Chapter 8 - The Jet at Sunrise
Police surrounded the private airfield before dawn.
I remained inside a command vehicle with Rebecca and my father.
General Carter was not present.
This was a civilian kidnapping investigation.
I appreciated the boundary.
The jet stood beside the runway with its engines off.
Owen Crane was arrested near the hangar carrying false passports.
Margaret was not with him.
Neither was June.
The infant car seat was empty.
Crane refused to speak until Agent Hill placed the tracking-device records in front of him.
They proved he installed transmitters in my car, diaper bag, and collar.
He faced federal charges connected to surveillance and procurement fraud.
The child-abduction conspiracy could add decades.
Crane asked for an attorney.
Then he looked toward the observation glass.
“Margaret does not intend to take the baby today.”
“Then why the jet?” Agent Hill asked.
“She wanted you focused here.”
My blood went cold.
Margaret had created a decoy.
Rebecca called the secure residence.
No answer.
My father and I reached the vehicle at the same time.
Police raced toward the new location.
The front guard lay unconscious.
A sedative dart had struck his neck.
Inside, the nursery window stood open.
June’s bassinet was empty.
My knees nearly collapsed.
A security officer caught my arm.
I pulled away.
The room had been prepared for abduction before we arrived.
Someone inside the protective system gave Margaret the floor plan.
On the changing table sat the black collar.
The gold bell jingled when I touched it.
A phone hidden inside the velvet box began ringing.
I answered.
Margaret’s voice came through.
“Now we can discuss June’s place without an audience.”
“Where is my daughter?”
“With family.”
“You took a five-week-old infant from a secure residence.”
“I rescued her from military custody.”
“She was with her mother.”
“You were preparing to move her again.”
“Because you threatened us.”
“You are the threat.”
June cried faintly in the background.
The sound tore through every layer of training I had.
I forced my voice to remain level.
“What do you want?”
“Withdraw the procurement allegations.”
“Tell the Army you volunteered as an adviser.”
“Sign the guardianship agreement.”
“No.”
Margaret became silent.
I continued.
“If you wanted my cooperation, you should not have taken the only person who makes surrender impossible.”
“You were trained to follow lawful orders.”
“You are not lawful authority.”
She ended the call.
Agent Hill traced the signal to three towers near Myers Park.
Margaret had returned close to the estate.
My father examined the velvet box.
The interior fabric had been replaced.
Beneath it was an embossed symbol.
A white rose.
I recognized it from the welcome party decorations.
Arthur owned an abandoned greenhouse property ten miles from the estate.
Margaret called it the White Rose Conservatory.
She used it for private family events before a storm damaged the roof.
Police records showed no activity there for years.
The location sat within the phone towers.
May you like
I looked at Agent Hill.
“She is at the conservatory.”
