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We stared at him.

“Frank took her that night. He took her with him in the Rolls when he left.”

“Took her?” I said.

“Yes. We faked all the rest of it. We insisted on covering the cost of the funeral and convinced the mother to agree to cremation. There was no cremation. Frank owns the funeral home director. He owns everyone. Frank isn’t like other people. He’s in a different world.”

“Where did he take Olivia?” Colleen said.

“She’s with Frank on his boat. For the last year. He has a room below deck beside the engine where he keeps her, shares her with guests.”

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Colleen said.

“You’re sure she’s still alive?” I said.

He nodded.

“Yes. But he’s actually leaving tomorrow with her out of Montauk for a transatlantic trip. He’s going to sell her in France. He’s done it before. Frank likes to check out the talent. He watches and picks the ones he wants.”

“Slavery?” Colleen said. “This piece of shit has brought back literal slavery?”

“No,” Cushing said. “Frank didn’t have to bring it back. In Frank’s world, it never ended.”

“How do you contact Frank? From the SAT phone I took off you?” I said.

“Yes. He’s the only contact in it.”

“One last question,” I said.

“Yes?” Cushing said.

“What’s the name of Frank’s boat?”

“It’s called the Lampas ,” Cushing said as we heard something from the doorway behind us.

Instead of turning, I immediately shoved Colleen into the corner on the other side of the desk with a stiff arm. I was dropping myself down flat as I heard the shot and I felt and heard the bullet crack the sound barrier by my ear.

Over the back of the chair that Cushing was sitting on, I saw Garner, still cuffed, on his feet now by the doorway, bent over. I noted that Travers was next to him, also on his feet and still cuffed, trying to support the chief with a shoulder.

That’s when a second shot came from a gun that Garner clutched in his handcuffed hand. He was shooting from behind his back.

Before he could fire again, I sent Cushing in the rolling chair at the doorway with a shove as I rose to one knee.

Then Garner fired again just as I began emptying the Glock 17.

I used all seventeen in what felt like an eyeblink and when I was done, what was left of Garner and Travers wasn’t pretty.

As I stepped forward, I saw that Cushing had fallen out of the chair. Garner’s third wild shot had made a small neat hole right between the president’s eyes.

“Colleen!” I called out.

“I’m fine! I’m fine!” she said behind me.

“Thank goodness,” I said.