Winning the Lottery - 6. The downside of being wealthy

I was wrong, very wrong, because....

A few days later Cass was kidnapped. His abductors shot, and seriously wounded, Art, his bodyguard that day.

Lisa, my bodyguard, gave me the news in person just after lunch on Friday. I phoned Derrick immediately, but his phone went to voicemail. He was on a work trip from Seattle to Cancun and was still in the air. Lisa said they needed to get me someplace safe, now! Work be damned, I left the office with Steve and Lisa; they’d been given instructions to stay by my side and not let me out of their sight. They took me to a hotel suit where the other two guards were waiting.

I tried calling Douglas and MacKenzie, but their phones went directly to voicemail. I phoned the Dea-Con head office to see if I could speak to either Gramps or Derrick’s uncle Darius. Thank God, after a short wait, I managed to get through to Gramps.

Gramps told me generally what had transpired. Art had been sitting in the corridor outside the gymnasium where Cass was participating in a sports activity, basketball, I think. Two men in stocking masks entered the hallway and shot Art without any warning. (He was in serious but stable condition at the Seattle hospital.) They then entered the gym, waved their guns around and shot into the ceiling to subdue everyone. Quick as a wink, they grabbed Cass and fled, speeding off in a waiting SUV. By the time the police and ambulance arrived they had disappeared. So far the family hadn’t received any communication from the kidnappers. Security had been beefed up on all the family members, but Gramps couldn’t go into any of those details over the phone.

Steve was on the phone almost constantly to someone at the security company’s office, but there were no significant updates to report.

I paced like a caged lion for over an hour until Derrick finally called. He was distraught. He was clearly in a state of shock and vibrating with impotent rage. A private jet had been dispatched to return him to Seattle, but it was still a few minutes out from Cancun. Much to my surprise, he told me a private jet was on standby at the Honolulu airport for me. “Gabe, I could really use your support right now. Will you come?”

I didn’t hesitate; I agreed to leave for the airport immediately. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be up in Seattle but family trumped job.

At the airport we drove up to a sleek looking jet, and Steve quickly ushered us all aboard. It seemed very small inside but it was very luxuriously furnished with buttery leather seats and shining wood trim—a kind of flying Rolls Royce. There were good food smells, and Steve said a hot dinner had been brought onboard. Apparently we were on a Gulfstream G550. The name didn’t mean much to me, but it seemed to impress my four companions.

Steve grabbed a portable satellite phone from its wall hanger and called his colleague in Seattle. I heard him telling that person that we were all safely on the plane and ready to depart. He then listened for a couple of minutes and mumbled a few agreements into the phone.

“Okay, gather round for an update,” he ordered. “Cass didn’t have his GPS tracker on him when he was snatched. It was in his jacket pocket, which was hung on a wall peg. The FBI is involved because it’s a kidnapping. The Deacons are bringing in a specialty hostage rescue company out of San Diego. They’re all over this thing like fleas on a junkyard dog. There are at least fifty FBI and private agents doing research at the moment. It’ll only be a matter of time until the hideout is located and Cass is rescued. Stay positive everybody!”

The plane took off at 3pm Hawaii local time. It takes about 6 hours to get to Seattle; our estimated arrival was at 6pm Seattle local time. Once the plane reached cruising altitude one of the guys served us meals from the plane’s little galley. The food was delicious and plentiful, but I had very little appetite. After we ate, everyone except me reclined their seats and fell asleep. I was too worried about Cass and Derrick to even think about sleeping, so I just stared out the window at the blue ocean below.

About an hour before we arrived in Seattle, Derrick called on the sat phone. Clearly worried sick, he told me in great deal what several eye witnesses had seen. From start to finish the kidnapping and escape took no more than 45 seconds. He confirmed the story Gramps had told me. They had only rough descriptions of the two kidnappers. The police found the getaway vehicle, which had been stolen, a few blocks away. They’d transferred Cass to another, unknown, vehicle before disappearing.

The FBI was working with the Deacon’s private security company, and that puzzled me. On TV the FBI are always portrayed as territorial.

Soon it was time to land in Seattle, so I said goodbye to Derrick. His plane was about 30 minutes behind ours, so we would wait at the airport for his arrival.

I was put into the back seat of an SUV while my four guards, now armed with automatic rifles, stood outside keeping watch on all four sides of the vehicle. I sat nervously and watched Derrick’s plane taxi to a spot nearby. Two security guards came out followed by Derrick, then two more guards. Derrick jumped in the car with me and we threw ourselves together. I’d never been hugged so tight, and I’d never hugged back so tightly.

The guards didn’t give us much time before they ordered us to separate and put our seatbelts on. Derrick started to object, but one of the guards said he didn’t want another Princess Dianna situation, and Derrick relented. We clipped our seatbelts on but kept our hands firmly clasped.

The ride to the hotel wasn’t long. We were ushered through a back entrance and up a service elevator to the top floor. We entered a suite to find Derrick’s parents waiting. Thankfully no guards came in with us and we had privacy.

There was a lot of crying and hugging and murmurs of sympathy. Then we sat and re-hashed what we already knew. After only a few minutes a woman from the FBI came in. Her behavior was respectful, yet she spoke with authority. We were to be split up and be interviewed by FBI agents.

I was taken to another suite on the same floor where I was introduced to two male FBI agents. Special Agent Fillion and Special Agent Stein. These guys were both drop-dead gorgeous, and I thought maybe the interview might be pleasant with all that eye candy. I was proven wrong the minute my interrogation began. I say interrogation, because from the moment Agent Fillion asked me, “What is your relationship to Derrick Deacon?” his tone of voice carried a hard, businesslike edge. He was treating me like a suspect! It shouldn’t have worried me, but it did. My face reddened, and I squirmed in my chair. Led by their questions I told them how I’d met Derrick, that yes I was intimate with him, yes we had become engaged. They honed in on the how, when and why of our first meeting. Fillion implied I had contrived to meet Derrick.

“Meeting Derrick was purely chance,” I said.

“We’ll see,” said Filion.

He glared at me, I glared back annoyed, and a little hurt, at being considered a suspect.

The door opening had us both looking in that direction. To my utter surprise, in walked the guy from the beach, Sam Kositzky.

My blood ran cold. Obviously, the FBI had found out I’d investigated the Deacons, and maybe I’d just moved up to the number-one-suspect spot. Shit.

“Hey Gabe,” said Sam Kositzky, “You look a little shocked.”

“Uh....”

“I’m here on official business. My old company is working with the FBI on this investigation. They asked me if I’d come out of retirement knowing there was a relationship between me and you and the Deacons. I guess I’m the liaison guy.”

I nodded dumbly. I think I understood what he was saying, but my thoughts moved like molasses on a cold day.

“Sam, they treat me like I’m guilty. I would never hurt Cass or Derrick or anyone close to him!”

“Naw, they never seriously thought that. They know everything that’s possible to know about you. My company gets called in because we can access information in ways that the FBI can’t, or at least by law aren’t allowed to.

Jesus, they probably knew what kind of porn I watched on the internet. It’s pretty vanilla gay stuff, but still....

Fillion and Stein left the room, and Sam led me back to the Deacon’s suite.

As well as the Deacons there was a woman in the suite, who Sam introduced as Susan Daniels, and a man introduced as FBI Agent in Charge Michael Caldwell. Introduction dispensed with, I hugged Derrick. His mom and dad were sitting on one of the couch holding hands and looking forlorn.

Susan Daniels was the leader of the hostage rescue team hired by the Deacons. She assured us all that every lead, every clue, every hint was being fully investigated.

Agent Caldwell said that Cass’s kidnapping was similar to one that had been carried out in the Eastern US about a year ago. In that case the child was returned after the parents had paid ten million dollars in ransom to an off-shore bank account. The money disappeared, meaning the kidnappers had very professional information technology support. That type of support that was likely to be organized crime. Possibly Russian.

Calwell, Daniels and Kositzky left the room and ‘the family’ settled in for an anxious wait.

We waited and waited. And waited. Time crept by. We snacked on finger food, tried unsuccessfully to sleep and cried a lot.

Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, the kidnappers sent an untraceable email to the Dea-Con head office demanding a ransom of one hundred million dollars for Cass’s safe return. That amount seemed staggering to me, but it didn’t seem to faze the Deacons. The demand also specified that the money was to be paid by noon that day by wire transfer. If it wasn’t paid, Cass would die.

“Dad, we gotta pay this right away!” said Derrick. “We’ve got to contact the bank, now!”

Agent Caldwell spoke. “We have six hours until the ransom needs to be paid. If this is the same crew as last time they won’t harm Cass before the ransom deadline. We can give you some hope. With the help of Ms. Daniels and her team we’re almost certain we know who kidnapped Cass. The similarities to last year’s kidnapping give us a good lead. They weren’t caught last year, but the good news is that the child was returned unharmed after the ransom was paid. The child was held in a rural setting, and there’s reason to believe that’s the case this time. The case was never closed, of course, and the FBI and Ms. Daniel’s crew have narrowed the field of suspects considerably. It was only a process of elimination to narrow it down given the M/O of the perps and the potential location.”

“Who is it?” asked Derrick.

“We’re only guessing at this point,” replied Agent Caldwell. “But I can promise that we’re closing in on them. Our main concern, our one and only concern, is getting Cass out safely. We’ve located a very likely location. It’s a farm house on which recently a six month lease was paid up front. Infrared scans tell us there are four people in the house. One is fairly immobile in a back bedroom, and three others are moving around. Daniel’s crew is gearing up to do a clandestine extraction. The FBI will be standing by, of course, but this is no time to send in a SWAT team.”

“We will avoid Cass becoming a threatened hostage, or human shield, at all cost,” added Daniels.

“How long will this be?” asked Douglas Deacon.

“Hard to say, but hopefully, not long,” replied Agent Caldwell. “We’ll let you know the minute we have Cass.” After that, Caldwell and Daniels left.

“Oh thank God!” declared MacKenzie.

“Cass has to be safe! He just has to be!” declared Derrick breaking into sobs.

There were few comforting words I could offer. I’m not one to spout platitudes, so I just held Derrick and let him cry while rubbing his back.

We remained in an uneasy silence but my mind started to work a little better. I began to have questions. “Who is this Daniel’s?” I asked. “And why is the FBI working with her crew?”

“They’re the best extraction team in America,” said Douglas. “They’ve rescued dozens of kidnap victims both in the US and in other countries. The Deacons use them for special security when one of our executives is overseas. I think they’re connected to the CIA or some other three letter organization, but nobody knows for sure. The FBI works with them because they can get information quickly—by hacking and so forth—when the hands of the FBI might be tied by legal niceties. And the Deacons have a fair bit of influence, even with the FBI. Gramps is on a first name basis with the Director because he donates a lot of money to FBI-related charities, like the Retired FBI Agent Benevolent Fund. Also, the FBI works closely with us investigating the occasional death threat and extortion.”

I remembered what Douglas, and later Gramps, had told me about the power of money, and the truth of their statements hit me hard. The Deacons didn’t live a normal life; I wasn’t quite sure where I fit in that equation. Was I the luckiest guy alive, or was I an insect trapped on a sticky spider’s web? What in the name of God had I gotten myself into?

Derrick was still in my arms. He must have sensed my discomfiture because he kissed my neck and whispered in my ear, “I love you, Gabe. Thanks for being here with me.”

I loved Derrick with my heart and soul. I loved everyone in this warm, gentle, caring family. I may be but a leaf in a fast moving stream, and my definition of normal was being challenged, but I was going to hang on for the ride.

We paced and nibbled on stale hors d’oeuvres for the next two hours. No one had the appetite for a real breakfast. Around 8am, agent Caldwell knocked on the door and joyously exclaimed. “We’ve got him! He’s safe and unharmed!”

Relief jolted the room like bolt of lightning. Derrick whooped and everybody hugged. Even agent Caldwell joined in. Grand Coulee Dam couldn’t have held back the flood of happy tears.

Derrick’s phone rang and it was Cass calling from the extraction vehicle. As Derrick spoke, asking Cass over and over again if he was okay, tears streamed from his eyes.

Another awkward wait ensued. Everyone was dead on their feet from being up all night, but we were all wired, so even a catnap was out of the question. The seconds crawled by, but It wasn’t long before Cass burst into the room and threw himself at his Dad. Derrick picked him up and swung hugged him tightly kissing his face and declaring, “I’m so glad you’re safe! I love you so much. Everybody loves you so much!”

Cass submitted to hugs from everybody in the room. We were all crying again. I hung back, still unsure of my “role” in the family, but soon Cass was passed to me and, much to my joy, he gave me a big hug too.

The FBI allowed us some family time family time before they wanted to talk to us again. We had breakfast brought up to the suite after which we tried to nap. Derrick, Cass and I went into one of the bedrooms and after washing our faces and peeing we settled into the queen-size bed with Cass in the middle. I didn’t think I’d sleep, but before I knew it Derrick’s dad came into the room and told us it was time to get up.

The first thing Mackenzie told us was that Art was doing very well. He’d been downgraded from “serious” to “fair” and been moved out of the ICU to a normal room.

Cass clapped at the news. His first question when he’d been rescued was about Art. Unfortunately, he’d seen Art lying bleeding in the corridor as he was whisked away. Poor kid thought Art was dead.

The FBI sent in a psychologist to interview Cass who was a real trooper about the ordeal. He had been pushed to the floor of the getaway vehicle as well as the subsequent vehicle. Once at the farmhouse, he’d been shut into a bedroom that had the window securely boarded up. The closet door had been nailed closed and the bedroom door was immovable. He’d tried yelling and pounding the walls, but one of the guys came in wearing a ski mask and told him, “to shut the fuck up or I’ll put a bullet in your head.” After that he was quiet. The wire-covered ceiling light was left on. Later we were told that the room’s electrical outlet and light switch had been covered with plywood so Cass couldn’t access them. The room contained no furniture, just a plastic bucket to pee in. It was a room very much modified to be a solitary prison cell.

At some point one of the kidnappers, the man who’d threatened Cass, entered the room and placed a large pepperoni pizza and a six pack of coke on the floor. Cass ate some of the pizza and drank some of the coke. He said he mostly sat with his back against the wall and cried silently. Poor kid had no concept of time and thought he’d been in the room for days.

Later the psychologist said that Cass was doing remarkably well for a child his age. But she warned us that he’d need further, intense counselling and was likely to develop some sort of phobias. She warned us about PTSD.

Later Cass was to demonstrate three very pronounced phobias. The first was he couldn’t stand to be in closed room. The second was an intense dislike of pizza and coke. And the third was an aversion to organized activities like the one he’d been snatched from.

The psychologist left, leaving her card. After that Agent Caldwell entered and asked politely if he might have a word with Derrick and I in the room down the hall.

Sam Kositsky was waiting in the room, and the two men proceeded to tell us about the “extraction.” It had taken a only a few hours to locate the rental house. It was just a matter of checking out Craigslist and newspaper advertisements for rentals and painstaking research. Agents went door to door in likely rural areas asking about vacant buildings. There was a small army of people running down leads. Once they found the likely location, they surveilled it with a drone which gave them information about the inhabitants. After that it was, apparently, an easy task for Sam’s team to subdue and tranquilize the “perps” and remove Cass. After that was successfully accomplished, the FBI leaked information to the press (withholding Cass’s name) then set up a whole SWAT team operation for show. They got the credit for solving the case without casualties, and everybody was happy. Well, except for the kidnappers.

My mind was churning; I needed to talk to Derrick alone. A plan was needed for the few days to ensure we acted in Cass’s best interest. Still slightly stung from having been treated as a suspect, I wanted to establish my position within the family by being assertive. (Sort of like a dog peeing on his territory.}

I asked Derrick to remain in the room with me when Agent Caldwell and Sam left.

In a tone which was, unfortunately, reminiscent of Agent Fillion’s, I stated, “I want a say in what happens next.”

Derrick looked a little puzzled. “Gabe, are you okay? Of course you can have a say. Um...what did you have in mind?”

I ignored the question, but said, “Cass needs lots of love and attention for the next few days. He’s not showing any signs of distress—at the moment—but that could change once he’s had a chance to ruminate. I’d like you and Cass to come to Hawaii for at least a week. We need quality family time.”

“Yes! That’s a wonderful idea. Cass has been bugging us about going to Hawaii again. But what about your job?”

“I’ll take a week off. I doubt they’ll fire me once I explain the situation.” And, quite frankly, I didn’t care if they did. This whole unpleasant ordeal made me realize that I had been fooling myself. The words “independent” and “identity” no longer carried weight. I was going to have to put real meaning, whatever that was, into my life. Douglas and McKenzie had done a good job with Derrick, and I was going to seek out their guidance. How exactly does one find “happiness” in the world? Douglas said it was by living in the moment and helping people; he’d know how to advise me. That certainly didn’t preclude hard work; I was more than willing to work hard. My heart was telling me to help people. But how? I wasn’t quite ready to quit my day job yet.

Soon we were back in the G550 heading back to Hawaii. The plane was packed this time. Derrick, Cass and me plus eight security people. We weren’t given a choice about accommodation in Honolulu. It was to be a suite in a good hotel with security people in adjoining rooms. Gramps and the security people had so decreed: thus it so. I took my cue from Derrick, who shrugged. He was used to taking Gramps’ orders in stride.