suite. The second floor design hadn’t been renovated for years and still possessed the wood and metal, mirrors and leather sensibility of a previous era of financial power. He found the stately atmosphere helped clear his mind, focus his thoughts on the tasks at hand.
His cell phone rang. He scanned the caller ID.
Franklin?
His son had grown up with a special rule in the house: Dad isn’t to be bothered during the work day unless it’s an emergency. In sixteen years he had never called. Not once. Not during his parents divorce. Not even when he had smashed his first BMW on the Long Island Expressway. Why was he calling now?
“Franklin, what’s going on?”
A harsh voice cut through the speaker. “We have your son, O'Kelly. Don’t do anything rash, anything stupid, or we will not hesitate to kill him.”
O'Kelly jerked upward and stood at attention, his gaze wild. “Who is this?”
“You know what we did to your partner in crime, Jack Craig. We blew him to bits. His bones litter the streets of this city, one of many he robbed for so many years. We will do much worse to your brat if you do not follow our instructions to the letter.”
His pulse racing, sweat building on his brow, O'Kelly paced the plush floors of the executive suite in panic. “How do I know—”
“Dad?”
It was Franklin. O'Kelly closed his eyes.
“Dad, God, please. They’re not kidding.” He seemed to be choking up. “They killed Coach Larsen. Shot him. Dead! It’s my fault, Dad! He was just trying to—”
Abruptly his son’s voice was cut off.
“Convincing enough for you?”
“Yes,” he whispered, his mind racing for solutions. He walked to his desk and the red panic button.
“You have two choices, O'Kelly. The first is that you kill you son by calling the cops, the Feds, your new military men,” said the harsh voice.
“How do you know—”
“ Or , you act normally, alert no one, and do exactly what we say. You have no guarantees from us except that we will kill him. I think you know we are willing. But we don’t give a damn about your son. Only about you .”
A voice cried from the background.
“Dad! No, don’t—”
O'Kelly heard a slap, then silence.
“We are more than willing to let your spawn escape to gain increased cooperation from you. Because we have a special use for you. And you will be helpful to us because you know that your son will never be safe.”
“What do you want?”
“There will be no ransom. There will be no stalling. There is a black SUV waiting below on Park Avenue. If you are not in that vehicle in five minutes, your son dies. You are to come down from your second-floor perch. Do not bring your armed muscle.”
“They will follow me once they see I’m leaving.”
“Make sure you get outside. Then whatever happens, do not pause, do not stop, do not seek to do anything except find your way to that vehicle. Do you understand?”
Thoughts and scenarios flew through his mind, options and risks and assessments that could not be made with any confidence without data, without time.
“This is not something the both of you are going to get out of, O'Kelly. Make your choice: your life or your son’s. In four minutes, a decision will be made one way or the other.”
The connection was broken.
Mitchell O'Kelly did not hesitate. He had been presented with an impossible choice, and he didn’t need any more deliberation to make his decision.
Outwardly calm, he walked quickly out of his office and down the hall. Luckily the ground floor was only two flights down, otherwise there would be no chance to escape without being closely followed. Completely contrary to habit, he entered the stairway to the surprised expressions of the secretaries and leapt down the steps in painful bounds. His aging frame wasn’t up to this sort of shock, but it seemed likely he would soon have more serious concerns.
The CEO of Citigroup burst out from the lobby stairwell and walked like a man possessed