Chapter 14 - The Trade
For ten minutes, nobody could reach Marissa.
Her coat was missing from the conference room. So was her car.
Grant checked building cameras.
At 9:41 a.m., Marissa had walked calmly through the parking garage carrying the silver drive.
“She left before Larkin called Emma,” Grant said.
Michael stared at the image. “She knew.”
Eleanor shook her head. “Or he contacted her first.”
Emma could barely hear them.
“My mom is with him.”
Detective Keene arrived in person three minutes later.
“Emma, tell me exactly what you heard.”
Emma repeated the call, including the faint echo in the background and a low mechanical rumble.
“Train?” Keene asked.
“No. Bigger. Like ventilation.”
Eleanor leaned forward. “Your mother works where?”
“Beth Israel. Cafeteria prep. She left for her shift at six.”
Keene was already typing.
Hospital security footage showed Linda Carter exiting the employee entrance at 8:58 a.m. after receiving what appeared to be a phone call. A white delivery van stopped at the curb.
She got in willingly.
“She may have thought it was you,” Keene said.
Emma’s eyes filled with tears. “She always answers if I say I need her.”
At 10:07, Larkin texted an address.
OLD BEACON PACKING PLANT, EAST BOSTON.
BRING THE DRIVE. ONE PERSON.
Then another message appeared.
MARISSA IS ALREADY HERE.
Keene looked at Emma. “You’re not going this time.”
Emma’s laugh came out broken. “He has my mother.”
“And sending you inside gives him two hostages.”
Eleanor stepped beside Emma. “Then send me.”
Michael snapped, “Absolutely not.”
Larkin called again.
Keene signaled for silence and began tracing.
Emma answered.
“Put my mom on.”
Linda’s voice came through, shaky but alive. “Honey, listen to the police.”
Then Larkin returned.
“Drive. Thirty minutes.”
Emma forced herself to sound calm. “Why do you need it? Pierce is already caught.”
“Pierce knows nothing. Lane kept copies I can’t erase.”
“So you’re running.”
“I’m surviving.”
“You kidnapped a nineteen-year-old and my mother.”
“Because people like Whitmore make rules and people like me pay for them.”
Emma looked at Eleanor.
“No,” she said. “People like you make excuses.”
The line went silent.
Then Larkin laughed softly.
“You sound braver than your file says.”
The call ended.
Keene looked up from the trace.
“He’s at the packing plant.”
Grant was already moving.
Then a new text arrived from Marissa’s phone.
It contained only four words.
May you like
DON’T BRING THE DRIVE.
HE HAS A BOMB.
