The Pardon

Chapter 50

Kimmell, Jack, and Harry spent the rest of that Saturday going over everything-main plans, backup plans, contingency backup plans. Each plan revolved around the same basic triangle. Jack and his father would be out in the field, following the kidnapper’s instructions. Kimmell would remain in the hotel suite, a kind of central command station operator who could be reached by phone or beeper in case of emergency.

By 10:00 p.m. they’d about reached the point of information overload. They ordered room service and ate dinner in total silence, save for an occasional happy scream or blast of fireworks from the burgeoning Halloween crowd on nearby Duval Street. The increasing level of noise was a steady reminder that the midnight phone call was just two hours away.

When he finished eating, Kimmell tossed his napkin to his plate and rose from the table. On average, he smoked two, maybe three cigarettes an entire year. Already tonight he’d exceeded his annual quota. He grabbed the ashtray and retreated to the adjoining room to take another look at the photographs and notes sent by the kidnapper, as if by absorbing all available information he could get into his mind.

Jack and Harry sat across from each other at the dining table. The governor watched as Jack picked at his food.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” he said sincerely.

Jack wasn’t sure what he meant. “We both are. I just pray we get Cindy back. Then there’ll be nothing for anyone to be sorry about.”

“I pray we get her back, too. No question-that’s the most important thing. But there’s something else I’m sorry about,” he said with a pained expression. “It has to do with pushing a kid too hard when he was already doing his best-and then pushing him away when his best wasn’t good enough. I mean, hell, Jack, sometimes I look back on it and think that if you’d been Michelangelo, I probably would have walked into the Sistine Chapel and said something like, ‘Okay, son, now what about the walls?’” He smiled briefly, then turned serious again. “I guess when your mother died I just wanted you to be perfect. That’s no excuse, though. I’m truly sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. I’ve been sorry for a long time. And it’s time I told you.”

Jack struggled for the right words. “You know”-his voice quivered with emotion-“in the last two days, the only thing I’ve been able to think about besides the kidnapping is how to thank you for what you did at the trial.”

“You can thank me by accepting my apology,” Harry said with a warm smile.

Jack’s heart swelled. Of course he’d accept it; he felt like he should be the one to apologize. So he expressed it another way. “You’re gonna love Cindy when you get to know her.”

The governor’s eyes were suddenly moist. “I know I will.”

“Hey,” said Kimmell as he entered the room, “time to get dressed.”

Jack and his father looked at each other with confidence. There was strength in unity. “Let’s do it,” said Jack. The governor gave a quick nod of agreement, and they marched off to the adjoining room, where Kimmell helped them get ready. Both wore dark clothing, in case they had to hide. Sneakers, in case they had to run. And both wore the Kevlar vests Kimmell had brought them, in case they couldn’t hide or run fast enough.

“What’s that?” Jack asked as Kimmell wired a battery to his vest.

“It’s a tracking device,” he answered. “The transmitter sends out a one-watt signal. It’s on intermittent-duty cycle, so it’ll be easy for me to recognize your signal-and the battery will last longer, too, just in case this takes longer than we think. Any time I need a location on you, I can do it in an instant from my audio-visual indicator here in the room.”

Kimmell went ahead and rigged the antenna and was tucking the pistol into Jack’s holster when the portable phone rang.

It was exactly midnight.

Jack took a deep breath, then reached for the phone. Kimmell stopped him.

“Be cooperative,” Kimmell reminded him, “but insist on hearing Cindy’s voice.”

He nodded, then switched on the receiver. “Hello,” he answered.

“Ready to trick or treat, Swyteck?”

Be cooperative, Jack reminded himself. “We’ve got the money. Tell us how you want to do the exchange.”

“Ah, the exchange,” Esteban said wistfully. “You know, no kidnapper in the history of the world has ever really figured out the problem of the exchange. It’s that one moment where so many things can go wrong. And if just one little thing goes wrong, then everything goes wrong. Do you understand me, Swyteck?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Here’s the plan. I’m splitting you up. Your father will deliver the money to me in a public place. You’ll pick up the girl in a private place. Brilliant, isn’t it?”

“What do you want us to do?”

“Tell your father to take the money to Warehouse E off Mallory Square and wait outside by the pay phone. When I’m ready for the money, I’ll come by in costume. Believe me, he’ll recognize me.”

“What about Cindy? How do I get her?”

“When we hang up, take the portable phone with you and start walking south on Simonton Street away from your hotel. Just keep walking until I call you. I’ll direct you right to her. And so long as your father hands over the money, I’ll direct you to her in time.”

“What do you mean in time?” Jack asked.

“What do you think I mean?”

“I need to speak to Cindy,” he said firmly. “I need to know that she’s all right.”

The line went silent. Ten long seconds passed. Then twenty. Jack thought maybe he had hung up. But he hadn’t.

“Ja-ack,” Cindy’s voice cracked.

“Cindy!”

“Please, Jack. Just do what he says.”

“That’s all,” said Esteban. “If you want to hear more, you gotta play by my rules. No games, no cops, nobody gets hurt. Start walking, Swyteck.” The line went dead.

Jack breathed a heavy sigh. “No fear,” he added, speaking only to himself.