LITMIR.BIZ

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Acres entered the room with all of the elegance and grace one might have expected of a congressman’s wife. She had long blond hair and a petite figure. Her eyes were crystal-blue and while most might have called her expression “pinched,” she possessed an obvious cultured beauty within the high cheekbones and thin lips that bore just a hint of lipstick. A pair of tight slacks and an elegant white blouse completed the ensemble.

      “Good morning, gentlemen,” she said as she entered, and all three Able Team men inclined their heads in recognition. “Please have a seat.”

      “Thank you, ma’am,” Lyons said as he gestured toward a love seat. “But please, after you.”

      Mrs. Acres nodded and took a seat, and then Lyons dropped into a wingback chair catercorner to her. Blancanales and Schwarz stood close by, hovering above Lyons like a pair of gargoyles over the entrance to a medieval church.

      “Mrs. Acres, my name is Special Agent Irons,” Lyons began. “These are agents Rose and Black. We’re with the FBI.”

      For the first time since coming into the room, Annette Acres lost her composure a bit and worry immediately etched the otherwise flawless lines of that pretty face. “Oh, dear...this is about Tom, isn’t it?”

      Blancanales quietly asked, “What makes you think that?”

      “What’s happened to him?” she asked Lyons, ignoring Blancanales’s question.

      “Mrs. Acres, there’s...well, there’s no easy way to say it so I’ll just say it. I’m very sorry to inform you that your husband is dead.”

      Her eyes crinkled at the corners at first and then abruptly she burst into tears and began to wail. The maid came running into the room and immediately put her arms around the grieving widow, attempting to shush her while gripping her shoulders in as comforting an embrace as her tiny arms could manage.

      Lyons’s heart lurched within him at first, but he stayed rock-steady, pressing his lips together. He wished he could say something more but what the hell would it be?

      The men of Able Team fought their impatience and frustration as they waited for Annette Acres to get the majority of the initial shock out of her system. Once she’d calmed, the maid went and retrieved a handkerchief from the drawer of a nearby table and brought it to her mistress. She then nodded as Mrs. Acres told her to bring some tea for them and the number to John Jay’s school.

      “And John Jay is...” Lyons began.

      “Our son.”

      Lyons nodded although he’d already known that. It had been somewhat of a test, a desire to see how much she actually knew about what had been happening. They had decided not to go into this with any assumptions, especially in believing that Annette Acres might not have had something to do with what was happening. By virtue of the fact she’d wanted to get in touch with her son at his Catholic school it was now apparent she had nothing to do with what had happened.

      There was a remote chance she might have been playing it very clever, but Lyons’s gut told him no. She hadn’t been complicit in his kidnapping.

      “Mrs. Acres, you should prepare yourself that your son will not likely be at school,” Blancanales said. “In fact, he’s been reported missing and his disappearance is related to Congressman Acres’s death.”

      Lyons then went on to tell her the full story, excluding their direct involvement on the scene or anything related to the Red Brood and Abbas el Khalidi’s involvement in human trafficking. There wasn’t any reason in their minds to reveal more than absolutely necessary on the off chance someone close to the family was involved with the events of the past twenty-four hours. This was basically their only lead and they had agreed the wisest course of action would be to play things as close to the vest as possible until they had a more solid lead.

      Frankly, this kind of thing didn’t bode well with Lyons or his teammates. They were troubleshooters, after all, not investigators. They preferred to let Stony Man gather the intelligence and then take action on whatever the Farm had found. This time, however, they had to play the game with the hand they’d been dealt. Hell, it wasn’t the first time they’d been called upon to improvise and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

      “What are you saying?” the widow asked after Lyons had finished. “That my son, my only child, has been kidnapped?”

      “Mrs. Acres, please understand we’re doing everything we can to find your boy,” Schwarz said. “We think the kidnappers killed your husband only with the intent of stealing the money.”

      “Is there anything you can tell us that could help us find him? Had your husband received any threats like this before? Anybody within his staff here locally, or any situations that come to mind that might clue us in to who’s involved in this?”

      For the next ten minutes they questioned Annette Acres as gently as possible, getting clarification wherever they needed it. Eventually, the trio silently agreed by an exchange of glances between each other that the most likely suspect was Acres’s personal assistant, Genseric Biinadaz.

      “I’m ashamed to admit it,” Acres confessed. “Tom had hired Genseric about two years ago to show he wasn’t prejudiced against Muslims or the Islamic faith. I was hesitant at first, but...I decided early on in our marriage that I would fully support Tom’s political career and not attempt to unduly influence his decisions. He was always an excellent congressman. He really cared about his...about our country.”

      The talk brought back memories too difficult to ignore and the woman broke into a fresh wave of grief. When a few minutes passed, she sniffed and asked, “But you don’t think Genseric has anything to do with this. Right?”

      “We can’t rule out anyone,” Lyons said.

      “We’ll look into it,” Blancanales added.

      “Can you provide me with any information?” Mrs. Acres inquired.

      “At present, that’s all we really know,” Lyons said. He stood as a signal to his teammates it was time to leave. “Someone will be in touch shortly to arrange the transport of your husband’s body back to Florida.”

      Acres didn’t rise but her eyes followed Lyons’s movements. “Am I in danger, too, Mr. Irons? Please be honest.”

      “I don’t believe so,” Lyons said. “You have personal security?”

      Acres shrugged. “Usually only when I go out. After Gabrielle Giffords was shot, Tom insisted on it.”

      “Perhaps it would be best to have them around the house for the next few days,” Blancanales suggested. He tried to express as much comfort as he could. “Just to be safe.”

      “And, Mrs. Acres, I’m going to have to ask that you not discuss any of the details of this case with anyone for now,” Lyons said.

      “What? Not even our family?”

      “Not anyone.”

      “Please understand, ma’am,” Schwarz added. “It could compromise our investigation and potentially pose a danger to your son. If he’s still alive, and we believe he is, the kidnappers may kill him if they feel threatened. As tough as it might be not to want to get involved, it’s best to let us handle this for right now.”

      “And if you’re contacted by the kidnappers,” Lyons said, passing a card to her, “you should call that number immediately. Don’t agree to anything, don’t ask any questions and for God’s sake don’t tell them we’ve contacted you.”

      Annette Acres looked at first like she might argue but then finally tendered a slow, deliberate nod as she took the card, tossed it on the end table and then folded one hand over the other in her lap.

      She clutched the handkerchief tighter. “I understand. Gentlemen, you will have my full cooperation. But please...please bring my John Jay back safely to me. I don’t think I could stand to lose him, as well.”

      “We

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