slowed about halfway up the second - and not because he was tired.
On the other side of the glass entrance doors was a team of security guards with metal detectors. His Kevlar vest was certain to raise some eyebrows, to say nothing of his GPS locator. And if they opened the briefcase well, it wasn't illegal to carry that much cash, but it wouldn't exactly lower the guards' antennae. He didn't have much choice, however. The caller had told him to enter through the south side and exit through the north. Turning away would only fuel the kidnapper's paranoia. Jack's only hope was that the FBI was on top of things and that he could pass through smoothly.
A steady stream of visitors, employees, and lawyers dressed in suits entered through the center revolving glass door. Jack jumped behind a team of reporters from a local news station, figuring that the courthouse guards might be too preoccupied with the cameras and other gear to notice him. The layout was no different from airport security, an X-ray machine to one side and the metal detector beside it, like the frame of a doorway. Jack watched as the camera crew got the full treatment - bags opened, equipment X-rayed, bodies searched with the handheld electronic wand. For a moment, Jack considered leaving, certain that they were going to detain him and that the kidnapper would go ballistic.
Next, the guard called.
Jack stepped forward and placed the briefcase full of cash on the conveyer belt. To his relief, the guard didn't pop it open. He just pushed it through the X-ray machine.
Step through, please, he told Jack.
This was the hard part. Jack held his breath, but it didn't help. The alarm sounded the moment he entered the metal detector, and a shrill chirping noise echoed off the stone arches of the cavernous lobby.
Step over here, please, the guard said without expression.
Jack did as he was told, putting his arms up and feet apart. He started working up explanations in his head, but they all waxed hollow. Don't volunteer anything, he told himself. Just answer their questions and maybe you'll get through.
The guard waved the handheld wand from his shoulders to his feet. It made no sound at all. Nothing was detected. You're clear, said the guard, still stone-faced.
The words didn't quite register for Jack. He didn't move.
I said you're clear. This time, the guard gave a little jerk of the head, as if telling him to move on. At that moment, Jack knew: Somebody from the FBI had indeed made a phone call. And someone else had turned off his electronic wand. Relieved, Jack grabbed his briefcase and started across the lobby. He glanced back once to see the guard hassling a seventy-year-old Latin woman. Another juror/terrorist for sure. The wand was back in working order.
The north entrance to the courthouse was directly across the rotunda, but it was nowhere near as busy. Jack exited through the revolving door and continued down the granite steps. As the kidnapper had said, a vending machine for the Miami Tribune was on the corner. Jack fished a quarter from his pocket and put it in the slot. About half the newspapers had already been sold, and he reached to the bottom of the stack. True to the kidnapper's word, an envelope was lying facedown on the bottom. Jack let the vending door slam shut, opened the envelope, and read the typed message inside.
It read: Kwick-e Copy Center, south of Flagler on First Street. A computer has been rented in your name. And yes, you can run now. I would if I were you.
Jack tucked the message in his pocket and ran as fast as he could, around the west side of the courthouse. He made a sharp left on Flagler Street and then headed east. The crowded sidewalk was slowing him down, so after about a hundred yards he took to the street. On a dead run, he covered the final two blocks going against traffic, trailing behind a death-defying messenger on a twelve-speed bicycle. He spotted the Kwick-e Copy Center just around the corner and ran
On the other side of the glass entrance doors was a team of security guards with metal detectors. His Kevlar vest was certain to raise some eyebrows, to say nothing of his GPS locator. And if they opened the briefcase well, it wasn't illegal to carry that much cash, but it wouldn't exactly lower the guards' antennae. He didn't have much choice, however. The caller had told him to enter through the south side and exit through the north. Turning away would only fuel the kidnapper's paranoia. Jack's only hope was that the FBI was on top of things and that he could pass through smoothly.
A steady stream of visitors, employees, and lawyers dressed in suits entered through the center revolving glass door. Jack jumped behind a team of reporters from a local news station, figuring that the courthouse guards might be too preoccupied with the cameras and other gear to notice him. The layout was no different from airport security, an X-ray machine to one side and the metal detector beside it, like the frame of a doorway. Jack watched as the camera crew got the full treatment - bags opened, equipment X-rayed, bodies searched with the handheld electronic wand. For a moment, Jack considered leaving, certain that they were going to detain him and that the kidnapper would go ballistic.
Next, the guard called.
Jack stepped forward and placed the briefcase full of cash on the conveyer belt. To his relief, the guard didn't pop it open. He just pushed it through the X-ray machine.
Step through, please, he told Jack.
This was the hard part. Jack held his breath, but it didn't help. The alarm sounded the moment he entered the metal detector, and a shrill chirping noise echoed off the stone arches of the cavernous lobby.
Step over here, please, the guard said without expression.
Jack did as he was told, putting his arms up and feet apart. He started working up explanations in his head, but they all waxed hollow. Don't volunteer anything, he told himself. Just answer their questions and maybe you'll get through.
The guard waved the handheld wand from his shoulders to his feet. It made no sound at all. Nothing was detected. You're clear, said the guard, still stone-faced.
The words didn't quite register for Jack. He didn't move.
I said you're clear. This time, the guard gave a little jerk of the head, as if telling him to move on. At that moment, Jack knew: Somebody from the FBI had indeed made a phone call. And someone else had turned off his electronic wand. Relieved, Jack grabbed his briefcase and started across the lobby. He glanced back once to see the guard hassling a seventy-year-old Latin woman. Another juror/terrorist for sure. The wand was back in working order.
The north entrance to the courthouse was directly across the rotunda, but it was nowhere near as busy. Jack exited through the revolving door and continued down the granite steps. As the kidnapper had said, a vending machine for the Miami Tribune was on the corner. Jack fished a quarter from his pocket and put it in the slot. About half the newspapers had already been sold, and he reached to the bottom of the stack. True to the kidnapper's word, an envelope was lying facedown on the bottom. Jack let the vending door slam shut, opened the envelope, and read the typed message inside.
It read: Kwick-e Copy Center, south of Flagler on First Street. A computer has been rented in your name. And yes, you can run now. I would if I were you.
Jack tucked the message in his pocket and ran as fast as he could, around the west side of the courthouse. He made a sharp left on Flagler Street and then headed east. The crowded sidewalk was slowing him down, so after about a hundred yards he took to the street. On a dead run, he covered the final two blocks going against traffic, trailing behind a death-defying messenger on a twelve-speed bicycle. He spotted the Kwick-e Copy Center just around the corner and ran
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