Betrayal (Julian Mercer Book 2)

by G. K. Parks

  “Any reason they would think someone would target their rank and file?”

  “I’m not sure yet. According to Trila’s mission statement, they manufacture tech to build a better world, but according to their financials, their main source of revenue comes from government contracts. And not just one particular government either. Their designs could have military or espionage applications. I haven’t been able to get deep enough into their databases to find out.”

  “That explains the diplomatic plates on the limo,” Mercer mused. “We should ask Logan.” He squinted, watching Stan Appleman get inside a car a few dozen meters away. “That could be the kidnapper’s motivation for snatching Logan’s wife. Perhaps the ransom demand is of the corporate sabotage variety instead of monetary.”

  “And it would explain why Trila’s footing the bill for our services,” Bastian said, “and why they don’t want you snooping around.”

  “I’d wager a guess that those wankers are inadvertently responsible for Sarina’s abduction, if they aren’t behind it themselves.”

  Turning the key, Mercer waited for the car to pass, made sure no one else was following, and then pulled into traffic. While they waited for the driver and town car to move away from the more populated areas and into a less trafficked region, Bastian reached into the back seat and removed a black duffel bag. Inside was a gun specially modified to shoot a dart that would release an electromagnetic pulse that would temporarily disable the electrical circuitry of the target vehicle.

  “Are you sure you’ll be able to intercept the driver’s call?” Mercer asked. He’d seen Bastian work technical magic, but it never made sense how any of it actually worked.

  “Yes, once that’s done, I’ll stay behind to monitor the situation with the driver, and you can go ahead to Trila and pick up Mr. Porter.”

  “From there, we’ll head to our secondary location. It is secure, correct?”

  “Affirmative.”

  They stopped at a red light, and Mercer caught a glimpse of another black sedan a few cars behind them. It continued on its path, keeping its position behind Mercer’s town car. As traffic diverged, breaking away the farther they traveled from the main thoroughfare, the sedan closed the distance. Suddenly, the town car they were following hit the brakes. Mercer followed suit, and the sedan closed the gap, boxing them in.

  “Bollocks,” Bastian swore, dropping the duffel and stuffing it beneath the seat. He glanced at Mercer, expecting the commander to open the door and start shooting. “Let’s see what they want.”

  “I intend to.”

  Mercer opened the door slowly. No other vehicles were traveling on the road in either direction, and Mercer spotted an SUV blocking the street entrance behind them. This had been the location Mercer intended to use to his advantage, but clearly, someone else had the same thought.

  Two men exited from the rear car, holding automatic handguns with extended magazines. They watched, staying within the cover provided by the open car doors, but they didn’t make a move toward Julian. The rear door to Logan’s town car opened, and another two men stepped out. Unlike their counterparts, they didn’t brandish the weapons which were visible underneath their open jackets.

  “Who are you?”one of them asked. “Why are you following us?”

  Mercer remained silent, assessing the situation. Before he could answer, Bastian stepped out of the car with his palms raised. He offered a conciliatory smile to the men in front and a brief glance to the men behind them. The term ambush came to mind.

  “We’re not asking again,” someone said from behind.

  “Julian Mercer. I work for Logan Porter.”

  “You are not on the list of approved drivers.”

  “That must be an oversight,” Mercer spat.

  “No, it isn’t.” The men who exited Porter’s car stepped away, tapping on the side, and sending the driver and town car on its way. The two armed men continued their approach. Once they were a few feet from Mercer, he spotted Trila security badges clipped on their belts. “You have been granted access to Mr. Porter’s home and his wife’s place of business. You are free to meet him anywhere else, but Trila International is strictly off-limits. You were warned about this earlier.”

  “Trila’s paying our fee,” Bastian interjected. “Shouldn’t we notify your supervisor of our progress?”

  “Consider him notified.” The guard sneered. “Next time, we won’t be so cordial.”

  “Neither will I,” Mercer replied.

  “By the way, stealing is a crime.” The guard glanced pointedly at the Sig on Mercer’s hip. “So is carrying a weapon.”

  “And you’re the police?”

  “No,” the man smiled, “but they are.” He jerked his head at a patrol car that had pulled up behind the rear sedan. “Enjoy yourselves in our prisons.”

  “You’ll regret this.” Mercer weighed his limited options. Unfortunately, a firefight wasn’t ideal.

  The man laughed, amused by being nothing more than a bully, and climbed into the back of the rear sedan with his cohort by his side. The two men with the automatic handguns waited for the police officers to approach before nodding and getting back inside their car and driving away. At the very least, it was obvious that Trila controlled the police force and probably had the entire municipality in their pocket. It would make Mercer’s job harder, but at least they now had some idea with whom they were dealing.

  “From now on, I’m not going on any more of these outings with you,” Bastian hissed. He was pressed against the side of the car as the officer frisked him.

  “No one asked you to come,” Mercer replied. He growled and began explaining this unfortunate misunderstanding, taking some creative licensing concerning the stolen vehicle being in his possession, but as the guards predicted, it didn’t take long before Mercer and Bastian were arrested and thrown into a holding cell. “Any brilliant ideas on how to get out of here?”

  “Hans is on his way. I turned on our cell phone tracker and told him to come forthwith.” Bastian grinned. “Do you think one of those chaps would be so kind as to lend me a cigarette?”

  “You quit.”

  “Details.” Bastian sauntered across the cell to the dangerous looking men, offering a contrite smile. Within a few moments, he was shooting the shit with them, gathering as much intel on Trila and the local authorities as possible since their job had a few new kinks.

  Mercer took a seat on the uncomfortable bench, listening intently while considering the newest developments regarding Sarina Porter’s abduction. Once he and Bastian were released, he’d have to find another way to free Logan from Trila’s clutches and get his client to a secure place in order to speak freely. Sarina had been gone for five days. If they didn’t get her back soon, he feared they never would.

  Nine

  “Explain again why you thought you would help yourself to an automobile,” the detective said. He narrowed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. It was posturing. “Grand theft auto is a serious crime. We take felony charges very seriously. You should do the same.”

  “I didn’t steal the car.” It was a lie but a reasonable one. “My client uses that car service. I was misinformed that I was to pick him up. When I entered the lot, no one questioned my presence.” Mercer had used lines like this often enough. Typically, giving one word responses was a better way to go, but since he was in fact guilty and caught red-handed, he had to put a polite spin on the situation. Bastian was much better at this, but Mercer would just have to make do in the meantime.

  The cop sighed heavily. “We’ll see if your accomplice will shed some light on this matter.”

  “He won’t.”

  “Two armed men in a stolen vehicle doesn’t bode well, buddy.”

  “You have my permit, my passport, and my documentation. In my line of work, it is necessary to have defense measures in place.”

  “Or you strong-armed your way to getting the car. Maybe you planned to
do your own kidnapping.”

  “Preposterous.” It was time to stop talking.

  “Trila’s security personnel informed on you. If you work for them or one of their employees like you claim, why would they call the police and report your actions?”

  Mercer shrugged. The real question was how did they know what Mercer planned to do. They were prepared, and they tailed him. Had the safe house been compromised? Were he and his team also under surveillance, just like Logan Porter? He glanced at his phone that sat on top of the detective’s desk inside an evidence bag. They must have known about Porter’s burner and traced the call. Mercer was deep in thought and no longer listening to the continuous questions or theories that the detective continued to spout.

  The detective slammed his palm on the desk. “How about you be real with me? You tell me the truth, and things will go a lot easier.”

  Mercer snorted. “That is the truth.”

  The two remained locked in a battle of wits, neither wavering. After fifteen minutes of tense silence, the cop stood up. He grabbed Mercer’s arm and escorted him back to the holding cell. Bastian was gone, and Mercer figured it was because he was being asked the same questions by yet another incompetent, possibly corrupt, authority figure. So much for staying under the radar.

  Before Bastian returned, another officer came to the cell, accompanied by Hans Bauer. The door unlocked, and Julian was let out. Once free from the cell, Mercer was handcuffed.

  “Is that really necessary?” Hans asked, obviously enjoying every minute. “He’s not a threat, at least not to you.”

  Mercer looked irate and bit his lip to keep from lashing out.

  “Sorry, it’s protocol. We can’t do anything until he’s officially released.” The officer led the bound Mercer and Hans to the bullpen and into an open office. “The sergeant will be with you shortly. An officer will be outside if you need anything.”

  “Thanks, mate,” Hans replied. The man left, and Hans glanced out the doorway. “I’m sure I could come up with a few things that I need.” He smiled brightly. “It seems like just yesterday when I was fetching you from a different holding cell.”

  “Shut it.”

  “This one is rather lovely. Did you see the receptionist? A lovely blonde bird with legs that go on for miles. That’s what I call a help desk.”

  “I see jetlag has made you even more insufferable. Where’s Donovan?”

  “He’s running recon.” Hans leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Word is the car company isn’t pressing charges. Trila’s been in communication with the bobbies, and they’re backing your story. It was scare tactics to keep your snooping to a minimum.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Hans tapped his ear. “Bas left a present inside the car and routed the communication to my comm. Want to listen?”

  Before Mercer could answer, a man in a white uniform entered the room. He took a seat behind the desk. “It looks like you’re making a mess out of my city, Mr. Mercer. Is there any particular reason why?”

  “We muck about. It’s what we do,” Hans offered, earning a glare from the man.

  “You’re a personal security specialist, which means what exactly?”

  “Kidnappings and ransoms, mostly,” Hans piped up before Julian could respond.

  “I haven’t been notified of any such event. Who’s been kidnapped?” the sergeant asked.

  “That’s none of your concern,” Mercer replied. Maintaining his client’s privacy wasn’t a precise science, but the less outsiders knew, the better.

  “Kidnapping is a crime. That makes it my business.”

  “No.”

  “I could throw you back into holding. Charge you with obstruction.”

  “Fine.” Mercer waited, but the man didn’t move.

  “Forget it,” the sergeant finally growled. “You’re a foreigner which means we would have to get the embassy involved and the state department, and since the car service and Trila don’t want to press charges, you can go just as soon as someone vouches for your claim of being a private contractor for Trila. So do you want to tell me who to call on your behalf?”

  By divulging a name, Mercer would lead the police to discovering the abduction, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Plus, it seemed plausible to assume Trila already controlled the authorities and the way they dealt with such information. “Logan Porter.”

  “See how easy that was?”

  Mercer ignored the remark and remained silent, waiting for the call to be made.

  An hour later, Bastian and Mercer were released from police custody, given warnings not to commit any other crimes, and strongly encouraged to discuss the real reason they were hired by Trila on Logan Porter’s behalf. The former SAS team remained silent as they left the station, following Hans to a tiny subcompact. Bastian flipped the seat down and climbed into the back.

  “Were they out of clown cars?” Bas asked.

  “You said to come forthwith. I didn’t have time to find a more suitable alternative,” Hans replied.

  “Drop us off,” Mercer instructed. He glanced at his phone which had been in police custody. He removed the battery and SIM card and watched Bastian do the same. “We’ll need new gear.” He held his hand out. “Give me your phone.”

  Hans handed him the phone, muttering something about ungrateful bastards. Mercer phoned Logan, setting up an impromptu meeting at the closest pub. It wasn’t ideal to meet in public, but until Mercer and Bastian had time to sweep their belongings for tracking and listening devices that the police might have planted on them, it would suffice. Porter sounded panicked, but he remained professional on the phone, agreeing to a rendezvous within the hour.

  “Contact Donovan. I want eyes on our meeting and back-up nearby,” Mercer snapped. “Bas, do what you can to disable any surveillance that Porter might be under.”

  “It’ll be hard without my equipment.”

  “Make it work.”

  “Aye, sir.” Bastian sighed. He turned around in the seat, glancing out the back. “What are we going to do about the bobbies that are tailing us?”

  “Nothing,” Mercer replied. He knew the police would follow. It didn’t matter what country or city they were in, the police always acted in the same fashion. “They want to find out more about the kidnapping. With any luck, their presence will spook whoever might be following Porter.”

  “And Donovan can follow them back to their hidey hole,” Hans said.

  “Precisely. Or at the very least, they’ll tip their hand so we can begin the process of identifying who they are and what they want.” Mercer glanced at the phone he procured from Hans, knowing they’d have to replace that eventually if Trila’s security was monitoring Logan Porter’s personal number, which surely, they were.

  They’d need new phones, some new tech, and a few more vehicles stashed in various locations around the city. As Mercer continued to work on his mental list and compose the beginnings of a plan, Hans pulled the car to a stop. Mercer stepped out, pushing the lever down so Bastian could exit as well.

  “Lose the car. The tail will probably stay with us but be careful, just in case. And make sure Donovan knows where to meet us. You know the address of our flat, but it might be compromised. If nothing occurs, we’ll meet back there later this evening.”

  Hans nodded, putting the car back into drive. Julian slammed the door and scanned the area. As he predicted, the police vehicle that had been following them parked a block away. They had an audience, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was getting Logan to talk.

  “What do you want to do first?” Bastian asked.

  “Scope out the pub and get a drink.”

  Ten

  “Mr. Mercer,” Logan Porter bellowed over the noise, “what the hell are you doing? You’re supposed to be looking for my wife, not getting arrested for grand theft auto.”

  “That’s rubbish.” But Mercer saw no point in arguing. It was a waste of time and energy. “You nee
d to come clean, or we’re walking away. Who’s after you? Who took your wife?”

  Porter looked torn. He gulped down a mouthful of whiskey and visually swept his surroundings. The three men were in a back booth, Porter’s back was to the crowd, but it was loud inside. The pub just happened to have an amateur mic night going on, and it was hard to hear oneself think, let alone eavesdrop on anyone else’s conversation.

  “Trila security has been guarding me since this happened, but I think there might be others keeping watch too. I don’t know. Maybe it’s the assholes that took Sarina,” Porter said. “I just don’t know.” He sounded small and afraid.

  “If they’re watching you, out in public is the safest place to be,” Bastian insisted, pressing closer to Porter to keep his voice from traveling. “We know she was taken. We watched your home security footage, and we found the USB you had hidden. Have they made any other attempts to communicate with you?”

  Porter swallowed. “They said they’d kill her. They have her, and they will kill her.”

  “What do they want?” Mercer asked, leaning across the table.

  “That doesn’t matter. I can’t get it.”

  “We’ll negotiate for a reasonable price,” Bastian interjected.

  “No,” Porter shook his head vehemently, “it’s not money.” He lowered his voice, looking around again. “This is a mistake. Trila called you to keep up appearances. They don’t want the bad press, but you can’t help me.”

  “You haven’t given us a chance,” Mercer growled. “You don’t know what you’re doing. Fucking around will guarantee you never see her again. Tell the kidnappers that you hired professional negotiators to work on your behalf. If they are professionals, they should expect it.”

  “The majority of kidnappings are conducted by pros,” Bastian added. “Frankly, most of them prefer dealing with us. We make far fewer mistakes.”