Chapter 5 - The Bedtime Code
While Marcus worked the phones with his contacts at the Department of Justice and the Office of International Affairs, my cell phone rang again.
This time, the screen showed a video call incoming from an encrypted Swiss satellite connection.
"It's Owen," I cried, reaching for the phone.
"Put it on speaker, but don't show the room behind you," Marcus warned quietly, positioning himself beside the monitor. "Let him talk. Record the audio."
I pressed accept and brought the camera to my face.
On the screen was my eight-year-old son. He was sitting in the plush leather cabin of Grant's Gulfstream G650, wearing oversized noise-canceling headphones. His face looked small, pale, and exhausted under the dim cabin lighting. He had pulled a cashmere blanket up to his chin, and he was whispering into the tiny microphone on his headset.
"Mom?" he whispered.
"Owen! Sweetheart, are you okay?"
Tears spilled over my eyelids despite every ounce of willpower I possessed.
"I’m okay, Mom. Don't cry," he whispered, looking nervously toward the curtain separating the passenger cabin from the forward galley. "Dad is sleeping in the private stateroom. The flight attendant gave me a tablet to play games, but I used the emergency Wi-Fi link."
"Owen, listen to me carefully," I said, keeping my voice steady and warm. "I have the black card. I opened it."
A faint, relieved smile flickered across his tired face.
"Did you find the dragon's cave?" he asked.
It was our code. For three years, every night before bed, I had read him fantasy stories about a dragon who stole gold from village families and hid it inside a mountain vault behind four stone doors.
"I found the cave, baby," I said softly. "And I found the map he hid inside it."
"He made me say those things to the judge, Mom," Owen whispered, his lip trembling, his voice cracking with the unbearable burden he had carried for three weeks. "He told me that if I didn't tell the judge I wanted to live with him, his lawyers would take our townhouse away from you. He said you would be on the street and you’d have to go to jail because of unpaid bills. He showed me fake papers with your name on them."
Marcus closed his eyes in pure disgust, clenching his fist against the desk.
"I know, Owen," I told him, pouring every drop of love and strength I had through the tiny phone lens. "You were so brave. You saved us. You did nothing wrong."
"He forgot the card in his shaving kit when we were packing at the estate," Owen explained quickly, glancing back over his shoulder. "I remembered you telling me that Dad’s companies always had numbers with 'LLC' on them. The card had 'LLC' on the back. I hid it in my sock at the airport. Mom... we aren't going to a hotel in Zurich."
"Where is he taking you, Owen?"
"He was talking to the pilot before we took off," Owen said, reading from a small piece of paper he had hidden in his palm. "He said we are landing at Zurich-Kloten, but a private helicopter is waiting at Terminal 3. They are flying us to a house on a lake called Lucerne. The house has a gate with two stone lions. He told the man on the phone that once we reach the house, nobody can take me back to America because the town doesn't allow US marshals."
"Villa des Lions," Marcus muttered, typing the name furiously into his database. "It’s a private compound owned by Whitaker Holdings' Swiss subsidiary in the canton of Nidwalden."
"Owen," I said, leaning close to the camera. "When the plane lands in Zurich, I need you to do something very brave. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes, Mom."
"When the plane stops, and the doors open, you do not get on that helicopter. The moment you enter the airport terminal or see any officer wearing a uniform with a Swiss cross or a police badge, you scream as loud as you can. You tell them you are an American citizen being held against your will. Do not let Dad carry you to a car. Do you understand?"
Owen looked straight into the camera, the fear in his eyes hardening into pure determination.
"I won't let him take me to the lake, Mom. I promise."
"Hang up now, Owen," I whispered. "He's waking up."
Owen clicked the screen off just as the heavy curtain behind him rustled.
Marcus turned to me, his laptop screen glowing with official Department of Justice letterhead.
"The federal prosecutor in the Eastern District of Virginia just signed off on an emergency Red Notice request to Interpol," Marcus said, his eyes blazing with cold satisfaction. "We have the forged parental surrender, we have the child's recorded statement of coercion, and we have the offshore ledger linking the Liechtenstein trust directly to the forty million dollar bank fraud."
He looked at his watch.
May you like
"It’s 10:45 PM here. It’s 4:45 AM in Zurich. The Gulfstream touches down in two hours. Rachel, we are getting on a red-eye flight to Switzerland right now. You’re going to be there when they read Grant Whitaker his rights."
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