“Why hasn’t this been all over the national news?” Storm asked.

“Strings were pulled. The media was told that it was a college prank. Georgetown officials went along. Said it was a fraternity gag that got out of hand.”

“What kind of automatic weapon was used?”

Showers opened a black leather briefcase that she had brought with her and removed a clear plastic bag that contained about a dozen brass shell casings.

“There were no fingerprints on them,” she said, putting the bag on the table.

Storm didn’t bother opening it as he finished the last bite of his burger. He’d seen enough 7.62 x 39mm ammunition casings to recognize them by sight.

“The assailant used an AK-47,” he said.

“Yes,” Showers replied, impressed. “Unfortunately, there are about seventy-five million AK-47s being used right now in the world. The Soviet Union did a hell of a job exporting them to every terrorist and revolutionary group in the world, as well as every nut in the U.S. who found a way, legally or illegally, to get his hands on a firearm capable of firing six hundred rounds a minute.”

“It sucks being Bambi nowadays.”

He smiled. She didn’t.

Storm said, “These guys went in fast, hard, deliberate, and left nothing behind that could be used to identify them. They were pros. Possibly ex-military.” He said, “Let’s see the ransom notes.”

She removed two letters from her briefcase. Both were protected in plastic. The first was written in block letters, similar to what a draftsman would use on blueprints.

“WE WILL KILL YOUR STEPSON UNLESS YOU PAY US $1,000,000.”

The note went on to order Windslow to pay the ransom in hundred-dollar bills. The cash was supposed to be placed in a briefcase left in the fast-food dining area of Union Station, the city’s major subway and Amtrak station, near Capitol Hill. The kidnappers had drawn a diagram on the note that pinpointed where the briefcase was to be left, underneath a table near a back wall. The ransom was supposed to be delivered by Dull’s fiancee.