CHAPTER 5: Palmer

1

The only footage Michael managed to find on the night of Sara's kidnapping was from a small women's wear shop, in the street opposite Sara's building.

Lincoln warned Michael against too much hope. "Almost eighty percent of security cameras are fake, you know. Just meant to discourage thieves from taking their chances."

But as it turned out, as the brothers asked around, one of the shops did have a real camera. It wasn't angled in exactly the direction the brothers would have hoped for, but you had to play the hand fate dealt you. It was enough of a win they should get any footage at all.

The shop owner, a small shrunken woman with pearly eyes and a smile that still had all its teeth, agreed to let them watch the footage in the back of her shop. And so the brothers sat for hours, lunched on ridiculously small stools.

At some point, Lincoln let out a grunt, sprang off the stool and sat on the ground. Not long after that, he dug a pack of peanuts out of his jeans and munched them by the handful.

Michael didn't flinch. He watched the screen, careful not to miss anything.

"I'll never understand how you do that," Lincoln said.

"How I do what?"

"How you just—" Lincoln pointed at him vaguely with his finger, like he was trying to draw the contour of something shapeless. "Wait. Like, forever. How you're able to do nothing but wait."

"I'm not waiting. I'm watching."

"Watching the footage of a street with nothing happening."

"Plenty's happening. Every car rolling by could be our kidnapper's."

So far though, they hadn't been.

Of the few cars that had appeared onscreen, Michael had been able to dismiss all beyond doubt. One flashy red car, a green Jeep with the windows rolled down, so you could make out the driver's face, and a beige Alpha Romeo where a whole family was cramped and eating hamburgers.

"What time now?"

"Three a.m."

Lincoln sighed and offered Michael some peanuts. Michael couldn't keep judgment completely out of his voice when he said, "You know, you could try to act like we aren't sitting at the movies."

"What?" Lincoln defended. "Work makes me hungry."

"We are investigating a kidnapping."

"Well, I'm a policeman. My job gets gruesome. And yeah, I'm a functioning human being, so I still get hungry. Don't think it makes me an asshole."

"Could you not—"

But Lincoln raised his hand, motioning Michael to be silent. His eyes shot back toward the screen, where a black Sedan was rolling past. It was gone in five seconds.

"Play it again."

Michael grabbed the remote and pushed the rewind button.

The car was perfect. Black, almost invisible in the night. Tinted windows, so they could not even glimpse what was inside. Michael pressed pause when the license plate came into view.

"You're sure that's the one?" Lincoln asked.

"It's got to be."

Lincoln's mouth broke into a grin. "If we can track the vehicle, we can track the kidnapper."

"We can narrow down the perimeter," Michael said. "But if the guy's a pro, he might have changed his license plate sometime during the ride."

"C'mon. Can't you ever be optimistic?"

"Not when the stakes are this high. We've got to consider every possibility."

"Then what's the next step?"

"Follow that car, obviously. And call Tancredi. He needs to schedule another talk with his daughter—and we've got to hope this one will be more informative."

"You're hoping she's going to give us clues? Deliberately? She probably thinks dear old dad's going to do as her kidnappers ask. Heck, wouldn't you?"

Michael pressed his lips together. "I don't know. There was something about her voice the other day. And she knows her father."

"Well," Lincoln said, "let's hope she knows him better than they do. Because if they think Tancredi hired us to work behind their backs—"

"I know," Michael said. "I know."

He looked back at the screen and stared at the car, where he knew Sara Tancredi had been lying, restrained, unconscious, invisible to anyone.

2

They tracked the car all the way to Palmer, where it faded from the radars.

"Either he changed the plate," Lincoln said, "or he disappeared somewhere nearby without getting caught on cameras. Palmer's a small town, far from the madding crowd as they say. Maybe he's got a warehouse or an apartment nearby."

That was just the sort of thing Michael hoped to find out from Sara during their next call.

They met Frank Tancredi later that day. Under other circumstances, they probably would have met in his office, but again, he favored a car. Less conspicuous. It'd be foolish for Michael and his brother to be seen at Frank's workplace. Not just foolish, but dangerous. Michael was extremely aware of that. Though it wasn't his first time working as a consultant, it was a first to have the life of an innocent woman depend on whether he screwed up.

Don't screw up then. Don't screw up.

"Mr. Tancredi." Michael greeted Frank with a handshake.

Lincoln made do with a serious nod; maybe he hated the guy a little for refusing to take the easiest, least risky path to save his daughter.

That was a fair point, but looking at Frank's face, Michael couldn't help but feel for him. He looked haggard. Like a lemon that's been left to dry in the sun for weeks. Surely, if a reporter managed to get a picture of his face, theories would fuse about what deadly disease he was hiding.

"Mr. Scofield," he said, a show of strength. "Mr. Burrows."

Lincoln spoke before Michael could open his mouth. "We got a lead." Frank Tancredi's eyes sparkled to life. "We were able to identify the vehicle her kidnapper might have used to transport her."

"Might?"

"Of course, we're dealing with mights." Lincoln said, matter-of-factly, not audibly annoyed; but Michael knew his brother. "My team tracked down the car to Palmer. Ever been?"

"Yes," Frank said. "A couple of times, during campaigns. A small town. Not much to write home about." The battle against hope was blatant on Frank's face. "So you think—"

"It might be where he's keeping her," Michael said. "But it's possible they just changed the license plate mid-course. We're going to canvas the area. We should be back in Chicago soon enough."

"How soon?" Frank shook his head. "I'm sorry. But the man I spoke with on the phone—you heard what he said. I have two days. The speech at the inauguration of Franklin's College is next Thursday. That's when they're expecting me to announce my veto against the reform bill. If you haven't found Sara by then—"

"Look, Governor," Lincoln cut in. "If I was in your shoes, I'd want a straight answer, so I'm gonna be straight. My brother and I are doing everything we can to locate your daughter. But you have to realize there is no way out of this that's absolutely safe. Even if we find out where she is, extracting her is not gonna be easy. They're not gonna make it easy. And it's likely the first thing they'll do once they realize you've double-crossed them is kill your daughter."

Michael sighed. As usual, his brother scored no points for finesse.

Frank's response, predictably, was anger. "I hired you so you would bring Sara back to me."

"Yes," Lincoln said. "And I'm telling you by asking us not to comply with her kidnappers' demands, you're doubling the chances that she might not get out of this alive. Maybe tripling them. I'd want to know, if it was my daughter, so I'm telling you. I get your career is important to you. But if you're hoping to run for president, someday, you might want to rethink your strategy. Some voters will praise you for your iron hand, but others will think you were heartless."

It looked like Frank was two seconds away from telling them both to get out. But he calmed down. What choice did he have? He couldn't fire them. He didn't have time.

He looked at Michael, "You agree with your brother?"

"Yes," Michael said. "I would have put it differently, but I agree with him. You need to be aware of the risks you're taking."

Frank shook his head. "You can't imagine what it is. To be forced into backing down from your beliefs. To be manhandled like this. The humiliation. It would be the end of me. I'd never be able to have faith in my office, let alone look at myself in the mirror. I'm the governor. I can't let some terrorists shape the lives of the people who've elected me."

"I agree with that in theory," Lincoln said. "But it's not your voters' lives on the line, or yours."

Silence filled all the space in the car. Michael was the one to break it. "If you want to stick with your plan, then you need to buy your daughter more time. Tell them to change the deadline. Ask them for a picture of your daughter, or a video. We need more material to work on."

Frank nodded, but his eyes were absent. Michael could tell in his head, he'd already dismissed them. He needed to be alone with his thoughts.

"He's an old fool," Lincoln said, when he and Michael were out of the car. "He wants to have his cake and eat it too. Must have watched too many action movies where the good guys always win, whatever the odds."

Michael said nothing. He was sitting shotgun next to Linc, as they rolled steadily toward Palmer.

"Come on, don't make me think you like the guy?"

"It's not about liking him."

"Or that you think he's making the right decision. This isn't about staying true to his voters, Mike, we both know this."

"Of course not. It's about pride. Almost everything is."

"And you don't find it disgusting?"

Michael sighed. "That's just like you, Linc. When you're outraged, you have to say it. When you're pissed off, you have to punch something. There was just no use in it, telling those things to Frank Tancredi. The more you accuse him, the more stubbornly he'll hold on to his righteousness. Right now, it's all he has left."

"So, you only do things because they're useful?"

"Why else would I do them?"

"Because they feel good."

"Ah. Spoken like a proper primate."

Lincoln elbowed him in the shoulder. Minutes later, they rode past a sign that read, Palmer, ME: Where the best begins.

…

End Notes: Please let me know your thoughts on the chapter and theories in the comment section. Take care!