Free Dead Silence by Randy Wayne White

kidnappers would post the GPS coordinates of the box on a popular third-party website. It didn’t name the site. If the American government responded before eight a.m. on Sunday, the boy might live. If there was an attempt to negotiate, or to pursue, the boy would die.
    The kidnappers had effectively placed the boy’s life in the hands of the people they were extorting. They claimed to be Castro Revivalists and wanted Cuba to return to National Socialism. They called themselves the Bearded Ones .
    In the frozen pond, Choirboy hadn’t mentioned Castro Socialists. Judging from the FBI agent’s physical response—he looked at the floor, nose wrinkled as if sniffing—he didn’t believe it either. Captain Denzler did.
    “It explains why they were after you, Senator Hayes-Sorrento. Your committee has authority over the materials they’re demanding—it’s been on the news.”
    Denzler touched a remote; the computer screen changed. “Here’s what they want. They refer to them as files. Files C/J-116 through C/Sa-120. We’ve been unable to confirm that these files exist.” The woman gave it a second. “Do they exist, Senator?”
    Barbara was sitting between her chief of staff and her attorney. Both were taking notes. I watched the woman nod. “They’re not just files. Our people discovered a . . . a place, where the former dictator’s personal papers were being warehoused. Some personal possessions, too.”
    Some personal possessions? The woman was good.
    She said, “But because the information has been”—Barbara glanced at her attorney, who was shaking her head—“because the information is classified, my staff will investigate the steps necessary to arrange a private deposition. I want to do everything I can to help this child.”
    The FBI agent said, “You can confirm, though, these designations match materials that have been cataloged?”
    “Not cataloged—not yet. Grouped under very general terms. Subgrouped, really. C for Castro , then subgrouped, A for apple , B for baseball . Like that. The number refers to the carton. C/J-116, for instance, means Castro Files , letter j, carton 116. You might find something related to Japan inside. Or jewelry. I’m not saying there is jewelry, understand. It’s just an example.”
    Denzler asked, “What about this one. C/Sa? Carton 120.”
    Becoming impatient, Barbara replied, “As I said, everything’s alphabetized. I assume fewer items begin with the letter j, so there’s only one carton. More items are in subgroup S, so there are two or three cartons. Sometimes dates were also added. A sort of sub-subgrouping. The work had to be done”—Barbara hesitated—“in a limited amount of time.”
    “How many people know about the labeling system?”
    “Too many, obviously.”
    The policewoman started to ask another question but decided to let it go. “Then it fits. A pro-Castro organization demanding Fidel Castro’s files. Certain items, I’m saying, that’s what they’re demanding.”
    Barbara was looking at the screen, way ahead of Denzler, maybe thinking what I had already concluded: The kidnappers had insider information. They knew how the items had been organized and at least an idea of what the cartons contained.
    After a long silence, the FBI agent said, “That’s very helpful, Senator Hayes-Sorrento, thank you,” then looked at Denzler, who got the hint, and stepped back so he could talk.
     
     
     
    The FBI agent said, “There was a kidnapping that has interesting similarities. A college student named Barbara Mackle was abducted and buried in a specially constructed box. She was targeted because her father was a wealthy Florida developer. Her abductor was an escaped convict, Gary Krist. Krist spent a month at the Miami Public Library searching for the perfect victim for what he considered the perfect crime . . .”
    I tuned out the agent, less interested. Harrington had made the connection with the Mackle case. As an intelligence