The side door opened. “Who’s there?” said Paulo.

She introduced herself as Lovejoy, one of the intelligence officers. “I found the property manager,” she said. “The good news is that there was no one in room one-oh-two when Swyteck’s car crashed into it. But he has some info on the occupants of one-oh-three. I thought you might want to talk to him.”

“Definitely,” said Paulo. “Is he with you?”

“Yeah, he’s right here. His name’s Simon Eastwick.”

“Mr. Eastwick, how are you?”

The man paused, and Paulo presumed that it was because he had misjudged where he was standing. It sometimes disoriented people when he wasn’t looking straight at them. “I’m fine, thanks,” he said finally.

“Can you tell me who was in that room before the crash?”

“Uh, it’s two Latina girls,” said Eastwick.

“By ‘girls,’ do you mean young women, or, literally, ‘girls’?”

“I mean they were teenagers. Maybe eighteen or nineteen.”

“Do they speak English?” said Paulo.

“One of them speaks very well. The other is so-so.”

“Do you have their names?”

“No. They paid day-by-day, cash.”

“Do you know if they were both inside the room at the time of the crash?”

“Sorry. Couldn’t tell you that.”

Paulo said, “How long have they been staying at the motel?”

“One of them just got here yesterday. The other one, I don’t know. A few days, maybe longer.”

“Did they have many visitors?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Alicia said, “How about customers?”

Eastwick was suddenly indignant. “Like I said: I wouldn’t know.”

“Ah,” said Alicia, “the don’t-ask-don’t-tell motel. Is that it?”

Eastwick said, “What people do in their private time is their business.”

“Not if they’re underage,” said Alicia.

“Like I told you, they looked to be eighteen or nineteen to me. I was just giving them a place to stay.”

In exchange for a cut of their business? That was what Paulo wanted to say, but it wouldn’t do any good to get the property manager’s back against the wall and shut down his cooperation. “Is there anything else you can tell us about these girls, Mr. Eastwick?”

“Not that I can think of.”

“I’d like you to sit down with the tactical team, explain every conceivable point of access to that room. Could you do that?”

“Sure.”

Eastwick started toward the door, but Paulo stopped him. “One other thing. These girls, as you call them. Is there any possibility that they would keep a gun in their room?”

The man considered it for a moment. “I’d say that’s a very definite possibility.”

“Thank you, Mr. Eastwick. That’s some very helpful information.”

EVERYTHING LOOKS DIFFERENT at three a.m., and the inside of the Greater Bahamian Bank amp; Trust Company was no exception. The lobby was completely still, and the palpable silence made Jack aware of the sound of his own footsteps, the gum in Zack’s mouth, and the loose coins in the security guard’s pocket.

After three radio calls, Otis Riley, the bank manager, had finally shown up. He was a short man with a dark island complexion that radiated good health, but Jack could still see the sleep in his eyes. Riley offered very few words as he took them down a hallway and then to a set of locked doors that opened to the safe deposit box room. “I believe that Mr. Swyteck and I can take it from here,” he told the group.

Zack, the security guard, and the Bahamian police officer did not object. The Miami cop said, “I need to stay with Swyteck.”

“Why?” said Jack.

“Because I was told not to let you out of my sight.”

“What do you think I’m going to do, shove a stack of twenties in my pocket?”

The cop was stone-faced.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” said Jack.

The cop said, “It’s my job to make sure that the exact amount of money that comes out of that box goes directly into police hands back in Miami. That’s the only way the feds will allow that much cash to cross an international border.”

“All right,” said Riley. “Come with us, then.” Riley used his access card to unlock the door, and the three men entered the safe deposit box room. The manager went into the office and returned with the key to box 266 in hand. “Do you have your key, Mr. Swyteck?”

Jack nodded. Riley went to the box and inserted the bank’s key. The lock clicked when he turned it. Jack inserted his key, and there was another click. Jack pulled the handle, and the box opened like a drawer. It was halfway open when his heart sank. He opened it all the way and found himself speechless.

“It’s empty,” said Riley.

“What happened to all the money?” said Jack.

“We have never had a mishap in our eleven-year existence,” said Riley, as if a decade plus one were more than enough to establish a tradition of excellence in the world of offshore banking. “I’m certain that every last bill can be accounted for.”

“Has someone accessed the box since I was here last?” said Jack.

“I’ll check the records straight away,” said Riley.

“That may not be necessary,” said Jack. “There’s a note.”

The cop said, “Don’t touch it.”

Jack wasn’t about to smudge it with his own fingerprints. The scrap of paper was the size of a business card, and a handwritten message was scrawled across the front. With the tip of his pen, Jack slid the note from the back of the drawer to the front, close enough for him to read it aloud. “Donde están los Desaparecidos?”

“Is that Spanish?” said Riley.

“Yes,” said Jack.

The men were silent, as if trying to decipher it. “What does it mean?” said Riley.

The cop said, “It translates to ‘Where are the Disappeared?’”

“That’s the easy part,” said Jack. “But if you want to know what it means…”

“Yes?” said Riley.

Jack stole another glance at the note. “I don’t have a clue.”

chapter 23

A licia was asleep in the backseat of her car when her cell phone rang. Vince had warned her that the Falcon and Theo show might well have the legs of a PBS telethon, so she grabbed the opportunity for a quick catnap. Her car was parked right beside the command center, in case she was needed. The missed call went to her voice mail, but she recognized the number on her call-history display. She hit speed dial, and her father answered on the first ring.

“Alicia, where are you?”

“I’m at a mobile command center. There’s a hostage situation on Biscayne.”

“I know. Chief Renfro called me, and I just turned on the news. Why are you there?”

“Because I might be able to help.”

“Please don’t talk to that psycho. He’s killed one cop already, shot another.”

Alicia checked her face in the rearview mirror. Once upon a time, she could have curled up in the backseat, slept off a night of two-for-one cosmopolitans, and made it to her eight a.m. accounting class with no makeup and a smile on her face. Those days were gone. “I’m not in any danger. I’m way outside the line of fire.”

“Good. Just don’t go anywhere near that building. Please, promise me you won’t go there.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t even talk to him on the phone.”

“He hasn’t asked to talk to me.”

“He will. He asked to talk to you when he was on that bridge, and he’ll ask again.”

“If he does, I’ll do what the negotiators think I should do.”

“No. Listen to your father. Do not talk to him. Do you hear me?”

“Papi, calm down, all right?”

“I am calm. Just promise me you won’t talk to him.”

“Okay, I won’t talk to him. I promise. Unless the negotiator thinks it would help.”

“By ‘negotiator,’ do you mean Paulo?”

“Yes.”

“For heaven’s sake, Alicia. The last time that man was in a true hostage crisis, a five-year-old girl was nearly killed, and he ended up blind.”

“That wasn’t his fault.”