Wow. Thank you all so much for your fantastic reviews (and your prodding; this chapter would not have been up so quickly without it!). You guys are awesome!

Disclaimer: National Treasure would have a LOT more Riley in it if I owned it. In other words: not mine.

CHAPTER THREE

Ben

"Who's got Riley? What happened?" I asked hurriedly.

Abby was still shaking. "The phone rang after you left. The guy on the other end asked for you, but I told him you were out. He said to give you a message. He's got Riley, and he's calling back in ten minutes. I was so afraid that you wouldn't be back in time, Ben, and they'd hurt him."

I took a deep breath to steady myself. "Are you sure he really has the kid?"

Abigail nodded, looking like she was about to cry. "He told me to tell you that Riley eats green jellybeans first."

Even though I was terrified for the kid, I couldn't help but find a little humor in that: Riley was probably driving his captors to insanity. But his taunting and sarcasm could easily get him killed. "How long has it been since the call?" Despite my best efforts, my voice shook.

"Seven minutes," Abby answered.

I rubbed my temples, thinking. "You called the police?"

"Yes."

"Okay," I said, thinking aloud. "Okay. I'm going to try and keep the guys talking until the police get here. Maybe they can trace the call."

Abigail looked scared. "Ben, they won't be able to. The guy was using Riley's cell phone. I recognized the number."

My hopes fell. "All right. I'll just try to reason with the guy and find out what he wants. It's probably just money, Abigail." If the guy asked for all fifty million, I'd gladly trade it for Riley's life. "Did he let you talk to Riley at all? Could you hear him in the background?"

Abby shook her head despairingly. "No." Then she glanced at her watch. "One more minute, Ben."

We ran to the kitchen, and Abby sank into a chair while I paced back and forth in front of the phone. It was the longest minute of my life.

Finally, the phone rang. Abby sat up straighter in her chair as I snatched up the phone.

"Hello?" I answered with trepidation.

"Hello, Mr. Gates."

NTNTNTNTNTNTNTNT

Riley

I had been sitting on the steps for like four hours when Popeye finally came back for me. Judging by the look on his face, whatever was coming next was particularly unpleasant. For me.

I was proven right. Popeye shoved me so hard into the house that I stumbled forward and fell, and then he kicked me to get me up. "Do you really think that's helping?" I complained. His answer was another vicious kick.

Somehow, I did manage to get to my feet again, and was walked to the kitchen. Mickey was already there, my cell phone in his hand. I was pushed into a chair, and then Mickey was pacing in front of me with slow, measured steps.

"Tell me about yourself, Riley," he said, in a tone that I didn't like. At all.

"I was born, then I got taller and learned to talk," I answered automatically. I swear, sometimes my mouth runs without my brain.

Mickey nodded, and Popeye's huge fist collided with the side of my head so hard that I slipped out of the chair. My vision flicked oddly for a moment.

"Try again."

From my place on the linoleum floor, I said, "I have brown hair and blue eyes. But you wouldn't be able to tell that from my driver's license photo. It sucks."

Popeye's foot came down on my hand. I could both feel and hear the bones break, which was the most sickening thing I had ever experienced. And the pain was so bad that I couldn't hold in a pathetic scream.

"Again."

Man, this was getting old. "My name spelled backwards is Yelir Eloop."

Popeye's gun smacked me around the head. This time, I think I really did black out for a second. When I came back to the present, my head was bleeding, and Mickey's irritatingly high-pitched voice was there.

"You don't have anything useful to tell us?"

I glared at him. "My favorite food is jellybeans. I always eat the green ones first."

Popeye moved to hit me again, and I tensed up, expecting pain. But instead, Mickey held up his hand. "Enough, Briggs. He'll probably keep giving us stupid answers until he's been beaten to death." He glanced at me, his mud-colored eyes glinting evilly. "But we don't want that, do we? At least, not yet."

Popeye—Briggs—relented, looking sullen.

"I think he's given us enough stupid information that the Gates family will be convinced. It's time for a little phone call." Mickey grinned, flipping open my cell phone. "I'm guessing that the listing 'Ben' is the right one?"

They're going to drag Ben and Abby into this.

As much as I hated the idea, I couldn't help but hope Ben would find a way to fix this mess. "Nope. I have him listed as 'Pauline.'"

Briggs hauled me up onto the chair again—a bit rougher than was strictly necessary, I thought—and produced a roll of duct tape from his pocket. I grimaced, knowing what was coming next. Sure enough, I got a piece of it slapped on my mouth.

"Let's put it on speakerphone," Mickey suggested. When the phone started ringing, he added, "You move, I let Briggs get on with it."

Briggs grinned, cracking his knuckles. I shuddered inwardly.

Then the ringing stopped. Abigail had picked up the phone. "Riley?" she said. Ah, the brilliance of caller ID. "Where have you been? Ben just went to look for you!" I felt bad that I had freaked them out, but it was kind of nice to know that they had already been looking for me. "You had Ben and me worried sick—"

"For good reason," Mickey interrupted.

There was a pause. "Who is this?"

Mickey grinned, clearly enjoying the exchange. "The name's not important. I need to talk to Ben Gates."

"He's not here," Abigail said, sounding flustered.

"Take a message for me, then. Tell Mr. Gates that I'll be calling back in ten minutes, and that the life of his young friend depends on him answering. The life of a certain Riley Poole."

There was a sharp intake of breath. "Riley? But—he's not . . . you couldn't possibly have—"

Again, Mickey interrupted. "Mr. Poole has told us, along with other inane facts, that he eats green jellybeans first. You have ten minutes." And then he hung up the phone.

Poor Abigail. She was probably freaking out.

Poor me. I was freaking out.

"Now we wait," Mickey said.

I squirmed a little on the chair, and Briggs gripped my shoulder painfully hard. If I hadn't had duct tape slapped over my mouth, I would have told him how displeased I was with him. As it was, though, I could do nothing but glare.

The minutes ticked by slowly. I found myself staring at the wallpaper, which was blue with these little white flowers, and counting how many revolting little doilies were draped over everything. I glanced at Mickey, wondering if he'd find it offensive if I mentioned how old lady-ish his tastes were. Then I remembered the duct tape, and was kind of glad for it. My head was throbbing unpleasantly, and my crushed hand was on fire. I really didn't need to be hit again.

Finally, Mickey got up from where he'd been sitting on the counter. "Time. You'd better hope Mr. Gates is home now, Riley."

Again, he put the phone on speaker. As it rang, I prayed with every fiber of my being that Ben had gotten back to his house.

"Hello?" The voice that answered was definitely Ben's. I had never been happier to hear his voice, even if it did sound strained.

"Hello, Mr. Gates," Mickey said, his voice casual. But he looked excited.

"Who is this?" Ben demanded.

Mickey smiled. "As I already told your wife, it doesn't matter. What does matter is the little situation we have here."

"What do you want?" Ben's voice was cold, and I could almost see the dangerous look that was sure to be on his face.

"You're a very wealthy man, Mr. Gates. I'm only asking a small sum in return for your friend: five million in cash." Mickey picked a piece of fuzz off his jacket and flicked it away.

There was a pause. Please, Ben, fix this. "You know I have the money. How do I know you have my friend?"

"Riley's told us several things I could repeat to you."

I knew that wouldn't satisfy Ben. Sure enough, his next words were, "That's not good enough. Let me talk to him."

For a second, I thought that Mickey would flat-out refuse. Then he shrugged. "All right, Mr. Gates."

Briggs ripped the duct tape from my mouth, and I yelped at the stinging pain.

"Riley?" Ben said, sounding worried.

I got up and walked closer to the phone, so Ben could hear me. "Hey, Ben." Geez, my voice was really wavery. So were my legs.

"How are you? Where are you? Have they hurt you?" Typical Ben, getting all the questions out with one breath.

I thought about it for a second. "Um, I'm okay . . . I guess. I don't really know where I am, besides one of the most hideous kitchens ever. I'm a little beat up, but nothing serious."

"At least not yet," Mickey interjected, and I could tell my little talk was over. Briggs manhandled me back into the chair, managing to bang my broken hand on the wall. I screamed with the pain of it, and then came a tirade of angry words from Ben.

Mickey rolled his eyes dramatically, although he seemed to take pleasure in the reaction my scream had caused. "Calm down, Mr. Gates. We haven't discussed the time and place of our little exchange yet. I suggest tomorrow, at noon, in Kingsley Park. You know where that is?"

Ben said he did, and then Mickey's words caught up to me. Tomorrow. Ben's birthday.

"Bring the five million, but leave the police at home. See you then." With that, Mickey hung up.

And things went rapidly downhill from there.

A/N: Well, now we know that Riley's kidnappers are after Ben's cash! Although that doesn't exactly bode well for Riley . . .

I hope the time overlap wasn't too confusing. Oh, and Dark-Angels-Tears, you now know that Abby was on the phone with the kidnappers and then the police. So don't "thwackie" her, please!

So, should I update soon? As I mentioned earlier, reviews make me write faster . . .