Taken

by Robert Crais

  “How many ways in?”

  “Just the main entrance here. There was a gate on the west side, but the owners put in more trees.”

  Pike wondered at the size of the place. The three other addresses had all been small, single-family homes.

  “Why bigger?”

  “He thought Dennis and the others had been arrested. He wanted to get his crews out of the places Dennis and the others knew about.”

  “How many crews?”

  “Three, I think. He was using three houses.”

  “Everyone came here?”

  “This is the only new property I gave him.”

  Pike found a spot to park on an unpaved road north of the farm, put fresh tape over Megan Orlato’s mouth, and slipped between the trees. The five buildings were grouped together in the center of the orchard almost five hundred feet from the street. Three were on the east side of the drive, and faced the two on the west. Glints of light showed from the east buildings, but not the west. Pike moved to the lights. He searched for sentries as he approached, but found none.

  Pike studied the fronts of the buildings for several minutes, noting the doors and windows, then crept along the rear. Snoring and the occasional low voice came from the first building. A man spoke too loudly in the middle building, and two other men laughed. When Pike reached the end of the south building, he found several pickup trucks outfitted for off-road use parked outside a long sliding door, along with a large box truck. Pike wondered if this was the truck Sanchez used on the night Krista Morales was taken. Pike decided the prisoners were in the north building, the guards were housed in the center building, and the south building was being used as a garage. The garage was likely the only way in or out of the buildings.

  Pike stood between the trucks and looked down the length of the gravel drive to the entrance. It was almost two football fields away. Only way in, only way out. Two football fields was a long way.

  Pike worked his way back to the Rover, checked that Megan Orlato was secure, and considered his options. He could not see the building through the trees, but he knew where it was and stared at that place in the moonlit shadows. Three crews meant about eighteen armed men and an unknown but large number of innocents. The doors and windows would be reinforced. Pike would have to enter through the garage, fight his way through guard country to the last building, locate Cole and the kids, then fight through the guards a second time on the way out. He wondered again if Elvis Cole was inside.

  He said, “I’m coming.”

  The odds didn’t scare him, but better odds meant a better chance at success, and Pike believed he had a way to improve the odds. He glanced at Megan Orlato, then phoned to see if Jon Stone was still in jail.

  44.

  Jon Stone

  Jon Stone walked out of the Riverside County Sheriff’s Station beneath an overhead full moon at the beginning of its lazy slide to the west. Everything in Jon’s possession at the time of his arrest had been returned with the exception of Khalil Haddad, who would remain a guest of the United States government. No loss.

  Jon was miffed when Nancie Stendahl stomped out of the room because the folks in D.C. cut him free. At least the two young deps who processed him out had the good grace to be impressed he got to keep the M4. They asked if he was a spy.

  Jon burst out laughing. Spy. Jesus.

  Nancie Stendahl said, “You always laugh at yourself?”

  “If you heard the crap in my head, you’d laugh, too.”

  Stendahl was leaning against Pike’s Jeep, which had been released along with everything else. The parking lot was near empty, though he saw the big white ATF van on the far side.

  Stone was pleased to see her. He sympathized with her personal involvement, and respected the all-in effort she was making to find her kid. Jon was big on all-in effort. He hoped she wouldn’t ruin the moment by lecturing him about the rule of law. If she started with that crap, he was going to recite Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment in the original Russian to freak her out.

  She didn’t. She looked beat to hell, strained, and frayed at the edges. He wanted to buy her a cup of coffee, but he had things to do.

  “Do you know where my boy is?”

  “Nope. Know who has him, though. So does Haddad.”

  She perked up.

  “Who?”

  “Dude named Ghazi al-Diri. Haddad’s boss. You have a pad, something to write with?”

  He stowed the M4 in the back seat while she searched herself for paper, and put his pistols, ammo, GPS, and phones on the driver’s seat. When he turned back, she was poised with a pen and a napkin. He rattled off a longitude and latitude, then checked her napkin to make sure she had it right.

  “These coordinates bring you to a body dump. You’ll find eleven or twelve people wrapped in plastic. Haddad probably murdered half of them. You’ll find two stiffs who aren’t in plastic. They murdered the rest.”

  “Who killed the stiffs?”

  Jon ignored her question.

  “Don’t be misled by Haddad’s agreeable manner. These are evil fucking people. You wanna walk while we talk? I want to look over this Jeep.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “You want to shut these guys down at the border. The more Haddad gives you on the Syrian, the more intelligence you’ll have on how the cartels do their thing. Good intel is everything. I know that firsthand.”

  Stone gave the Jeep a quick walk-around with Stendahl for company. It had picked up a few dings. Pike wouldn’t be happy.

  “Ghazi al-Diri is the Syrian?”

  “The Mexicans call him the Syrian. For all I know, he’s from Bakersfield. You know what a bajadore is?”

  She shook her head.

  “He works the border, stealing whatever the cartels send up. Mostly, that’s people trying to sneak in without documents.”

  “On the U.S. side?”

  “Most of these guys work south, but a few are beginning to work north. It’s easier to dodge the police up here than the cartels down there.”

  “Does he live here? Have family?”

  “Maybe Haddad can tell you.”

  Stone checked the time. He wanted to call Pike.

  “Good luck, Stendahl. I gotta go.”

  “Ghazi al-Diri has Elvis Cole. He has my nephew. We both want someone he has, so we should work together on this.”

  “Uh-uh. Won’t happen your way.”

  “Jack is the closest thing I have to a child. He is my only living blood relative. You expect me to kick back, hoping someone else finds him?”

  “Work your case. You might find him before us.”

  She put herself directly in front of him, and jabbed Stone in the chest.

  “He’s my blood. I promised my sister I’d find him. I swore at her grave I’d keep him safe.”

  “You’re a sworn officer. It won’t happen your way.”

  “Help me find him, goddamnit.”

  She jabbed him harder, and Stone stepped away.

  “Listen—”

  Stone looked at the silver-blue moon, then shook his head.

  “When we find these people, if Cole’s dead, they aren’t walking out. There will be no court of law. No judge and jury. You’re an Assistant Deputy Director of the ATF. This will not go down in any way you can live with.”

  “You don’t have to do it like that.”

  Stone checked his watch. Tempus fugit.

  “Gotta go. Wherever Jack is, you want him somewhere else. I have to go.”

  She looked like she was going to say something more, and she did, but only the one thing.

  “Good luck.”

  Jon watched her cross the lot to a midsize sedan, then climbed into the Jeep and started the engine. He booted the sat phone and GPS. It took a moment for the phone to load and lock on a good satellite, but a light flashed green, and Jon was in business.

  A message instantly loaded.

  Jon hit the playback, and heard Pike’s voice.
r />   “Call.”

  Pike answered on the first ring, and Jon reported his status.

  “I’m clear. You good?”

  “I have Ghazi al-Diri’s sister.”

  Stone laughed. He laughed so hard his eyes burned. Pike was a riot. Absolutely the best.

  “I love it. That is so perfect, bro. What are you thinking, a head-up trade, the sister for Cole?”

  “No trade. We offer a trade, we’ll put al-Diri’s focus on Cole, and he’ll be harder to reach.”

  “Does she know where they are?”

  “A date farm outside Coachella. I’m looking at it.”

  Pike described the farm and the intel he learned from the sister. Al-Diri had pulled three crews and three groups of pollos to a date farm when he learned Haddad and the two turds Stone and Pike dropped in the desert were missing. The farm amounted to a fortress crowded with the Syrian’s soldiers.

  “Is Elvis there?”

  “Won’t know until we get inside.”

  Stone considered the farm as Pike had described it. Delta was all about hostage rescue and snatching bad guys. Jon knew this stuff inside out.

  “Fifteen to eighteen gunned-up guards jammed up with a hundred fifty–plus friendlies is asking for collateral damage. It also ups our time on target.”

  Time on target meant the time it would take to locate Cole and the kids once they entered the buildings, and get themselves out. The longer the time on target, the greater the risk. If you hung around long enough, you became part of the scenery.

  Pike said, “How would you play it, no trade for Cole?”

  “Trade for someone else. We have the sister, we use her. Give her to Sang Ki Park.”

  “When?”

  “Now. Drive the play. Push it so fast this prick doesn’t have time to think.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Jon Stone wheeled away, loving his plan so much he grinned from ear to ear. He was the best shit-hot troop at this stuff to ever grace the earth; none finer, none more deadly, ever! A man among men.

  Nancie Stendahl

  Stendahl sat in her rental until Jon Stone drove away, then walked briskly to the SRT van. She entered a world of muted red light through the rear door, and made her way past hanging gear to the electronics bay.

  Mo Heedles said, “Hey, boss. Good work. We’re looking good.”

  Mo was a large woman with short red hair, who hunched over a laptop computer. The computer was wired to the van’s onboard cell booster to ensure a strong signal.

  Stendahl stood behind her to see the laptop’s screen, and watched a flashing black dot move away from the Sheriff’s Station on a street map.

  “What’s our range on this?”

  “Infinite? We bounce off cell towers. We can follow your boy no matter where he goes.”

  Nancie Stendahl took out her cell, and phoned Tony Nakamura in Washington. Late there, but he was used to it.

  “Tone, Nancie. I need two SRT teams and a helicopter staged by oh-seven-hundred tomorrow. Anywhere in the Palm Springs–Coachella area.”

  “Got it.”

  “I’ll advise when and where as I know.”

  “Rog.”

  Nancie put away her phone and watched the black dot. She didn’t care where it was going; only that she was present when it arrived.

  45.

  Sang Ki Park

  Wayward Palms Motel

  Sang Ki Park followed the blond mercenary’s directions that morning, and found himself at a faded roadside motel between Indio and Coachella. The two-and-a-half-hour drive went quickly, and was ripe with the promise of salvation and vengeance. A successful recovery of their kidnapped workers would go far in restoring his uncle’s confidence. The recovery of the old man’s grandson would ensure his redemption.

  The mercenary’s room was drab and dingy, but the surrounding desert was crisp with a lingering chill, and beautiful with a first kiss from the morning sun. Sang Ki Park felt honored to share in this moment. Especially with such a beautiful woman at his mercy.

  “Are you comfortable?”

  Megan Orlato said nothing until the blond man spoke Arabic.

  “I’m fine, for Christ’s sake. Let’s get this the fuck over with.”

  The mouth of a whore. She was sister, wife, and participant with the men who had stolen, tortured, and murdered Park’s workers.

  Park, the woman, the crazy blond mercenary, and two Double Dragon soldiers were in the room. An additional twelve Double Dragon soldiers waited nearby in their cars. Park’s uncle, Young Min Park, who was Kwan Min Park’s grandfather, was driving out now, but would likely not arrive until after Kwan was recovered. This was as it should be. As the revered leader of Ssang Yong Pa, Young Min Park must be shielded from physical danger and legal prosecution. But the old man, like all old men, was weak in his feelings and hungry for the sight of his grandson.

  The blond man with the spiky hair checked his watch.

  “You good to go?”

  Park kept his eyes on the woman, seated in a tattered chair with his men near at hand. The two mercenaries who worked with Mr. Cole had captured the bajadore’s sister, and now wished to trade her for Park’s stolen workers. The blond mercenary had explained this plan earlier that morning.

  “Yes. I am good.”

  “You remember what to say, or you want to go over it again?”

  “I am good.”

  “No negotiations. No delays.”

  “I am good.”

  The blond man turned to the woman, and spoke Arabic until she interrupted.

  “Speak English. Jesus.”

  “I don’t care what you say, but you have to say something. If you clam up, I’ll make you.”

  “Fuck you.”

  The blond man dialed the phone. It was her cell taken from her home and delivered by Mr. Pike. It contained her brother’s direct number, stored in the memory under “Bobby.” Using this phone was important, for Ghazi al-Diri would only answer if he recognized her incoming number.

  The blond man listened for the ring, then passed the phone to the woman.

  She closed her eyes as if steeling herself, then spoke.

  “It’s me. I’m sorry, baby, they got me. No, this Korean dude. Some guy pulled me out of the house last night and gave me to this Korean. They killed Dennis. Dennis is dead—”

  The blond man twisted the phone from her hand, and passed it to Park.

  “Your sister is the property of Ssang Yong Pa. You have twenty-six of our people. We will have them back in this way.”

  Park told Ghazi al-Diri where the trade would take place, when, and how it would happen, exactly as the mercenary instructed. There was no room for discussion.

  “Say yes, she will live. Say no, you will hear her die now on this phone. You will then kill my people, but this is a loss we can accept. We will hunt you forever.”

  Park listened for several moments, then repeated the instructions.

  “You must say yes now.”

  He listened a moment longer.

  “Very well. You must reimburse ten thousand American dollars for each of the three dead. Do not deviate from these instructions. Do not be late.”

  Park pressed the power button to terminate the call, and returned the phone to the mercenary.

  “He has agreed.”

  The woman closed her eyes when she heard this and wilted in relief.

  The mercenary went to the door.

  “Do you need anything else?”

  “No.”

  “If they don’t show, don’t kill her. We might have to use her again.”

  “They will come. I could hear much love in his voice.”

  The mercenary stared for a moment, then laughed very big as he left.

  Sang Ki Park thought his joke funny, too, but masked his joy with a scowl. The mercenary had insisted Park carry out the plan as instructed, but the mercenary served his own goals, and Park served the goals of Ssang Yong Pa.

  The plan would cha
nge as Ssang Yong Pa required.

  46.

  Joe Pike

  Pike met Jon Stone to hand off Megan Orlato and swap vehicles. They circled the date farm once on foot to fine-tune their plan, then parted. The Koreans had reached Banning Pass by then, and Jon had to meet them.

  Pike drove to a feed store that opened at four A.M. He used their restroom, bought a bottle of water, two bags of trail mix, and a bag of dried mango, then returned to the farm. He parked behind an abandoned irrigation truck in a field across from the mouth of the gravel drive, and ate the food as the sky slowly brightened.

  He thought about Elvis Cole, and their friendship, and hoped Cole was inside and alive. He told himself Cole was alive. Pike took the Jiminy Cricket from his pocket. He looked at it. A toy cricket. Pike put it back in his pocket.

  If Cole was dead, there would be hell to pay.

  The day grew full-on light. Nothing stirred at the farm.

  Pike’s phone rang at 9:32 A.M. on a beautiful day in the desert.

  Stone said, “He agreed. Go.”

  Pike left the Jeep, ran hard for the date farm, and disappeared into the trees.

  Ghazi al-Diri

  Ghazi al-Diri’s life ended with the Korean’s call. He was in the commissary when his phone buzzed, letting his coffee steep in a French press he brought from Saõ Paulo. Now, he slipped the phone into his pocket, and poured the coffee. Several of his men were near, eating burritos of eggs and beans they had made for themselves. Ghazi moved away from them to think. He was angry, but might yet survive if he remained calm.

  Maysan changed everything. The Korean gangsters had somehow learned she was his sister, and now held her like a pollo. Ghazi had no choice but to assume the gangsters now knew everything Maysan knew—his phone numbers, his home in Ensenada, how he had operated north of the border these past two years, and even his current location. This frightened him the most as they might even now be watching the farm.

  Ghazi acted quickly. The trade for his sister required the box truck and many men, but much more needed to be done if he was to survive, and these things were unpleasant.