Michael fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair, exchanging little glances with Victoria every few seconds. They had spent the last four days in a holding pattern, cut off from their normal office staff.
He didn't know what to expect from the latest phone call, but only minutes later they'd been directed to FBI headquarters. There was so much nervous energy within the room in which they waited, the air could have been cut with a knife. When a familiar agent finally walked through the door, they both instantly got to their feet in anticipation.
"Mr. And Mrs. Ambassador, I'm sorry to keep you waiting. Please, have a seat," the man directed evenly. He joined them at the table, setting down an innocuous-looking file.
"Agent Fuller. We were happy to hear from you," Michael told him. "I hope this means you have something."
"Yes, we have some information. We started with one of the most obvious routes, looking into Owen's finances. There were some rather complicated rabbit trails, but intelligence managed to nail down his account out of the Cayman Islands."
"I thought those things weren't able to be traced," Victoria said softly.
"Officially, we don't have the technology. Unofficially, we've made certain strides in the last two years that have...opened a few more doors. There were three major transfers out of the account, all within the last month. We can trace them as originating with your man Owen Helms. It seems dirty, no question about it.
"The problem is, we can't accurately trace what he did with the money. It makes him look guilty, but of what would be in serious question," he explained slowly. "What we need is hard evidence of a link between Helms, and these terrorists. All the theories in the world won't convict the man."
"You're saying he could get away with this." Victoria was indignant.
"I'm saying, we're probably going to need a little more time to make a case. I'm sorry. I just want you to know that we're working on it. My people are doing the best they can."
A couple seconds later, there was a rather insistent knock at the door. Agent Fuller glanced back with a dark look full of annoyance, and got to his feet.
"Excuse me for a moment," Fuller apologized. He scowled openly at the man on the other side of the door, stepping out into the hallway with him.
Michael sent a furtive look to Victoria, and scooted his rolling chair closer to the ajar door.
"Winter, what is it? I specifically asked not be interrupted," he heard Fuller demand softly.
"Sir, you need to hear this." The other man fortunately possessed a lot less tact than his boss. "We just received a call from JFK. They have several men currently detained who may hold a special interest in this case."
Michael bolted to his feet and flung open the door. "Please, continue."
Fuller turned toward him, slightly alarmed. "Mr. Ambassador-"
"No, I want to hear this too. I haven't seen my daughter in almost two weeks, Agent!"
Fuller sighed, and looked at his man. "Has anybody moved yet?"
"No, sir, they're waiting for you."
"Okay, call Security and make sure they're locked down tight. Give me thirty seconds with the Ambassadors, and we'll get moving." Fuller turned on heel and headed for the office.
Michael backed up into the room and reclaimed his seat with Victoria.
"Mr. and Mrs. Ambassador, as you heard, we may have an interesting development on our hands. It's something I need to attend to immediately. With your kind indulgence I'm going to leave you now. You can wait here if you like, but it will probably take several hours. I would suggest you go back to your hotel. I will call you later, regardless."
Michael maintained steely eye contact, even as he took his wife's hand. "I'll hold you to that, Agent Fuller."
About an hour later, Agent Fuller walked into an interrogation room to meet the only one of the six detainees who had yet to utter a single word. The man eyed him with brash cockiness as Fuller sat down across the table from him. The Agent stared back cooly for several seconds, without saying anything either.
"I understand you six put on quite a spectacle at the airport," Fuller finally offered.
"Look, bloke, you can save your breath," the man said apathetically. "I've got nothing to say to you."
"They call you Davis, don't they? You have an opportunity to save something too, because I don't even care about you and your cronies right now. That's not why you're here with me."
The suspect cocked his head in the first show of interest. "All right, I'm game for a tale. Why am I here?"
"Davis, we know you have an inside contact in the Ambassador's circle. I want to know who the American mole is."
"Well, that's a pretty bit of information. Why would I be inclined to share something like that with you?"
"For starters, he's not one your men. He also wasn't able to completely deliver, was he? Two failed kidnappings, and what do you have to show for it? Nine of you in American custody. Why do you still feel a need to protect this guy?"
"You're not gettin' it, bloke. I'm asking what's in this for me?"
"Let me put it to you this way: where would you rather be inclined to spend the rest of your days?"
"You're saying I have a choice in the matter?"
"Depends. You can rot here in an American prison, where the entire populace will be prone to hate you for the mere fact that you're a terrorist. But you have a whole list of charges at home to follow up on too, so extradition could be on the agenda."
Davis sat back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. "I tell you who the mole is, and you'll get me extradited?"
"If you information is good enough."
"Guy's name is Owen Helms. He's the big man's Chief of Security," Davis said bluntly with no more hesitation.
"Can you prove it?" Fuller asked him.
Davis laughed arrogantly. "If you expect me to do your whole job for you, maybe we could trade sides of the table, bloke."
Fuller smiled tolerantly, snapping up his paperwork. "I'm sorry, I thought you were trying to make a deal. If that's all you have to say, I guess we're finished." He got up from the table and turned for the door.
"Wait, now, wait just a second!" Davis yelled after him.
Fuller turned with another coy smile. "You were saying?"
"Sit back down, and I'll tell you what you wanna know."
Fuller dropped into the other chair, gaze narrowing. "It better be good, Davis. There are five other men who might be willing to make a deal if you're not."
"You've already got all the evidence you need," Davis insisted. "I had a digital recorder on me when those blokes brought us in. You find that recorder, you'll have your proof."
A search of their confiscated effects easily turned up the digital recorder, and Fuller had his team start analysis on the files immediately. There were several days of recordings to go through, and it took a few hours for them to separate relevant messages from the useless information.
It was after midnight before voice-print technology made a definitive match to the recording, and reasonable doubt was no longer an issue in combination with financial records.
Fuller collapsed back in his office, weary but no less exhilarated. It was late, yet there was no question the Diplomats would want a phone call. He dialed Michael's cellphone number, smiling broadly when the man answered on the second ring.
"Hello, sir," Fuller greeted. "It sounds like you waited up for me."
"We did, Agent Fuller. Please tell me you have good news."
"We have Owen, Ambassador. Woke up a judge to have the warrant issued. He should be in custody within the next hour."
Michael's laughter was relieved. Fuller heard him repeat what he'd said for someone else in the background, then the Diplomat returned to the phone. "So what happened?"
"Six of the terrorists were caught trying to get through JFK. We got the name, and we have the proof of connection we needed."
"Everything will honestly hold up?"
"Owen's main contact kept digital records of every phone call that passed between them. The first three messages have been completely analyzed, and the match is dead on. My team is going through the rest of material - but I'll just say we had no problem getting a warrant. That combined with identical deposit records which line up with Owen's withdrawals? He's finished. I can give you a call back when they have him in custody, if you like."
"Thank you, Agent Fuller, for everything."
Michael hung up, rolling over in bed so he could see his wife. They had been like that for a couple hours without moving or sleeping, hardly uttering a word.
"It's going to be alright, Vic," he told her softly, brushing auburn hair from her forehead.
She sighed deeply, sounding both exhausted and elated. "I'm so anxious to get Jenna back. I can hardly believe all this. That Owen would participate, arrange it all, and pay someone else...He put a price on her head."
"The good news is, he's been caught. Several other bad men are going to be put away too."
"No thanks to us. We didn't protect her. Perfect strangers did a better job of it."
Michael looked down for a long moment, not knowing what to say.
Victoria hand drew his chin back toward her. "Don't listen to her. That's just a helpless Mom who thought she was going to lose her girl." Even her light kiss was apologetic.
"She truly is a part of us now, isn't she?" Michael ventured. "I don't think I've ever been so scared in my entire life. The thought of losing Jenna...it was like...waking up from a nightmare, only to find out it was real." He smiled secretively as another thought occured to him. "You know, maybe we should take some steps."
"What steps?"
"Just some precautions. We could lock Jenna up in her own private wing, where no one else will ever find her."
"I think she might resent that a little bit." Victoria stroked the side of his face comfortingly.
"I don't know. If we build her a sound studio, she might forget the rest of the world even exists."
Victoria laughed again, and drew both arms around his neck. "I think we need another solution, but that's somewhere to start."