Chapter 8
Standing bare chested in the kitchen, his shirt hung over one of the bar stools at the breakfast nook, Callan used a meat fork to turn the steaks. He’d been surprised to find an old-fashioned frying pan with raised ridges to keep the meat out of the grease.
The meal was going to be protein and carb heavy, meat and potatoes. He’d baked four potatoes in the microwave and they were cooling now.
His phone and the Glock 20 pistol he’d taken from the security guard lay on the kitchen counter behind him next to a small television. When he’d first seen the television, he’d felt it was wasteful. Now, able to watch breaking local news coverage of Daniel’s kidnapping, he understood why the television was there.
So far, there weren’t any new angles on the kidnapping. The van the assailants had used had been found only a few blocks away from the hotel. They hadn’t wasted any time getting rid of the stolen vehicle. The LVPD and FBI had taken possession for crime scene analysts to inspect, but even if there was something there, the information would come in too late to help Daniel. Callan was certain of that.
The stolen vehicle was merely another lead that deflected law enforcement personnel. He and Eryn needed to work on discovering who the kidnappers were, keep the pressure on them instead of following the script the police and FBI were going to cycle through.
That kind of investigation was good for regular police work, for finding out who had committed a crime where death had already occurred and no one was at risk. A hostage situation required a more aggressive approach.
The most irritating thing developing was the focus on finding Callan himself. His driver’s license picture—only a few weeks old because he’d renewed it shortly before flying into the States—appeared often. The reporters had stated that Callan was a person of interest, but the overall feeling was that he’d somehow been connected to the abduction.
Callan sipped from a bottle of water he’d purchased at the bodega as he watched the meat. His stomach growled in anticipation of the meal. The earlier dinner had been expensive and gaudy, not something that had filled him up. But even while he watched the food, in his mind he kept playing back the events of Daniel’s abduction.
The men who had taken Daniel had inside information. Callan was convinced of that. He’d been involved in too many kidnappings, on both sides. Someone taken that quickly, that cleanly, required inside assistance. The list of people who knew about the bachelor party was huge.
He turned the meat again, wondering if Eryn was going to reappear anytime soon. Before he knew what he was doing, he was imagining her in the shower, water dappling that smooth skin, hair wet and pulled back from her face. She was beautiful, but he got the impression she didn’t know that.
He was so lost in the imagined shower sequence that when his phone vibrated and jumped on the counter the movement startled him. He checked the view screen, dreading another call from Jenny. He knew he couldn’t put her off much longer, and figured he’d already pushed himself away too much already.
This one wasn’t from his sister, though. It showed up as a local number in Las Vegas, which surprised him because he didn’t know anyone in the city other than his sister. Then he noticed the name: APE R. SON.
A PERSON.
Callan smiled. This was someone he knew, and he’d been waiting for the return call. As soon as Eryn had left him alone, he’d called Koenig. The German surname roughly translated to “king,” and it definitely wasn’t Koenig’s real name.
Koenig was an enigma. Despite being an asset contracted by the CIA handlers that Callan worked with on his black ops missions, Koenig maintained a veil of mystery. Of medium height and dapper, Koenig wore a goatee and his hair long. There might have been German ancestry in Koenig’s family tree, but that wasn’t all. On occasion, Koenig could pass for Middle Eastern, Hispanic or Asian. He wore glasses, which made him look bookish and harmless—one of the last things Koenig was. He was one of the deadliest, most cold-blooded men Callan knew.
“Hey, dude.” His voice was soft and pleasant, well modulated.
“Koenig. Thanks for calling back.”
“Always for you, dude. You know that.”
Callan had called one of the drop numbers Koenig had given him for emergencies. In all the years they’d known each other, Callan had never called.
During the ops he’d been assigned to, Callan had gotten to know Koenig. They’d even met for a beer now and again in whatever backwater country they’d been in while between assignments, but that was always pre-or post-mission. Not any kind of social thing. Callan didn’t do social obligations. He didn’t know what Koenig did, and he didn’t ask, but the man had never casually contacted him. Koenig was as close to a friend as Callan had, primarily because they had a history and respected each other’s privacy.
“Your call came in as a local number. You’re not in Vegas, are you?”
“No way. I like sure bets. You won’t catch me around a casino. Except at a blackjack table. I can count cards with the best of them, but casinos have people who look for guys like me. I just masked the number in case somebody grabs your cell. Somebody checks it out, it’ll lead to a dentist’s office.”
That was how Koenig worked, always one step ahead.
Satisfied the steaks were done, Callan took them out of the frying pan and placed them on a plate. The smell of cooked meat was wonderful and he was hungry, but he had no real appetite. Not with Daniel out there and Jenny not knowing what was going to happen to the man she loved. “I’ve got a situation.”
“Figured you did, dude. Not like you to make social calls. I consider that one of your redeeming qualities. We’re busy people.”
Despite their acquaintanceship, Callan didn’t know everything Koenig did. The CIA used Koenig for aggressive ops, assassinations and asset destruction, but where he was most dangerous was behind a computer. The man could hack and subvert anything that connected to the internet. Callan was also convinced that he didn’t want to know everything Koenig did, but when the man said he would do something, he did it, no matter how bloody or how dangerous.
“My sister’s fiancé got kidnapped. I’m trying to find him. If I’m going to do that, I’m going to need help.”
“Dude, I didn’t know you had a sister.”
Callan hadn’t mentioned Jenny. He kept her away from his work. When he was in the field, he left behind everything that would tie him to her, including any stories. As best as he could, he’d made her safe from his world. “I do. Her name is—”
“Jenny. Yeah, I know, dude. I was just kidding about not knowing you had a sister. I mean, you’ve never mentioned her, and no one else with the unit has, either. She’s listed as your beneficiary and you’ve been sending part of your income to a college down in Texas she’s been going to. She graduated with her master’s this year and she’s on board for her doctorate. Congratulations.”
Callan didn’t say anything, but his gut clenched and he felt angry with Koenig instantly.
“What? You didn’t think I’d check you out? Dude, don’t take it personal. I peek into the files of everybody I work with. I’m not going to let somebody I don’t know hang me out to dry. I’m a big believer in revenge. I like to know where to find people who let me down. Or shove a pistol into my face and don’t manage to kill me. That’s just how I roll.”
Forcing himself to relax, Callan reminded himself that Koenig had never mentioned Jenny, either. He’d kept his own counsel and respected Callan’s privacy—to a degree.
“The fiancé’s name is—”
“Daniel Steadman. Yeah, dude, I got that.” The sound of tapping keyboard keys carried over the phone connection. “Hacked into your sister’s Facebook account and saw that. Looks like a real storybook romance. Hand-holding and calf eyes. Truly, I thought I was gonna gag.”
“What’s a Facebook account?”
Koenig sighed. “Dude, you have got to get out of the Third World more and enter the twenty-first century. Faceboo
k is only the biggest invention in social media since the telephone.”
Taking the new knowledge into account, Callan worked it around in his mind. “Can anybody hack into someone’s Facebook account?”
“Sure. If they know what they’re doing. But getting around the security isn’t all that hard, dude. Sometimes all you gotta be is just a friend of a friend.”
“Can you look at her Facebook now?”
“Sure. Gimme a sec.” Only a moment passed. “I’m there. What am I looking for?”
“Did Jenny mention the bachelor party tonight? Where it was? When?”
“Yeah. Even has pics of the hotel. You’re thinking the abduction was an inside job.”
“It was.”
“Got a lot of information here on Facebook, dude. I could take what I see here, roll into the party, take her fiancé and a half-dozen other guys from rich families. This is like a who’s who of please-come-kidnap-me-for-millions list.” Koenig cleared his throat. “Probably shouldn’t have said that. Kinda disrespectful given your sister’s situation.”
Callan ignored the callous statements. That was just Koenig’s way. He thought aloud when he wanted to get his point across, and he often came out unfiltered. “This was an inside job.”
“What makes you so sure? This information is out there for anyone canny enough to get by a little web security. As much money as the Steadman family is worth, a lot of people might be interested in scoring a quick payday.”
“The guys in there tonight? They knew about me. They knew I was a soldier. They put a man on me.”
“You’re more than a soldier, dude. Calling you a soldier is like saying Popeye likes spinach. If they’d known what you really are, they’d have put a bullet through your head and I’d have been short one friend.” Koenig cleared his throat. “But you’re right, Jenny didn’t mention you were a soldier on her Facebook account. I take it you didn’t send her any pics of you in the field.”
“No. I never sent Jenny any pictures of me on the job in any of the places I’ve been.”
“Okay, so someone’s been talking out of school. What do you need me to do?”
“You have time?”
“I keep a full dance card, dude, but I’ll always make time for you.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Buy me a beer next time you see me. Let’s get to it. Every kidnapping ends up against the clock. Tick, tick.”
“I’ve got a video of the kidnappers in action. The images are grainy, not at their best. I need you to look at them, see if you can clean them up, then run them through facial recognition software. I want to know who these guys are.”
“I’m on it. I’ll text you with the website you can upload the video to. What kind of connection do you have on your computer?”
“I don’t have a computer, but the woman I’m with probably has one.”
“Woman?”
“Eryn McAdams. She’s an employee of CyberStealth Security Agency.”
“Private eye, huh?”
“I don’t know.”
“No prob, dude. I’ll check her out.” Koenig let out a low whistle. “Hey, she’s hot. How friendly are you with this babe? You should probably get very friendly. I’d get friendly with her.”
Callan immediately felt uncomfortable. “This is business. She knows the city. I didn’t want her involved, but I need an asset inside the zone.”
“Right. Well, she’s a great-looking asset.”
“Don’t tell me she has a Facebook account.”
“She does, dude, but she plays it down. From the looks of it, mostly just family stuff, and not much of that. Mother. Father. Couple high school and college friends she’s kept in touch with. Her corporate pic at the agency could use some work. Not very inviting. But this Christmas pic, dude, it’s smoking. Now that’s a Mrs. Claus I’d like to see.”
Callan washed the frying pan, dried it as best he could and left it on the stovetop to air-dry. Iron frying pans couldn’t be left wet or they would rust. Living out in the brush as he had for so many years, he’d developed a habit of taking care of his equipment.
“What about the file upload?”
“If she’s got a desktop at home or a notebook computer, that’s not going to handle what we need done. Uploading through a regular internet connection would take hours. You don’t have hours.”
“No. She downloaded it from the security office in a couple minutes.”
“Different kind of connection. A USB port, that’s gonna move data pretty fast. But a regular internet connection? No way. You need to get that data to a T1 connection and upload it to me.”
“Where am I gonna find that?”
“You’re in the U.S. of A., dude. Go down to the nearest internet café. They’ll hook you up.”
“I’ll go find one.”
“Take a breath. Eat dinner with that beautiful lady. It’s gonna take me about forty-five minutes to borrow some satellite time for us to complete this.”
Callan looked at his phone and remembered how Eryn had told him the unit had a built-in camera. “Can you see me?”
Koenig snorted. “No, dude. You are paranoid. I heard you doing the dishes. I know when you cook, you do the dishes. Didn’t figure you’d popped into her apartment to do her dishes. And yes, I know you’re in her apartment. Unless you broke into someone else’s apartment. I pinged you on a satellite traceback. I can now follow your phone wherever you go. I am that good. Touch me, dude, I am magic.”
Listening to the bravado in Koenig’s voice, knowing that the other man was putting on a show for him to build confidence, Callan relaxed a little. But he was still afraid for Jenny. He didn’t want to fail her.
“We’re going to get your future brother-in-law back, dude. Trust me on this. The guys who took him aren’t going to do anything to him until they get paid. They can’t afford to let this go now. They’ve gone too far. Somebody’s gonna stay greedy. As long as they figure they have a shot at pulling this off, Daniel is going to stay alive and whole. You know that. It’s how we would do it.”
Leaning a hip back against the kitchen counter, Callan gazed at the news channel. The neon glow of the Strip floated at the edges of the camera’s view. “I got dead time on my hands till you get back to me.”
“And you suck at dead time.”
“Yeah.”
“Talk to your sister, dude. Pick her brain. Make a contact tree. Who’s who. Who’s in. Who’s out. You know the drill. I don’t have to tell you this.”
Embarrassed, Callan hesitated before answering.
Koenig let out a long breath of exasperation. “Dude, you haven’t called her?”
“There hasn’t been any time.”
A scathing curse erupted over the phone. “I’ve seen you charge into rooms filled with bad guys. Now you’re a gutless wonder?”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“She doesn’t expect you to know what to say. She just wants to hear from you. Call her, dude.”
“I will.”
“In the meantime, we need names of everyone at the party. I’ll start with people I see on Facebook. You were there, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Anybody suspicious stand out to you? Guy over in the corner rubbing his hands together in a maniacal way?”
“No.”
Koenig heaved a fake sigh. “Hate when there aren’t any obvious clues. Makes it tougher. Got a few dozen guys to go through here. Gonna take some time to work up backgrounds, financials, on these people. This is about money, probably, so we’re looking for someone who needs a big infusion of cash they can’t get from legitimate sources.”
“I know. But weed out the list. I need results quick.”
“Dude, no one’s faster than me when it comes to this. Let me get on it. We’ll match up our lists, make sure we didn’t miss anybody. I’ll text you with a web address you can upload that video file to when I have it set up. Is the girl detective any better with tech
than you are?”
“She got the file from the security guys.”
“All right.”
“One other thing.”
“What?”
“I need ordnance and a clean car. Can you set me up with someone?”
“Does a bear crap in the woods?” Koenig snorted. “You’re in Vegas, bro. Wonderland for domestic arms dealers. What do you need?”
“Close in stuff. This is urban. I want to keep things small.”
“You got it. And, dude? Call your sister.”
The phone clicked dead in Callan’s ear. Regretfully, he punched up the address book and looked at Jenny’s number. His thumb hovered over the call button.
“Do you always get naked to cook dinner?”
Startled, Callan looked up and saw Eryn standing in the doorway. She looked a lot different in jeans and the pullover. Her hair fell in rebellious ringlets to her shoulders. Even where he was standing, Callan smelled the clean, fresh scent of soap and shampoo and his sexual senses lurched online.
For a moment, he couldn’t speak. “It’s the shirt.”
“You don’t like the shirt?” She looked confused.
“I left it in the dining room.”
“I know. I saw it on the way in.” She folded her arms and her breasts bunched up and looked bigger. “That doesn’t explain why you took it off.”
Callan had trouble keeping eye contact and his mind wasn’t working at peak performance. “The shirt’s made out of cotton.”
She lifted an eyebrow.
“Cotton soaks up odors. If I’d stood over the stove and cooked the steaks, the meat smell would have seeped into the material.”
“Worried about not being fresh as a daisy?”
“Cooked steak isn’t something you smell everywhere we’re going to be going tonight. The guys we’re tracking might notice a smell that’s out of place. If I’m coming up behind them and need to be quiet, that scent might give me away.”
“Seriously? You think those guys would notice you smelled like a steak?”
Best Man for the Job Page 9
