by G. K. Parks
An hour later, headlights bounced off the cobblestone driveway, and Mercer sat up straight. He didn’t have a plan. Normally, a demand was issued, and the abductor’s identity was determined. This time, things were moving in reverse, and Julian didn’t care for it. Frankly, he didn’t care for Logan Porter or Trila International either, but having an affinity for the client wasn’t a necessity. The black limousine turned onto the main road and passed Mercer’s parked vehicle without slowing. The only thing Julian could do was memorize the license plate number. Following the limo would tip his hand and possibly endanger Sarina, and neither of those things was acceptable.
Briefly, Mercer considered returning to Porter’s estate, but after their earlier encounter, it would likely force Logan to clam up. And if Logan tightened his mouth any more, they’d have to get a crowbar to pry the man’s lips apart. Why wouldn’t Logan assist the K & R specialists to the best of his ability? Only two possibilities came to mind; the kidnappers threatened to kill Sarina, or Logan was in on it. Already, this abduction was functioning beyond the typical scope. Normally, that meant it wasn’t about fulfilling demands but gaining access to someone or something. In those instances, the end game was usually bloody. Situations like that rarely ended well.
“Goddamn,” Mercer swore, heading back to the safe house.
Five
“Jules,” Bastian said, rubbing a hand over his face, “I’ve teased every digital crumb out of the thumb drive, but she’s not saying much.”
“Sarina?” Mercer asked. He had fallen asleep after his research resulted in nothing but uselessness. A quick glance at the grey-blue sky assured him it was early morning, and he hadn’t missed his meeting with Logan.
“No, mate, the computer.” Bas rolled his eyes, gnawing on a pen cap. “I hope you had better luck. What’d you find on the employees?”
Mercer shook his head. He’d spent the better part of the night performing background checks on Porter’s employees. The two sentries who worked the guard post at the entrance to the estate, Will Franco and Thomas Redding, were nothing more than rent-a-cops that were supplied by the security company that installed the home security system and surveillance equipment. Neither man had a criminal record, and there hadn’t been a sudden change in spending patterns or an influx of funds into either of their accounts. On paper, they appeared clean. Gabrielle Turner performed the thorough scrubbing of the estate. She was the Porter’s primary cleaning lady, but like the guards, she was also provided by a service. The groundskeeper, Bill Fulton, was the only private hire. He also performed landscaping for many of the other homes in the upscale neighborhood. He was a regular fixture, and since his daily duty involved nothing more than hosing off the driveway, he had plenty of time to fulfill his other clients’ needs. On the weekends, when the Porters were out, he’d perform yard work and lawn maintenance. His entire schedule was posted online on his business website.
“The security and maid service are provided by Trila,” Mercer said. “The groundskeeper was a private hire, but he works the area. He’s been a staple in the community his entire life, and he’s done exceptionally well for himself. He earns six figures a year.”
“To weed the garden?” Bastian asked. “Bollocks, now I know I picked the wrong profession.” He drummed his fingers against the desk, antsy to make some real progress. “It could be a personal dislike or obsession with Sarina, but behavior like that never remains hidden. If that’s the case, he would have acted before.” Bastian clicked a few keys, running the same search that Mercer had performed hours ago. “He looks clean.”
“I know.” Mercer attempted to hide his irritation. “Did you make any progress on determining who took Sarina?”
“Two men. I have approximate heights and weights.” Bastian keyed in a few more things. “Given Trila’s involvement in the Porters’ personal affairs, I’m searching their employee database for possible matches. So far, it looks like eighty-five percent of the men who work at the company fit the description.” He poured a cup of coffee and sat across from Julian. “Whoever shorted out the Porters’ home security system is a bloody genius. There’s no trace of the intrusion or of the file being deleted or altered. It’s possible the glitch is nothing more than a glitch, but timing is everything.”
“So we’re looking for someone with technical expertise?”
“Perhaps.”
Mercer hated uncertainty. “Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“Fantastic, and Trila International is known for employing a host of tech savvy wankers.” Mercer stood, leaving the paperwork spread across the coffee table. “Unless there’s something more useful that you haven’t shared, we’ll discuss these things with Porter in person. It’s time we give the nut a squeeze.”
Bastian grumbled something and took his coffee cup into one of the bedrooms to change.
* * *
“What type of assessment did Trila’s security team provide?” Bastian asked. They’d been sitting in a tiny café for the past thirty minutes. Logan Porter had only spoken a few polite words, instead focusing on the menu before him and the specials scrawled across the chalkboard in the corner. “Have any previous threats been made to Trila or you?”
“Huh?” Logan bit his lip and glanced around the room again. “Trila’s the company where I work. It’s not a person.”
“You didn’t seem this stupid yesterday,” Mercer grumbled. “Did someone suggest you play dumb or was yesterday one of your lucid days?”
Bastian shot a look at the commander but didn’t say a word. He settled his unwavering gaze on Logan and waited.
“I don’t know what types of threats the company receives. I’m not in charge, and I don’t deal with that. I’m not in the mailroom or the PR department,” Logan huffed. “Security said that they’d contact the appropriate agency to handle Sarina’s disappearance and that I need not worry,” he shifted his gaze to Mercer, “but I am worried.”
“You probably should be. Two men entered your home, abducted your wife, and knew exactly how to cover their tracks. They must be intimately aware of your routine, the layout of your home, and your security measures.” Mercer let the implication hang heavily in the air, but Logan didn’t make a peep.
“It’s in your best interest to tell us everything,” Bastian insisted.
“I am.”
“No, you’re not.” Mercer pulled the USB drive from his pocket, but Logan didn’t react. “Who was at your house last night?”
“I told you — a business associate.”
“The limousine was registered to a foreign embassy. Do you care to explain?”
“Trila International, what part of that don’t you understand?” Logan fixed Mercer with a hard glare. “I didn’t hire you to spy on me. How is any of this relevant to getting my wife back?”
Before Mercer could say or do anything, Bastian intervened. “Did your wife have any enemies?” he asked.
“No. We’re happily married. Everyone likes Sarina.” Logan picked up the knife and buttered his biscuit for the third time, placing it untouched on the plate.
“Former flames?” Bastian asked. “Maybe a jealous ex or recent paramour?”
“No.” Logan’s face reddened, and he let out a disgusted snort.
“What about her job?” Mercer asked, hoping to cover everything in one fell swoop.
“I don’t know much about her daily activities. Her assistant would be more helpful.” Logan took a card from his pocket and passed it across the table. Then he made a show of looking at his watch. “I really must be going.” He laid some cash on the table, but his hands trembled.
Mercer pinned Logan’s hand against the table. “Tell us the truth.”
“Please,” he lowered his voice, “you have to find her. They’ll kill her.”
Before Bastian or Julian could say another word, Logan slipped his hand free and went out the door. The two men exchanged a look, and then Bastian turned the card over. Written on the back were the
words: They’re listening.
“Well, let’s follow up with the assistant,” Bastian said, swiping the uneaten biscuit off the table. “Perhaps she’ll be able to shed some light on Mrs. Porter’s abduction.”
He took a bite while Mercer gave the café a final glance, but it was impossible to identify whoever might have them under surveillance. Someone was listening, or Porter had turned into a conspiracy theorist over night. Based on what Mercer already knew about Trila’s security team, he didn’t expect to find Logan donning a tinfoil hat anytime soon.
Once they were in the confines of their car, Bastian did a quick scan with the RF reader for any signs of bugs before speaking. Perhaps the team was just as paranoid as their client, but they’d seen a lot of shady shit. Letting their guard down never ended well. Julian had the scars to prove it.
“He knows she’s alive,” Mercer said. “How can he play the corporate stooge and act like everything’s fine when they’ve threatened to kill her?”
“They probably warned him to act normal.”
“That’s normal?”
Bas shrugged. “I’d wager he knows what’s on the USB drive. He must know we know.”
“Do we have any other information on the limo from last night?”
“The plates belong to someone with diplomatic immunity. Frankly, the only way to get any information would be through the state department or asking our own embassy, but it’ll take time and cutting through much red tape. I’ve tried to find nearby traffic cams that might divulge the identity of the occupant or his final destination, but I haven’t had much luck. This place might be a business mecca, but it’s not up to the security standards to which we are accustomed.”
“Porter needs to talk to us. We won’t be able to get his wife back until we know exactly what we’re dealing with. Doesn’t he understand we aren’t the authorities? We are the negotiators. We don’t pose a threat to the kidnappers, and since most kidnappings are orchestrated by professionals, they should know that too.”
“What are you thinking, Jules?”
“Trila wants us in the dark.”
“But they hired us on Porter’s behalf,” Bastian insisted. “Why go through the ruse if they weren’t being supportive?”
“To appease Logan. To keep him from going to the authorities.” Mercer looked out the window. “Kidnappings are common place in this part of the world. Surely, someone with Porter’s means would seek help.”
“Funny thing about Porter’s means,” Bastian interjected, “it looks good on paper, but his bank account is practically empty. His residence and vehicles are paid for by Trila.”
“Where does his salary go?” Mercer asked. “They must pay him handsomely if they give him all those perks.”
“Charitable donations?” Bastian mused.
“That seems doubtful.”
While Bastian drove, tossing out other unlikely suggestions, Julian considered what they knew — two men, one missing woman, a threatening video delivered via USB, a missing kitchen knife, and some clandestine meeting with the aggrieved husband. The missing piece was painfully obvious. There had not been a ransom demand.
“Call the morgue and the hospitals and keep monitoring police communications.” Julian swallowed. “She might already be dead.”
“I know. Does that mean you want to give up?” Bas asked, aggravating Mercer who let out a disgruntled growl in response. “I’ll keep digging into Porter’s financials, but first, let’s finish our dossier on Sarina. It’d help to know our victim better.”
The car came to a stop outside a small building that looked like a house. The sign indicated it was a consulting firm — Marketing Experts: Sarina Porter, MBA.
Six
Sarina Porter was thirty years old. Despite the fact that she looked like a trophy wife, the woman had spent her time cultivating a career. She only had a handful of clients but always kept busy. Any one of them could be her big break. In addition to a flat fee, Sarina also earned commissions on her clients’ earnings based on the lucrative nature of the marketing campaigns she devised. After some cajoling, Brie Dawson, the assistant, allowed Bastian to access Sarina’s records and computer.
However, Sarina’s daily schedule was anything but routine. She worked from home on occasion. She met clients in many different locations, sometimes via teleconferencing or e-mail instead of ever meeting face-to-face. While Sarina’s advanced degree would indicate she was a hard worker, it was obvious that she only liked to work on a few projects at a time.
“Does she have anything in the works now?” Mercer asked, hoping to distract the assistant while Bastian made fast work of checking the office for surveillance devices or signs of foul play.
“Not that I know of.” Brie played with the end of her ponytail which was bright pink. “I can double-check if you really want to know.”
“That would be lovely,” Mercer replied, edging her toward the doorway. He caught Bastian’s eye, nodding.
Brie checked the appointment book and deadline calendar, but everything was blank. “Mrs. Porter finished her last project a week ago. It was for a local artisan jam and jelly company. A new logo, catchy slogan, some billboards and flyers, and they were all set.” She shrugged. “Nothing earth shattering.” She hid a look of disgust. “Why are you asking these questions?”
“I thought Mrs. Porter missed an appointment the day she disappeared.”
“Right, well, she did. It was for the follow-up.” Brie held out a two page questionnaire. “It’s to determine how happy the client is with the service.”
“Were they pleased?” Mercer asked, wondering how passing along marketing tips could actually count as a service.
“I guess.” She offered the same annoying shrug again. “I called the printers and had the smaller materials delivered. The billboards are getting put up by a local sign shop, but they aren’t ready yet.” She shrugged again. “It was too soon for the survey, if you ask me, but that’s the day Mrs. Porter scheduled.”
“Did she normally schedule her own appointments?”
“Sometimes.”
Before she could shrug again, Julian grabbed her shoulders. As a second thought, he offered a smile, hoping to be charming. Frankly, the shrugging was irritating him, along with the bobbing pink tip at the end of her bleach blonde hair. It was a good thing there were no scissors in sight.
“May I have the client’s contact information?” It would be another dead end, but if Sarina scheduled the appointment herself, that might mean something.
“I guess. You did say Mr. Porter sent you, and he pays to keep this place open. Hell, he paid to have me open up the shop for you on a Sunday.” She scribbled down some information and tore the sheet off the notepad. “Do you know when Mrs. P will be back?”
“Hopefully, soon,” Mercer replied.
* * *
“Do you ever feel like our job is to wrestle a bag full of kittens?” Bastian asked. He was simultaneously working on three different computers. One was analyzing Sarina’s work files. The other was running background checks on the Porters and their close acquaintances, and the last was dedicated to decrypting Trila’s security protocols.
Julian snorted and dialed Hans Bauer. The other half of his team was set to arrive in a matter of hours, and Julian wanted to make sure they took the appropriate measures to avoid any unwanted attention at the airport. Granted, the former SAS had flown in and out of numerous locations with an arsenal packed in their bags, but it never hurt to double and triple-check. At least, that’s the way Julian saw it.
“You’re not our school marm.” Hans sighed, answering the incoming call. “You’ve got some bloody control issues to work through, mate.”
“ETA?” Mercer asked, ignoring the dig.
“Sooner than I’d like. Didn’t you promise us an extended holiday after we completed our last job?”
“Bastian will send you our coordinates. Don’t dawdle and don’t cause trouble.” Mercer disconnected.
&nb
sp; “Are they almost here?” Bas asked, still mesmerized by the screens in front of him.
“I suppose. It’s hard to tell with Hans being mouthy.”
“Ease off of him. Maybe he’s got a bird stashed somewhere.” Bastian chuckled. “Actually, he probably has a whole henhouse. At last count, there are twelve different pubs that Donovan and Hans are banned from visiting for screwing one or more of the barmaids, and that’s only in Australia. I don’t think mathematics is advanced enough to calculate the number of establishments they have to avoid in the EU.” He laughed. “At least we have the decency not to hit on the help.”
“Speaking of…”
“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Bastian warned.
Mercer glanced at the time, knowing that Logan would be leaving the office soon. The fact that he was working on a Sunday was suspicious enough, but to continue working after his wife’s abduction was practically sinister. The only way Mrs. Porter would be returned was if Logan told them the truth. It was clear their client wanted help; unfortunately, he was too afraid to clue in his best chance of saving Sarina.
“If you are planning to speak to him again, we’ll have to find a secure location. I’ve identified a few possibilities, but we’ll have to make sure he isn’t followed,” Bastian said, reading Mercer’s mind. He leaned over, selecting a folder off the floor and handing it to Julian. “I don’t understand any of this. We were hired to retrieve Sarina, but no one wants to share. If a demand has been made, we are unaware. We don’t even know if negotiations have started.”
“We know someone took her. We know that Logan is afraid to divulge any information, so it seems imperative that the first thing I do is persuade him to change his mind.” Mercer checked the clip in his Sig and slipped into a suit jacket. “Maybe the blokes at Trila will be able to shed some light on our current predicament.”
