“Not that we are aware of. We questioned Kevin, our son, last night. And the people who usually drive them around town. No one noticed anything, correct Iain?”
The RSO nodded tiredly. “We would never have let her go outside the embassy walls if we’d suspected someone was surveilling her movements.”
“Did Kristen have a driver yesterday?”
Iain Bartlett nodded. “He dropped her off at a downtown shopping mall, and Kristen was supposed to call when she needed to be picked up again, although she mentioned to him she might get a ride home with Irene instead. Again, she knew to call.”
Catherine reached for and squeezed her husband’s hand. It made Lucy’s throat go tight. She couldn’t imagine how hard this would be on a parent.
Phillip went back to talking about social media. “Kristen might upload an image of an establishment after she’s left, but not while she was still there. And she was always cautious of giving away details of her connection to her mother online for this very reason.”
The FBI negotiator eyed the Diplomatic Security agent. “Is it possible she was tracked in some way?”
Iain shifted in his seat. “We screen people, devices, and accommodations regularly for electronic bugs. It’s an invasion of privacy, and we try to be respectful, but we don’t let it slide. If Kristen was bugged, it was planted very recently and most likely after she left the embassy yesterday.”
Which still suggested prior knowledge of the outing, or surveillance on the embassy itself. The latter would have to be professional and covert. It wasn’t as if the Americans weren’t actively checking for spying eyes and employing countersurveillance methods.
“Or they bugged one of the other girls if they knew they’d be together,” Phillip suggested.
Lucy was impressed with his critical thinking skills under the circumstances.
“That would suggest someone close to one of the families feeding information to the kidnappers. Could anyone track Kristen’s phone, apart from the Diplomatic Security Service?” asked Hawthorne.
Iain Bartlett shook his head. “The signal has military-grade encryption. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but its advanced and classified tech. Not something a low-level thug would have access to. And I taught her to watch out for anyone following her.” His face was pale, mouth strained. “I can’t believe this happened on my watch.”
Kristen was a smart cookie, and Irene had shown great courage in trying to protect her friend. This whole situation sucked.
Lucy made two more coffees and placed the cups on the table, along with a sugar bowl.
Powell ignored her and picked up the cup without comment. Max Hawthorne followed her movements with a slight smile. “Thanks.”
She fought against returning his smile. Kept her gaze averted and stepped back against the wall. He was observant. That made him even more dangerous.
Max’s eyes wandered back to the group at the table, but she knew he had made a note of her. Probably as a potential suspect.
It was to be expected, especially as it might be true, however inadvertently.
The FBI would be checking everyone’s bank accounts and background information. Despite her training, it was hard to not react to him. Maybe she should pop a Xanax.
“Does she have a boyfriend?” asked Max.
“No boyfriend.” The ambassador spoke quickly.
Phillip smiled softly and sniffed. “She’s a beautiful, seventeen-year-old girl. I’m sure there are plenty of young men out there who are interested. However, she wasn’t going steady with anyone we know about. She was earlier in the year, but they broke up.”
“It would be helpful to get a list of all her friends and contacts, here and abroad, including the ex. And information on the school she attends. I’d like to talk to some of the people who know her best outside of the family.”
“Of course. Miranda will collate everything and send it to you,” the ambassador said.
“Yes, ma’am.” Miranda tapped a note on her cell. Lucy’s pocket buzzed as Miranda put her cell back in her pocket. Lucy’s instructions had arrived.
Max Hawthorne sent Lucy a smile, and she blinked. He’d noticed too.
No one ever noticed.
She wanted to fan her cheeks dramatically. The guy was hot, observant, and had an accent to die for. Exactly the type of man that had plunged her into this nightmare in the first place.
“Did anyone trace her cell yet?” the ambassador asked with a strained voice.
Lucy knew the ambassador was pinning her hopes on the kidnappers somehow missing the presence of the phone on Kristen’s person and the authorities tracking it.
Not likely.
Powell cleared his throat. “Yes. The police found Kristen’s cell inside the van the kidnappers used to grab her, which was abandoned in La Boca.” He shifted uncomfortably. “They said they were sending it to their forensics department for analysis.”
Catherine’s hands clenched in her lap. “Fuentes was here and never said a word. I knew I couldn’t trust him.” She looked incensed. “I want that cellphone back. It belongs to my family and has private photographs and text messages on it. I want the FBI to examine it. Not the Argentine authorities.”
“Technically, it is evidence.” Powell squirmed.
Lucy figured he didn’t want to get caught between two powerful figures.
The ambassador leaned forward and pointed her finger at the guy. “Technically, it is personal property of the US Ambassador to Argentina. Make the call and make sure they realize it is an official diplomatic request with all that that implies if they don’t hand it over immediately.”
Max Hawthorne straightened. “We have a team of people at Quantico who can unlock it and gain access to her texts and photographs with your permission—unless you already know her access code?”
“Kristen changed her passwords and codes every time DSS checked it for spyware,” the ambassador said. “She knew they had to monitor it, but she wanted some privacy in-between times. Kevin might know her most recent codes though. They play a lot of online games together. The FBI can access everything, but whatever they find is not to appear online or be used in court without my permission.”
“Our permission,” Phillip corrected.
“Our permission. Sorry. Of course, that goes without saying.” Catherine nodded then stood. “What else can I do except talk to the kidnappers when they call?”
Max Hawthorne stared at Catherine Dickerson, clearly deciding how to respond. “You are not going to talk to the kidnappers, ma’am.”
The silence stretched out as everyone held their breath. The ambassador’s expression hardened.
“Giving them direct access to the family—especially one who is a high-ranking diplomat for the United States—is not a good idea.”
“I’ve spent years talking people into things they don’t want to do. I’ve spent years finding compromise.”
“Me too. Let’s role-play it then,” Max Hawthorne said easily. “Ambassador Dickerson, I have your daughter. Give me ten million dollars by tomorrow, otherwise, I’ll slit her throat from ear to ear and post the video of her bleeding out on YouTube for America’s enemies to savor.”