Authors: Michelle Gagnon
“So you’re leaving me behind for selfish reasons, then.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Jake moved past her and dropped onto the couch, exhausted. He’d been prepared for the fact that Kelly wasn’t going to take the news of his trip well. But the last thing he’d expected was that she’d ask to come along. “I mean, Jesus, Kelly. My brother is missing, and now I’ve got to fight with you?”
Her eyes softened. He held out his arms and she went to him, obviously trying to mask her limp. Kelly dropped into his lap and rested her head against his shoulder. “I feel so useless,” she said.
“You’re not useless.”
“I am. At least, everyone treats me like I am. I’m so sick of people feeling sorry for me, giving me that look.”
“Putting yourself in danger isn’t going to change that,” Jake said.
She stiffened. “You used to say that if you could have anyone watching your back, it would be me.”
“Yeah, I know.” Jake shifted. “But…”
“But what?” Kelly said. “Now that I’m a cripple, you don’t feel that way anymore?”
“You’re not a cripple.”
“As long as everyone else insists on treating me like one, that’s exactly what I am.”
She took his hands in hers and rubbed them, even though hers were the ones that felt cold. “I need this, Jake. Let me prove I can still do this.”
There was an intensity to her gaze that Jake hadn’t seen in a long time. He thought it over. If he said no, the way things were going it would be the death knell for their relationship. Plus if Kelly was this determined, she might follow them anyway. At least he’d be able to keep tabs on her if she was part of the unit.
“We leave in twenty minutes,” he said. “Pack light.”
Kelly’s face split in a grin. He hadn’t seen her this happy since before the bombing, Jake realized with a pang.
“You mean it?”
“Nineteen minutes and counting.”
Kelly popped off his lap and loped toward their bedroom. Jake winced internally at the thought of how Syd would react to this development. “Damn it, Mark,” he muttered under his breath. “Still nothing but trouble.”
“Anything?”
“Not yet, Mr. Smiley. But they cleared another sector.”
Linus Smiley sed derisively and waved the assistant out. It had been four days since his team was snatched. He was having a hell of a time keeping the latest fiasco from the board of directors. The loss of an entire unit in addition to Calderon would send them into crisis mode, and that was the last thing he needed. Especially now. He had to hold them off for a few more days, long enough for the new team to clean up this mess…not that they’d made any progress so far. He’d sent in a double unit of men, the best of who he had left, and all they’d managed to do was figure out where the captives weren’t.
As it was, there had been too many delays. The board had insisted on waiting nearly six weeks before sending a team after Cesar, convinced that at some point the kidnappers would contact them with a ransom demand. But so far, nothing—and by the time he’d managed to mobilize a team, the trail had gone cold. They’d been fortunate to get that tip about the Zeta apartment—or at least, that’s what he’d thought at the time. Clearly someone had been setting them up. The question was, why? Cesar Calderon was worth a substantial amount, and not just in monetary terms. Smiley had lain awake the past few nights trying to figure out the end game here.
He sighed and dropped down in the chair behind his desk, tapping his fingers in a steady cadence. After a moment, he pressed a button on his phone. “Emerson, get back here.”
Emerson scuttled in, looking harried. “Yes, Mr. Smiley?”
“Who do we know high up in Mexican military command?”
Emerson shrugged. “I’m not sure, sir. Mr. Calderon always dealt with those contacts directly.”
“But you’ve worked with him for years, right?” Smiley emphasized each syllable.
“Yes, sir.” Emerson was visibly uncomfortable.
“So unless you’re completely incompetent, you should be able to find those names in his files.”
“That depends, sir.”
“On what?”
“On how high up you want to go. Mr. Calderon kept most of the top tier names somewhere else.”
“Where?”
Emerson shrugged in reply. Smiley fought the urge to hurl a paperweight at him. With Calderon gone, he’d had to step in and fill the vacuum. What he’d consequently discovered was that the layers of separation instituted by Cesar had prevented anyone from realizing how scatter-shot and disorganized the company really was. While each individual quadrant performed well, if one manager was removed the whole house of cards collapsed. Which was happening now, unless Smiley could figure out a way to shore the damn thing up. Typical of Cesar to keep his top contacts in his pocket. He always wanted to play hero.
“Get me whoever you can,” Smiley snarled. “Someone has to be running those Zeta assholes. I want to find out who.”
JANUARY 30
Five
“This is bullshit. You should have cleared it with me.”
“The way you clear everything with me first?” Jake grabbed his duffel bag off the carousel. He’d managed to avoid her until now, but with Kelly in the bathroom and their men staggered around the room waiting for luggage, Syd had cornered him for a dressing down.
“This isn’t a goddamn holiday, Riley, it’s a mission.”
“It’s my brother we’re going after,” Jake retorted. “And I thought we could use another set of arms.”
“Another set of legs would help, too,” Syd said under her breath.
“What?” Jake said sharply.
“She’s just going to slow us down,” Syd said. “And if she does, I don’t have any problem leaving her.”
“For the record, I didn’t want you coming along, either,” Jake said.
“Now I’m sorry I did.”
Kelly reappeared over Syd’s shoulder, and Jake forced a smile. She looked past him. “Oh, there’s my bag.”
Her limp was more pronounced after the long overnight flight, and she moved clumsily toward her duffel. Jake went to help her, but she stopped him with a sharp look.
“So, Kelly.” Syd watched her struggle. “All better?”
Kelly set her jaw. “Absolutely.”
“Jake probably told you what we’re in for.”
“I’ve been briefed,” Kelly said.
She tried to push past, but Syd blocked her. “Just so you know, things are different down here. We won’t be following any rulebook.”
“Happy to hear it,” Kelly said.
“Yeah?” Syd raised an eyebrow. “I doubt you’ll feel that way when we’ve got a hostile tied to a chair.”
“Quit it, Syd,” Jake said, stepping forward.
She opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the approach of Michael Maltz, flanked by Jagerson, Fribush and Kane.
“We ready?” Maltz asked, eyeing the three of them.
“Yes,” Jake said. “Let’s pull out.”
Kelly brooded in the rear of the rental car. She had known going into this that Syd would be less than thrilled to have her along. The two women had managed to avoid being in the same room for more than five minutes ever since The Longhorn Group was formed. Kelly hadn’t trusted her from the beginning. Syd Clement embodied the complete lack of moral standards that Kelly associated with CIA agents. Success at any cost. The end justified the means. Never in a million years would Kelly have started a company with someone whose world view was defined by “us versus them.” She’d told Jake as much, but he’d gone ahead and established the partnership anyway.
Syd would go out of her way to make her life difficult on this mission. On top of everything else, she still had an ax to grind with Kelly for forcing her off a case. Not that she’d actually managed to—Syd had gone ahead and done what she wanted anyway, consequences be damned. And because of her actions, a lot of people in Phoenix had lost their lives. More than once in the past few months, Kelly had toyed with the idea of turning her in for that. She’d only kept her mouth shut for Jake’s sake.
They’d opted for two cars, ostensibly to have more options if something happened to one. Kelly suspected it was also meant to keep her and Syd separated as much as possible. Jagerson was driving. He was small for a former Delta guy, but sported the same sheared head, thickly muscled arms and boxy jaw as his compatriots. Jake sat in the passenger seat beside him. As if sensing her gaze, he turned and gave her a thin smile.
Kelly shifted her eyes away and pretended to fiddle with her phone. Under her lashes she took in Michael Maltz. Funny that Syd had been so opposed to her joining the team, yet had insisted on Maltz. He’d nearly been killed in the Phoenix incident, and still looked much the worse for wear. A mottled mass of burnt flesh ran across the left side of his face into his scalp. He’d lost the hearing in the ear on that side, and was missing a finger off his right hand. According to Jake, the rest of his body was largely held together by titanium pins. Kelly couldn’t believe that after all that, he was still willing to work with Syd. Hell, she couldn’t believe he wanted to keep doing this sort of work at all. Of course, under the circumstances she was hardly one to talk.
Kane, Fribush and Syd were in the other car. They’d offered to gather the equipment and meet them back at the motel. Kelly wondered for a moment what kind of equipment they were getting, and where it was coming from—then decided that if she ever wanted to go back to the Bureau, she was better off not knowing.
When Jake showed up yesterday he’d nearly caught her digging through a stack of case files her former partner had swiped for her. Just being in possession of those without formal permission could cost her job, but Kelly was going nuts sitting at home without anything to do. She figured if she could spot something that had been missed, she’d be forgiven for not filing the proper paperwork. And with any luck, that might help get her cleared for active duty again.
So far the search had been unproductive. All she’d ended up with was a mass of paper cuts and the conviction that sometimes the follow-up from her people had been less than thorough. For instance, a case she’d been involved with a few years earlier had been marked as Closed, even though the killer’s body never turned up. She’d argued for more resources, but her boss at the time was more interested in filing one in the “win” column. Stefan Gundarsson had last been seen falling into a river, bleeding from a gunshot wound, and that was good enough for him. Kelly remained skeptical. Sometimes people who had been shot in the head continued walking around as if nothing had happened. She’d have felt better about it if a body had turned up.
One victim’s family apparently agreed. They’d hired a P.I. investigate further. Last year while Kelly was in a coma, the investigator had contacted the FBI. He claimed to have stumbled across irrefutable evidence that Gundarsson was alive and well in Mexico. But the FBI refused to reopen the case without more proof. Reading through the file last night, Kelly couldn’t help but think that if she’d been on active duty when the tip came in, the results might have been different. And then Jake walked in and announced that he was headed to Mexico on the next flight. It had seemed like fate.
A horn blared, jerking her back to the present. Despite the predawn hour, they were trapped in a bleating, smoggy mass of cars in various stages of dilapidation. Vendors edged through the gridlock selling candy bars, key chains, cigarettes and a host of other random items, from gum to razors. A guy in a ratty T-shirt materialized and rubbed filthy rags across their windshield, ignoring blasts from the car horn to get him to stop. As Jagerson guided them forward in fits and starts, Kelly was suddenly overwhelmed by the noise and strangeness of her surroundings. A vise clamped around her chest, and she struggled to breathe.
Not now, she thought, gritting her teeth. She pulled her backpack onto her lap and dug through it for her pills. When she couldn’t find them Kelly experienced a moment of panic so intense she nearly passed out, terrified that she’d forgotten them in the mad rush to get ready. Then her fingers closed on the smoothness of the bottle and she exhaled hard. She palmed a pill and slipped it in her mouth. Glancing up, she discovered Maltz watching her. Wordlessly he handed her an unopened water bottle. She nodded her thanks and took a swig. Kelly tried to hand it back, but he waved it away.
“Keep it,” he said in a raspy voice.
“You okay?” Jake shifted in his seat again, voice laden with concern. He knew that she had these attacks, although she’d never let on how frequently.
“I’m fine,” Kelly replied. “How much farther?”
“Next block,” Jagerson answered.
“Good thing,” Maltz said without looking at her. “This traffic is killing me.”
It happened sooner than Mark expected. He awoke to the door being thrown open by a Zeta brandishing an LMT. Had to be close to dawn; despite the fact it was still dark outside he felt well rested. And after years of early-morning drills, Mark’s internal clock always jarred him awake at 0500 hours.
The guard jabbered at them in Spanish.
“What now?” Sock grumbled from the cot.
“He wants us to get dressed. They’re moving us again,” Flores translated, casting a sidelong glance at Mark.
Mark nodded, his pulse quickening. It was time.
In two minutes they were all awake and seated side by side on the cot.
Another Zeta came in with the hoods and pulled them over their heads while his partner covered them. Mark waited his turn, staring down at the floor as directed, praying they would leave their hands zip tied in front rather than changing them to the back.
Time must have been pressing, because as soon as Mark’s head was covered, hands pushed him out the door. He and the others were jostled along a hall and down a flight of stairs. A temperature shift, cool air raising the hair on his arms as they were propelled into the night. Same drill as before, they were shoved into a waiting van. The door slid closed, then a screech as they pulled away from the curb.
Mark strained his ears. It was critical to determine how many Zetas were in the van with them. The last time he was pretty sure there had been three. He hadn’t heard anyone else fall in line with them, but there hadn’t been a delay so a driver was probably already at the wheel. They’d planned for three, including sack boy and the gunman. Any more and their plan would probably fail.