Page 36 of Billion-Dollar Ransom

THERE WAS A gentle knock-knock-knock on the bathroom door. “Honey, you okay?”

Four wiped her eyes, then stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. It helped to think of herself as a number, not a name. She was Four. Outside the door was Three, checking on his partner. Three and Four were employed by One to do a job. That was all that mattered inside this house; nothing else.

She opened the door and saw Three’s eyes were wide with panic. “Hey, I thought we agreed never to leave them alone?”

“Are they still here?”

“Yeah, of course. They’re finishing their sandwiches. But—”

“Then what are you worrying about?” She could tell Three wasn’t buying her cool-as-ice act. Not for a second. He knew her far too well. He also knew when to back off and not pressure her, and this was one of those times.

“Have we heard anything from One?” she asked.

“Do you honestly think I’d keep that to myself?” Three replied. “No, not a word. And I don’t think we’ll hear anything for a while. That’s a lot of money to pull together.”

Four understood, but that didn’t stop her from hoping that the text message would come soon, the promised money would be deposited, and they could all go back to where they belonged. These two kids to their billionaire father; Three and Four to their daughter’s hospital room.

But they both silently wondered about the other possible ending. One they had fooled themselves into believing could never happen—that even someone as cold and calculating as One could never actually contemplate it.

What if the family didn’t pay the money? What would happen then?

What would Three and Four be forced to do?

“Well,” Four said, “since we’re in this for the long haul, let’s distract them with an afternoon of fun and games.”

For the next couple of hours, they stuck to the list of board games they’d been supplied with. But soon, the delights of Mastermind and even the Settlers of Catan faded, and the Schraeder children were restless. That’s when Three revealed what he had in his back pocket. Literally.

“You kids ever play Robbery-Homicide Division?”

“Three,” his wife cautioned. “No.”

“C’mon. It’s just a video game. Mostly driving.”

“I’ve always wanted to play that game,” Finney said in a tone of awestruck reverence. “My friend Katie’s older brother has it.”

Four shook her head. “This is exactly the kind of thing we agreed not to do.”

“Who’s gonna tell?” Three asked. “You kids aren’t going to rat us out, are you?”

“Considering we’ve been kidnapped,” Cal said, “playing a mature-seventeen-plus-rated game is probably the least of our worries.”

“You see?” Three said.

Four sighed. Her husband was addicted to these damn games.

He had a handheld console on him at all times to while away the long hours at the hospital (and Four wasn’t crazy about her husband encouraging their daughter to play too).

Soon, Three, Cal, and Finney were taking turns executing a complicated getaway from a downtown Los Angeles bank.

Four refused to take a turn on principle.

“You’re really good at this!” Finney exclaimed after Three showed her how to use the 110 exchange through Chinatown to avoid the LAPD.

Four knew she shouldn’t say anything, but she couldn’t help it. “He should be good at this. He used to be a criminal.”

Three shot her a piercing look. “I was just a kid. Barely a teenager. I did a lot of stupid things back then.”

Cal turned to face Three. “This might not be your brightest moment either.”