Page 7 of Billion-Dollar Ransom

THE COLLEGE SOPHOMORE watching from the window waited until the two kids were seat-belted into the back of the white BMW and it had roared to life and peeled down the hill away from the motor coach.

Sophomore counted backward from twenty. No sirens. Excellent. She picked up the burner phone and called the only number in its memory.

“One hundred percent,” she said.

The call ended without a verbal confirmation that the message had been received. This was expected, but Sophomore found it a little unnerving. What if she’d spoken too soon, before the listener had connected and heard the words? Well, too late now.

Sophomore peered outside and waited to see if any of the remaining children would try to step off the motor coach. Now she began counting down from sixty. Thirty seconds in, no kids came running out. They were good little listeners. After thirty more seconds, there was still nothing.

Countdown over, Sophomore set about covering her tracks (wiping down the doorknobs and windows) before she exited the house, which had been on the market for about a year now.

The asking price was way too freakin’ high—in her opinion, at least. But she supposed that worked to her mysterious employer’s advantage.

Sophomore had punch-keyed into the home just a half hour before.

She’d set up by the window of a second-floor bedroom and put down her backpack, which was a little heavier than usual; in addition to the usual notebook, pens, makeup bag, and a paperback copy of Faulkner’s Sanctuary, it contained disinfecting wipes and a 30,000-megawatt laser.

Her task: Disabling every traffic and surveillance camera within range of the stopping point, which was marked on the asphalt with a spray-painted gray X.

She’d steadily, carefully, taken aim and fired the laser at each camera, one by one, and the intense heat fried the pixels inside.

Sophomore was grateful for all those archery lessons at summer camp back in New Jersey.

Within twenty minutes, the only operating street camera was the one that would record the two-minute abduction from the perfect angle. Again, all per her mysterious employer’s instructions.

Sophomore’s last job on her way out of the house was to avoid that lone functioning camera, which was why she left through the back and cut through the yard of the adjacent property.

All of this had been scouted out in advance.

There were no cameras, and the only neighbors were in Europe for the next few weeks.

Sophomore made her way to the street where she’d parked the SUV that had been rented for her.

She didn’t have to go through the hassle of returning the vehicle. All she had to do was park it at the designated spot on Hilgard Avenue and walk back to UCLA. She was almost sad to leave the SUV; it was nicer than any car she’d ever driven.

Sophomore refused to be the weak link in this operation and prided herself on handling the little details.

She pulled disinfecting wipes from her pack and took a minute to clean the steering wheel, gearshift, and start button.

She used a lint roller on the driver’s seat to pick up any stray hairs that might have escaped from her baseball cap.

There. Perfect.

Hopefully.

She waited until she was back in her room on campus to check her account balance.

Like magic, there it was: She was twenty-five thousand dollars richer. For the moment. She needed to visit the bursar’s office and catch up with her tuition payments. But there would be a little left over for recreational activities.

Sophomore checked the news on her personal cell phone, the one she’d left in her dorm. There was nothing yet, of course, but she set a Google alert to stay informed. She had to make sure the kids were okay. She didn’t need that on her conscience as well.