Thirteen
We were back in my parent's house by sunset. We both felt that Dad should have company for dinner and we could all be there in the morning when the phone finally, mercifully rang.
Dad didn't have much of an appetite for the delicious Italian meal we ordered in from Delmonico's. "C'mon, Daddy, it's your favorite," I urged him to eat. He had always been hugely complimentary any time we had their food.
"I have a confession to make," he said as he pushed the food around on his plate. "I've never really liked this stuff that much."
"But you've always said it was the best!"
"That was for your mother's sake. She loves a good Italian meal and I know how much work goes into one. All these years I've been telling her how much I love Delmonico's just to give her a break. To tell you the honest truth, your mother's lasagna beats the balls off of this stuff."
Tristan snorted with understanding laughter. "True love," he said.
My father sighed. "The greatest gift a man can ever have. My biggest wish for all three of my girls has always been that they find a man who adores them and treasures them as I have their mother."
"That's a wonderful thing to say, Daddy. You and Mom are very lucky."
"There's more to it than luck, Angelcakes. There's a lot more to it."
I thought of the sacrifices, the compromises, the highs and lows, the pregnancies and the children, the hours of work it took to raise and support us, the endless nights my parents climbed the stairs to bed hand in hand. I thought about how they had built family traditions for us and taught us how to be good people. I marveled at their patience with us when we tested them. I remembered their pride in us as each little success built our confidence and their sympathy as the inevitable defeats built our strength.
Then I thought of Tristan, cut off from all of that so early. Left to his own devices for so long. As I cleared away the plates and leftovers, I wondered if that kind permanent scars that depravation left. He knew virtually nothing of family after his mother died. How would that affect him if he ever decided to have children? Or was he completely serious when he said he wanted nothing to do with parenthood?
It was another hurdle, another possibly insurmountable obstacle to 'us'. I hadn't really given much thought to having a family of my own. I suppose I just assumed that it would happen naturally someday. But now, focusing on my childhood, on the wonderful parents I had been blessed with, I realized that it was terribly important to me and I didn't think I could be happy with a life that denied me that fulfillment.
Oh, Mom, hurry home. We need to talk.
***
Mom's cell rang at precisely six-thirty the next morning. By that time there were eight people sitting around the table staring at it. Of course it was on speaker and a recorder was standing by.
"Obviously, you come alone and unarmed. Get on the East River Ferry at Pier 11, Wall Street Station. Take the noon ferry. Put the money in a basic backpack and stow it under the last bench at the back of the ferry, furthest from the exit. Leave the ferry at the Brooklyn Bridge Park stop."
"When we have checked the bag and the contents thoroughly we will release your mother. Tell your team that we are watching. It is not difficult for us to find tracers, bugs, marks on bills or any other device your high tech team is considering using to find us. Don't risk bringing harm to your mother for the sake of a few dollars. You won't hear from me again."
After the phone went dead, Archie spoke. "As plans go, this isn't a terrible one. Crowded lunchtime ferry, knapsack, lot of water around. Not terrible at all."
The FBI guys started discussing the best way to wire the pack so they could track it. Tristan immediately broke in. "Apparently you didn't hear what the man on the phone said. I refuse to break any of his rules for the sake of a bag of cash. We're talking about someone who's a lot more important than money to a lot of good people."
"Mr. King, a serious felony has been committed."
"And I sincerely hope you apprehend the perpetrators. However, you are going to do that after Marjorie Harding is safe and back in the arms of her loving family. I hope that's clear."
Archie added his two cents. "My guess is that they'll ride the ferry and somehow transfer the money to another bag anyway. The backpack will go over the side. Given what we've learned about the number of people who know Marjorie's nickname, I'd say we have a darn good chance of tagging the perps by keeping an eye on the people on Don's list. Sooner or later, someone is going to want to spend that money more than a hundred bucks at a time."
"Even though I asked for used bills that are not in sequence, my bank had dozens of staffers record each serial number of every bill. It may be a tedious process, but there's a good chance that patience and persistence will eventually pay off," Tristan told the group. "At any rate it's our only option."
One of the NYPD detectives spoke next. "Mr. King, we haven't got the kind of manpower to conduct that kind of surveillance of a dozen people for weeks trying to pick up on a single serial number. That's going to take an outrageous outlay."
The FBI guys nodded in agreement.
"That's not going to be an issue. I'll handle the investigation through Archie's office. It will make him happy and give his people something to do." Tristan smiled and so did Archie. I figured that not only would Archie have to hire a small army of helpers, but also that this would be the biggest and most lucrative case of his humble career. "I promise you if they turn anything up, you'll be informed right away."
***
A million dollars in hundred dollar bills doesn't really look like much. There were twenty fat packets of hundred dollar bills in a canvas bag on our kitchen table. Archie did the honors of pulling them out and stacking them up in a neat pile so that we could all take a long look at them. Except for Tristan, of course. He had zero interest in the money.
What he was interested in was the clock on the microwave. The watch on his wrist. The old ship's clock on the mantle. The time display on his cell phone. If a man could move time by force of will, he would surely have done it. But the minutes dragged on and on.
Impatience and worry was etched all over his handsome face. "I hate that you have to be the one to do this, but we don't dare pull any stunts. Chances are, the kidnappers won't even board the ferry until after you've gotten off. They're counting on having the backpack go unnoticed until they come looking for it."
"Well, not too many New Yorkers are going to be poking under a seat trying to snag a strange backpack. I think we've all been trained not to touch things like that." I took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I'll be okay, Tristan. I just want to get Mom back home."