Massive chest heaving deep breaths of anticipation, Agent Lefleur stomped out of the interrogation room, away from his quarry, his prime suspect, to the speaker phone indicated by the underling. She was a junior agent, mainly doing paperwork, making background calls, generally blending in to the walls.

“It’s one of ‘em?” he asked gruffly.

The junior agent nodded, “Joanne Crane.”

“When?”

“5 minutes ago. They transferred the recording right over.”

“Trace?”

“All we know is a cell tower Northeast of town.”

Satisfied she hadn’t screwed anything up or left out a pertinent detail, Agent Lefleur grunted at her, “Play it.”

With static and breaks, the message played, “Help me…us! We’ve been kidnapped, and, and, we’re in some kind of basement…oh man, oh man Miss, what is your name? My name is Joanne…oh jeez, he’s here. He’s here, you have to help us, he’s right...”

It ended with a sickening thud that even Agent Lefleur felt somewhere deep in his gut. But they were alive.