by Lauren Carr
“But if O’Callaghan is so valuable to them,” Sheriff Turow pointed out, “they aren’t going to risk losing him by bringing him along for the exchange.”
“The sheriff is right, Mac,” Murphy said. “He’s worth more than money to them. They’re not going to take any chances. They’re going to have him stashed away safe. They may even be putting him on a plane to send him out of the country before the drop.”
“I’ll insist on seeing him there before I turn over the flash drive,” Mac said. “They’ll have to bring him with them.”
“They’ll just get you there and then kill you and take the thumb drive off your dead body,” the sheriff said.
As the thought formed in Murphy’s mind, a slow grin came to his lips.
“If what you’re saying is true,” Mac said to the sheriff, “then they’re going to have to be ready to move out fast as soon as they get that flash drive.”
“They’re not going to make the drop too far away from their escape route out of the country,” Bogie said. “So they have to be near the airport.”
“Not the airport,” Murphy said, “too easy for us to check. Are there any private airstrips in the area?” He had been in such deep thought that Mac was surprised he had been listening enough to hear them.
“A few,” Bogie answered. “But there’s more than a foot and a half of snow out there.”
“So they’d have to plow the airstrip in order to land a plane and take off,” Sheriff Turow said. “Unless they have equipment, they probably had to hire someone.”
“I’ll start making phone calls.” Bogie whipped his cell phone out of its pouch.
“Now you look like your father,” Mac noted the wicked grin on Murphy’s lips. “What’s going through your head?”
“They want a bomb,” Murphy said. “Let’s give ’em one.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Joshua felt like he was drifting on a cloud filled with painkillers for the wound on his side. On the brink of consciousness, he reached out for the familiar hand that he had grown used to being next to his side. The soft long fingers of his new wife entwined with his. “Cameron …” he murmured.
Her lips touched his fingers. “I’m here, darling.” He felt her lips on his neck and then his cheek.
He dragged his eyelids open and peered through the fog to the pleasant face surrounded by cinnamon-colored waves. Her brown eyes with green specks looked tired. “You’re here.” He reached up to touch her face to make sure she was real.
“Of course.” Her voice turned firm. “You didn’t tell me that you went and got yourself shot.”
“And you didn’t tell me that you’ve been messing around with international terrorists,” he replied. “Are you okay?”
“No,” she replied. “One of those lousy cretins poured whiskey down my throat and tried to kill me.”
“But you’re okay?” His vision clearing, Joshua searched her face for the answer.
“I don’t like being drunk.” Her voice was filled with remorse.
“Isn’t that why you quit drinking?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s good.” He pulled her down to lay next to him. “We’re good.”
With a sigh, she laid her head down on his shoulder. “My prime suspect blew away that lousy FBI agent slash international terrorist. Somehow, the world got turned upside down when we weren’t looking.”
“Isn’t that always when it happens?” Joshua replied, “When we let our guard down?” He took her into his arms. “But you’re here now. We’re together. You and me against the world’s insanity.”
After breathing in his scent and taking in the comfort of his arms around her, she let out a sigh. “Now and forever.”
Sanders Farm, located outside McHenry, Maryland
Strapped down onto a gurney under a blanket to give the impression that he was a medical patient, David could hear the wind whipping around the plane on the abandoned private airstrip. One would think a private luxury jet would have been more sound proof.
After he had been tasered, he regained consciousness in the back of a van already strapped down onto the ambulance gurney. His hands were cuffed behind his back. A hood draped over his head prevented him from seeing the men who had him captive until he was lifted out of the back of the van and moved into the back compartment of the plane.
The bag was then ripped off his head.
Lifting his head and shoulders up off the gurney, David tried to take in his surroundings, looking for any means of escape that he could make use of. Maybe not at that instant, but later.
Never give up.
“Easy, Major.”
David recognized the face of the man who had tasered him when he shoved David forcibly back down onto the gurney.
“You’re not going anywhere right now.”
David looked down to see that under the blanket, his shirt was missing. They had taken his shirt and the ballistics vest he wore under it, leaving him in his undershirt and slacks. He was grateful that he still had on his boots. That would make it easier for him to run when he escaped. Without his ballistic vest, he would be unprotected if they shot at him. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”
“I guess it’s only polite of me to tell you who I am, since I am the one who’s going to execute you.” He flashed a wide toothy smile. “Special Inspector Neal Black.”
“Special Investigator?” David squinted up at him. “Of …”
“FBI.”
“This can’t possibly …” David glanced around at the other men in the room—there were six besides Neal Black. Dressed in dark coats and ski masks under heavy hats, they were all heavily armed with sidearms and automatic rifles.
“Justice,” Black said. “It’s time to avenge our comrades killed in Baghdad.”
David swallowed. The name he had called him came back to him. Major. He knows who I am in my other life. But he—how could he possibly end up a special investigator with the FBI? David noted his reddish-blond hair and Caucasian features. He doesn’t look—
David glanced around at the other men in the room that he recognized as part of a plane—a private jet.
They’re taking me back … there. Somehow they found me.
David asked, “How could you do—”
“The same way you can go over there to kill good men who are simply doing Allah’s will!” Black was in his face.
“By torturing, killing, and bombing whole families and towns—simply because they disagree with your twisted ideology?”
Suddenly, the blade of a bayonet was pressed across his throat.
David didn’t even see one of the men yank the long knife out of its sheaf on his belt and press it against his throat. Fearful of the sharp blade cutting through his neck, David fell back onto the gurney. He stared up into the hard face of the man glaring down at him. The skin of his round, bloated face was blacker than black. The whites of his dark eyes were yellow and bloodshot.
“Easy, Ra’ees. This one’s ours,” Black said with a laugh. “We need him alive for the New Year’s celebration. You wanted yours dead tonight—”
“Along with many others.” Ra’ees grinned to reveal a mouth of brown teeth. He bent over to sneer into David’s face. David swallowed when he got a whiff of the foul stench. “Soon your friends will be dead. Then, you will join them.”
David tried to ease the sick feeling in his stomach. Not only was his shirt gone, but the police shield he wore clipped to the breast pocket was also gone. They had to be sending a jihadist impersonating a police officer into a club or restaurant to blow the place up.
“Go spread your men out around the plane to make sure no one gets too curious, Ra’ees,” Black ordered. “Make sure one of your men monitors the police scanner—”
“We know our job,” Ra’ees said. “Bauman wouldn’t have r
ecommended us if we didn’t.”
Black’s cool exterior dropped slightly. “Then go do your job and leave my prisoner alone.”
Ra’ees tore his hate-filled eyes from David and glanced over at Neal Black. With a jerk of his head, the agent ordered him to back away. As Ra’ees stepped back, Black took out his cell phone and pressed a button.
“You see what I mean?” Black asked into the cell phone. While he listened to the reply, an evil grin filled his face. “And I have something you want,” he replied. “I’m not unreasonable. We’ll agree to a trade.”
He sauntered over to the gurney to stand over David. “Of course you do.”
Covering the phone, he said, “Your friend Mac wants to talk to you.” He pressed the phone to David’s ear.
“Mac?” he was surprised by how weak his voice sounded.
“Are you okay, David?”
“Yes.” He sucked in a deep breath. He only had one chance. “Stand down! No negotiations! Stand down, Mac!”
Black slapped him hard across the face.
The phone fell to the floor with a clatter.
Before David could recover, Black backhanded him across the other side.
The bitter taste of blood filling his mouth, David heard Mac’s voice yelling from the phone’s speaker. “Now you listen to me, you—”
Smoothing his hair, Black grabbed the phone from the floor. “No, you listen to me, Faraday! I’m in charge here, not you!” His cocky demeanor had been shaken.
Sucking in on his bottom lip, numb from the blows he had received, David watched a series of emotions cross his captor’s face. First he saw a hint of fear, and it was followed by a return to his cocky demeanor.
“If you want O’Callaghan back alive—bruised a little but alive—then you better keep that phone charged up to take my call at eleven thirty. I’ll give you the location for the drop then.”
With the fury in his eyes directed at David, he disconnected the call and hurled the phone across the room.
Once more, Black was leaning over the gurney. David could not only smell his hot breath, but he could also feel it. “You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to sawing that blade across your throat.” Pausing to lick his lips, Black eyed David’s white flesh. “I’m going to do it slow and easy. I want to feel your hot blood pulse from your neck and hear you pleading for your life until the blade cuts through your larynx.”
He raised his eyes to meet David’s glaring up at him. “I’ll bet I enjoy it more than you enjoyed it when you put that bullet between Jassem al-Baghdadi’s eyes.”
Saying nothing, David stared at him. What connection does this American, a federal agent who has undergone psych exams and background checks, have with the second in command of such a high level terrorist group?
“Or don’t you remember shooting him from behind the safety of the cliff high above him—coward that you are?”
Refusing to blink first, David held his gaze.
“You were the one who pulled the trigger,” Black said. “My source is very reliable.” A crooked grin crossed his face. “Of course, you don’t have to die alone. You may not even have to die, if you can offer up someone else to take your place … like your commanding officer. Someone who can provide us with information that can make it worth our while to keep you alive. Of course, you’ll spend your days as a prisoner of war—until you are of no other value to us.”
Involuntarily, David sucked in a breath when Black caressed his throat with his cold hands.
“We know you didn’t do it alone,” Black said. “There were many up in those cliffs firing down on our defenseless comrades.”
“They had two truckloads of weapons,” David said. “They weren’t exactly defenseless.”
“You killed Jassem,” Black said. “Offer up your commanding officer, the one who gave you the order to murder Jassem, and maybe we can arrange to have him die in your place.” He bent over to whisper into David’s ear. “How badly do you want to live?”
David turned his head to meet Black’s eyes. “Kill me now … because I’m not giving you anything.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Spencer Inn
In contrast to the party atmosphere surrounding the long-awaited wedding and the New Year’s Eve celebration, the penthouse elevator was filled with silence while Mac, Bogie, Sheriff Turow, and Murphy rode up to the top floor.
“I’m waiting for a call back from this buddy of mine who runs a snow plowing business,” Bogie said in a soft voice to break the silence. “He’s the only guy around with a plow big enough to handle a whole runway.”
“If it’s a small plane,” Sheriff Turow said, “they wouldn’t need that long of a runway. They’re at least two men down.”
Seeming not to hear the conversation, Mac said, “This isn’t right.”
“Of course it isn’t,” Sheriff Turow said.
“No.” Mac turned to the sheriff. “How many kidnapping cases have you worked?”
“A few,” the sheriff said, insulted. “What are you getting at, Faraday? You’re still fussing about David’s coat and weapon being gone? So am I. I’m hoping he’s got them.”
“Yes, but that’s not all. This whole thing is out of whack.” Mac checked the time on his phone. “It is almost nine o’clock. They’re going to call at eleven thirty to give us the drop-site for the flash drive. If the drop is right after that, then it’s not happening until around midnight.”
“That’s at least three hours away.” Bogie’s tone turned suspicious.
Mac was nodding his head. “Three hours is a long time.”
The elevator doors opened. Mac led them off to find three room service carts filled with food and four servers making their way into his suite. They could hear what sounded like pre-wedding festivities coming from inside.
Instead of investigating his daughter’s activites, Mac held Murphy, Bogie, and the sheriff in the hallway. “It’s been my experience that kidnappers want to keep control in abduction cases. The best way to do that is to keep the family of the victim and the police off balance.”
“Keep things moving so fast that no one has time to think and figure out what’s going down or what’s coming next,” Bogie explained.
“In three hours we could locate them and David and plan a rescue,” Mac said. “These are supposed to be terrorists? Professional soldiers? They have to know that we have easy access to that thumb drive. Why not have us meet them now? What are they waiting for?”
Murphy sucked in a deep breath. “Abdul Kochar.”
“Who?” Sheriff Turow asked.
Murphy punched the elevator down button. “Novelist. He’s written about Afghanistan and life in that culture. He doesn’t write favorably about Islamic extremists and is open about their terrorist activities, especially the ones against their own people. He gets death threats on a daily basis.”
“Then what’s he doing writing books?’ Bogie asked.
“He’s got a bodyguard, but I doubt that one bodyguard would be a match for these guys.”
The elevator doors opened. Murphy jumped on.
Mac grabbed the doors to keep them from closing. “Was he your father’s contact?”
“What’s all this about?” Sheriff Turow demanded to know. “What does this novelist have to do with O’Callaghan? I thought they wanted some thumb drive that the old lady had in her purse.”
“You want to know what they could be waiting for?” Murphy replied. “Maybe they’re waiting to make a hit, or kidnap another victim to make an example of Kochar about what happens when you speak out against them. Kochar is staying right here at this hotel. How hard would it be for them to grab him, too, while they’re in the neighborhood?”
“Make the beheading a double feature,” Bogie said.
Mac, Sheriff Turow, and Bogie piled back onto the elevato
r to take them down to the lobby.
In the lobby, Murphy ran to the reservation desk. Since hotel policy did not permit the front desk to freely give out room numbers, Mac rushed up to use his authority to extract the information from the clerk.
Keeping a vigilant eye on the hotel guests in search of possible terrorists spying on them, Bogie and Sheriff Turow were making their way across the reception area when the hotel manager’s call drew their attention.
“Hey, Bogie, I would have thought O’Callaghan would have dressed up a little for Faraday’s rehearsal dinner, considering that he’s one of the groomsmen and all.” Jeff Ingles made his way through a throng of guests to join them.
“Huh?” Bogie asked.
“O’Callaghan? Chief of police.” Seeing Mac in slacks and sporting almost two day’s worth of a beard, Jeff furrowed his brow. “Why isn’t Mac at the rehearsal dinner?”
“Business,” Bogie replied. “What’s this about the chief?”
“I assumed since he was on his way upstairs that he was going to the rehearsal dinner.” Jeff paused when Mac came over to them.
“He’s in room five twelve on the fifth floor,” Mac said.
“No, the rehearsal dinner is on the second floor,” Jeff said.
“When did you see the chief?” Bogie asked.
“He saw David?” Mac asked.
Bogie’s hand shot up in a sign of silence so that they could hear Jeff’s response. Under his gray bushy eyebrows meeting in the center of his forehead, Bogie’s piercing eyes struck fear in the hotel manager’s heart. He was afraid to answer.
“You said he wasn’t dressed nice for the rehearsal dinner,” Sheriff Turow reminded him.
Jeff stuttered. “He was in his uniform. At least I think it was his uniform. His black slacks and black heavy coat with his police chief badge. And I saw that he was wearing his gun, too … but then he always wears his gun.”
“When?” Mac asked.
“A few minutes ago.” Jeff pointed toward the elevators. “He went up the hotel elevators just as you guys came down the penthouse elevators.”
