How the hell did everything go to shit so quickly?

I’m trembling. Mostly with rage, but also a little bit of fear. Not for myself. It’s Kim that I’m worried about.

My black leather boots are still dripping. I can’t tell whether it’s river water, or just runoff from the deluge of raindrops pounding down on my shoulders. They’re huge, fat, pregnant droplets. Each one feels like a punch when it lands against my body. Each one is a reminder that I’m out here, seething mad but utterly impotent, while Kim?

Kim’s in her own special corner of hell.

The worst of it is, the truth: I don’t know how I’m going to get her out. I don’t know where she is, or where they might be taking her. I’m flying blind.

A huge, cold droplet of water runs down the back of my neck. It might as well be a horrified shiver. For all I know, Kim is already dead. I didn’t hear the crack of a weapon firing, but that means nothing. The Muerta Brigade isn’t known for their willingness to turn the other cheek. Nor are their bosses back home in Mexico.

No, there’s one thing that will always make the cartel take a stand. It’s not respect, or pride, or any of that crap the TV tries to tell you. It’s theft. The Templars like to make an example out of people who try to steal from them. If they think that Kim’s the thief – and they clearly do – then it’s only a matter of time.

Also, the Muerta Brigade killers are sick. Even their name means death, but they don’t just kill. They put on a show. Kim will die slowly, and when her broken body can’t take it anymore, her killers will look to make a statement.

I look down the river. I run my hand through my soaking hair, and I can’t tell whether my eyes are blinded by the rain forced out of it, or tears. I can see Waterloo Bridge in the distance. I don’t just see the bridge. I see a ghost: an apparition; Kim’s body, dangling from a rope.

“I won’t let that happen,” I

I growl. It’s a promise to no one, and no one can hear. The sound of the rain beating down like the booming of the drum wipes out the rest of the world. But I mean it.

Wherever Kim is, and to whoever’s holding her, I make a vow to her.

“I’m going to find you, Kim,” I whisper. I don’t know why I’m speaking; perhaps it feels more real said out loud. “I’m going to find you if I have to die trying.”

If, for some reason, you’re already dead, then I won’t rest until I’ve avenged you. I keep that thought in the quiet of my own head. I’m not a superstitious man. But with Kim’s life on the line, I’m not risking anything.

My phone chirps.

I pull it out of a pocket attached with velcro to the front of my black combat vest. My fingers are numb with cold from the rain, but that’s not why I fumble turning the screen on. I know that there’s no way Kim’s on the other end…

But I can’t help hoping.

The second I wipe the water from my eyes, my heart stops beating in my chest.

It’s a message from a ghost.

A notification blinks on the home screen. One new email, it reads, from Kimberly Sawyers. I don’t hesitate before tapping it. I know that it’s probably nothing – just a calendar reminder, or something equally useless.

I know that I’m just building myself up for a fall. I shouldn’t cling on to hope. It’ll only make it harder when I’m dashed against the rocks.

The screen freezes, and no matter how hard I try to shield it from the rain, water droplets splash onto the glass surface.

“What the hell?”

It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. The message is completely empty – except for one thing.

A website address.

Really, it’s just a meaningless string of letters and numbers. If I had received it at any other time on any other day, I’d have deleted it without a second thought. But it’s not any other time, and it’s not any other day. Kim’s in the hands of killers from the cartel, and this might be my only lead.

I need a computer. All of a sudden, nothing’s changed – but everything has.

I have a goal, something to work towards. I’m not just casting around in the darkness anymore, even if no one turned on a light. All I know is that standing in the rain and moping won’t save Kim’s life. Action might.

My feet start moving on their own accord. It’s like they’ve got a mind of their own. Within thirty seconds, I’m on the Strand. One of the busiest streets in all of London, it’s an explosion of noise, light and color compared with the dark wetness of the river.

Businessmen and women swarm all around me, trudging through the rain, huddled underneath umbrellas. I guess they’re too tired, it’s too wet, or it’s simply too dark to notice that I’m wearing all-black combat fatigues. Maybe I look like a policeman, I can’t tell.

I pick up my pace. My eyes scan right and left, looking for an entrance. I head deeper into the city and away from the river, moving towards offices and apartments, and away from the shops, life and bustle all around me.

I take a left onto Henrietta Street. It’s perfect, almost empty, with rows of old Georgian houses converted into offices.

“Come on…” I whisper. I’m barely moving now. My eyes dance from side to side, looking for a way in to one – just one.

I see a chink of light. I hear a rustle of conversation. The door to number seven opens, just a fraction, and I head towards it. My boots splash in the rain and in the puddles.

Two businessmen step out into the rain, laughing over some shared joke. I don’t know what the hell they are laughing out. They need to get the hell out of my way before I knock them out and push their unconscious bodies back inside to cover my tracks.

The first of the two men draws up an umbrella to its full size, and they step out into the darkness. I leave it as long as I can, and I dart for the door. I catch it with an inch to spare.

I sidle inside, eyes roaming to check for hidden CCTV. There is none. The hallway is quiet, and the lights dimmed. I wonder if everyone’s gone home for the night.

There’s an umbrella stand on my right, and a coat rack high on the wall to my left. I grab a long, dark overcoat, and shrug it on to hide my military attire. The shoulders have the slightest covering of dust. I figure it’s been hanging there long enough that it won’t be missed.

I keep my head down as I walk into the quiet office. There is a staircase dead ahead, and a reception room to my right. I hear a voice.

“Janice!”

I freeze, and press myself against the wall.

“Janice, I’m off, you hear? I’ve got to pick up me little boy, else he’ll be wondering where I am.”

There’s no reply. I creep forward. The voice came from a woman with frizzy blonde hair. She’s behind the reception desk, bending down and rummaging for something. I take a chance, and dart across the open doorway for the staircase.

“Jan – that you?” The blonde says. I must have made a sound. I creep up the stairs, keeping my feet close to the wall to avoid making a giveaway creaking sound.

I hear the blonde woman muttering, but I can’t make out the words. It doesn’t matter. As long as I don’t stumble into Jan, wherever and whoever she is, then I’m happy.

By the time I make it to the landing, my chest is heaving from the effort of keeping quiet. Three white-painted wooden doors with chrome doorknobs lie in front of me. I press my ear against the first, but I hear murmuring from inside.

The last thing I need is to startle a bunch of office workers burning the midnight oil. I keep going.

I try the second door. It’s locked.

“Crap,” I mutter. I don’t have time for this. “Third time lucky?” I whisper under my breath.

I twist the door handle. It catches, and then opens. I close my eyes tight, hoping beyond all hell that there’s no one inside. For once, today, I get lucky. It’s empty. And best of all, the office is filled with blinking computers.

I shake the mouse of the first, and the desktop springs to life. No password. Perfect.

I hurriedly type in the nonsensical string of letters and numbers from Kim’s email. Part of me still wonders whether this is all going to amount to nothing. It could so easily be spam. But I can’t let myself believe that.

I tap enter and the computer hangs for a second, and then gurgles as it loads the page. The browser window goes black. There’s only a tiny space of white left, and it fills me with dread.

It’s a cursor, blinking.

It’s titled: Password.

I sink back into a wheeled office chair. “Oh, Kim,” I groan. “What the hell is this?”

What the hell have I got you into?

I try to think, but the only thing popping into my mind is Kim’s face. I don’t understand what’s going on. Is this a message from her kidnappers? If so, what on earth is it supposed to mean? All I have right now is a list of questions, but no answers.

The one thing I sure as hell don’t have is any idea what the password is. There’s a space for maybe four letters or numbers, but that’s all I’ve got to work with.

“Come on Kim,” I say, massaging my temples, “what would you have picked?” But more importantly: what would I know?

I take a chance. I type N – A – T – E into the little box, and tap the enter key.

Two attempts remaining.

I try Kim’s birthday.

One attempt remaining.

I slump back into the chair and think. If Kim sent this to me, then it stands to reason she would have created a password I could guess. Otherwise, what would be the point?

Of course, I think, this could all just be a red herring.

Even as I think it, I realize I don’t believe it. The email, this website – it’s all too convenient. It’s an enigma, just like Kim herself. It’s got her fingerprints all over it.

“Kiss,” I groan, “what would you –?”

I pause. I feel like a thunderbolt just split the sky apart and came crashing down into my skull. Surely it can’t be that simple? But it fits.

My fingertips hold over the keyboard. I almost don’t want to type the four letters, just in case I’m wrong. I push past the resistance.

K – I – S – S.

Enter.

The computer gurgles yet again. I close my eyes, fearing the worst. I expect to hear a chime, maybe even for the computer to go dead. But I’m wrong. I’ve never been happier to be wrong.

The screen goes white and starts to fill with information at lightning speed. My eyes flicker as they try to read, but they can’t keep up.

“What the hell is this?” I mutter, stumped. This is way above my pay grade. The filenames are all similar – like LOG20161010BORIS-PC-MONITORING.ZIP, but there must be hundreds of them. At the bottom of the screen, there’s a green icon.

It reads: monitoring program active.

“No way,” I breathe. Suddenly it all becomes clear. All this time, I thought I was the one watching Kim. It turns out that she had her own horse in the race: a backup; a get out of jail free card.

I’ve just got to figure out how to use it.

Crap.

It doesn’t matter how long I take to mull the question over in my head – every time I reach the same conclusion. There’s no way I can analyze all this information alone.

I need help, and I only know one person who can give it to me. Even though she’s the last person I want to call. I reach for my phone.

When Natalie picks up, my handler doesn’t give me a second to speak. “Nate,” she bites out, “where the hell are you? You better tell me what the hell is going –.”

I cut across her. “No, Natalie,” I say firmly. “Here is how this is going to go. I can give you what you want. I have everything Paragon wants on the cartel – names, bank records, transaction histories, everything –.”

“How –.”

“I can explain later. Now, I need your help.”

There’s a long silence on the line. I let Natalie think. I don’t second-guess my decision to go in all guns blazing. My handler is a hard woman. She respects strength; she wouldn’t have it any other way. I think.

“Nate,” Natalie says with a voice that could cut diamond, “have you forgotten who cuts your paycheck? Whatever you have, I want it. You hand it over; maybe I will forget this conversation ever happened.”

A surge of rage washes through me. It’s like a wave, seething white-hot at the top. I bite it back. This isn’t a time for ego.

“Consider this my notice, Natalie,” I say my voice even. “But I’ll offer you a deal. I’ll give you the Templars, all wrapped up on a goddamn silver platter. I’ve got every last scrap of data you could dream of. I just need your analysis monkey to turn it into something I can use: a location.”

There’s another long pause before Natalie speaks. When she does, I can tell that she’s fighting against every fiber of her being. “What do you want in return?”

“Kim,” I reply honestly. There’s no sense in hiding it now. “plus the promise that if I do this, I’m out, and so is she. No repercussions, no death squads hunting us down in six months’ time. Do we have a deal?”

I hold my breath. Kim’s life rests on Natalie’s answer. She makes me wait for it.