That night Jeffrey took us to another trendy restaurant and more evening sights. The boys were eager to explain their visit to The Dungeon. They were so eager that they kept repeating themselves. I said they could have another visit before we return home to California.
We returned to the co-op at Bobby's regular bedtime. Jeffrey was invited to stay.
I sat in the family room thinking what a perfect vacation this has been. No problems. No hassles. Most of us would like at sometime or other in our lives to look into the future to see what might be coming our way: an opportunity to grab or not; a chance to avoid being in harm's way, etc. Unfortunately that option is not available to us. I only wish I was able to see what was coming our way tomorrow. For tomorrow would be the beginning of the worst days of our lives.
The day started out as usual: I left for business; the boys went jogging in the park. Their morning plans were to visit the Lincoln Center and the Museum of American Folk Art. Both places are fairly close together on the west side of Central Park. I had agreed that they could take the subway to the South Ferry at Bowling Green for a tour of Ellis Island and whatever other sites Jeffrey thought interesting. The bodyguard had to be with them at all times. Everyone had cell phones and pagers and a list of important phone numbers. The limo drive would follow their route and meet them places in case they needed a ride.
They finished their tour, and Jeffrey suggested they walk along Columbus Avenue past Fordham University and cross over to Columbus Circle where there are some good restaurants for lunch. They would take the C Line at 59 Street and Eighth Avenue. That would take them to Soho, a look at City Hall; then they would work their way down to the South Ferry.
After lunch they went to the subway station, paid their $1.50 for the ride and went through the turnstile.
"I have to pee big time, guys. There has to be a restroom here someplace," Bobby said.
Jeffrey said there are no restrooms. With that sad news Bobby ran back and jumped over the turnstile to find someplace to relieve himself. He'd pee in a corner, if he thought he could get away with it. Jeffrey yelled to Bobby that they would wait for him here. The bodyguard wasn't listening to Bobby's plea or seeing his disappearance. When he heard Jeffrey's instructions to Bobby, the guard turned and saw the boy running up some stairs. There was a rush of people that held back the guard. With Bobby running so fast and in every which direction, the guard had great difficulty finding his charge. Bobby vanished into a sea of people.
The guard gave up and went back to Steve and Jeffrey. The three thought that the instructions were clear that they would take the C Line and get off at Canal Street station. Bobby had his cell phone. They would call the boy and guide him back to their location.
Bobby couldn't find a restroom anywhere. His full bladder couldn't take it anymore. He saw some parked cars and a double-parked delivery truck. That combination would camouflage him so he could pee. He thought to himself that getting rid of that pee felt almost as good as a climax.
With the din of traffic, his confusion over where he was, he didn't hear his cell phone ringing softly in his backpack. He was told to keep it there, because cell phones are a prime pickpocket item if someone saw it on his person.
The boy tried to recall his steps to the subway station but became more confused. He asked directions. Only one of the fifteen New Yorkers he approached cared enough to stop and give him directions to the Columbus Circle station. He found it.
Bobby paid another $1.50 to enter the turnstile. But with another rush of people, he couldn't find his crew. He remembered the C Line. The boy took his cell phone out of his backpack and tried to make a call. He walked closer to the tracks not only to look up and down for his crew but to see what the tracks looked like. He crossed over the yellow caution line where passengers are told to stand away from oncoming trains. The _d_a_m_n_ cell phone wasn't working in this underground environment of concrete and steel.
A train was coming fast. The bell had been sounding about an oncoming train. But the bell didn't mean anything to Bobby. A concerned New Yorker grabbed Bobby around his waist to pull him back pass the yellow line. The boy was startled by the grab and raised his arms slightly and accidently let lose of the cell phone. It fell off the platform and into the belly of the tracks. He yelled and looked down at the forever lost cell phone. The New Yorker pulled the boy back to safety. All of this happened in seconds.
Bobby thanked the stranger. Then he was startled by the train after it stopped and the doors opened with a flood of people rushing out. The passengers waiting to get on kept pushing the boy until he, too, was on the train. All he knew was that this was the C Line. He had to be going in the right direction. Wouldn't the C Line go his way and the D Lines go the opposite way? This kid doesn't know from up about New York subways.
The train went fast. He sat quietly in a seat holding his backpack for dear life. He was feeling a little bit scared. The passengers seemed to all have blank faces. He never saw a smile or heard sounds of happiness, like laughter.
Jeffrey, Steve and the bodyguard were getting nervous. More than 45 minutes had elapsed since Bobby took off. Jeffrey stayed at the tracks looking for Bobby. The guard took Steve street side for a search. The guard was becoming very nervous. He had never lost anyone in his charge. The man kept calling on his cell phone to Bobby's. He kept hearing a recording saying the call can't go through. How long should he wait before calling me at the Trade Center or worse, calling the police? Jeffrey had agreed to stay at the tracks for a half hour then meet the other two on the street.
Bobby kept seeing signs that had street numbers going up and not down, as he expected, when the train stopped at stations. He had the uneasy feeling he was headed in the wrong direction. He was right on.
He decided to get off at 125 Street and St. Nicholas Avenue station. There would be a public phone somewhere, and he would call his crew. He didn't want to call me out of fear of what I would say or do.
The boy was in Harlem. He walked around aimlessly surveying his surroundings. He passed some phone booths, but none worked. Things were not going well. Why didn't he pee at the _d_a_m_n_ restaurant? If he had, he wouldn't be in this trouble.
Jeffrey tried calling Bobby's pager. They waited. They sweated. They were scared as hell. The guard decided to call in the problem to his boss. Jeffrey was shaking as he punched in the numbers to reach me at the Trade Center.
I was called from a meeting. My secretary told me Bobby was missing. I rushed down the hall to my office shaking. My heart was beating so fast. I thought I might have an attack.
"Jeffrey, what is happening?"
The young man told me the whole story. I could hear the nervousness in his voice. This wasn't the time to yell at him or try to place blame. We had to be calm and work together to find my son. I told him to stay close to the Columbus station. That's all they could do. They must also send someone down to the tracks occasionally to look for Bobby.
The next call was from the bodyguard's boss. He was calm and under control. He suggested we notify the police immediately. They would go into action knowing that the son of one of the nation's wealthiest billionaires was missing. I agreed. We needed to setup a task force in case we have a kidnaping.
I called my publicist, my attorneys and a private detective agency. They were to convene at the Trade Center within the hour. This, hopefully, would turn out to be nothing more than a lost kid. But the boy wasn't responding to his pager or his cell phone. And, most important, he hadn't called anyone.
My secretary was directed to clear out several meeting rooms, to keep this matter secret and to keep a portion of the floor off limits to anyone but our task force.
Bobby couldn't find a _d_a_m_n_ phone that worked. He kept walking in all sorts of directions. The neighborhoods were not looking so inviting. He seemed out of place. He was.
Maybe looking for a phone was a mistake. He thought he should have just taken the C Line back to Columbus station. That would have been a better move. But how did he know that all these phones would be out of order? The next problem: He had no idea how to get back to the subway station he left.
My publicist had prepared many copies of Bobby's picture and description to help police. She said we had to be prepared if the media got onto the story, if there was a story. Contingency plans were drawn up to diffuse the media. What heartless journalist would publish a story of the sixteen-year-old son of a billionaire is missing in New York? A lot!
Other members of the team suggested notifying the FBI. There is not enough evidence to bring them in. But it would help to let them know that something might be happening.
The private detectives would scour the Columbus Circle area to find whatever they could. Maybe someone saw the boy. Maybe someone tried to help him.
Bobby was getting very thirsty in the humid late June weather of New York. He stopped at a small restaurant and ordered a Pepsi. He reached into his backpack and pulled out his wallet. He handed the waiter a $20 bill for a 90-cent Pepsi to go. Big mistake.
He sat in a booth thinking of the ways to get home. He didn't really want to go back to the subway, even if he could find it. A taxi is a possibility, but has not seen one in this area. They were all over in other parts of Manhattan, he recalled. If he did find a taxi, he would probably need more money than the $19.10 change from the Pepsi. To get more money, he'd have to find an ATM machine. That's another thing he hasn't seen during his walks. The best choice, he thought, would be to call Dad's office and have a limo sent for him. He would stay here at the restaurant until the limo arrived. The phone is around the corner. Soon everything would be back to normal.
An FBI agent and two New York City detectives arrived at my office about the same time as the task force. The FBI agent said he would offer suggestions but had no authority until a Federal law was broken. The agent and officers said we must contact Bobby's bank in California to make preparations to monitor the boy's ATM/POS card. If the card was used by Bobby or someone who had the boy's PIN ID, then they might have a location of where the kid is. My financial advisors who have big clout with banks were put on that assignment.
They also had all calls to the co-op routed to my Trade Center office. A special phone was placed in a conference room for taping a suspicious call and with a hookup to the phone company for tracing a call.
My secretary said there was call a from the New York Times asking for information on Bobby. That call was routed to my publicity people. Other calls quickly came in from CNN, the New York tabloids along with CBS, NBC, ABC and the Fox Network. None said a story would be aired or published until more information is learned. They were seeking confirmation that something was coming down. Soon there were three publicity people handling calls from news agencies around the country. One call came in from a London newspaper. All of the reporters also were seeking background information on Bobby. They had a lot of background on me but not the boy.
"How in the _f_u_c_k_ do these bloodhounds get wind of something like this so soon?" I said to no one in particular.
"There are always leaks when there's a smell of story," the FBI agent said.
The private detective at the task force ordered full time security guards at our home in California, the co-op in Manhattan and the upstate New York estate.
A publicity agent was preparing a background packet on Bobby: schools, birth place, anything. I didn't like the idea one bit. She said it needed to be done now. The media would be careful not to reveal much because Bobby is a minor. The tabloids would look at it differently. And, it was implied but not said, if Bobby is killed all the news about him is fair game.
Bobby finished a portion of his drink and left the restaurant with the remainder. He walked around a corner where the clerk said a phone booth was. The booth was near an alley in a seedy looking neighborhood.
He knelt down to open his backpack to retrieve the list of phone numbers. He had to do a lot of fishing around his camera, camcorder and other items to find the list.
Bobby stood up and tried to place a call to me using his phone charge number.
Before he knew what was happening a man placed his hand on Bobby's face and another hand around his waist and pulled him into the alley by a garbage dumpster. The boy couldn't see the man holding him, but he could see another man holding his backpack. That guy was big, fat, ugly and very dirty. In fact, he stunk from even a short distance. The man was frightening to look at.
The man holding Bobby dragged the boy down the alley to an abandoned warehouse. The other man kicked the door open, and they entered the darkened filthy building with torn glass, boxes and junk. The sunlight was the only lighting they had.
The men had been trailing Bobby since he left the St. Nicholas Avenue subway station. The boy was way too out of place for this area of town. He was too well groomed. The clothes were too new. The boy flashed a $20 bill for a Pepsi. The kid had a camera and a camcorder. Bobby was obviously lost, out of place and had to have money on him. If he had money on him, he surely would have more money somewhere else.
Bobby now saw his other abductor, the man who carried him here. That guy was uglier than the first guy and stunk even more, if that's possible. The boy was sweating and shaking from fright. This was a nightmare he could do without. Tears started to come to his eyes.
One of the men took a rag and tore it into pieces. He tied Bobby's hands behind his back. He tied his ankles. Bobby tried to remember, as this frightening experience was unfolding, what happens in the movies, books and newspapers about such things. People get beat up and often killed. The tears were running down his face, but he was afraid to speak. He didn't think he could speak.
The other man was rummaging through his backpack. The cameras were set aside. The man found Bobby's wallet. It contained his ID, ATM/POS card, health insurance card, emergency phone numbers, and $19 in cash.
"Duke, the kid doesn't have much cash, but he's got an ATM card. We have to get the code."
Duke slapped Bobby hard across the face. The force was so hard it nearly knocked the kid out. The boy was crying hard.
"What's the number _s_h_i_t_ face? Tell me now, or you're going to be one sore and sorry kid."
"It's 837," Bobby said softly while crying.
"Gag the kid, Jugger. We'll have to put him in a secure place before the winos start coming in here."
Duke carried Bobby with one hand around the kid's waist to a far off corner of the warehouse. It was a dark, damp and awful smelling place. They put a blindfold on Bobby. They also tied him to a post. There was no escape. The kid pissed his pants.
Duke and Jugger walked away to a nearby ATM machine to try out the card. It worked. They got $200; the most for a day's transaction, according to the bank. The checking balance on the receipt read $3,485.75. The savings account balance read $15,794.23.
These guys thought they had the best bust of the year. They could milk those accounts' dry.
"Duke, why do we need the kid? We have the card, and we can drain it. He's seen us. He can identify us. Let's kill him."
"Jugger, you are so stupid. If a kid has that kind of money, there must be more in Daddy's pocket. What about all those emergency phone numbers and addresses? Two addresses are in expensive places. What we need is to get more than 200 bucks a day. There's got to be a way. We need the kid, at least for a while. Then we'll kill him."
That night Duke and Jugger went out bar hopping, bought some drugs and snuffed up a good time. They crashed in some dingy place a few blocks from Bobby's confinement.
Bobby couldn't sleep. He tried, but the tears kept him awake along with the strange noises of this awful place. He heard voices of drunken people. He heard gunshots in the distance. He heard the sounds of broken glass. He heard fights. He prayed.
The FBI agent, the detectives and the rest of the task force were becoming increasingly worried. This was no runaway kid. This was no lost kid. This was becoming a clear case of an abduction.
Bobby in no way fit the pattern of a runaway. The boy had the means and intelligence to eventually get to safety. He didn't know anyone in New York except his Dad, Steve and Jeffrey. Someone has the boy someplace in New York City. Too many hours have passed since he left his crew at Columbus Circle. The boy was in definite danger. The New York City police were taking this case very seriously as well as the FBI.
The task force was enlarged so others could get rest. I had a small apartment in my offices. Jeffrey and I stayed there. Steve was sent home with a bodyguard to California. His parents demanded that he come home. Steve didn't want to leave his best friend in need. He boarded the plane crying.
Jeffrey and I couldn't eat, and there was not much talking between us. We were deep in our own thoughts. Jeffrey was crying so hard that I gave him a sleeping pill so he could rest. I prayed as I've never prayed before. Tomorrow I vowed to call in a spiritual advisor to help me get through this.
I arose early and went to the ground floor of the Trade Center then started walking aimlessly around the center. It would be another hour or so before the task force team would start to arrive. There was nothing knew from those working on the case during the night.
I went back to the office at 8:00 and found a couple more police detectives in the conference room. The night shift had no leads. A review of hospitals and clinics showed up nothing. They needed something more to go on. They got it.
Eaton, one of my guys on the financial staff, received a call from a staff member in California moments ago. It was 8:10 New York time and 5:10 on the West Coast. Bobby's bank picked up a $200 transaction on his ATM card from Harlem. The machine was five blocks east of the St. Nicholas Ave. subway station.
The cops were elated. They sent calls to headquarters to send some patrol cars and detectives in unmarked cars to the area. That area of Harlem was shown on a large map tacked to the conference wall with a red mark showing the ATM machine. The officers then drew a five-block circle around the red mark as places to begin looking for Bobby. What kinds of buildings are in that area? Were any abandoned? What are the crime statistics? What likely path would he have taken from the subway station that would lead to that area? What likely places would he have stopped at for directions? Would he have found a restaurant? Would he have needed a restroom? The cops had a lead.
The FBI agent was calling his headquarters. A federal crime had taken place. Interstate theft on an ATM machine from a small bank in California. They could begin poking their noses into the case.
"How much money does Bobby have in his account, Dave?" the detective asked.
"I'm not really sure. He always lets me see his month end statement. But so much has happened I can't recall. I think he has a couple thousand in checking and fourteen thousand or so in savings. Eaton, please check on the balances."
"Does the boy always have that much money available to him?"
"He saves his allowance and the cash gifts I give him on his birthday and Christmas. He gives at least 90-percent to charities over the year. Before we went on vacation, he was planing on giving $8,000 to three of his favorite charities."
"How much is he allowed to withdraw from the ATM in a day?"
"About $200, I guess. Should we raise the amount to entice the abductors?"
"Absolutely not. Let them keep using the machine. We'll get a pattern of their movements. I would assume they know his balances. So, they think they have a money machine. I also would assume that they have thoroughly examined his wallet. Does he have any emergency phone numbers and addresses in his wallet?"
"Yes. I require him to carry that. Before we went on vacation, we added my co-op address and number, the security guard office, the limo office and, of course, the Trade Center."
"Some of those addresses would give these guys a clue that Bobby is connected somehow with money. I think they will drain the ATM machine. But it would take them 80 days to do it at $200 a day, if the boy has $16,000 in the accounts. That's a long time, too long. Is the card also a point of purchase card?"
"Yes, of course."
"They'll use it to buy stuff then hock it. We'll get more clues. In a few days they are going to get greedy. They'll use the card a lot, but they'll want more, a lot more. That's when I expect we'll hear from them. That might be a good sign that the boy is alive. I think right now that they need the boy to get more out of you. Let's assume he's safe but not in the best of condition. By that I mean he probably is tied up somewhere in a dingy warehouse or stinking apartment or hotel hungry and scared."
Duke and Jugger awoke as best they could around noon. They had blown the $200 from Bobby's account. They needed more money, and they were hungry. The guys tried to pull themselves together and staggered around until they found the closest ATM machine. They got another $200. But that's not enough. Jugger examined the card and noticed it had a MasterCard symbol on it.
"Hey, _s_h_i_t_head, do you think this thing is also a credit card?"
"Looks like one to me, Jugger. Let's go buy something and try it out."
They got something to eat and then decided to buy some liquor with the card. Jugger was good at forging names. He spent three years in prison on that charge, not his only time in prison. The man had a rap sheet going back to when he was a kid. There were safe stores in the area that all the bums knew. These stores don't ask for ID or question anything. If a sale goes through on a card, it's a sale. They bought $135 worth of booze and a little food.
"Why do you want to give food to the kid, Jugger? I want to _f_u_c_k_ the bastard and kill him. We have what we want."
"Asshole, we have to keep him alive for a few days. I think we can get more money out of him. We may need him to plea, cry and beg on the phone to someone."
The men used their usual form of transportation back to Bobby's prison. They stole a car in broad daylight. They also are as thick as two short planks, because it never occurred to them, at least for now, that their transactions were being monitored.
The FBI and NYPD served legal notices on the bank and MasterCard to hand over all transactions regarding the card. The banks and card companies usually would like to cancel a stolen card, because they don't want to be left holding the tab thieves run up. My financial staff assured them that all charges would be covered. A police, FBI investigation involving a possible major crime would have forced the cards to remain active in order to build evidence.
Because human life was in danger, a special priority was placed on observing the card's transactions. By 2:00 that afternoon, we had received more information.
"Dave, we have good and bad information. The good is that they used the card twice. The bad is that one transaction occurred out in Highbridge at 170 th. The other transaction occurred at 149 th. This broadens the circle quite a bit. We had hoped they would stick to a particular area. Let's hope that they use the card again in more proximity to where we think Bobby is."
More media calls were coming in. My staff was polite with a lot of "No Comments," but they cautioned that a boy's life was at stake. No distribution of news is good news for Bobby's safety.
I wasn't serving any good purpose in the conference room. I wanted and needed the news, but there was nothing I could do. It was out of my hands. Father Owen, a Catholic priest, met me at a predetermined location in Central Park. We walked and walked; we sat. We had a long talk. I cried and cried. We prayed together at a quiet spot. The experience was exactly what I needed most. The limo driver then drove us around Manhattan to spots where we could contemplate more and pray more.
"Jugger, before going back to the warehouse, let's buy something big that we can hock."
The abductors went to another "safe" store and bought an $1,100 color television set and some other stuff. They then went to a "safe" pawn shop to hock the stuff. Jugger and Duke netted $450 cash from the deal. That didn't satisfy them. They went to another "safe" store and bought $2,000 worth of electronic stuff and hocked it for $950. Then it was off to the warehouse.
The men had booze and money. Tonight they would party. Tomorrow they would play the game again. Right now a little play time with their young prisoner would be fun.
They found Bobby tied up and sleeping where they left him. Jugger kicked the boy in the legs to wake him up. Bobby was startled and scared again.
"Wake up kid. What the _f_u_c_k_ did you do to your shorts? Did you _s_h_i_t_ in them?"
Bobby had defecated in his pants during the night. He was a mess, and he knew it. He started crying again.
Duke had the pleasure of ripping off Bobby's clothes until the boy was naked. The two men got into a fight over who would clean him up. Duke lost. He soaked some dirty rags in some dirty water in the dirty alley and wiped Bobby clean of the _s_h_i_t_. The boy squirmed so much that Jugger took off his belt and whipped Bobby very hard across his back. Red welts appeared immediately. The boy cried out in pain as much as he could with his mouth gagged. He stopped the squirming. He didn't want to feel that pain again.
With the boy clean, Jugger was feeling his power over the kid. He had the boy's money; now he wanted the boy's _s_e_x_.
"Duke, you'll have your turn when I'm through. I want to hear the kid scream. You go to the door and make sure no one is coming. I'm going to have some fun."
Duke did as he was told. He was also thinking how much fun he would have with the kid. Duke desperately wanted to kill Bobby. Duke liked to kill people. He's done it 15 times but was never caught. Then, he thought, Jugger might be right. They could milk the kid for more money. Regardless, in a couple of days he would kill the boy, Jugger or not.
Jugger took the gag off Bobby but did not undo the blindfold. He told the boy to kneel against the post. Bobby was so scared; he did as he was told. Jugger then took his belt and whipped the boy viciously across his back, buttocks and legs. The boy cried out as loud as he could in pain and agony. Jugger was so vicious with the beating that Bobby collapsed unconscious. The boy was badly beaten. Jugger was disappointed that the boy was unconscious. He wanted him awake so he could rape the kid.
They tried pouring dirty water on the kid, but it didn't help. Bobby was out cold. Duke cursed Jugger. Jugger cursed Duke. What fun is an unconscious kid? The men would come back to the kid later that night. They wanted _s_e_x_ual release. Tie Bobby up and go party somewhere.
Bobby awoke sometime and felt a lot of pain, a whole lot of pain. He knew he was naked but couldn't remember how he got that way. He was hungry, very hungry. He was thirsty, very thirsty. He didn't know how much more of this torment he could endure. The night was even more scary than the night before. He felt things, hairy things near his body. They could be cats. They could be rats.
Jugger and Duke partied into the wee hours of the night and crashed somewhere. They weren't sure where.
The next day the FBI and NYPD had all sorts of leads. The transactions the abductors made yesterday were all within 125 th and 135 th streets, all not far from that first ATM withdrawal. Detectives were dispatched to examine warehouses, abandoned buildings, cheap hotels and apartments. They assumed they were dealing with people who live in an homeless setting, do not work and are thieves by profession. All of the transactions were made after 2 p. m. This suggested that the suspects probably used alcohol and drugs to party at night with their stolen loot. Their day would not start until mid-afternoon.
The clerk who sold Bobby a Pepsi shortly before his abduction positively identified the boy. She remembered him well, because he was not the usual type kid to be walking alone in the neighborhood. She recalled him asking questions about directions, an ATM machine and a working phone booth. The woman said the boy took the subway in the wrong direction and wanted to get back to the Trade Center. Bobby complained to her that all of the phones he could find were not working. The clerk recalled seeing two men outside the restaurant, standing idly. She didn't think she could recognize their faces, but police made her try at mug shots.
The detectives were able to piece together Bobby's path to the restaurant, and the boy's plans to get to his Dad.