Chapter Twelve
Kat was a bundle of nerves in the morning, but she knew Mike needed her to keep herself together. She’d given them everything she could about the location where the hostages were being held. Now it was up to them to pinpoint it. She fidgeted through breakfast, waiting for Ed’s call letting them know that he’d arrived.
“If you push those eggs around anymore, they’re going to jump off the plate,” Mike teased. She knew he was trying to ease her tension.
“I’m sorry.” She set her fork down on the edge of her plate. “I’m just having a hard time waiting.”
“I know, kitten.” He took one of her hands in his and squeezed it. “But I promise you we’ll get this done. Now come on. Eat a little. Then we’re going to put some alternate plans together for when Ed gets here.”
Obediently she picked up her fork, put a tiny bite of egg in her mouth, chewed it, and swallowed. It tasted like Styrofoam. “Do you think you should try calling Ron Pelley or that FBI agent again? Maybe they’ve heard something.”
On her other side Mark snorted. “I’m sure they have. And I can also tell you we won’t hear a thing from them until the ransom drop—whenever it is—goes down and they still don’t have the hostages back. Then they’ll be more than happy for us to save their bacon.”
“That’s sure the way things have been turning out the last year or so.” Mike could barely hide the bitterness in his voice.
Kat looked at him, eyebrows raised. “I thought you guys did some contract work for the government, or am I mistaken?”
“Not with the FBI, though,” Mike told her. “They’re very territorial. Extremely so. And when they do end up needing us, you’d think we have shit all over us when they come to meet with us.”
“Forget it,” Faith said. “Turf wars can wait until we get everyone back. Safe and sound.” She reached over and touched Kat’s hand. “We’ll get them back. Don’t worry. These guys can do anything.”
They had room service send up a fresh pot of coffee, which the waiter brought when he came to clear their dishes. They pulled out the printouts of the aerial maps Andy had sent them, spread them on the table, and settled down to try to figure out the best plan of attack.
“I wish I could have pinned down the location of where they are a little better,” Kat told them. “Sometimes it works really well, but with the problems I’ve had lately, even with Brent out of the picture . . .”
“Quit it,” Mike said, lifting her hand and placing a kiss on her knuckle. “You’re doing great. You need to keep your mind clear so you can focus when we get more information to give you.”
“When you get a better location on Victor Herrera’s estate, or acreage or whatever it is, I can use those coordinates and pictures to give you a clearer picture of what’s on the ground. Maybe see how many guards there are and exactly where on the grounds Mari and the Wrights are being held. And don’t forget about the dog.”
“Thanks for reminding us. We’ll be counting on you for details, Kat.” Mark spread out the aerial photos. “And you can help us in the flyover, too.”
She wrinkled her forehead. “How can I do that?”
“We’re going to get one chance to eyeball this. Mike and Ed will be doing their thing in the cockpit, and I’ll be running a camera to capture everything we pass over. But we’ll need you and Faith to act as spotters.”
She felt a little better at having a useful role to play. “I can do that.”
“Good, good.” He cleared his throat. “Now. I emailed Ed a list of what to bring for a flyover. Anything else we’ve already got in the plane.”
The hostages knew it was morning by the weak light filtering in through the high slit of a window. Eli climbed stiffly to his feet, gingerly working the kinks from his muscles. It had taken a long time, but they’d finally stanched the bleeding from his nose. And he’d satisfied himself that it wasn’t actually broken. He might have difficulty breathing for a while, but at least it was intact.
Lissa had just stirred, lifting her head from Sydney’s lap, and Mari was just coming out of the terrible excuse for a bathroom. He couldn’t believe how uncomplaining everyone was. He knew his wife had great inner strength, but he was so proud of the way she was handling things. He had a new level of respect for both her and their daughter.
And Mari. Ignoring her own injuries, she’d maintained a calm presence, never letting the others see how rattled she might be or what pain she might be in. She’d soothed Lissa when Sydney had retreated to the bathroom to pull herself together, and worked hard to keep everyone’s spirits up, despite the pain he knew she was suffering.
He’d used part of the time, sitting against the wall in the hot, humid dark, to try to figure out who in hell had fingered them. He knew with a sure certainty now it was at least of one of the drug cartels that had pulled this off. Who could have hooked up with their kidnappers and planned this. Who needed money so badly? Or hated them so much? Or both.
His problem was that the first people who came to mind he instinctively wanted to reject out of hand. He didn’t want to think that someone he was close to, did business with, would be involved in something like this.
The wood bar slammed outside, the door opened, and Pedro entered. Enrique followed him, carrying a tray with bottled water and the by-now-dreaded tortillas. He set the tray down against one of the walls, then stood back, arms folded across his chest.
Eli had an urge to pick up the tray and throw it at him, but clenched his fists to keep from making a rash move. He’d kill for a steak, and they all would have sold their souls for some halfway decent coffee. Even Lissa, who was being so brave and good he was enormously proud of her, said she’d be willing to beg for chocolate. But they said nothing, just waited for the two men to leave.
Pedro raked his gaze over each of them, the malicious smile they’d come to expect twisting his lips. “Today may be a good day for you,” he said at last. “If everything goes according to plan, that is.”
Eli felt a thread of hope wiggle through him. Was the ransom going to be paid? Would they actually be released?
“What, nothing today?” Pedro prodded. “You should hope all the arrangements go through as planned. Otherwise”—he eyed Lissa—“I may have to find some other way to provide satisfaction to El Jefe.”
Eli reached for his daughter and pushed her behind him. “Leave her alone.”
“Or what?” Pedro laughed. “You aren’t in very much of a position to object to anything, Señor Wright. You should just pray your friends come through for you.”
“Who, exactly, is El Jefe?” he asked. “And why can’t we meet him? If he’s responsible for this, why can’t I look him in the eye and ask how this happened?”
“He has us to take care of things for him,” Pedro snapped. “He does not get personally involved in activities.”
“I want to see him,” Eli pursued stubbornly.
“Eli,” Sydney cautioned, but he ignored her. He’d had enough. He wanted to meet his captor face-to-face.
But Pedro, instead of answering him, reversed his rifle and jabbed it into Eli’s stomach. He doubled over from the pain, fighting the nausea that threatened to erupt from his mouth.
“We are done here,” Pedro told him. “That’s answer enough for you.”
He nodded to Enrique, and the two men backed out of the door. Then the wooden bar slammed back into place again.
Anthony Delaware sat in silence while Ron Pelley signed the receipt for delivery of the bearer bonds. The messenger from the investment house tore off a copy and gave it to him, nodded, and left as quietly as he’d come. Pelley ripped open the thick delivery envelope, slid the bonds out onto his desk, and counted them very carefully.
“Is it all there?” the agent asked.
Pelley nodded. “All in order. I had my investment banker sign them so there was a neutral signature.”
“Ten million dollars doesn’t make as big a stack as I thought it would.”
Pelley grimaced. “The kidnapper wanted the bonds in large denominations. Doesn’t take up so much room that way.” He looked up at Delaware. “I don’t suppose you’ve had any luck finding out who this is, have you?”
The agent swallowed a bitter taste in his mouth. “I wish. Whoever this is, he’s obviously done it before and often enough to know how to get around all our technological tricks. And no one on the street is giving anything up. Believe me, we’ve hit all our contacts.”
He’d had calls coming in all throughout the previous day and into the evening. Every agent had pulled in their snitches and pressed them for information. All with the same results. Nada.
“The problem,” his boss had told him when he called for some added muscle, “is there are so many kidnappings going on all the time it’s hard to sort out one from the other. Last year there were more than four hundred. That exceeds one a day.”
The news depressed Delaware even more. He’d also come to the realization that even if they knew something, people were too scared to talk.
“When they’re more afraid of someone else than the big, bad FBI,” Anthony said before ending his phone call, “you can be pretty damn sure we’re dealing with a cartel. They invented the word vicious.”
He realized Ron Pelley was saying something to him and jerked himself out of his mental wanderings.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I said,” Pelley repeated, irritation in every word, “that I don’t like the idea of just turning this ransom over without some kind of guarantee. You don’t even know where the bonds will be going.”
“We’re not that stupid, Mr. Pelley. We have a plan in place.”
He nodded to the tech who’d arrived back early that morning. The man stepped up next to the desk, took the stack of bonds, riffled through them, and pulled one partway out. From his pocket he took a thin plastic envelope and a pair of latex gloves. Snapping on the gloves, he removed a tiny, wafer-thin snippet of paper from the envelope and attached it to the underside of one corner of the bond he’d selected.
“What’s that?” Pelley asked.
“A brand-new type of GPS tracker. Developed especially for Homeland Security, but they’re letting us give it a test-drive. If they run any scanners over it, they won’t find anything because the frequency is so different.”
“And if they do?” Pelley demanded. “They could kill the hostages without a second thought.”
Delaware stared at him, expressionless. “We know what we’re doing, Mr. Pelley. You just do your thing, and we’ll do ours.”
They were still poring over the aerial shots dhad sent them when Mark’s cell phone chirped. He checked the caller ID and flipped it open.
“Okay, Andy. Go. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay, wait.” He pulled his laptop around, clicked on the email icon, and a multipage document opened up. “Okay. Got it. Thanks. And keep digging.”
Three pairs of eyes stared at him as he disconnected the call.
“Give,” Mike said.
“Andy’s got us a little more information on the three stooges.” They’d left the little printer hooked up in Mike and Kat’s suite, so all Mark had to do was click on the print icon and wait for the pages to spit out. He began handing them around as he pulled them out of the tray.
“Holy crap,” Mike said, scanning the first two pages in his hand. “Ryan Post seems to have gotten himself in a little over his head, expanding his spas. He’d already gone through most of his trust fund and tried some quick schemes to get it back.”
“He certainly had some . . . um . . . exotic ideas,” Kat commented, reading over Mike’s shoulder. “How does anyone go through a million dollars in that little time?”
“By having his brains in his ass instead of his head,” Mark snorted. “And trying to outdo his very much smarter brother-in-law.”
“So are you saying he borrowed from the wrong people?” Faith wanted to know.
“Looks like it,” Mark told her. “Unfortunately, Andy’s still trying to follow the money trail. The paper’s changed hands more times than a deck of cards. If it leads us back to Victor Herrera, we’ve got our answer.”
“Or,” Mike said, scanning the next couple of pages, “it could be Ron Pelley, whose personal net worth has taken a tumble with the economy. He’s been taking some high flyers in some pretty unorthodox ways to recoup his losses, and keeping things hidden from Eli Wright. He also has an ex-wife whom he pays hefty alimony to, who isn’t the kind to be sympathetic to his circumstances.”
“Let me see that.” Mark grabbed the sheet out of Faith’s hand. “Hmm. You know, someone like him—if he found himself under the hammer of the wrong people—could be ripe to approach for a stunt like this. He could even have been pressured to use one of Wright’s companies to move drugs into the country.”
“I don’t like the sound of that. Andy better dig deeper into this.” Mike was reading over his shoulder. “Uh-oh. Look here.” He pointed to part of the report. “This could be an indication he’s trying to fix the problem by diverting Wright International funds into private offshore accounts. A piece of the ransom would get him healthy again in a hurry.”
“And what’s behind door number three?” Kat asked. “The mysterious Rand Prescott?”
“Not so mysterious,” Mike answered, looking at the last batch of sheets from the printer. “Started as an oil wildcatter, then began shuffling and flipping oil leases, expanded into real estate development, and is now building in the Middle East and South America as well as the States.”
“How about Mexico?”
“Not that shows up. But his last two megaprojects were contracted in partnership with Wright. Andy’s chasing the details to see if there’s some monkey business there. On paper, Prescott looks fine, but words and numbers can easily be made to lie. If he’s in trouble, his share of the ransom could fix him up just fine and cover up anything funny he’s been doing with the partnership funds.”
“Well.” Kat leaned back in her chair and blew out a breath. “Before we weren’t sure if any of these men were involved. Now it seems we have no shortage of suspects. Just great.”
Just then the bell on the laptop dinged to announce an incoming email. Mark clicked on the icon to open it, and the latest message from the kidnappers rolled across the screen.
“They’ve made no arrangements to turn over the hostages,” Mike pointed out. “I can’t believe the FBI would go for that.”
“They’re working in a delicate political situation here,” Faith pointed out. “I think they’re just hoping a miracle will happen and the hostages will show up on their doorstep.”
“Idiots,” Mike spat. “This is worse than I thought. There’s no mention of an exchange or anything.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I just wish—”
“Wishing doesn’t cut it,” Mark said. “They’ll play games with the FBI as long as they can, just for kicks. You know it will be up to us to get them out, no matter what.
Mark looked at his watch. “Okay. I’m going to touch base with Andy again. We should be hearing from Ed anytime now. He said about eleven, and it’s almost noon.”
As if on cue, his cell phone rang, and he flipped it open. “Yeah? About time. What? Okay, okay. We’re on our way.”
“Something wrong?” Faith asked.
Mark shrugged. “I hope not. That was Ed. He’s at the airport, and he says he’s got a surprise for us.”
“A surprise?” Mike lifted his eyebrows. “It better be a damn good one under the circumstances.”
“Well, let’s get going and find out.”
They gathered everything up and were out the door in five minutes.
The email arrived promptly at ten o’clock Central Time in Ron Pelley’s office.
“They want me to go sit in front of the Alamo with ten million dollars worth of bearer bonds like they’re scrap paper and just wait for someone to come along?” Pelley was incredulous.
“I don’t like it much myself,” Delaware said. “But don’t worry—we’ll have agents all over the place. And don’t forget the little surprise buried in the box.”
“This says to be there at twelve thirty and someone will get the package from me. Why do they keep dragging this out?”
“I told you,” Delaware said. “Creates more tension. Makes you dance to their tune. I hate these bastards. They think they’ve got all the cards.”
“Yeah? Well, right now they do.” Pelley rubbed his face with his hands. “Shouldn’t I call the others? Let them know I got the money together? That things are moving along? The time for the pickup is in the email, right?”
“Yes. And if they ask you about the hostages, what are you going to tell them? Let’s just wait until we see what happens. We still don’t know if either of them is involved.”
“And what about the people from Phoenix? We haven’t heard from them, and that worries me. Doesn’t Katherine want to know what’s happening with her sister?”
Delaware slammed his fist onto the top of the desk. “I’m praying they keep their noses out of this and wait to hear from us, but my gut tells us they may be ten steps ahead of us on this.”
“Maybe if we’d kept them in the loop—” Pelley began.
“You don’t keep Phoenix in the loop,” Delaware spat. “You bring them in, and they take over. Katherine Culhane wants to know if we’re going to get her sister back, and I can’t contact her because the people she’s with are . . . are . . .”
“Dangerous?” A funny smile twisted Pelley’s lips.
“Let’s get moving on this,” Delaware said, shoving the bonds into the padded envelope Pelley would carry them in.
“Give me a minute,” Pelley said, heading for the men’s room.
“I think it would have been appropriate for Ron Pelley to touch base with us after this latest email,” Rand Prescott said to Agent Hopewell. “I’m shocked that he hasn’t.”
“I spoke to Special Agent Delaware,” the agent told him. “He’s trying to keep everything contained as much as possible. This whole ransom thing is going to be tricky enough as it is.”
“We were all contacted,” Prescott protested. “We should all be involved.”
“Bad idea,” Hopewell said. “That’s not what the kidnappers want. Right now they’re calling the shots.”
“And we’re doing nothing?” Prescott’s eyes shot up. “What the hell kind of way is that to manage this business?”
“It’s the best way we can under the circumstances. I will be in constant telephone contact with Agent Delaware.”
“I want to know exactly what is happening every minute,” Prescott insisted. “Eli Wright is a good business colleague, and he doesn’t deserve to have this happen.”
“No one does,” Hopewell said. “We just do the best we can.”
Prescott just shook his head, excused himself, and headed for the bathroom. Maybe he could wash away his secrets with a hot shower, and no one would ever have to know.
Ryan Post had drunk himself to sleep the night before, risen with the world’s most god-awful headache, and now was slugging down black coffee as fast as he could. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to go home the night before. Too many shadows in the vast condo that was much too large for him. Too many things he didn’t want to think about.
So he and the agent on the night shift had bunked down in the spa, the agent watching him as if he were a smear on a slide while he put away the booze. How could Mister Goody Two-Shoes possibly have any idea the kind of garbage he was going through? His big dream of the chain of spas. His overwhelming desire to show his sister and brother-in-law that he could beat them on the same playing field. The financial roller coaster he constantly rode. The things he’d had to do to try to stabilize himself.
Why had life decided to kick him in the head, anyway?
Filling his mug one more time, he stumbled toward the bathroom in his private suite. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said over his shoulder.
“Good idea, “Hopewell muttered.
“Nando, you have to let me talk to him,” Rip hissed into his cell phone. “I can’t keep hiding in the bathroom, and there’s something important he needs to know. Right this minute.”
“You are making me very unhappy with your demands,” Nando said, the anger in his voice vibrating across the connection.
“This is damn important, and I only have a minute. Put him on. And I mean it, or I’m calling the whole thing off. You can kill the damn hostages and take the fallout.”
“Oh? And then where will you be, mi amigo?”
“No place where you can find me, that’s for sure.”
There was a long silence, then Victor Herrera’s deep voice echoed in his ear.
“This better be as important as you say it is,” he said, his voice showing his irritation. “What couldn’t you tell Nando?”
“I wanted to make sure you knew this yourself.” He took in a breath to steady himself. “The FBI has an almost invisible GPS they put in with the bonds. Even if your courier hands off the package, they’ll still be able to track it.”
“Jesu Cristo.” The curse burst from his lips. “All right. We’ll need to teach them a lesson. Next time they won’t screw around with us.”
The call was disconnected. Rip stood in the bathroom, holding the cell phone, shaking uncontrollably.
Anthony Delaware had agents all around Alamo Plaza in the guise of tourists. He’d tried to pick the best vantage points, but the way the Plaza was arranged, with an interior road that swept past the landmark itself, it was difficult to predict how Pelley would be approached. If they were lucky, the contact would make the connection right in front of the Alamo, in the area where cars were forbidden, giving them all time to get into position to follow.
Pelley was being a real pain in the ass. He hadn’t wanted the tracker in the bonds, then he’d wanted something more reliable. First he’d wanted someone sitting with him, then he’d wanted them all to go away.
His nerves were so obviously shot Delaware wasn’t even sure they’d be able to get him through the handoff. Well, they’d just have to do the best they could.
So now Pelley sat on the low stone wall, facing the old mission, clutching the padded envelope to his chest, and looking more suspicious than any kidnapper could appear.
“We’re almost to handoff,” Delaware said into the throat mike concealed beneath his shirt. “Everyone set?”
The agents all checked in. He had people on foot and people in cars, so they were covered no matter what. And everyone had been warned to follow at a good distance so the messenger wasn’t spooked.
His eyes never stopped moving, watching the cars that pulled into vacant parking spaces or slowed to a crawl going by. The people walking close to Pelley, only to then move away.
When it happened, it took them all by surprise. A motorcycle whipped into the circle from Alamo Plaza and came to a rolling stop in front of Pelley. The rider grabbed the envelope, then revved his engine and sped away. Pelley stood up, shouting, “Wait, wait,” and looked around wildly.
“Someone get the hell on this,” Delaware said into his mike. “Now.”
Two vehicles pulled out into the street, following the route the motorcycle had taken.
“I’ve got him on the tracker,” one the agents reported. “Following well behind.”
“What the hell happened?” Pelley demanded, stalking over to Delaware. “That guy just showed up out of nowhere.”
“We’ve got it under control,” Delaware assured him, although he wished he felt more confident about it.
“Yeah? Well, you better hope you do and that nothing happens to the Wrights or Mari Culhane.”
Delaware let out a tired sigh. “Let’s go back to your office and wait for the next email. The one this morning said as soon as he had the bonds you’d be notified where to find them.”
“But you’re supposed to be finding them first, right?” Pelley argued? “What if your people lose that guy? What if the kidnapper decides not to release them? Have you even figured out which cartel is responsible for this?”
“The office,” Delaware repeated. “We’ll talk there.”
Deep down, he had a really bad feeling about this whole thing that he didn’t want to acknowledge.
Kat did her best to keep herself calm on the drive to the airport, even though her stomach was tied in knots and her heart had kicked over into an erratic rhythm. She was so terrified for her sister and the Wrights. What if she and Mike hadn’t run into each other at the airport? What if she’d refused his invitation to lunch? What if . . .
Enough. Think about what’s going to happen next.
She just prayed that by the time they pinpointed the exact location where the hostages were being held and got there to rescue them, they’d still be in time.
Mike sat in the back seat of the SUV with her, his arm around her shoulders, holding her close to him as if infusing her with his strength. She leaned against him, grateful for his warmth and his affection. At the moment, it was the only thing holding her together.
Mark turned onto the side road leading to the airport and drove through the gate, heading toward the small terminal and looking for the Phoenix helicopter. Mike had told Kat it was a good-size Bell Ranger that they’d used when they rescued Mark, so she knew when the time came it should be sufficient for what they needed to do.
Suddenly Mark slammed on the brakes. “What the hell?”
Mike sat up and leaned over the back of the front seat. “What’s the matter? What . . . Holy shit!”
“Oh my God, he did it,” Faith said, her voice touched with awe.
“What?” Kat asked. “What is it?”
Mark moved the vehicle forward again, then stopped and turned off the engine. When Kat opened the door and hopped out, her eyes widened at the sight of a grinning man leaning against the shiniest, biggest black helicopter she’d ever seen. Not that she’d seen that many, though she’d ridden in a couple and seen some at air shows. But certainly nothing like this.
The sun gleamed on the black paint, and the rotors looked poised to cut into the air at mach speed. This looked like a machine built for war.
“What did you do, man?” Mike asked, striding forward.
“It’s a Black Hawk,” Mark told her, a touch of awe in his voice.
Kat knew the other man had to be Ed Romeo. He and Mike looked too much alike not to be related.
“Made a phone call after we hung up,” Ed told them, “caught a ride out with a friend, and made a stop in El Cajon to pick up our newest toy.”
Mark nodded. “We have a couple of things coming up that we really decided would be handled better with one of these babies.” He ran his hand reverently over the outside.
“What does that insignia mean?” Kat asked, pointing to a circle with the letters NODT in the center.
Mike laughed. “One of Ed’s little jokes. He was sick and tired of all the alphabet agencies, so this stands for Not One Damn Thing.”
As tense as she was, Kat still couldn’t help chuckling.
“Anyway,” Ed went on, “they said it was ready, so we picked it up.”
“We?” Mike’s eyebrows rose quizzically.
“Yeah, got another surprise.” He rapped on the side of the ’copter, the big door slid open, and three men jumped down to the ground.
“Holy shit!” Mike just stared at them, then turned to Kat. “Kitten, meet our senior partner and the brains behind Phoenix, Dan Romeo. Next to him is Troy Arsenault, and the other lug is Rick Latrobe, who I thought was still on his honeymoon.”
Rick laughed. “Kelly’s busy setting up the new kennels so she can start her new training session, and she politely told me I might just be in the way.” He looked at Kat. “She trains dogs for corporate security.”
“I got back yesterday from that other . . . trip,” Troy said, “and Dan and I decided we didn’t want to miss all the fun.”
“You didn’t think we would let you have all the fun, did you?” Dan asked.
They’d come for her, Kat knew, because of Mike. These men had just dropped everything to help her out. Her throat tightened with tears that wanted to break loose, and she had to work to croak out a, “Thank you.”
“No thanks necessary,” Dan said. “Let’s just get going here.”
Mike was already jogging to where their plane was parked, while Ed went into the terminal to make arrangements to move the helicopter into a hangar. They had no intention of leaving it out on the tarmac for any longer than absolutely necessary.
“I checked the weather and filed a flight plan,” he told everyone when he came back outside.
Mike was moving the Gulfstream out of the hangar and taxiing over to where everyone stood. When he got there, he cut the engines and climbed down.
“Did you talk to Andy?” he asked Dan, when he came back out.
“Yes. And he emailed me everything he sent to you. Let’s get airborne, and we’ll take it from there.”
“Are we all set inside?” Mark wanted to know.
His partner nodded. “I told them we’d be doing some sightseeing over the Pacific and maybe down along the Baja coast. Mike said there’s a lot of traffic in that area and we can lose ourselves.”
“Let’s hope so.” He turned to the others. “Climb in, everyone.”
While Mike and Ed did their preflight check, everyone else climbed up into the cabin of the plane. Then the two pilots took their places in the cockpit, and Mark pulled the door closed.
Troy opened one of two hard plastic cases he’d carried off the helicopter with him and took out a small video camera, which he handed to Mark. “I’ll be taking stills while you handle this.” From another case he took three pairs of binoculars, which he passed out to the women and Dan.
“Here’s the drill,” Dan said. “Two of us on one side of the plane, the rest on the other. Those of you with the binoculars look for anything we might need pictures of. Anything that fits with what you saw in your viewing, Kat. Even if you’re not sure, we’ll get a shot of it. Then we’ll piece everything together when we get back to the hotel.”
Kat shifted to look at him. “I told Mike and the Hallorans if we can get a tighter fix on what we’re looking for, I can do another remote viewing session and probably get you a really clear picture of the setup. Guards, even, and things like that.”
“Good.” He reached out to tap Mike on the shoulder. “All set?”
“Ready to go.”
The whine of the engines filled the cabin, then they were moving forward, taxiing to the runway, and with a rush and a thrust of the engines, they lifted off the ground.
Please, please, please, Kat prayed silently, gripping her binoculars. Please let us find them in time.
Javier Santiago, the mechanic at the airport, finished the chore he was completing, wiped his hands carefully on a rag he pulled from his pocket, and walked to a far corner of the tarmac. Pretending to examine something on a plane at a distant tie-down, he looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to him, pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, and pushed a speed-dial number.
“It is me,” he told the person who answered. “I have some information.”
“What kind?” Nando asked at the other end of the connection.
The mechanic had gotten this job through the influence of Victor Herrera in exchange for keeping his eyes and ears open. Over the past few years, he had fed the cartel leader bits and pieces of information, justifying his situation. But today he was sure he had something that would earn him recognition with the man.
“You will tell El Jefe that I was the one who called with this?” the man asked anxiously. “I want him to know it was me.”
“Just tell me what you have,” Nando snapped. “For all I know it may be completely useless. Some of the things you have told me turned out to be nothing.”
“But not this time,” Javier protested. “A big plane landed here yesterday. Gulfstream.”
“So what? Plenty of them land at your airport. They mean nothing to us.”
“But these people spoke to the pilots of the plane you told me to hide in a hangar,” he went on, his hand clutching the cell tighter. “To have someone call the manager and pretend to be one of those pilots.”
There was a long moment of silence, before Nando spoke again. “What about them?”
“I overheard them ask the pilots a lot of questions when they finally showed up. They are here about the people who . . . are visiting you.”
“And?” Nando prodded impatiently. “You called me about them yesterday. One would suspect others to be looking for them.”
“Today another group of men arrived to meet with them. These people came in a brand-new Black Hawk.”
Javier could hear Nando cursing fluently.
“Do you know who they are?”
“I finally got a chance to check on the computer when the manager was out of the terminal. They are owned by a company called the Phoenix Agency.”
The cursing became louder and more violent.
“These people are a curse,” Nando spat. “They mean nothing good for us. I would rather deal with the government.”
“So this is important?” Javier asked, still anxious that his contribution be recognized.
“Important in a bad way,” Nando told him. “Along with the other news he received today, El Jefe will be in a rage. We will have to do some maneuvering. All right. You have done well. I must let El Jefe know about this new turn of events immediately. Son of a bitch.”
The mechanic stood there, holding a dead phone, hoping somewhere in all this was a reward for him.
The hostages were sitting on the floor, backs against the wall, trying to make themselves as comfortable as possible. Through the high, narrow slit of a window they could see the sun had risen to its zenith, and the heat in the small hut was again growing to an almost unbearable level. Mari thought if they did manage to get out of this, she might take a trip to Alaska where she could wrap the cold around herself for a week or so.
Her clothes, like everyone else’s, were sticky with sweat, and they were all beginning to smell a little ripe. And despite everyone’s brave protestations, the sweat came as much from fear about their situation as anything else. If only she was a telepath, like some of Kat’s friends, she could be sending messages out to tell people where they were.
Katherine’s friends will find us. I have to hang on to that.
The swelling on Eli’s nose had finally gone down a little, and he looked as if it wasn’t throbbing quite as much. But she could see he still had difficulty breathing. Mari’s head no longer felt as if a jackhammer were trying to drive its way through it, but in its wake she was left with a dull ache that kept her on the edge of nausea.
Mari could see that Lissa was finally beginning to fray at the ages. She was surprised that the young girl had lasted as long as she had, showing a level of courage many young people didn’t have.
“What’s that?” Lissa asked, as the sound of an engine straining stopped outside the door. Everyone jumped when the door slammed open with its usual ferocious sound, and Mari wondered what was happening now. They had already had what she supposed was the noon meal of water and the dreaded tortillas, so why was Pedro standing in front of them with a vicious scowl on his face?
As he’d done before, Eli pushed Lissa in back of him. Sydney stood on one side of him, and Mari moved to the other. Pedro and Enrique looked beyond unhappy. The pointed their rifles at the group.
“We are leaving here,” he told them.
For a minute no one said anything.
Mari wet her dry, cracked lips. “Leaving? Where are you taking us?”
“Shut up,” Enrique growled. He swung his rifle from side to side. “Move. Stand far apart from each other.”
“Wait a minute,” Eli began.
Sydney touched his arm. “Please. Let’s just do what they say. We’ll get through this. We will.”
“Your wife is a smart woman,” Pedro chuckled. Then the smile fell away. “Now move.”
As soon as they were lined up the way he ordered, two more men came into the room, also wearing khaki shirts and pants and the same heavy boots. They carried lengths of rope with them and quickly bound everyone’s hands behind their backs. Then they hobbled everyone’s ankles, leaving only enough play in the rope to allow them to walk in a jerky fashion. One of them took a picture of them, standing there bound and incapacitated, and Mari wondered whether they were going to take them out somewhere and shoot them.
But then the men manhandled them out of the hut, and she bit down on her lips hard to keep from asking any questions as they shoved them toward the black panel truck that had brought them there. They were roughly tossed inside the empty cargo area, doors slammed, and in a moment the van began moving down a bumpy road. Mari wondered whether she would ever see her sister again.