42
MARCH 28, 2010
SUNDAY, 12:31 a.m.
WHITESTONE, QUEENS, NEW YORK
SUNDAY, 12:31 a.m.
WHITESTONE, QUEENS, NEW YORK
After picking up all the equipment that
Curt had rounded up for them, Grover and Colt had retraced the
route that they had used that afternoon traveling from CRT’s main
office out to Whitestone, Queens, a trip that had been very
worthwhile indeed. The first thing they had learned that afternoon
was that the group that had kidnapped JJ were not quite the
amateurs Grover and Colt had earlier suspected. The perpetrators
were cleverly and covertly watching the location where they were
holding the child, 3746 Powells Cove Boulevard. It had only been
over the last fifty or so years that professional kidnappers had
realized that surveillance was a smart move, so that if the
authorities, by one mechanism or another, were closing in on the
hideout, the people holding the victim could be alerted to move on
if there was time or kill the victim and hide the remains in a
previously prepared location. Without the victim or the victim’s
remains, prosecution of the case was always difficult at best. The
only reason Grover and Colt had discovered these watchers was
because they had specifically looked for them. It was two guys in a
black SUV tucked into a neighbor’s driveway.
The second important thing they’d been able to
achieve on their afternoon reconnaissance was to locate a good-size
marina in the town just beyond Whitestone. Although the marina was
technically not yet open for the season, they had been able to rent
a Zodiac and a boat slip. They had to rent the boat for a week to
justify the marina to get the outboard out of winter storage.
Trying the boat out, they had motored back to 3746
Powells Cove Boulevard. Seeing no one, particularly no guards, as
they had from the land side, they’d allowed themselves to approach
under the pier exactly the way they would that night. Sitting there
under the wooden pier, Colt had used his laptop to scan the usual
wireless alarm frequencies and write them down, while Grover had
kept vigilance. At one point Grover thought he’d heard a baby wail.
Looking at his partner to see if he’d heard, Colt lifted his eyes
from the computer screen, smiled, and gave a thumbs-up sign.
The three-story house itself was appreciated much
better from the water side. It was constructed of reinforced cement
in a faux-Mediterranean style. Half buried in the top of the
surrounding retaining wall were pieces of broken glass, and above
it coils of razor wire. Despite this formidable defense on the land
side, the waterfront was completely open, with the house set back
about a hundred feet from the water’s edge. Immediately in front of
the house was the pool. Along the side was a tennis court. They had
seen the dogs, but only from a distance when they had left.
Now, just after midnight, pulling back into the
marina where they had rented the boat that afternoon, Grover doused
the headlights. With only the light from the moon, he drove around
to the water side of the building and backed up to the pier where
the slip they had rented was located. The marina itself was mostly
dark, except for dim lights in a display window on the roadside,
containing gleaming marine hardware, such as stainless-steel cleats
and mahogany blocks. On the water side the only lights were
positioned out on the pier complex on the top of long poles and
directed downward to provide cones of light at various locations.
The weather could not have been more perfect, without a visible
cloud. There was no wind to speak of and the surface of the water
was placid.
With little talk, the men unloaded the gear at the
base of the pier. Then while Grover moved the SUV back to the
parking area, where it would be less conspicuous, Colt carried the
equipment out to the Zodiac and quickly stored it aboard. They
worked quickly and silently. Only two cars went by on the road, and
neither stopped or even slowed.
With a hand on one of the pier’s big cleats for
mooring yachts, Colt steadied the boat while Grover jumped on.
Immediately he started the engine before Colt boarded. Keeping the
power low, Grover guided the boat out of the slip and then out of
the pier complex. He had access to the night-vision scopes but
didn’t need them for this phase of the operation. He did not turn
on the running lights.
Not before motoring a thousand yards or so out into
Little Neck Bay did Grover significantly up the speed. Like most
outboards, the motor was noisy, and he kept the power limited to
what was needed to get the boat planing and then to maintain
it.
Moving progressively away from the shore, where
there was significant artificial illumination, it became gradually
darker except for the area immediately around the moon, and
thousands more stars blinked on in the rest of the inverted bowl of
the darkened sky. With the water temperature in the forties, the
wind created by the Zodiac’s forward motion was bitingly cold, and
both men hunkered down as best they could.
Rounding Willets Point, Colt and Grover suddenly
had the illuminated span of the Throgs Neck Bridge in sight with
the Whitestone Bridge beyond, both soaring over the water from
Queens over to the Bronx. Ten minutes later they passed under the
Throgs Neck Bridge.
As the Throgs Neck Bridge dropped behind them and
the Whitestone loomed ahead, Colt steered the Zodiac to the left
and headed for shore at approximately the location of 3746 Powells
Cove Boulevard. About five hundred yards out, Colt cut the power.
At one hundred yards, Colt turned off the motor. The two men picked
up paddles and paddled the rest of the way.
Most of the homes lining the shore were completely
dark. A few had one or two lights on, either on their elaborate
seaside terraces or within their homes. One home off to the far
left was ablaze with lights. From where Grover and Colt were, they
guessed it was a party because there were both indoor and outdoor
lights and people could be seen on various terraces and balconies.
Despite the distance, the faint sound of voices and music
occasionally drifted across the water and reached their ears.
Although Grover and Colt had conversed in low tones
earlier, confirming their plans, once the motor had been turned off
and they were approaching the tip of the Barbera pier, they were
completely silent. They were even careful with their paddles as
they drew them through the water, lifted them out, and slipped them
back in unison, pushing the boat forward silently, closing in on
the pier.
Except for a slight incandescent glow from one of
the second-story windows, the house was dark. Looking down the
sides of the building, there was a much larger glow emanating from
the street side of the house, where the garage was located. The
only sounds were the intermittent distant sounds of the party and
the continuous lapping of the waves against the shore.
The tide was in so that the distance between the
water surface and the underside of the pier had narrowed to only
about four feet. Still, the Zodiac’s prow easily slipped in under
the wooden deck. Grover remained in the boat while Colt jumped up
on the pier to accept the equipment that Grover handed him. When
everything was out of the boat, Grover climbed out as well.
Colt was already dressed in what he called his
custom assault pants suit, with specifically designed pockets and
clips for all his gear. The benefit of such an outfit was that he
had instant access to each implement, such as the ketamine-dart
pistol hooked to a clip on his left, and the Uzi hanging on a
similar one to his right. Grover had a similar outfit and helped
Colt prepare for the current strike. After he’d loaded a particular
pocket, he’d pat the pocket and whisper out loud the name of the
object it held so Colt could mentally check it off. It could be a
disaster to be in the middle of a task and be missing a specific
tool. Another benefit of having a separate pocket or clip for
everything was that Colt could move silently without tools or other
devices hitting up against one another.
“Ready?” Grover whispered.
“Ready,” Colt replied. Quickly he tested his small
radio clipped on the point of his right shoulder. A similar device
on the point of Grover’s right shoulder came to life. “Testing:
one, two, three. Testing.” The stock phrase popped into his own
microphone positioned in his right ear.
Now completely outfitted and with a shoulder bag
hanging off his right shoulder, Colt silently ran the length of the
pier and slipped into the shadows of the stairs that rose up to the
level of the pool.
Meanwhile, Grover quickly rearranged some deck
furniture to serve as a rest for using the sniper rifle. He also
moved the Zodiac around to the best position for a rapid getaway.
With that accomplished, he returned to the deck furniture, climbed
in among it, and sighted through the night scope of the sniper
rifle.
Thanks to the scope, Grover was able to see the
problem before Colt. It was the sudden movement that caught his
eye. It was the dogs coming along the left side of the building
from the street side of the compound. Quickly, using the radio to
warn Colt, Grover drew a bead with his laser on the front dog and
squeezed off a single shot. He could tell instantly he’d hit the
dog as it tucked its head and tumbled head-on into the pool. The
second dog, ignoring the plight of the first, rounded the edge of
the building, missing the pool and dashing laterally across
Grover’s line of sight.
With Grover’s warning, Colt had dashed up the
steps, snatching the gas-powered dart pistol from his belt in the
process. Worried about the two dogs, he’d bolted for the tennis
enclosure. Although he’d not heard any barking, he’d heard the
dogs’ snarls and heard their feet thundering against the ground. It
was at that moment that he’d detected the suppressed sound of the
sniper’s rifle. Reaching the door to the tennis court, he snatched
it open, rolled around its edge, but had not gotten it fully closed
when one of the Doberman pinschers collided with it at a full run.
Had Colt not been holding fast to the door, he might have been
bowled over by the animal’s momentum.
The dog scrambled to its feet, and with fangs
exposed, lunged at Colt, who responded by firing the dart pistol.
The sound was more of a thudding hiss than pistol shot. The dart
embedded itself in the dog’s chest but didn’t stop the dog from
trying to bite Colt through the string-like mesh that composed the
bulk of the door. Worrying as much about the noise the animal was
making as getting bit, Colt reloaded and shot him again, this time
in the hip. Despite the second dose of ketamine, the dog was still
on his feet, trying to get at Colt through the netting. His wobble
became progressively more intense until he keeled over.
Colt used the time to contact Grover.
“Thanks for getting one of the dogs,” Colt said
quickly.
“You’re welcome.”
“Where is he?”
“In the pool.”
“Any change with the house?”
“Not that I can see. Since the glow in the
second-story window hasn’t changed, my guess is it’s a night-light.
Anyway, no other lights have come on, so you’re clear to go.”
“I’m on my way,” Colt said, switching off the
radio.
After pushing against the door to move the now
anesthetized dog out of the way, Colt made his way out of the
tennis court and along the side of the house to reach the
illuminated pool. The other dog was floating on the surface but
with the head submerged and bleeding into the water. At that moment
the pool lights went out, causing Colt’s heart to skip a beat.
Glancing at his watch by lifting its blackout cover, he breathed
out with relief. It was exactly two a.m., strongly suggesting that
the pool light was on a timer. Without any more delay, Colt went to
one of the sliding glass doors leading into a sun porch. Taking out
a suction device, he applied it to the glass next to the door’s
locking mechanism. He then ran around the device with a glass
cutter, snapping out a perfectly circular hole. He repeated the
mechanism with a slightly smaller suction device, snapping off a
hole in the inner layer of thermopane. With that gone, he could
reach in and unlock the slider.
Colt paused for a moment. In some respects the
first step inside the house was the most nerve-racking. Using his
computer earlier, he’d turned off the various wireless alarms in
the house, although he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure he
hadn’t turned them on instead. It depended what state the alarms
had been in before Colt had interfered. Taking a breath, he stepped
through the door. Even before the alarm sounded, Colt could tell
he’d tripped an infrared motion detector, because a red light
blinked near the crown molding. Just as the alarm began to sound
throughout the house, Colt hit his computer’s enter button. The
alarm system was now off, but it had begun to sound.
Flattening himself against the wall, Colt strained
to listen, holding his breath. He thought he heard distant voices,
but then realized the voices were accompanied by music and that the
noise was coming in through the open door and was the party on the
other side of the cove. Then there was another deep, low rumbling
sound that caused Colt to hold his breath again while he tried to
identify it. It was a refrigerator compressor.
“Moving out,” Colt whispered into his radio after
closing the door to the pool deck and donning his night-vision
goggles.
“All clear,” came back in his earphone.
Colt moved quickly and catlike from the sun porch
into the kitchen. Thanks to the night-vision equipment, he could
see well enough to avoid obstacles. From studying the floor plans,
he knew exactly how to get to the master bedroom suite, which was
positioned directly over the first-floor kitchen, facing out over
the water view.
Unfortunately, the back stairs were as old as the
main part of the house, built in the 1920s, and not built
particularly robustly. As Colt quickly mounted them, they let off a
series of creaks and groans, enough to cause Colt to pause once he
reached the second floor. Besides the Sub-Zero compressor, all he
could hear was reassuring snoring coming from the master
bedroom.
Colt remained motionless for a full minute. There
was no change in the snoring, nor any additional sounds. He was
about to advance toward the open master bedroom door when his
earpiece crackled to life. “Houston, we have a problem”: Grover’s
code that the mission might have to be aborted.
“Ten-four,” Colt responded, meaning he’d gotten the
message but could not have a conversation.
“Intruder coming down right side of building. Must
be a normal check. He is not hurrying. I have him clearly in sight.
Will worry about his seeing dogs or me.”
“Proceeding,” Colt responded. He then moved ahead,
and reaching the door to the master bedroom, he carefully scanned
progressively more and more of the room. The first thing he saw of
interest was a crib. Moving on, he saw the bed. It was king-size
with a niche above its head containing a statue of the Virgin Mary
clutching the Christ child. The niche was illuminated with a dimmed
light to serve as a night-light. There were two people in the bed,
presumably Louie Barbera and his wife. After another brief pause to
make certain both people were asleep, Colt moved across the thick
carpet to the crib and got his first look at JJ. In the darkness
and using his night-vision goggles, the boy’s hair color appeared
greenish-gray rather than blond as it had been described, but his
face was just as cherubic as reported. He was on his back with arms
out to the side and fists next to his head.
“Past the tennis enclosure without problem,” Grover
said. “Now lighting up a cigarette. So far, so good.”
Colt glanced back at the people in the bed less
than ten feet away. Although the chances of them hearing anything
at all were very low, he couldn’t help but be concerned, as close
as he was. Yet he didn’t want to have to abort now, so he turned
back to the child. Taking out the eyedropper he’d previously filled
with the appropriate amount of Versed, he pulled off the syringe
cap he’d used to cover the dropper. Reaching into the crib, he
inserted the end of the dropper into the child’s mouth.
“Heading for the pool end of the building,” Grover
said, hesitating. “Now continuing on. Thank goodness the pool
lights are off. He seems satisfied all in order. He’s now walking
down the left side toward the street side of the compound.”
Slowly Colt compressed the eyedropper bulb, pushing
the solution of Versed into JJ’s mouth. Almost immediately JJ
responded by reflexively sucking on the eyedropper. Yes, little
guy, Colt said silently, knowing he was taking full advantage
of JJ’s nursing reflex. Then, after ten seconds of making room in
the shoulder bag, Colt lifted the child out of the crib and slipped
him feetfirst into the bag. As expected and hoped, the child did
not complain or make a sound. Standing back up, Colt was about to
hoist the bag up on his shoulder when Louie Barbera coughed loudly,
waking himself and his wife in the process.
“Are you all right, dear?” Mrs. Barbera
questioned.
“I’ll live,” Louie said. He pulled his legs from
under the covers, sat up on the side of the bed, and put his feet
on the floor.
Colt froze except for his left hand, which silently
pulled the veterinary gas-powered dart gun from its belt
clip.
“Are you getting up?” Mrs. Barbera asked while
settling herself back under the covers.
“For a moment,” Louie admitted.
“Check the boy. Make sure he’s covered.”
Grumbling something about the kid getting more
attention than he did, Louie raised his bulk to an unsteady
standing position, then launched himself toward the crib.
Amazed he’d not been seen, Colt took a step back as
Louie lurched toward him. He debated what to do. Should he just
wait it out with the unlikely chance there would be no
confrontation, or should he be proactive? The question was answered
when Louie reached the crib, bent over, and stuck in his hand.
Clearly he was confused, as his hand searched in progressively
desperate sweeps around the crib’s interior and found
nothing.
Colt shot him in his sizable ass with a ketamine
dart.
“Shit!” Louie yelled as he stood up, yanking the
dart out of his left buttock and trying to look at it in the
darkness.
“What in heaven’s sake is the matter?” Mrs. Barbera
demanded, as Louie’s scream had jolted her upright in bed.
“I got stuck with something.” Louie yelled with a
mildly garbled voice. He extended the dart toward his wife despite
there being no chance of her seeing it in the darkness. He then let
go of the crib with the intention of walking over to her. He didn’t
get far. After a few tottering steps, he fell over onto his
side.
Frantically, Mrs. Barbera scrambled off the end of
the bed in a swirl of chiffon. As she bent over her husband, Colt
let loose with the third ketamine dart. The woman let out a scream
that eclipsed her husband’s.
“Houston, we have another problem. Two men are
approaching on the run on the right side of the house. Perhaps a
silent alarm has been tripped.”
Colt hauled the bag’s strap over his shoulder and
zipped the bag closed. Thankfully, JJ had not made a sound.
“Second dog has been discovered,” Grover said
urgently in Colt’s ear. “Men with weapons drawn now running toward
terrace. Do not try to leave same way you went in. Abort,
abort!”
With his night-vision goggles still in place, Colt
ran from the bedroom and into the dressing room, and from the
dressing room out into the second-floor hallway. At the moment he
reached the hallway, lights went on in the kitchen
downstairs.
“Only one man went into house,” Grover said.
“Second man on terrace standing guard.”
Colt ran down the second-floor hallway, entering a
bedroom on the right. He locked the door behind him but knew it was
a flimsy lock that would not slow a determined pursuer but for a
second. “Exiting second-story bedroom right. Take out perp on
terrace. Arrange boat for quick getaway. Have target.”
Dashing to the window, Colt took out the window
anchor and extended its arms. He reached the window and threw up
the sash. He then raised the storm window. Grabbing a length of
rope clipped to his side, he threw the bulk out the window before
attaching the end to the anchor, which merely bridged the window
opening. Putting the shoulder bag around to his front, he pushed it
out the window and then stepped out himself with one leg, keeping
tension on the rope attached to the anchor. Pulling out his other
leg, he then rappelled down the side of the building.
Once on the ground, Colt unhooked the Uzi from his
belt and started for the water side of the house. Passing the
tennis enclosure, he could see the anesthetized dog. Reaching the
edge of the house, he slowed, positioned the Uzi at his waist,
ready to fire, then leaped out into the open. The ploy was not
necessary. Grover had taken his suggestion. The perp was
spread-eagle on the terrace with a clean hole
mid-forehead—undoubtedly more work for their legal defense team if
the hoodlums were crazy enough to call in the police.
In the open, Colt did not dally but rather ran down
the steps from the pool level, across the small intervening patch
of lawn and then the length of the pier. Grover had the boat out in
the clear. By the time Colt arrived the engine was running. Pulling
the shoulder bag around in front of him, Colt jumped into the boat
while Grover put the engine in gear and hit the throttle. Again, he
purposefully left off the running lights.
Mildly out of breath, Colt unzipped the shoulder
bag. JJ was nestled in against some towels, sleeping, like a baby
totally unaware he’d changed hands again. “You’ve been wonderfully
cooperative,” Colt yelled to the child over the roar of the
outboard.
Looking back at the house, Colt saw a series of
flashes. “Incoming fire,” he shouted to Grover, who instituted some
evasive steering, but neither he nor Colt thought it necessary as
far as they were out on the river. Their plan was to head north for
the opposite shore until the black, low-lying boat was no longer
visible from shore before turning east, the way they’d come.
It was a quarter to four a.m. when Colt pulled up
to Laurie and Jack’s house. The neighborhood was completely quiet,
without a pedestrian or a dog in sight. If it were not for the
streetlights, it would have been totally black, as the moon had
set. The house was dark as well, except for a single light recessed
into the front door’s lintel.
Grover got out and opened the rear door. He leaned
in, and after checking JJ, who was still sound asleep in the
shoulder bag, he hefted the bag out of the vehicle. When Colt came
around, he handed JJ to Colt. “You deserve the honors tonight.
Compared with you, I was a mere spectator.”
“You had your moments,” Colt argued. “Taking out
that first dog and the perp on the terrace was what made it
possible.”
“You’re being too generous,” Grover said. “But
thank you.”
They did not rush as they reached the stone steps
and started up. Once at the front door, they positioned themselves
with the bag containing JJ between them.
Grover leaned on the bell and kept it depressed for
a full minute. After he let go, he descended back down the stairs
and craned his neck, looking up. A single window was now
illuminated. Grover climbed back up the stoop and positioned
himself where he’d been earlier. Finally the door was pulled open
and Jack and Laurie filled the doorway.
“Mr. Collins and Mr. Thomas,” Jack said, surprised
and not surprised at the same time. “You are either awfully early
or awfully late. What can we do for you?” He was not willing to
guess.
“I believe we’ve found something that belongs to
you,” Colt said. He lifted the shoulder bag, put it in Jack’s
outstretched hands. Since the zipper was already open, he merely
gently pulled apart the bag’s sides to reveal its angelic
occupant.
Reining in her hopes for fear of disappointment,
Laurie let herself emerge from around Jack and peer into the bag.
Although she squealed with unbridled delight, she momentarily was
not willing to snatch out her child for fear that she was seeing a
figment of her imagination. But her reluctance rapidly faded, and
her confidence rapidly grew such that she reached into the bag,
pulled out the sleeping toddler, and clutched him to her
bosom.
Half laughing and half crying, Laurie bombarded
Grover and Colt with a hundred questions while JJ continued his
slumber in her arms.
“Tomorrow or the next day or the next will be time
enough for your questions. For now let us say that he had been
treated extraordinarily well by a woman who apparently loved him
dearly.”
With a huge smile on his face thanks to this
sudden, happy turn of events, Jack asked the two kidnapping
consultants if they’d like to come into the house. But Grover and
Colt gracefully declined, saying that they had to return their
equipment to CRT before rousing their legal defense team and paying
a visit to the police. “We have to confess the sins we committed in
rescuing JJ sooner rather than later, although we won’t be
admitting to them all,” Grover said with a wink. “And thanks for
allowing us the opportunity to get your son back.”
“You’re thanking us?” Jack questioned with
disbelief.