Chapter 13 - MALIK IS GONE
David hit the emergency bar and exploded into the service corridor.
“Lock the airport.”
The federal agent behind him was already on the radio.
“Male child, eleven years old, navy sweater, dark slacks. Possible abduction. Suspect Martin Hale, male, fifty-one, six feet, gray-blue jacket.”
David ran past a catering cart.
“Malik!”
No answer.
Catherine caught up at the next intersection.
“You go left. I’ll—”
“No. Stay with the agents.”
“I know these corridors.”
That stopped him.
She pointed.
“Employee exits are left. Maintenance hangars are right. If Hale wants a car, left. If he wants privacy, right.”
David looked down.
A white luggage tag lay by the wall.
M. JOHNSON.
His pulse slammed.
“That’s Malik’s.”
He picked it up.
Catherine looked down the right corridor.
“He dropped it.”
“On purpose.”
David ran.
Fifty yards later, a black pen lay beside a fire extinguisher cabinet.
Malik’s initials were scratched into the clip.
David grabbed it without stopping.
The federal agent caught up.
“He’s leaving markers.”
David nodded.
“When he was six, we got separated at a stadium. Afterward I taught him to leave a trail if anyone ever moved him somewhere against his will.”
The agent’s radio crackled.
“Camera shows child walking voluntarily with suspect.”
David’s face tightened.
“Of course he looks voluntary. Hale knows him.”
They reached a locked maintenance door.
Another object sat directly beneath the card reader.
A shoelace.
Blue.
From Malik’s right shoe.
Catherine swiped her crew badge.
Red light.
“No access.”
The federal agent used an override card.
Green.
The door opened.
Wind pushed hot air into the corridor.
They stepped into a vehicle lane between hangars.
No Malik.
No Hale.
A baggage tug rolled in the distance.
The agent touched his earpiece.
“Suspect’s phone last pinged near Hangar C.”
Catherine pointed across the lane.
“That one.”
David started running again.
His phone rang.
Malik’s number.
He answered on the first vibration.
“Malik?”
Nothing.
“Buddy, talk to me.”
A breath.
Then Malik’s whisper.
“Dad.”
David stopped mid-stride.
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know. Big building. No windows.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
A sound came through the line.
Metal scraping concrete.
Then Martin’s voice farther away.
“Who are you talking to?”
The call ended.
David ran harder.
Hangar C’s main doors were closed.
A side personnel door stood open two inches.
The federal agent raised a hand.
“Wait for tactical.”
David looked at the door.
“My son is in there.”
“I know.”
“No, you know a child is in there. I know what he sounds like when he’s trying not to cry.”
The agent grabbed his arm.
“Going in blind could get him hurt.”
A crash came from inside.
Then Malik shouted.
“Dad!”
David tore free.
He shoved through the side door.
Darkness swallowed him.
The hangar smelled like oil and hot metal.
A strip of daylight cut beneath the main doors.
“Malik?”
“Here!”
David moved toward the voice.
A work light snapped on.
Malik stood twenty feet away beside a tool cabinet.
One shoe had no lace.
Martin Hale stood behind him.
His face looked older than it had that morning.
His right hand was hidden behind Malik’s shoulder.
David took one step.
Martin’s voice stopped him.
May you like
“Don’t move.”
