Betrayal (Julian Mercer Book 2)

by G. K. Parks

  “If you do not willingly disarm, we will be forced to subdue you,” the guard threatened.

  “You’re welcome to give it a go,” Mercer replied, shifting his stance slightly.

  The mouthy guard stepped closer, reaching for Mercer’s holstered gun. Mercer turned sideways, grasping the man’s wrist and placing his other hand on the man’s elbow. Before Mercer could follow through, the man shifted his momentum, spinning toward Mercer and attempting to land a left hook. Mercer ducked, releasing the guy’s elbow and twisting his wrist at a ninety-degree angle, forcing the man to drop to his knee. Instead of being subdued, the guy fell to his side, sweeping out with his left leg. Julian went down, landing an elbow to the man’s shoulder.

  Bouncing back up, he narrowly avoided another guard’s right jab and the darts from a third guard’s taser. The fourth guard was speaking cryptically into his radio. Any minute, the rest of Trila’s security personnel were likely to appear, brandishing automatic weapons, or so Julian imagined. Oddly, he wondered how many Donovan would kill with his long-range rifle before they could gun him down.

  “Stop,” the fourth guard shouted. “That’s an order.” The guards withdrew, wary of Julian who remained still, shifting his eyes cautiously to see if this was a trap. “There is no need to fight with a private contractor. We are on the same side.”

  Mercer studied the guard that kept speaking. He didn’t appear to be in charge. He was dressed like the others, but he might be the only one with a brain. Obviously, he had radioed for orders, and they’d just come from on high.

  “Side?” Mercer asked, hoping to gain information.

  “We both want to protect Trila employees.” The man paused, cocking his head to the side and making it obvious that someone was speaking through him. “However, your unconventional methods will not be tolerated on Trila property. Consider this your final warning.”

  Before Mercer could say anything else, the lift doors opened at the other end of the lobby and Logan stepped out. “Mr. Mercer,” he called, unaware of the fracas that had occurred, “do you have news?”

  “I was hoping to speak to your boss,” Mercer replied coolly, his eyes never wavering from the guards.

  “Don’t be foolish,” the puppet guard said, “you are only here for Mr. Porter.” He held out his hand. “If you plan to leave this lobby, I’ll need your weapon.”

  “Forget it,” Mercer muttered.

  Logan pushed his way into the center of the group. He looked exhausted and panicky. “They haven’t made contact. No messages or e-mails.” Logan turned to see that the guards hadn’t moved. “Is there a problem?”

  “He’s in violation of building security,” the nearest guard replied. “We can’t let him pass with a weapon on his person.”

  “Can’t you make an exception?” Logan asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “Mr. Mercer,” Logan jerked his head toward the guard, “if you’d be so kind.”

  “Turncoat,” Mercer muttered just loud enough for Logan to hear. The previous night Porter had been bashing Trila security, terrified that they were tracking him, and now the same man wanted Julian to willingly hand over his gun. “You better bloody well be careful with it.” Unloading the weapon, he ejected the chambered round, hearing the bullet hit the floor with a resounding metallic clink.

  “Happy?” Logan asked the annoyed platoon of guards. They grumbled a response and escorted Mercer and Porter back to the proper office. “This may take awhile.”

  Mercer glared at the two who took up positions at each side of the door before following Logan inside. Once the door shut, closing out Logan’s assistant, Mercer pulled the wedding ring from his pocket. He placed it on the desk and took a seat.

  “She’s alive. They will make contact again this evening.”

  “Have you negotiated a price?” Logan asked, picking up the ring and examining it. He gave it a sad little smile and put it back on the desk.

  “Not yet. I hoped to speak to your boss.”

  “Why? What good will that do? They won’t give us the protocols.”

  Mercer surveyed the room, assuming they were being monitored. “I wanted to update them on the demands. Perhaps an alternative solution would be presented, but I’m persona non grata here.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why do they find my presence inside this building so disconcerting?”

  “I guess you pose a safety risk, being armed and everything,” Logan said. “When are the kidnappers making contact again? How did you get Sarina’s ring? Are you sure she’s alive? Did you talk to her or see her? How’d she look? Is she okay?”

  “Stop,” Mercer held up a hand, “this was delivered as proof. That was it.”

  “What kind of proof is it?”

  “It’s enough to know she’s alive. We’re working on the rest.” Mercer reached into his pocket and pulled out a note with an address. “It might be wise to discuss these matters later.” He passed it to Logan who studied it for a moment.

  “Then why did you come here now if you won’t answer my questions? Aren’t you supposed to be helping me? This isn’t helping.” He shook his head and grabbed his jacket from the hook behind the door. “I’m calling it quits for the day. We will deal with this now.”

  “Remember what I said,” Mercer hissed. “It’s important you stick with a routine.”

  “But they have my wife.”

  “And we’ll get her back if you do precisely what I say. Meet me there at seven.” Mercer pointed to the address, making sure Logan read it one more time before shoving it back inside his pocket. “Don’t be late.” Seven was extremely close to the deadline which meant it wouldn’t give Trila too much time to interfere if they overheard what was happening, but it also left a narrow window for the former SAS.

  Julian went to the door, opening it to find two of the four guards waiting. Silently, they escorted him back to the lift. Once the doors closed, the one on the left unexpectedly turned and kneed Mercer in the stomach. Mercer doubled over in pain, and the two men laughed.

  “You’re not so mighty after all,” the guard scoffed. “Now stay the hell away from Trila and stay out of our business or you’ll be spending the rest of your visit inside the local prison. And trust me, it’s not nearly as friendly as the police department’s holding cell.” He kicked Mercer hard in the ribs, but the former SAS operative didn’t retaliate. Sometimes, it was best to let someone think they’d won.

  The other guard grabbed Mercer by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet just as the door opened. The other two men were waiting in the lobby. One shoved the Sig into Mercer’s grasp, and the four men practically dragged him to the door, pushing him outside.

  “Motherfuckers,” Mercer muttered, selecting a direction at random to throw them off his scent.

  The trip to Trila accomplished very little on the surface, but despite that, Julian had accomplished what he planned to do. Sure, it would have been nice if everyone had been civil and offered to share information in order to ensure a quick and easy resolution to Sarina Porter’s kidnapping, but the company that hired the negotiator didn’t want to help. Frankly, they didn’t want Mercer’s assistance either; they simply contracted him to appease Porter which meant they didn’t expect Sarina Porter to come back alive. What the hell are they hiding? Mercer wondered.

  Fifteen

  Mercer studied the bruise in the mirror. He’d been hit plenty of times, so he was no stranger to cuts and scrapes. Hell, he wasn’t a stranger to bullet holes or shrapnel either. His body was littered with scars to prove it. However, this stupid bluish bruise that ran along his ribs was an irritant.

  The bathroom door opened, and Mercer caught Bastian’s reflection in the corner of the mirror. The steam from the shower wafted into the room as Bastian towel-dried his hair. At least his team was starting to look more like themselves and less like zombies.

  “Amazing what a change of clothes and a power nap can do,” Bastian mused.

  “Did you determine who plant
ed the bug inside Porter’s phone?”

  “Our pals at Trila International. Perhaps you should have asked if they want it back.”

  “Fucking bastards,” Mercer griped. They must have heard Mercer’s promise to get the protocols to Alpha. No wonder they’d given him such a warm welcome.

  “I thought I told you to play nice,” Bastian said, emerging from the bathroom. “Fractured or bruised? Or can you even tell anymore?”

  Mercer shrugged. “Your trackers better be worth it.”

  “They aren’t trackers. Well, they are, but they’re also much more,” Bastian chided. “We have GPS location, some low quality audio, and this.” He tapped a key on the monitor. “I like to think of it as being bloody brilliant. It’s practically SONAR, except it uses a low frequency, undetectable laser to map dimensions and create a virtual blueprint of the offices.”

  “Good. How long until the building is mapped?”

  “Where’d you put the devices?” Bastian asked.

  “On the guards while they were taking a few liberties. They provided their own distractions.”

  “Assuming they follow a route throughout the building, we’ll get the information as they make their rounds. For the record, this is a bad idea.”

  “The tech is untraceable, right?” It had been an almost clear sticky circle that Mercer had placed on the back of a collar and near the bottom of a shoe.

  “They might find it, but it’s my own concoction, using our Majesty’s tech. I highly doubt they’d think it was anything. Don’t forget, I added a corrosive to the adhesive which will eat through the device in forty-eight hours.” Bastian smiled. “I’ve learned how to cover my tracks. It’s a shame though. Those buggers cost a pretty penny.”

  “Charge it to Trila’s insurance,” Mercer replied.

  “Right, should that be before or after we burglarize the place?”

  Bastian had made it clear that he was not in favor of stealing the protocols from Trila. Donovan and Hans hadn’t weighed in, but they probably thought the plan was rubbish. Unfortunately, they were in the business of negotiating, and that was difficult when Alpha was a sadistic piece of shit. He’d already cut off Sarina’s finger, so there was no doubt in Mercer’s mind that the threat of a hand or an ear weren’t far off. This negotiation would require finesse and a lot more give on the part of Logan Porter than most negotiations. Violence always precipitated more violence.

  “Things will get brutal,” Hans said, entering the room. He gave the two men an odd look. “Should I come back? You look like you’re about to get friendly.”

  “Jealous?” Bastian asked.

  “Explain,” Mercer replied, wincing as he stretched to put his shirt back on.

  “Y’know, a little how’s your father,” Hans replied cheekily. “Although, that would explain Bastian striking out with the birds. You’ve always had much better luck, Jules. Michelle was stunning.”

  The mention of his late wife soured Mercer’s already horrid mood. “Speak Bauer. Now.”

  “Sorry.” Hans squeezed the bridge of his nose, realizing his joking had gone too far. “Alpha’s been flagged by New Scotland Yard and MI-5. They’ve encountered him before. One instance involved mass casualties. And in the other case, the entire body has yet to be found.”

  “Any positive recoveries?” Bastian asked.

  “I don’t know. I have contacts at Interpol doing an international search. It’ll take awhile to see what else Alpha has done.”

  “Who were the previous victims?” Mercer asked.

  “A duke and duchess and their staff were held hostage for almost three days. When the estate was breached, the tactical team found a dozen bodies.”

  “What did Alpha want?”

  “He wanted a formal pardon and release of a few prisoners. The full file has been e-mailed, but the prisoners were alleged weapons dealers, wanted for trafficking to areas involved in private wars.”

  “Terrorists?” Bastian asked.

  Hans shrugged. “Perhaps. The demand was refused, and Alpha retaliated and escaped.”

  “What about the other case?” Mercer asked. Things had gone from bad to worse.

  “The victim was the son of a computer mogul. I don’t have the details. Most of it was dealt with privately, but the authorities discovered a torso and head belonging to the boy. From what they’ve pieced together, the man responsible went by the moniker Alpha.”

  “It could be a coincidence,” Bastian said. “It’s a common enough call sign. The first letter of the Greek alphabet. It’s probably as common as John Smith.”

  “Until we know otherwise, let’s assume the worst,” Mercer replied. “As soon as you know something more, let me know.”

  “Aye, sir,” Hans said.

  Mercer folded his arms across his chest and rested his hips against the dresser. In the stillness, he processed this new information. They had to work under the assumption that the only way to recover the asset intact would be to placate Alpha until they could determine a location and safely rescue Sarina. Stealth would be better than going in hot, but it would depend on how many men were working with Alpha.

  “She has to be close,” Mercer said. “From the time we disconnected until the delivery driver arrived was roughly two hours. In that time, Alpha had to remove her finger, place it in an envelope, deliver it to the shop, and the driver had to make the delivery.”

  “I ran the plates on the truck. They are registered to the shop owner.” Bastian picked up his phone and scrolled through a few images. “That’s the delivery guy. The man’s name is Denis Reeham.” Mercer nodded. “He works at the shop. From the intel I’ve collected, it looks legit. I don’t think they’re involved.”

  “Did the bloody computer tell you that?” Mercer spat.

  “No, but they haven’t had any serious scrapes with the law. The shop is seventeen miles from the Porter’s estate. Calculating traffic patterns from this morning, I’d estimate that the delivery route took roughly forty-five minutes. That puts Sarina’s location somewhere in this vicinity.” A map of the city was pinned to the wall, and Bastian had already marked an eight mile radius. “That of course assumes the arrangement was premade. If it wasn’t, the search area would be limited to this.” He pointed to a smaller circle. “And before you ask, I’ve already started a search for possible locations. The information is being sent directly to Donovan. He’s running recon.”

  “Good.” Mercer stared at the map. “What about trace evidence that might be on the finger?”

  “Nothing. It was wiped with a disinfectant,” Bastian said. “Did you leave the ring with Logan?”

  “It belongs to him,” Mercer replied absently. The walls of the hotel were starting to close in. He inhaled deeply and shut his eyes. Relax, he thought. The answers were close. They had a lead on the kidnapper and were hoping to have a solid clue as to the location soon. In the meantime, plan B was well under way. The interior of Trila was being mapped, courtesy of the clueless security arseholes. One way or another, a bargaining chip would be brought to the table. This wasn’t a no-win situation. Sarina wouldn’t be killed. He wouldn’t let it happen. “Be prepared to do whatever is necessary.”

  Bastian nodded. “This time, I’m not opposed to doling out justice.”

  Normally, Bastian served as the moral compass, insisting that violence and killing wasn’t the answer. He’d declined numerous offers to provide wet work, proclaiming that they were not assassins or mercenaries. However, these were desperate times.

  “It’s time,” Mercer said, pulling himself away from the dresser. “When you’re finished with this, clean the room, and let’s get everything moved to one of the secure flats. I don’t like being exposed.”

  “Fine. Next time, I’m asking for professional movers as a clause of our contract,” Bastian retorted, annoyed to have to move again. Before all was said and done, they’d probably relocate a few more times. It was paranoia. Most of the time, it was unnecessary, but there was no way of be
ing sure. “Better safe than sorry, I suppose.” He glanced into the adjoining room. “Hans, you’re in charge of your own shit.”

  “Bite me,” Hans replied, holding up his fingers in a v. How he managed that was impressive since he had the phone pressed to his ear and was jotting notes with his other hand.

  “Do you know what you’re going to tell Logan this evening?” Bastian asked.

  “That I will do everything in my power to bring Sarina home safely,” Mercer said. He concealed a few more weapons on the off chance that Alpha made a surprise visit.

  “Hans is an arse. Don’t get stuck in your head because he mentioned her. You have to be on your toes.”

  “I am,” Mercer snapped. He left, doing his best not to think about his own wife’s wedding ring locked securely in a safe deposit box at a London bank. It was the only part of her that he was able to keep safe, and he didn’t want the same fate to befall Logan Porter.

  Sixteen

  “What’s with the clandestine meeting place?” Logan asked. “You waltzed into Trila like you owned it, pissed off the guards, and demanded a secret rendezvous point.” His eyebrows scrunched together. “You do realize that I was tailed. It defeats the purpose, don’t ya think?” Aggravated, he rubbed his forehead. “Do you think he’ll let me speak to her? I can’t remember the sound of her voice, which is stupid because it’s only been six days. But for the life of me, I can’t remember it, and I’d give anything to hear it again. Please.”

  “It’s not up to me.” Mercer turned his head and gulped down some air. Stay focused. “Do you have any enemies that might have a military background or some fondness for the alias Alpha?”

  “None.”

  Mercer nodded. “We believe he’s done this before. He’s familiar with negotiations.”

  “That’s a good thing, right? You said that professionals respond better, making positive outcomes more likely.” Logan read the expression on Mercer’s face. “What aren’t you telling me?”