Chapter 12 - NOAH'S CRY
Grant sent us a live video.
Noah was strapped into a car seat in the back of a moving van.
He was crying.
The sound nearly broke me.
Tessa grabbed my phone.
“Noah! Baby, Tessa’s here.”
His head turned toward her voice.
Grant appeared on-screen.
“Cute.”
“Let him go,” I said.
“Bring the evidence to Pier 14 at six.”
Ortiz shook her head and wrote on a pad: KEEP HIM TALKING.
“Why Tessa?” I asked.
“Because Dad is tired of witnesses.”
“Your father ran.”
“He didn’t run from you. He ran to finish this.”
The call ended.
At 5:20, federal agents traced the van’s route using traffic cameras. It was headed toward the harbor.
Then Tessa noticed something in the video.
“Play it again.”
Behind Noah, through the rear window, a green sign flashed by.
SULLIVAN COLD STORAGE.
“That isn’t near Pier 14,” Ortiz said.
“It’s in Chelsea,” I replied.
They were sending us to the wrong place.
We split teams.
Ortiz took agents to Pier 14.
I was ordered to stay behind.
I didn’t.
Tessa didn’t either.
We drove toward Chelsea with one federal agent, Marcus Lee.
The cold-storage warehouse looked abandoned.
Inside, we heard a baby crying.
I ran toward the sound.
“Tread carefully,” Lee warned.
Then Tessa stopped me.
A thin wire crossed the hallway at ankle height.
Tripwire.
Lee crouched.
“Everybody back.”
A speaker crackled overhead.
Grant’s voice.
“Smart girl.”
Then Noah’s cry came from deeper inside.
I stepped over the wire.
Lee grabbed my shoulder.
“Mr. Mercer—”
“That’s my son.”
The overhead lights snapped off.
A door slammed behind us.
May you like
And somewhere in the dark, Grant said:
“Come get him.”
