I nodded and tried to follow his instructions. By focusing on the plane taxiing down the runway and the rush of takeoff, I felt the blood returning to my limbs and my heartbeat returning to normal. I smiled at Tristan to let him know I wasn't going to become part of the problem.
Soon after takeoff, Kwan came back into the main salon of the plane and Tristan handed him the phone. There was a great deal of conversation in a language I didn't understand. I recognized it as an Asian language, but that's about it.
"Who's he talking to?" I asked Tristan.
"George. I wanted Kwan to get a firsthand account in their native tongue, in case Artie or the FBI missed something."
"So George and Kwan are from the same country?"
"Laos. Don’t' let the names throw you. All of their names are practically unpronounceable. Kwan chose his name because it at least identifies him as Asian. You'll have to ask George why he chose that particular name."
"Seems an odd choice." The sing-song of Kwan's voice seemed to go on and on. "I sure wish I knew what he was saying. God, it is so frustrating to be up here in this airplane and now I can't even understand what he's talking about."
"Patience. You have to try to be patient. I know it's hard, but please try to believe me when I tell you that no one could bring more pressure to bear on this case than I have."
"I know that. I hope you don't think I don't appreciate it. You've been wonderful." I took his hand in mine, but kept my eyes on Kwan who paced back and forth. He seemed agitated. "Kwan seems upset about something."
"It's the language. It always sounds like they're yelling at one another to me, too."
"Is Kwan a leader of some group of Laotian bodyguards?"
"It's a loosely knit fellowship. They all trained together and trust one another. And, they're very good." He squeezed my hand. "And that's one thing that worries me a little."
I'm sure my eyes widened with fear.
"For the guys to take your mother, they had to have been fairly professional. This was not an amateur operation. George could easily take out multiple men."
"Yes, but Kwan told me that even he can't stop a bullet."
"True. And there are circumstances where a person just has to step back or risk getting himself or someone else killed. George probably recognized that the thugs would have everything to lose by harming Marjorie."
Kwan finally got off the phone.
"Well?" Tristan asked him.
"Perhaps . . . maybe it's best we talk in private."
"Excuse me?" I was not about to be brushed off. "This is my mother we're talking about here."
"Raina's right, Kwan. Whatever you have to say, she has a right to hear."
So Kwan launched into his narrative. A lot of the information we already knew. The abduction had taken place early, just after my father left for work around seven. The street would have been very quiet at that hour. There were four men. They had blown the lock on the outer iron door that led to the ground floor room where George was staying with some high-powered, quiet and effective explosive. George heard the whisper of the blast and jumped into action. He took one of the men down before he was staring at the barrel of two Glocks leveled point blank at his head. The intruders had his number, too. They remained out of the range of his deadly hands and feet until they were certain that he knew he knew there was no chance. If he had disarmed one, the other still had a clear shot.
They gagged George and bound him with cable ties. Mom had apparently gone back upstairs after seeing my father off to work. George could hear very little as he was on the ground floor and my parents' room is on the third floor. He could hear a little scuffle upstairs and my mother's shouts, quickly silenced. From his position face down on the floor he couldn't see anything. He followed the sounds of the retreating footsteps as the men made their way past his room and out the front entrance on the street level.
The man George had flattened had recovered enough to deliver a vicious kick to George's ribs as a parting shot.
"He said that as they were leaving, he heard one of the men say 'Calm down, Jazzy, we ain't gonna hurt ya.'" Kwan concluded. "Does that mean anything to you?"
I sat bolt upright. "You're damn right it means something to me. No one calls my mother 'Jazzy' except family and close friends."
"I hope George told that to the authorities." Tristan bit his knuckle in thought. "But it's possible no one paid it any mind, or didn't think it was important enough to tell your father."
"Also," added Kwan, "George has a thick accent. It would be easy to misunderstand anything he says."
"Thanks, Kwan. Now get some rest. I have a feeling we're in for quite a long day ahead of us and the jet lag's gonna be a killer." Tristan turned to me. "I'm going to make a couple more phone calls--to Artie and my guy at the FBI. Artie will make sure the NYPD knows about the 'Jazzy' thing and then they can get your father's input."
"My father . . . I have to talk to my father."
"That's not such a good idea. First of all, it isn't going to accomplish anything other than upsetting both of you more than you already are. Secondly, I am now concerned that someone close to your family is somehow involved in this mess. The less your dad knows about where you are, who you're with and what you're doing the better. It may already be too late."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Think about it. Why kidnap Marjorie? What kind of ransom could your family possibly come up with that would be worth committing a serious felony?"
"I assumed the whole thing was about scaring Dad into backing off of his public outrage."
"And you may still be right. But there are lots of ways to accomplish that. If, however, someone learned that 'Jazzy' and Don's youngest was Tristan King's girlfriend there might be an incentive to sweeten the pot with a hefty payoff in the form of ransom."
In spite of all the anxiety and fear about my mother, my selfish heart leapt when he referred to me as his 'girlfriend'. I felt badly about even noticing, given the danger Mom was in. But notice I did.
"Now, I want you to do the same as Kwan. We're only five hours out of New York now and when we land, we're all going to hit the ground running."
"You can't really believe I can sleep, can you?'
"You've had a major shock and I know the adrenaline isn't going to let you sleep right away. But I want you to go to the bedroom and lie down. I'm going to join you after I make the calls. We'll try to relax together."