Chapter 22 - THE HEIR WHO RAN
Santiago did not run like a rich kid.
He ran like someone had taught him routes.
Cash instead of cards.
Borrowed phone.
No airport.
No hotel.
That worried me.
It worried Park more.
"Somebody is helping him," she said.
We were in a police command room staring at maps of New York Harbor.
"Marcus?"
"Maybe."
"Arturo?"
"He claims no."
"You believe him?"
"I believe his fear."
Grace stood behind me.
"You are not participating in a manhunt."
"I'm looking at a map."
"You look criminally nostalgic."
"That's not a legal standard."
"Yet."
Santiago's driver was found near Port Newark.
Alive.
Bound in a storage room.
He told police Santiago forced him out, took cash, then met an older man near a truck yard.
Description matched one of Mateo's former associates.
I called Mateo.
He did not answer.
I called again.
Nothing.
"He helped him," I said.
Park looked up.
"Why would Mateo help Santiago?"
"To flush out Marcus."
"That is insane."
"Mateo has always believed chaos reveals loyalties."
"And you worked with this man voluntarily?"
"I was worse."
She accepted that too quickly.
Police traced a plate from the truck yard to an abandoned ferry terminal in Bayonne.
I knew the terminal.
My organization had used it for off-book containers in the nineties.
"There are service tunnels," I said.
Park turned.
"What?"
"Under the east loading platform. Old utility corridors. One exits near the seawall."
"Plans?"
"Probably inaccurate."
"Can you draw them?"
Grace said, "He can draw them and then remain here."
I drew the tunnels.
Police tactical teams moved.
I stayed in the command vehicle because I promised Renata I would choose the harder thing.
Waiting was harder than walking into a building with a gun.
Nobody tells you that.
Then a radio call came.
"Suspect sighted. Hostage."
Park grabbed her vest.
"Who?"
Static.
Then the answer.
"Male dockworker, approximately thirty."
A second transmission followed.
"Hostage identified as Javier Rivas."
Mateo's grandson.
I called Mateo again.
This time he answered.
"Where are you?"
"Close."
"You helped Santiago."
"I gave him a route."
"Why?"
"I wanted Marcus to move."
"He took Javier."
Silence.
"Mateo."
His voice broke.
"I know."
"Where are you?"
"South access road."
"Do not go in."
"Daniel—"
"Do not make your grandson pay for another smart plan."
He hung up.
I told Park.
She swore and sent officers to find him.
The command radio carried Santiago's voice through a negotiator's phone.
He sounded younger than he had on the attack recording.
Panicked.
Angry.
"I want a boat."
The negotiator said, "We can talk about transportation. First I need to know Javier is okay."
"He's fine."
A muffled voice cursed him.
Javier sounded fine enough to be furious.
"Tell my grandfather he's an idiot!"
I almost laughed.
Family resemblance.
Then a shot cracked over the radio.
Everyone froze.
"Shot fired."
"Hostage status unknown."
I moved toward the door.
Grace grabbed my sleeve.
"No."
"He's Mateo's grandson."
"And you are not tactical police."
"I know the tunnels."
"So do they now."
I looked at Park.
She was already gone.
For twenty-two minutes, we heard fragments.
Negotiator.
Movement.
Santiago shouting.
Javier coughing.
Then another voice came over an open phone line.
Emmett.
Park had brought him to speak to Santiago.
"Santi, listen to me."
"You sold us out."
"No. I stopped lying."
"Same thing."
"Marcus left you."
"Shut up."
"He left all of us. Maurice is talking. Your dad is talking. You're the only one still protecting a man who doesn't care if you live."
Silence.
Emmett continued.
"You think your dad can fix this. He can't. Mine can't either."
Santiago's voice cracked.
"You don't know anything."
"I know Renata's face."
That ended the argument.
Five minutes later, Santiago shoved Javier out through a side door.
The hostage stumbled into police hands.
Alive.
A bullet had hit the wall beside him.
Not him.
Santiago surrendered twelve minutes after that.
Police led him out in handcuffs.
He looked small.
That did not make him less dangerous.
As he passed the command vehicle, he saw me.
He stopped.
"You think you know why she had the key?"
An officer pushed him forward.
Santiago twisted back.
"Ask Renata who gave it to her!"
I stared after him.
At the hospital that night, Renata was asleep.
I did not wake her.
For once, I waited until morning to ask the question.
When I did, she looked at me for a long time.
Then typed a name she had refused to give before.
Professor June Halpern.
My dead wife's college roommate.
A woman I had been told died fifteen years ago.
---
(To be continued)
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