Peter came back before he went to bed that night, and took him to the bathroom again. He woke him to do it, so he wouldn't have another accident. And gave him a glass of milk and a cookie. Sam devoured both, and thanked him again. And when Sam saw him appear the next morning, he smiled.

“What's your name?” Sam asked cautiously.

Peter hesitated before telling him, and then decided he had nothing to lose. The child had seen him anyway. “Peter.” Sam nodded. And Peter came back a while later with breakfast. He brought him a fried egg and bacon. He rapidly became the official baby-sitter. The others were happy not to do it. They wanted their money, not baby-sitting for a six-year-old kid. And in an odd way, Peter felt as though he was doing it for Fernanda, and knew he was.

He sat with the boy for a while that afternoon, and came back again that night. Peter sat on the bed next to him, and stroked his hair.

“Are you going to kill me?” Sam asked in a small voice. He looked frightened and sad, but Peter had never seen him cry. He knew how terrifying this must be for him, but he was remarkably brave, and had been since it happened.

“No, I'm not. We're going to send you home to your mom in a few days.” Sam didn't look as though he believed him, but Peter looked as though he meant it. Sam wasn't so sure about the others. He could hear them in the other room, but they had never come in to see him. They were more than happy to let Peter do it. He told them he was protecting their investment, which they thought was funny.

“Are they going to call and ask my mom for money?” Sam asked softly, and Peter nodded. He liked the boy better than he did the others. By a long shot. They were a nasty lot. They'd been talking about the cops they'd killed and how good it felt to do it. Listening to them made Peter feel sick. It was a lot more pleasant talking to Sam.

“Eventually,” Peter said in answer to his question about their asking Fernanda for money. Peter didn't say when they would, and wasn't sure himself. In a couple of days, he thought, which was the plan.

“She doesn't have any,” Sam said quietly, watching Peter, as though trying to figure him out, which he was. He almost liked him, but not quite. He was one of the kidnappers after all. But he'd been nice to him at least.

“Any what?” Peter asked, looking distracted. He was thinking of other things, like their escape. Their plans were set, but he was nervous about it anyway. The other three were heading to Mexico, and from there to South America with false passports. Peter was going to New York, to try to see his daughters. And then he was going to head for Brazil. He had some friends there from his days of dealing drugs.

“My mom doesn't have any money,” Sam said softly, as though it was a secret he was supposed to keep, but was sharing with Peter.

“Sure she does.” Peter smiled.

“No, she doesn't. That's why my dad killed himself. He lost it all.” Peter sat on the bed and stared at him for a long moment, wondering if he knew what he was talking about. He had that painful honesty and sincerity of kids.

“I thought your dad died in an accident, he fell off a boat.”

“He left my mom a letter. She told my dad's lawyer he killed himself.”

“How do you know?”

Sam looked embarrassed for a minute, and then confessed, “I was listening outside her door.”

“Did she talk to him about the money?” Peter looked worried.

“A lot of times. They talk about it almost every day. She said it's all gone. They have a lot of ‘bets’ or something. That's what she always says, there's nothing left but ‘bets.’” Peter understood better than he did. She was obviously talking about debts, not bets. “She's going to sell the house. She hasn't told us yet.” Peter nodded, and then looked at him sternly.

“I don't want you to say this to anyone else. Do you promise?” Sam nodded, looking very somber.

“They'll kill me if she doesn't pay them, won't they?” Sam said with sad eyes. But Peter shook his head.

“I won't let them do that,” he whispered. “I promise,” he said, and then left the room to go back to the others.

“Christ, you spend a lot of time with that kid,” Stark complained, and Waters looked at Stark with disgust.

“Just be glad it's not you. I wouldn't want to do it either.”

“I like kids,” Jim Free volunteered. “I ate one once.” He laughed uproariously at that. He'd been drinking beer all night. He'd never been convicted of hurting a child, and Peter assumed it was bullshit, but he didn't like it anyway. He didn't like anything about them.

Peter didn't say anything to Waters till the next morning, and then he looked at him with concern, as though he'd been worrying about something.

“What if she doesn't pay up?” Peter asked him directly.

“She will. She wants her kid back. She'll pay whatever we ask.” They had actually been talking the night before about asking for more, and taking a bigger cut.

“And if she doesn't?”

“What do you think?” Carl said coldly. “If she doesn't, he's no use to us. We get rid of him, and get the fuck out.” It was what both he and Sam had feared.

But Sam's confession the night before about his mother's finances put a new spin on things for Peter. It had never occurred to him that she was broke. Although he had raised the question once or twice, Peter had never seriously believed that she was. Now he felt differently about it. Something about the way Sam had repeated what he'd overheard told Peter that it was true. It also explained why she never went anywhere, or did anything, and there was no help in the house. He had expected her to lead a far grander life. He thought she just stayed home because she loved her kids, but maybe there was more to it than that. And he had the feeling that the conversations Sam had heard between his mother and her lawyer were all too real. Still, having “no money” was relative to different people. She might still have some left, but not as much as they had once had. The suicide note was interesting though. If that were true, there might really be nothing left of Allan Barnes's fortune. Peter was profoundly worried, thought about it all day, and what it might mean to him, and the others. And worse yet, Sam.

They sat around for two more days, and then finally decided to call her. All four of them agreed that it was time. They used Peter's untraceable cell phone, and he dialed her number. She answered on the first ring herself, and her voice sounded hoarse. It cracked as soon as she heard who it was. Peter spoke quietly, silently aching for her, and identified himself by saying he had news of her son. The negotiator was listening on the phone, and they were already frantically working on tracing the call.

“I have a friend who'd like to speak to you,” Peter said, and walked into the back room while Fernanda held her breath, and gesticulated wildly to Ted. He already knew. The negotiator was listening on the line with her, and they were recording the call.

“Hi, Mommy,” Sam said as tears filled her eyes and she held her breath.

“Are you okay?” She could hardly talk, she was shaking so hard.

“Yeah. I'm fine.” Before he could say more, Peter took the phone away as Waters watched. Peter was afraid that, to reassure her, Sam would say he had been nice to him, and he didn't want the others to hear it. Peter took the phone back, and spoke clearly to her. He sounded well spoken and cool, which surprised her. From what she'd seen in her house four days before, she expected them to be goons. And this one obviously wasn't. He sounded educated, and polite, and oddly gentle in his tone.

“Your son's bus ticket home will cost you exactly a hundred million dollars,” Peter said without batting an eye, as the others listened to him and nodded their approval. They liked his style. He sounded businesslike, polite, and cool. “Start counting your pennies. We'll be calling you shortly to tell you how we want it handled,” he said, and cut the line before she could answer. He turned to the others, and they sent up a cheer. “How long do we give her?” Peter asked. He and Addison had talked about a week or two at the most, to complete the transaction. At the time, they had agreed that longer than that was unnecessary, but after what Sam had said, he wasn't sure that time was the issue or would make a difference. If she didn't have it, there was nowhere she could dig up that kind of money. Even if Barnes had a few lingering investments. Maybe she could cough up a million or two, if that. But from what Sam was saying about her debts, and his father's suicide, Peter even wondered if she had that. And even a couple of million divided five ways was pointless.

The other three got drunk that night, and he sat talking to Sam again for a long time. He was a sweet boy, and he was sad after talking to his mother.

And at her end, Fernanda was sitting in the living room in shock, looking at Ted.

“What am I going to do?” She was in the depths of despair. She had never dreamed they'd ask for that kind of money. A hundred million was insane. And they obviously were.

“We'll find him,” Ted said quietly. It was the only choice they had now. But they hadn't been able to get a trace on the line. He cut it off too fast anyway, although with the device they had, they could have, if he'd been calling from a traceable line. But he was using a cell phone that couldn't be traced. It was one of the few that couldn't. They obviously knew what they were doing. At least she had talked to Sam.

She called Jack Waterman while Ted was talking to the captain. She told him what the ransom was, and he sat in stunned silence at his end. He could have helped her come up with half a million dollars, until she sold the house, but beyond that, she had almost nothing in the bank. She had about fifty thousand currently in her account. Their only hope was finding the boy before the kidnappers killed him. Jack prayed they would. She told him the police and FBI were doing everything they could, but the kidnappers had gone underground. All four of the men they knew about had vanished. And the regular network of reliable informants knew nothing.