“When the Ansar Majlis forced Jenna to empty her bank account for them, they discovered her tickets and her false identification papers. They forced her to come here, to use them, so they could get out of New York without being detected. But even though we know they came here, and we know the names on the false identities she purchased in New York a year ago, we don’t know which down-time gate they might have gone through. None of Jenna’s friends knew which gate she planned to visit and we couldn’t trace the mobster who sold her the time-touring tickets. She used a different source than she’d used to buy the phony identities and we never traced the ticket-scalper.”
John Caddrick drained the rest of the scotch in his glass, then leaned forward in his chair. “What I want, Ms. Azzan, is simple enough. I want my daughter back, alive and unharmed, whatever it takes.” The rasp of steel in the senator’s voice sent a chill of genuine terror down Ronisha’s spine. “You may believe I’ve followed the reports of riots, kidnappings, and murders on this station with keen interest. If anything has happened to my little girl on this god-forsaken time terminal or down one of its gates, I will use my authority and influence to shut down this entire station. And you may rest assured, Ms. Azzan, these federal marshals will shut you down, if the situation warrants it.”
Ronisha slipped a hand into her lap and pressed the buzzer under the lip of Bull’s massive desk, the one that alerted security headquarters trouble was brewing in the station manager’s office. She wanted Mike Benson up here, stat, and kicked herself for not having summoned him sooner.