You will be contacted again soon.

Snake

END

John sat staring at the screen. If this was someone’s idea of a joke, it was not funny. Who the hell—?

He checked the return address and noted the UK suffix.

It had been sent from England. Who did he know in England with a sick sense of humor?

And then he realized that the message had come through one of those anonymous remailers he’d read about. E-mail routed through the remailer server was stripped of its origin data and forwarded anonymously.

A chill washed through his arteries. He grabbed his phone and hit the speed dial for Katie’s school. When the receptionist answered, John said he wanted to check on his daughter.

“Oh, she was picked up a while ago,” she told him.

His office tilted. He had to clutch at his desk to keep from toppling backward. He tried to speak but could not find a sound that even approximated the horror that filled him. Every vowel and consonant had deserted him.

“Dr. Vanduyne?” the receptionist said. “Is anything wrong?” When he still couldn’t answer, she said, “I’ll get Sister Louise.”

On hold, he sat and trembled, gasping for breath. His heart seemed to have quadrupled in size and threatened to burst from his chest.

One thought raced through the circuits of his brain in an endless loop: Not my Katie! Please, God. Not my Katie!

His darting eyes found his monitor and locked on the e-mail message still on his screen… one particular paragraph seemed to expand in size:

You will be unable to perform this service if anyone knows that you are under duress. Therefore, no one must know that Katie is missing.

!!!NO-ONE!!!

Sister Louise came on the line. Concern was etched in her voice.

“Dr. Vanduyne? Is something the matter? Isn’t Katie home yet? It’s been more than half an hour since your driver left with her.” John swallowed quickly, trying to find a little moisture.

He had to be very careful, but he had to say something.

“My driver…”

“Yes. That Anderson fellow from Reliance Limousine.

I called you about him just before he left. That was you I spoke to, wasn’t it? Great heavens, don’t tell me—“

He wanted to scream at her: How could you let her go?

“No-no!” he said quickly. “Everything’s fine. My… my allergies are just kicking up.”

“Thank the Lord. For a moment there… but she should be home by now, shouldn’t she? If you want I can call the police and ask them—”

Oh, Christ don’t do that!

He forced a laugh that must have sounded ghastly.

“Well, what do you know… here she is now… just pulling in the driveway. Must have got stuck in traffic. Thank you. Sister. Sorry to bother you.”

“No trouble. I’m just glad she’s safe. And have a safe trip to Atlanta.”

“Yes… thank you.” John fumbled the receiver back into its cradle and leaned on his desk.

Atlanta… Atlanta?

He stared at his monitor screen. Despite the e-mail, despite what Sister Louise had said, he still couldn’t believe it. This whole thing had an unreal feel about it. He had to be dreaming. That had to be it. Soon he’d wake up and— He jumped as his phone rang. He snatched it up.

“What?”

“Secretary Grahmann is on twenty-two. He wants—”

“Tell him I’ll call him back.”

“Yes, but—”

“I’ll call him back, Phyllis.” He wanted to scream at her. How could she disturb him now? “And hold all my calls. I’m not speaking to anyone right now.”

“Are you all right?”

“No calls!”

“Yes, sir.”

John lurched from his chair and staggered around his desk. He had a strange, floating sensation. His office seemed to have shrunk. The walls pressed in on him.

Katie. Oh, God, Katie. Where was she? What were they doing to her? What did they want with her? What did they want from him?

He rushed back to the screen and reread the message.

We do not want money. We merely wish you to perform a service. If you perform that service, Katie will be returned unharmed.

A service. What kind of service? What did that mean? He didn’t have any special skills. What could they want?

But he couldn’t think about that. All he could think of was Katie, alone, surrounded by strangers, terrified…

Christ, if he lost her…

He stopped at his window, looking up at the overcast sky. Hasn’t she already been through enough, God?

He needed help. He had to call the FBI. They were headquartered right down on Pennsylvania Avenue. Hell, he could call Tom and Tom would call the director and the whole goddamn agency would be combing the country for this Snake creep.

But then another section of the message burned into his retinas.

If you inform any local or federal authorities of your plight, you will no longer be of value to us. And subsequently, neither will your daughter. And, we will dispose of her like any other useless object.

But he couldn’t handle this alone. What did he know about dealing with kidnapers? Maybe with Tom’s help he could keep the FBI’s involvement ultrasecret.

Don’t do anything stupid. We’ll know…

And that was the really chilling part. We’ll know. Obviously this Snake already knew plenty about Katie’s schedule, and about his own. He knew John’s e-mail address and—what had Sister Louise said? “I called you about him just before he left.” That meant this Snake had been able to intercept a call to him from Holy Family.

Was his line tapped? Did they know everything? What about… ?

A sudden thought struck him like a sledge hammer: Katie’s Tegretol! She needed it twice a day. If she didn’t get it—

“Oh, Christ!” he said, and dropped back into his chair.

He hit the function key for reply mail and banged in a message. He wanted to spew every obscenity he knew at this scum, but he held back. If he angered Snake, who would suffer the brunt of that anger?

Be calm, he told himself. Be cool. Think this out. Don’t let the bastard know he’s made a basket case out of you. Stroke the slimy son of bitch.

Snake— Your message received and understood. I have told no one. I will follow all your directions to the letter. You are in control. Please do not hurt Katie. But please listen. THERE IS SOMETHING YOU MUST KNOW! Katie has a seizure disorder. A form of epilepsy. She needs medicine twice a day, every day. If not, she will start convulsing. She’ll have one convulsion after another until she’s…

His fingers paused over the keys, balking at the next words. He forced them to type on.

brain dead.

You must believe that what I am saying is true. I am not playing games with you. You have my daughter. She is the most important thing in my life. I have no idea how I can be of use to you or anyone else, but I will do exactly as you say, do anything you want, but you must get her some of this medicine. I can arrange to send you some, leave some somewhere, or call any pharmacy you choose and have a supply waiting there. You must believe that THIS IS NOT A TRICK!!! THIS IS A VERY SERIOUS MEDICAL PROBLEM !!!

John sat back and searched his panic-scrambled memory for what he knew about the psychology of kidnapers. He remembered reading that many of them tended to depersonalize their victims. He tried to add something that would make Katie a person to this madman.

Katie’s had it tough so far in her six short years. I know that sounds hard to believe. How tough could a doctor’s daughter have it, right? Believe me, fate has not been kind to Katie. Her epilepsy is only part of the story.

Please don’t make it any tougher on her. Please don’t hurt her. Please. I’ll do anything you want, just don’t hurt her.

He heard a noise… like a sob… and realized it was his own voice.

He was crying.

Quickly he wiped his eyes, added his name to the bottom, then hit the function key that would send the message—queue it into the Internet, route it back to the remailer that would forward it to Snake… whoever he was.