“Is there anything else I can do?” he asks.

“Not right now. But keep your phone on you since I don’t know how this is all going to shake out just yet.”

“I will,” he says. “Please, Chief Wilder, find her. Bring her home.”

“We are working hard to make that happen, Lieb.”

He gives me a nod, then heads out to carry out his mission. As close as I feel like we’re getting to finding the identity of the kidnapper and solving this case, I still feel like we’re a million miles away. I’m filled with frustration and angst. Letting out a slow breath as I center myself, I try to get my head back on straight and focus on the task at hand.

“Are you guys up on their electronics?” I ask.

“We’re tapped into their devices,” Rick says. “If they get a call, we’ll see it.”

“Good. That’s good.”

We confiscated their devices once they entered Lieb’s safe house for obvious security reasons and then with their permission tapped into all their lines. It’s been almost two days since the black cards with the Shakespeare quote arrived at their homes, and almost a full day since they got the text message with the Bible verse. I’m rolling the dice here, but I expect that the kidnapper is going to try to make contact with them again.

This waiting period between contacts is a form of psychological torture. But now that he has all their kids and their undivided attention, I believe he’s also going to want to be able to tell them what he wants. This is his endgame, and now, after letting them twist in the wind a little to heighten the emotional torment he’s put them through, he’s going to make his final play. He’s going to tell them what he really wants from them. I’m sure of it.

“Okay, what about the accident records?” I ask. “How are we doing with that?”

“Still searching,” Nina says. “Based on them telling us this was post-midterms, we were able to narrow it down to a month, but the midterm schedule sometimes varies. So, without an exact date to work with, we’re having to comb through a lot of reports. But over that month, there are dozens of accident reports.”

“There are a lot of names to run down,” Astra says. “Have you tried filtering it out by fatalities only? Might make that haystack even smaller.”

“We haven’t,” Rick tells her. “If the parents were able to sanitize the reports, we don’t want to miss something by including fatalities only.”

“Surely, they weren’t able to keep a death off the record,” I say.

Rick turns to me and pulls a face. “You’ve seen what people were able to hide with the JFK assassination, right? People in power can hide anything.”

“Please don’t get him started on the whole conspiracy theory thing,” Nina says.

“It’s not a conspiracy theory if it’s true,” Rick says.

“Better we take nothing for granted,” Mo says. “It’s a little more time-consuming, but it’s best if we’re thorough and look through everything.”

“Fair enough,” I tell her.

“There are a disturbing number of accidents in that area in that time period,” Astra says. “I’m starting to think our driver’s license tests need to be a little stricter.”

“I’ve been saying that for years,” I reply with a laugh.

“Hey, we’re getting a videocall on all four phones,” Nina says.

My stomach tightens, and my throat grows dry. I’ve been expecting this call, but it’s a lot sooner than I’d been anticipating. I figured he’d let them twist for a couple more days. Our guy is clearly anxious to get the ball rolling on the grand finale of his warped little revenge plan. Nina hits a few keys on her laptop, and the monitor lights up, showing us the icon for the incoming videocall being displayed on the phones.

“Answer it,” I say.

She does, and when the call is connected, we find ourselves staring at the round, yellow, smiley-face mask. My stomach flip-flops and a small shudder passes through me as I look at the dark eyes glittering behind the eyeholes in the mask.

“Greetings,” the voice behind the mask says. “It has been a long time.”

The voice is clear and not muffled in the least. He’s obviously got a microphone close to his mouth behind his mask.

“A Senator. The CEO of a Fortune 500 company. A federal judge and a federal prosecutor. I must say, you have all done very well for yourselves,” Smiley-Face says.

The man’s voice is unnaturally calm. Measured. His tone is even and completely dispassionate. The total lack of emotion in his voice is… eerie.

“This isn’t live. It’s a recording,” Rick says.

“Likely set up ahead of time to call these numbers,” Nina adds.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” I say. “He’s planned everything out to the nth degree. He probably wanted to ensure he controlled the narrative and didn’t want to take a chances on any unseen variables that might crop up if Barlow and his friends had a chance to talk. It fits with what we know about this guy.”

“Yes, you’ve all lived full, successful lives. You have families of your own. You’re happy. Wealthy. And you enjoy the world around you,” Smiley-Face goes on. “And you do all that while never giving a second thought to those who didn’t get a chance to live life at all. Because of you. Because of what you did.”

The man’s tone changes and seems to be growing heavy with emotion. He pauses, perhaps giving himself a chance to gather his wits about himself again.

“I know what you did all those years ago at Georgetown. I know what your parents covered up for you. And now, your children know what you did because I told them why this is happening to them. But now, it’s time the rest of the world knows what you did. It’s time the world sees you for the monsters you truly are,” he goes on. “I am giving you all twenty-four hours to hold a press conference where you will tell everybody what you did that night. Twenty-four hours for you all to reveal yourselves as the murderous monsters you are. Now, I know you will be hesitant to do this. You might resist my demand. You might be reluctant to give up your pampered and privileged lives. You might not want to do what I’m demanding. That’s natural. Self-preservation is the most basic human impulse. So, let me help you override that impulse. Allow me to give you some… motivation to do as I ask.”

The picture on the video switches to a quad screen, and in each box, we see one of the abducted children. They’re tied down to a table, blindfolded, and gagged. The room itself is dimly lit, but I can see enough that it makes me think it’s some sort of steel industrial storage container—the sort of container you see on ships. But what chills me most about this scene is that above each of the children, a pipe hangs down from above, and at the end of the pipe is a fixture that almost looks like a showerhead.

“What in the hell is that?” Astra asks.

The screen switches back to the smiley-face mask again. “You might be wondering what you’re seeing. Let me explain. That device is a timed spigot. The pipes the spigot is attached to are connected to a tank filled with an acid-based poison of my own design,” he says in that same flat, emotionless voice. “If you do not do as I ask within twenty-four hours, then in twenty-four hours and one second, the poison in the tank will be diffused through the devices above your children. Believe me when I tell you they will be forced to endure one of the most torturous and excruciatingly painful deaths man has ever known. If you fail to do as I ask, your children will suffer in a way I don’t think you would wish upon your worst enemy.”

“My God,” I gasp.

“I don’t want to do this. But I will. You forced my hand. You all did,” Smiley-Face says. “And just in case any of you don’t believe I am serious or will not follow through, please allow me to refute that notion now. I will not back down. And, just in case you doubt my ability to do as I say, allow me to demonstrate.”

The picture on the screen changes again to one of a rat that has been secured to a wooden board. The creature is on its back, just like the children, and is squirming. It’s thrashing. It’s as if the rat knows what’s coming and is doing its best to break its bonds and get out of there. The sound of a quiet hiss filters through the speakers, and we watch a small device that looks a lot like the one hovering over the kids come into view.

“Here we go,” the man says off screen. “Do pay close attention now.”

A fat droplet quivers as it hangs off the end of the spigot, and I realize as I wait for it to fall that I’m holding my breath. With rapt attention, I watch the droplet fall from the end of the spigot and splash onto the belly of the rat. Nothing happens at first, but a moment later, a shrill, piercing scream bursts from the mouth of the creature as it thrashes wildly. The fur on its belly turns red, and we watch as a hole opens in the skin.

The substance, whatever it is, eats through the flesh and muscle of the doomed rat’s stomach, exposing its internal organs as a pool of blood spreads out beneath it. The animal’s screaming seems to go on forever, and though I’m horrified, I can’t seem to turn away from the spectacle on the screen in front of me. The rat spasms and writhes, the pain in its shrieking echoing through my brain. It’s a sound I don’t know that I’ll ever forget.

Thankfully, the screen shifts again. The rat is gone, replaced by the ominous man in the mask. “I know that was difficult to watch. But it was necessary for you to see what your children will endure should you fail to do as I ask. The formula I designed for your children differs from the one I used on my test subject in one way—it is designed to prolong their suffering. It will be slow, and it will be excruciating. I estimate they will live in sheer agony for between two and three hours. I want you to think about that if you are considering not doing as I ask. I want you to know that if you fail to comply with my demand and admit to what you’ve done, your children’s final hours on this earth will be spent in sheer agony. Twenty-four hours, ladies and gentlemen. Tick Tock.”

The video ends, the screen goes dark, and a profound and horrified silence descends over the room. If Paige and Nina notice the tears streaming down their faces, they give no sign, and the rest of us just stare at the blank screen. I look down and give myself a shake, doing my best to clear the images out of my mind.

“Okay. Let’s get back to work,” I say softly. “We need to ID this guy. I think we can assume that this man’s loss was that of a child. It’s why he’s waited so long. He wants to inflict the same pain he felt on those who took his child from him.”

“Makes sense,” Astra says. “And knowing they took this man’s kid from him… it’s hard to not feel some bit of sympathy for him.”

“I agree. His motives are… understandable. But he’s still committing a crime and seems willing to do something incredibly heinous to four innocent kids,” I say. “We need to find him. We need to put a stop to this.”