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The voice on the phone said, “If you want to see your daughter alive again, get in your car and drive east on I-80. Do not contact law enforcement. Keep driving and you will receive another call. Follow instructions and your daughter will not die. Am I clear?” Mary Garett was sitting across from Jack Beckett in a San Francisco restaurant. He saw the color drain from her face. He saw the look of fear in her eyes. Finally, she said, almost in a whisper, “I need your help.” There was only one possible. Beckett was in.