Chapter 4 - THE SILO OF SECRETSDetective Thomas was already barking orders into his radio before the dial tone even faded.
“Get SWAT deployed to the Route 37 grain silos! Set up a perimeter, five-mile radius, silent approach! No sirens, no lights!”
“No!” I screamed, grabbing the detective by his lapels. “Did you hear her? She will kill Daniel! You can’t just rush in there with guns blazing!”
“Mrs. Russell, we do not negotiate with child abductors and extortionists!” Thomas snapped, pulling my hands off his uniform. “Your son is an accomplice to a federal crime, and that baby is state evidence and a high-profile kidnap victim!”
“He’s my son!” I bellowed, the maternal instinct that had lay dormant for years exploding inside me. “And that baby is a human being! You treat them like case numbers! I am going to that silo.”
“I can’t let you do that,” Thomas said, stepping between me and the crib.
“Then shoot me,” I said coldly, glaring directly into his eyes. “Because unless you handcuff me to this bed, I am walking out of here with that child.”
For five tense seconds, the room was dead silent. Thomas looked at me, seeing the absolute refusal to yield in my eyes. He swore under his breath, rubbing his face with both hands.
“You don't take the real baby,” Thomas said abruptly. “We use a medical decoy doll from the training lab. We dress it in Ethan’s clothes and wrap it in his blanket. You go in with a hidden wire. My team will be right behind you, hidden in the tree line.”
Thirty minutes later, I was behind the wheel of my old station wagon, driving through a blinding torrential downpour toward the lonely expanse of Route 37. Beside me in the passenger seat sat a heavy, anatomically correct medical mannequin wrapped tightly in Ethan’s blue blanket. Underneath my cardigan, taped to my chest, was a wire transmitter broadcasting every sound directly to the tactical van trailing two miles behind me.
The massive, rusting silhouette of the abandoned grain silo loomed out of the darkness like a decaying monument. The rain beat against my windshield in deafening sheets.
I parked the car, turned off the engine, and took a deep, shaky breath.
Stay strong, Margaret, I told myself. For Daniel. For Ethan.
I picked up the bundled decoy, stepped out into the freezing storm, and pushed open the heavy, rusted iron door of the silo.
The air inside smelled of damp earth, mildew, and wet concrete. High above, rainwater dripped from the ruined roof, hitting the dirt floor with rhythmically terrifying thuds.
“Sarah!” I called out, my voice echoing off the circular metal walls. “I’m here! I brought the baby! Now let Daniel go!”
A spotlight suddenly snapped on overhead, blinding me.
I squinted into the glare. High on a wooden catwalk twenty feet above the ground, bound to a wooden chair with heavy electrical tape, was Daniel. His face was badly beaten, his eye swollen shut, blood trickling from his split lip.
Standing behind him, holding a dark sleek handgun pressed against the base of his skull, was Sarah.
But she wasn't alone.
May you like
Standing next to her, wearing a tailored three-piece suit that looked absurdly out of place in the filthy silo, was a man holding a briefcase.
It was Senator Victor Vance.
