnaissance was to locate a good-size marina in the town just beyond Whitestone. Although the marina was technically not yet open for the season, they had been able to rent a Zodiac and a boat slip. They had to rent the boat for a week to justify the marina to get the outboard out of winter storage.

Trying the boat out, they had motored back to 3746 Powells Cove Boulevard. Seeing no one, particularly no guards, as they had from the land side, they’d allowed themselves to approach under the pier exactly the way they would that night. Sitting there under the wooden pier, Colt had used his laptop to scan the usual wireless alarm frequencies and write them down, while Grover had kept vigilance. At one point Grover thought he’d heard a baby wail. Looking at his partner to see if he’d heard, Colt lifted his eyes from the computer screen, smiled, and gave a thumbs-up sign.

The three-story house itself was appreciated much better from the water side. It was constructed of reinforced cement in a faux-Mediterranean style. Half buried in the top of the surrounding retaining wall were pieces of broken glass, and above it coils of razor wire. Despite this formidable defense on the land side, the waterfront was completely open, with the house set back about a hundred feet from the water’s edge. Immediately in front of the house was the pool. Along the side was a tennis court. They had seen the dogs, but only from a distance when they had left.

Now, just after midnight, pulling back into the marina where they had rented the boat that afternoon, Grover doused the headlights. With only the light from the moon, he drove around to the water side of the building and backed up to the pier where the slip they had rented was located. The marina itself was mostly dark, except for dim lights in a display window on the roadside, containing gleaming marine hardware, such as stainless-steel cleats and mahogany blocks. On the water side the only lights were positioned out on the pier complex on the top of long poles and directed downward to provide cones of light at various locations. The weather could not have been more perfect, without a visible cloud. There was no wind to speak of and the surface of the water was placid.

With little talk, the men unloaded the gear at the base of the pier. Then while Grover moved the SUV back to the parking area, where it would be less conspicuous, Colt carried the equipment out to the Zodiac and quickly stored it aboard. They worked quickly and silently. Only two cars went by on the road, and neither stopped or even slowed.

With a hand on one of the pier’s big cleats for mooring yachts, Colt steadied the boat while Grover jumped on. Immediately he started the engine before Colt boarded. Keeping the power low, Grover guided the boat out of the slip and then out of the pier complex. He had access to the night-vision scopes but didn’t need them for this phase of the operation. He did not turn on the running lights.

Not before motoring a thousand yards or so out into Little Neck Bay did Grover significantly up the speed. Like most outboards, the motor was noisy, and he kept the power limited to what was needed to get the boat planing and then to maintain it.

Moving progressively away from the shore, where there was significant artificial illumination, it became gradually darker except for the area immediately around the moon, and thousands more stars blinked on in the rest of the inverted bowl of the darkened sky. With the water temperature in the forties, the wind created by the Zodiac’s forward motion was bitingly cold, and both men hunkered down as best they could.

Rounding Willets Point, Colt and Grover suddenly had the illuminated span of the Throgs Neck Bridge in sight with the Whitestone Bridge beyond, both soaring over the water from Queens over to the Bronx. Ten minutes later they passed under the Throgs Neck Bridge.

As the Throgs Neck Bridge dropped behind them and the Whitestone loomed ahead, Colt steered the Zodiac to the left and headed for shore at approximately the location of 3746 Powells Cove Boulevard. About five hundred yards out, Colt cut the power. At one hundred yards, Colt turned off the motor. The two men picked up paddles and paddled the rest of the way.

Most of the homes lining the shore were completely dark. A few had one or two lights on, either on their elaborate seaside terraces or within their homes. One home off to the far left was ablaze with lights. From where Grover and Colt were, they guessed it was a party because there were both indoor and outdoor lights and people could be seen on various terraces and balconies. Despite the distance, the faint sound of voices and music occasionally drifted across the water and reached their ears.

Although Grover and Colt had conversed in low tones earlier, confirming their plans, once the motor had been turned off and they were approaching the tip of the Barbera pier, they were completely silent. They were even careful with their paddles as they drew them through the water, lifted them out, and slipped them back in unison, pushing the boat forward silently, closing in on the pier.

Except for a slight incandescent glow from one of the second-story windows, the house was dark. Looking down the sides of the building, there was a much larger glow emanating from the street side of the house, where the garage was located. The only sounds were the intermittent distant sounds of the party and the continuous lapping of the waves against the shore.

The tide was in so that the distance between the water surface and the underside of the pier had narrowed to only about four feet. Still, the Zodiac’s prow easily slipped in under the wooden deck. Grover remained in the boat while Colt jumped up on the pier to accept the equipment that Grover handed him. When everything was out of the boat, Grover climbed out as well.

Colt was already dressed in what he called his custom assault pants suit, with specifically designed pockets and clips for all his gear. The benefit of such an outfit was that he had instant access to each implement, such as the ketamine-dart pistol hooked to a clip on his left, and the Uzi hanging on a similar one to his right. Grover had a similar outfit and helped Colt prepare for the current strike. After he’d loaded a particular pocket, he’d pat the pocket and whisper out loud the name of the object it held so Colt could mentally check it off. It could be a disaster to be in the middle of a task and be missing a specific tool. Another benefit of having a separate pocket or clip for everything was that Colt could move silently without tools or other devices hitting up against one another.

“Ready?” Grover whispered.

“Ready,” Colt replied. Quickly he tested his small radio clipped on the point of his right shoulder. A similar device on the point of Grover’s right shoulder came to life. “Testing: one, two, three. Testing.” The stock phrase popped into his own microphone positioned in his right ear.

Now completely outfitted and with a shoulder bag hanging off his right shoulder, Colt silently ran the length of the pier and slipped into the shadows of the stairs that rose up to the level of the pool.

Meanwhile, Grover quickly rearranged some deck furniture to serve as a rest for using the sniper rifle. He also moved the Zodiac around to the best position for a rapid getaway. With that accomplished, he returned to the deck furniture, climbed in among it, and sighted through the night scope of the sniper rifle.

Thanks to the scope, Grover was able to see the problem before Colt. It was the sudden movement that caught his eye. It was the dogs coming along the left side of the building from the street side of the compound. Quickly, using the radio to warn Colt, Grover drew a bead with his laser on the front dog and squeezed off a single shot. He could tell instantly he’d hit the dog as it tucked its head and tumbled head-on into the pool. The second dog, ignoring the plight of the first, rounded the edge of the building, missing the pool and dashing laterally across Grover’s line of sight.

With Grover’s warning, Colt had dashed up the steps, snatching the gas-powered dart pistol from his belt in the process. Worried about the two dogs, he’d bolted for the tennis enclosure. Although he’d not heard any barking, he’d heard the dogs’ snarls and heard their feet thundering against the ground. It was at that moment that he’d detected the suppressed sound of the sniper’s rifle. Reaching the door to the tennis court, he snatched it open, rolled around its edge, but had not gotten it fully closed when one of the Doberman pinschers collided with it at a full run. Had Colt not been holding fast to the door, he might have been bowled over by the animal’s momentum.

The dog scrambled to its feet, and with fangs exposed, lunged at Colt, who responded by firing the dart pistol. The sound was more of a thudding hiss than pistol shot. The dart embedded itself in the dog’s chest but didn’t stop the dog from trying to bite Colt through the string-like mesh that composed the bulk of the door. Worrying as much about the noise the animal was making as getting bit, Colt reloaded and shot him again, this time in the hip. Despite the second dose of ketamine, the dog was still on his feet, trying to get at Colt through the netting. His wobble became progressively more intense until he keeled over.

Colt used the time to contact Grover.

“Thanks for getting one of the dogs,” Colt said quickly.

“You’re welcome.”

“Where is he?”

“In the pool.”

“Any change with the house?”

“Not that I can see. Since the glow in the second-story window hasn’t changed, my guess is it’s a night-light. Anyway, no other lights have come on, so you’re clear to go.”

“I’m on my way,” Colt said, switching off the radio.

After pushing against the door to move the now anesthetized dog out of the way, Colt made his way out of the tennis court and along the side of the house to reach the illuminated pool. The other dog was floating on the surface but with the head submerged and bleeding into the water. At that moment the pool lights went out, causing Colt’s heart to skip a beat. Glancing at his watch by lifting its blackout cover, he breathed out with relief. It was exactly two a.m., strongly suggesting that the pool light was on a timer. Without any more delay, Colt went to one of the sliding glass doors leading into a sun porch. Taking out a suction device, he applied it to the glass next to the door’s locking mechanism. He then ran around the device with a glass cutter, snapping out a perfectly circular hole. He repeated the mechanism with a slightly smaller suction device, snapping off a hole in the inner layer of thermopane. With that gone, he could reach in and unlock the slider.

Colt paused for a moment. In some respects the first step inside the house was the most nerve-racking. Using his computer earlier, he’d turned off the various wireless alarms in the house, although he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure he hadn’t turned them on instead. It depended what state the alarms had been in before Colt had interfered. Taking a breath, he stepped through the door. Even before the alarm sounded, Colt could tell he’d tripped an infrared motion detector, because a red light blinked near the crown molding. Just as the alarm began to sound throughout the house, Colt hit his computer’s enter button. The alarm system was now off, but it had begun to sound.

Flattening himself against the wall, Colt strained to listen, holding his breath. He thought he heard distant voices, but then realized the voices were accompanied by music and that the noise was coming in through the open door and was the party on the other side of the cove. Then there was another deep, low rumbling sound that caused Colt to hold his breath again while he tried to identify it. It was a refrigerator compressor.

“Moving out,” Colt whispered into his radio after closing the door to the pool deck and donning his night-vision goggles.

“All clear,” came back in his earphone.

Colt moved quickly and catlike from the sun porch into the kitchen. Thanks to the night-vision equipment, he could see well enough to avoid obstacles. From studying the floor plans, he knew exactly how to get to the master bedroom suite, which was positioned directly over the first-floor kitchen, facing out over the water view.

Unfortunately, the back stairs were as old as the main part of the house, built in the 1920s, and not built particularly robustly. As Colt quickly mounted them, they let off a series of creaks and groans, enough to cause Colt to pause once he reached the second floor. Besides the Sub-Zero compressor, all he could hear was reassuring snoring coming from the master bedroom.

Colt remained motionless for a full minute. There was no change in the snoring, nor any additional sounds. He was about to advance toward the open master bedroom door when his earpiece crackled to life. “Houston, we have a problem”: Grover’s code that the mission might have to be aborted.

“Ten-four,” Colt responded, meaning he’d gotten the message but could not have a conversation.

“Intruder coming down right side of building. Must be a normal check. He is not hurrying. I have him clearly in sight. Will worry about his seeing dogs or me.”

“Proceeding,” Colt responded. He then moved ahead, and reaching the door to the master bedroom, he carefully scanned progressively more and more of the room. The first thing he saw of interest was a crib. Moving on, he saw the bed. It was king-size with a niche above its head containing a statue of the Virgin Mary clutching the Christ child. The niche was illuminated with a dimmed light to serve as a night-light. There were two people in the bed, presumably Louie Barbera and his wife. After another brief pause to make certain both people were asleep, Colt moved across the thick carpet to the crib and got his first look at JJ. In the darkness and using his night-vision goggles, the boy’s hair color appeared greenish-gray rather than blond as it had been described, but his face was just as cherubic as reported. He was on his back with arms out to the side and fists next to his head.

“Past the tennis enclosure without problem,” Grover said. “Now lighting up a cigarette. So far, so good.”

Colt glanced back at the people in the bed less than ten feet away. Although the chances of them hearing anything at all were very low, he couldn’t help but be concerned, as close as he was. Yet he didn’t want to have to abort now, so he turned back to the child. Taking out the eyedropper he’d previously filled with the appropriate amount of Versed, he pulled off the syringe cap he’d used to cover the dropper. Reaching into the crib, he inserted the end of the dropper into the child’s mouth.

“Heading for the pool end of the building,” Grover said, hesitating. “Now continuing on. Thank goodness the pool lights are off. He seems satisfied all in order. He’s now walking down the left side toward the street side of the compound.”

Slowly Colt compressed the eyedropper bulb, pushing the solution of Versed into JJ’s mouth. Almost immediately JJ responded by reflexively sucking on the eyedropper. Yes, little guy, Colt said silently, knowing he was taking full advantage of JJ’s nursing reflex. Then, after ten seconds of making room in the shoulder bag, Colt lifted the child out of the crib and slipped him feetfirst into the bag. As expected and hoped, the child did not complain or make a sound. Standing back up, Colt was about to hoist the bag up on his shoulder when Louie Barbera coughed loudly, waking himself and his wife in the process.

“Are you all right, dear?” Mrs. Barbera questioned.

“I’ll live,” Louie said. He pulled his legs from under the covers, sat up on the side of the bed, and put his feet on the floor.

Colt froze except for his left hand, which silently pulled the veterinary gas-powered dart gun from its belt clip.

“Are you getting up?” Mrs. Barbera asked while settling herself back under the covers.

“For a moment,” Louie admitted.

“Check the boy. Make sure he’s covered.”

Grumbling something about the kid getting more attention than he did, Louie raised his bulk to an unsteady standing position, then launched himself toward the crib.

Amazed he’d not been seen, Colt took a step back as Louie lurched toward him. He debated what to do. Should he just wait it out with the unlikely chance there would be no confrontation, or should he be proactive? The question was answered when Louie reached the crib, bent over, and stuck in his hand. Clearly he was confused, as his hand searched in progressively desperate sweeps around the crib’s interior and found nothing.

Colt shot him in his sizable ass with a ketamine dart.

“Shit!” Louie yelled as he stood up, yanking the dart out of his left buttock and trying to look at it in the darkness.

“What in heaven’s sake is the matter?” Mrs. Barbera demanded, as Louie’s scream had jolted her upright in bed.

“I got stuck with something.” Louie yelled with a mildly garbled voice. He extended the dart toward his wife despite there being no chance of her seeing it in the darkness. He then let go of the crib with the intention of walking over to her. He didn’t get far. After a few tottering steps, he fell over onto his side.

Frantically, Mrs. Barbera scrambled off the end of the bed in a swirl of chiffon. As she bent over her husband, Colt let loose with the third ketamine dart. The woman let out a scream that eclipsed her husband’s.

“Houston, we have another problem. Two men are approaching on the run on the right side of the house. Perhaps a silent alarm has been tripped.”

Colt hauled the bag’s strap over his shoulder and zipped the bag closed. Thankfully, JJ had not made a sound.

“Second dog has been discovered,” Grover said urgently in Colt’s ear. “Men with weapons drawn now running toward terrace. Do not try to leave same way you went in. Abort, abort!”

With his night-vision goggles still in place, Colt ran from the bedroom and into the dressing room, and from the dressing room out into the second-floor hallway. At the moment he reached the hallway, lights went on in the kitchen downstairs.

“Only one man went into house,” Grover said. “Second man on terrace standing guard.”

Colt ran down the second-floor hallway, entering a bedroom on the right. He locked the door behind him but knew it was a flimsy lock that would not slow a determined pursuer but for a second. “Exiting second-story bedroom right. Take out perp on terrace. Arrange boat for quick getaway. Have target.”

Dashing to the window, Colt took out the window anchor and extended its arms. He reached the window and threw up the sash. He then raised the storm window. Grabbing a length of rope clipped to his side, he threw the bulk out the window before attaching the end to the anchor, which merely bridged the window opening. Putting the shoulder bag around to his front, he pushed it out the window and then stepped out himself with one leg, keeping tension on the rope attached to the anchor. Pulling out his other leg, he then rappelled down the side of the building.

Once on the ground, Colt unhooked the Uzi from his belt and started for the water side of the house. Passing the tennis enclosure, he could see the anesthetized dog. Reaching the edge of the house, he slowed, positioned the Uzi at his waist, ready to fire, then leaped out into the open. The ploy was not necessary. Grover had taken his suggestion. The perp was spread-eagle on the terrace with a clean hole mid-forehead — undoubtedly more work for their legal defense team if the hoodlums were crazy enough to call in the police.

In the open, Colt did not dally but rather ran down the steps from the pool level, across the small intervening patch of lawn and then the length of the pier. Grover had the boat out in the clear. By the time Colt arrived the engine was running. Pulling the shoulder bag around in front of him, Colt jumped into the boat while Grover put the engine in gear and hit the throttle. Again, he purposefully left off the running lights.

Mildly out of breath, Colt unzipped the shoulder bag. JJ was nestled in against some towels, sleeping, like a baby totally unaware he’d changed hands again. “You’ve been wonderfully cooperative,” Colt yelled to the child over the roar of the outboard.

Looking back at the house, Colt saw a series of flashes. “Incoming fire,” he shouted to Grover, who instituted some evasive steering, but neither he nor Colt thought it necessary as far as they were out on the river. Their plan was to head north for the opposite shore until the black, low-lying boat was no longer visible from shore before turning east, the way they’d come.

It was a quarter to four a.m. when Colt pulled up to Laurie and Jack’s house. The neighborhood was completely quiet, without a pedestrian or a dog in sight. If it were not for the streetlights, it would have been totally black, as the moon had set. The house was dark as well, except for a single light recessed into the front door’s lintel.

Grover got out and opened the rear door. He leaned in, and after checking JJ, who was still sound asleep in the shoulder bag, he hefted the bag out of the vehicle. When Colt came around, he handed JJ to Colt. “You deserve the honors tonight. Compared with you, I was a mere spectator.”

“You had your moments,” Colt argued. “Taking out that first dog and the perp on the terrace was what made it possible.”

“You’re being too generous,” Grover said. “But thank you.”

They did not rush as they reached the stone steps and started up. Once at the front door, they positioned themselves with the bag containing JJ between them.

Grover leaned on the bell and kept it depressed for a full minute. After he let go, he descended back down the stairs and craned his neck, looking up. A single window was now illuminated. Grover climbed back up the stoop and positioned himself where he’d been earlier. Finally the door was pulled open and Jack and Laurie filled the doorway.

“Mr. Collins and Mr. Thomas,” Jack said, surprised and not surprised at the same time. “You are either awfully early or awfully late. What can we do for you?” He was not willing to guess.

“I believe we’ve found something that belongs to you,” Colt said. He lifted the shoulder bag, put it in Jack’s outstretched hands. Since the zipper was already open, he merely gently pulled apart the bag’s sides to reveal its angelic occupant.

Reining in her hopes for fear of disappointment, Laurie let herself emerge from around Jack and peer into the bag. Although she squealed with unbridled delight, she momentarily was not willing to snatch out her child for fear that she was seeing a figment of her imagination. But her reluctance rapidly faded, and her confidence rapidly grew such that she reached into the bag, pulled out the sleeping toddler, and clutched him to her bosom.

Half laughing and half crying, Laurie bombarded Grover and Colt with a hundred questions while JJ continued his slumber in her arms.

“Tomorrow or the next day or the next will be time enough for your questions. For now let us say that he had been treated extraordinarily well by a woman who apparently loved him dearly.”

With a huge smile on his face thanks to this sudden, happy turn of events, Jack asked the two kidnapping consultants if they’d like to come into the house. But Grover and Colt gracefully declined, saying that they had to return their equipment to CRT before rousing their legal defense team and paying a visit to the police. “We have to confess the sins we committed in rescuing JJ sooner rather than later, although we won’t be admitting to them all,” Grover said with a wink. “And thanks for allowing us the opportunity to get your son back.”

“You’re thanking us?” Jack questioned with disbelief.