“Everything. Just so you’ll be informed, according to a 2016 Sotheby’s estimate, we’re looking at right around $939k. Meanwhile, minimum wage sits at $6.25 per hour. I don’t know about you, but I find that criminal.”
“Where. Is. My. Daughter?”
“You should be ashamed,” Frenchie said, “that your entire life you’ve been a proud business owner, yet not fully aware of the full scope of your holdings. They’re really quite outstanding.”
Briggs slapped the table hard enough to make all present flinch. “Quit the song and dance routine and cut to the chase, Frenchie. What the hell do you want in exchange for our daughter?”
“See?” She winced. “That’s where things get dicey. The Little Palm Subsidy Organization voted and it wasn’t unanimous. India could have kept her mouth shut about what she saw happen to Turtle, but like her cousin, she had to keep blabbing and blabbing about things that don’t concern her—well, actually, they very much do. But she’s too stupid to realize that without the financial backing of our company, she’d be living in a hut on the beach.
“Get to the point,” Briggs repeated. “Where’s our daughter?”
“She’s fine.”
“That’s not what he asked,” India said.
“Such a shame, because that’s all I’m telling you. Like I said, we took a vote. Because we all like you, Bridgette gets to live—just not with you.”
India’s gaze narrowed. Her stomach cramped. “I don’t understand.”
“Sure you do. But just in case you really are confused, I’ll dumb it down for you. In exchange for your life—and maintained silence—Bridgette has been sold to a lovely European family. Rest assured, she will be spoiled rotten and have the finest of everything. But if you so much as breathe a word of this conversation to a stingray, I’ll have her killed, do you understand? Forget what happened to your cousin. Forget you ever had a daughter. If you agree to these terms, the head of our organization invites you and Baby Daddy to walk out of here alive.”
A low tremble took hold of India’s body. A kind of fear she’d never known.
This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.
My poor baby girl. She must be so afraid.
“I won’t just have her killed,” Frenchie said, “but gutted. She is, after all, going to be living in a real live castle. It has a torture chamber, so it might as well be put to appropriate use. Can you imagine? Her teeny, tiny body on a rack? Or maybe you’ll go blab to mainland police when she’s a toddler? Or maybe sweet sixteen? Oh—and Baby Daddy, don’t think I can’t see your crafty wheels turning. If something happens to me, there are plenty of others in our organization who will make good on this promise.”
“I won’t just kill you,” Briggs said, “but every, last one of you. I will burn you all to the ground.”
Frenchie laughed. “You can try . . .”
11
BRIGGS STOOD, FLIPPING the table before shouting to India, “Get her gun!”
Meanwhile, he used the element of surprise to his advantage to take Roger’s AK47, butting him square in the nose hard enough to break it and knock him out. Following the satisfying crack of bone was a lovely blood fountain spewing across his face. Bastard.
India wasn’t having as much luck.
He found the two women wrestling between two fallen chairs.
Grabbing a third chair, he slammed it atop Frenchie’s head. She slumped over India.
“Get her off me!”
Briggs grabbed the bitch by the back of her shirt, lifting her from India. “I want to kill her now. God I want to kill her now.”
“You can’t. We need her to find Bridgette.”
“I know. Any idea where I might get rope?”
“No need,” Harding said from behind him. “We brought our own.”
Everett and Sawyer followed.
Briggs dropped Frenchie, then sank to his knees. Never had he been more glad to see his friend. Correction—in that moment, Harding was way more than that. He was his CO. His boss. The only true father he’d ever known. “We need your help. Harding, they took our baby girl. These bastards took our baby girl. I’ve never even seen her and they took . . .” He broke down, hunched over, uncontrollably sobbing. He was supposed to be consoling India, but here she was, wrapping her arms around him. The adrenalin of taking down Frenchie and Roger had worn off. Now nothing remained but sheer terror.
They had to find Bridgette. But how? Where did they even start?
“Calm down,” Harding said. “Don’t you ever for one second doubt we’ve got your back. Jasper and Nash already tracked the crew from the Pearl back to a private island just south of Salt Cay. Turns out it belongs to a drug cartel the DEA has been tracking for a mighty long time. They’ve had a whole lot of dots, but the cargo and records on the Pearl provided the line that connected them all together.”
“That’s great,” India said, “but that doesn’t get us any closer to our baby.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Sawyer said with a gentle smile. “We have intel that says an infant was seen on a recent satellite image taken at the cartel’s compound. There’s a good chance the baby is yours. We’ve got a chopper standing by if you’d like to see.”
Crying, nodding, she said, “Yes, please.”
Briggs stood, tackling Harding in a hug. “How can I ever thank you, man?”
“No need. This is exactly the sort of thing family is for.”
After Briggs retrieved his gun, India had a hug from Harding and also expressed her thanks. Then they were off.
Harding and Everett would babysit Frenchie and Roger until DEA agents arrived to deal with them and assess their level within the overall organization.
It took ten endless minutes to reach the island’s helipad.
Count on Harding to have thought of everything. The pilot already had the chopper fully fueled and running, ready for them to board.
After fitting them with headsets, they were soon off the ground.
Sawyer buckled in alongside the captain behind the controls.
Briggs in the aft section, keeping a tight hold on India’s small hand. Five minutes over dark water, he couldn’t tell if her wide-eyed expression had to do with the choppy ride or worry for their daughter.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded, but then shook her head. In the dim lights from the cockpit controls, he saw tears pool and shine in her eyes. His heart ached for her. For the fact that there wasn’t more he could do to make her feel better. But how could he when he faced the same doubts? They had no real proof the infant in those photos was Bridgette.
If she wasn’t?
Well . . . they’d cross that bridge when—if they came to it. For now, he’d prefer to look at their proverbial glass as half-full.
Their flight path took them over mostly inky black. There were a few brightly lit yachts. South Caicos. And then more nothing. More time to wonder whether he’d ever see his baby girl. He’d been such a fool. How close he’d come to throwing it all away. Now, he’d give anything for the chance to have India and his daughter in his life. What would it be like to finally hold her? Bury his face in her soft curls? Did she even have curls? He assumed she did.
He asked India, “Tell me about Bridgette. What does she look like? Does she have your crazy paprika colored hair?”
“My hair is red. And yes.” She faintly smiled.
“Is it long or short? Curly or straight?”
“She’s only a baby, but on the long side and curly.”
He closed his eyes and smiled. “I can’t wait to see her. Hold her. I’m sure she’s a beauty like her momma.”
Squeezing his hand tighter, she asked, “You really think it’s her?”
He nodded. Not because he had special insight one way or the other, but because he wanted to. He had to. Because believing any other way was inconceivable.
“You two with me back there?” Sawyer asked over the headsets.
&nb
sp; “Roger that,” Briggs replied.
“When we land, the pilot’s going to stay on board. India, because you’re the only one able to give me a positive ID on the child, I’m gonna need you to stick close. This place will be crawling with DEA. It’ll be easy to get lost in the shuffle. If you stay with me and Briggs. You’ll be fine.”
India nodded. “Will do. Thanks. When—where—will we see Bridgette?”
“I’m not sure. I tried radioing ahead to our teammates, Jasper and Nash, but got no answer. I’ll try again before landing on a different frequency. Shouldn’t be long now. Maybe five minutes.”
“Thanks, man.”
Briggs used the backs of his fingers to wipe glistening tears from India’s cheeks. “She’s going to be there. She’s going to be healthy and beautiful, with all of her gorgeous, crazy, paprika curls bouncing all over the place.”
India laughed and sniffed. “Stop. How can you poke fun at her when you’ve never even seen her?”
“I’m paying her the highest compliment. If she looks anything like you, she’s a stunning beauty.”
“Stop.”
“I mean it . . .” He tried leaning in to kiss her, but his seatbelt wouldn’t allow it. Throwing caution to the wind, he unbuckled it long enough to press his lips to hers, reassuring her that no matter what, this time around, he was staying.
Despite Sawyer’s warning, upon landing they emerged from the chopper to find themselves in an eerie calm. DEA processing stations had been established, complete with orderly lines comprised of men and women who resembled high-end tourists and staff, not his idea of members of a high-powered cartel.
The sweet smell of night-blooming jasmine and the sea accompanied piped-in calypso music and an almost party atmosphere. What the hell?
“Something’s voodoo,” Briggs said midway across an elaborately paved terra cotta pool deck. Discreet lighting made the grounds glow from the pool to the swaying palms to the shallow reef surrounding the cigar-shaped island. “This place is too perfect. What are we missing?”
The limestone and glass structure was enormous, yet narrow—like a fixed thirty-foot wide luxury train—save for an at least five-story tower on the north end.
“My thoughts exactly.” Hands on his hips, Sawyer turned in a slow circle.
“There!” India pointed to a light flashing on the tower’s turreted roof. “It’s a signal. And look—” She pointed out to sea where the vague shadow of a craft could be seen reflected in the moonlight.
“Holy shit,” Briggs whistled. “Someone’s up there, planning how to make a run for it.”
“What if they have Bridgette?” India asked.
“Let’s not take any chances.” Briggs took her hand. “I say we go directly to the tower.”
“Mind if I tag along?” Sawyer had already drawn his gun.
“Speaking for both of us,” Briggs said, “we’d welcome the company. Any idea where Nash and Jasper are hiding?”
“No clue. Never got them on the radio.” Sawyer opened a gate leading to a private patio and plunge pool. The only break in a wall of windows was a ten-foot-tall glass door. He tried it and found it open. “I would say ladies first, but let me check it out.”
“Be my guest.” India stepped back.
Briggs said, “I hope nothing’s happened to Nash and Jasper. They do have a knack for finding trouble.”
“No kidding.” Sawyer swept the moonlit ultra-modern bed and bath combo. “All clear.” He opened the interior door on an endless hall that overlooked the dark sea, ringed by a perfectly illuminated band of aqua green.
Somewhere out there waited a drug lord’s escape. It was up to them to find him, before he found his ride.
The three of them jogged past a half-dozen closed doors, cozy communal areas and an elegant dining hall. Briggs figured they’d reached the tower, but instead came a mirror image of more of the same. The place truly was enormous.
The lights flickered.
Emergency lights, flashed on, but then settled into an eerie strobing pattern.
“I don’t like that,” India noted.
“Me, neither,” Sawyer said. “Feels like we’re stuck in a Stephen King novel.”
“Let’s keep going.” Briggs took the lead to the eventual end of the hall, but when they reached the logical spot where the tower should be, there was nothing. “This makes no sense. Where could it be?” He felt the wall, testing the surface for a change in the texture. Lots of paranoid billionaires had secret rooms. Wouldn’t surprise him if mega-rich drug lords did, too. “Help me. There has to be something we’re not seeing.”
The strobing lights were starting to take a toll. His eyes were playing tricks on him, at first trivial things. Walls being blue instead of green. But then he saw a figure in the shadows. Lightning in a starry sky. He forced his erratic breathing to slow. Work the problem, man.
“Got it,” Briggs said. “If this pans out, I’ll feel like an idiot.”
Retreating down the hall to the nearest door, Briggs tried it and found it locked.
He reared back to kick it in, holding his Glock 19 at the ready in the strobe-lit gloom.
From what little he could make out, it was an open concept suite with different areas raised to take advantage of the views. A massive canopy bed with gauzy curtains was on the highest platform with five shallow steps leading up to it.
What once must have been a swanky living area had been tossed to hell. A table and chairs had been upended. Broken glass, water and fresh flowers littered the highly lacquered wood floor.
Something bad had gone down.
“India . . .” Briggs hovered on the room’s threshold. “Hang back for a sec till we call an all-clear. Sawyer, cover me while I—”
Bam! Bam! Bam!
India screamed.
“Back up! Back up!” Briggs retreated, flattening himself against the outside wall flanking the door.
Sawyer stood on the opposite side.
India had ducked beneath an artsy-looking table.
“You’re gonna be okay,” he told her. “We’re all good.”
“No, no, no . . .” She was crying.
The damned lights were still strobing.
His every instinct screamed to go to her, but he didn’t have that luxury. This situation just transitioned from search and rescue to active combat. He had to remain alert.
Bam!
“I don’t like this,” Sawyer said. “Especially with Nash and Jasper M-I-A.”
“Affirmative.” Briggs dodged out from the doorway and over to Sawyer’s side, whispering, “I’m crawling in. You shoot high—try and flush this fucker out. As soon as I get a visual, I’ll take him.”
“Roger.”
Dropping to his knees, then flattening—ignoring the urgent pounding of his heart reminding him this mission wasn’t just for his country or teammates or a client or refugees, but his child—Briggs propelled himself forward using his forearms.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Oddly enough, the familiar rounds of Sawyer’s Glock came as a comfort.
Bam! Briggs winced. What he guessed to be a .450 Marlin? Not so much. His ears rang from the blast’s proximity. A good thing. It meant he was within range of his target.
Bam!
Bam!
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Bam!
A hulking African-American emerged from the shadows beyond a wing wall. He towered over Briggs, outweighing him by at least fifty pounds. Lucky for Briggs it made no difference when he waited until the man took his next step, lunging for his ankle at the exact moment he raised his left foot. The man’s weight worked against him. He crashed like a marble slab, crying out on his way down.
Before the guy realized what happened, Briggs was behind him, pinning him with his knee in between his shoulder blades while snapping his neck. The death was quick and silent.
Briggs took the Marlin from the floor and checked the ammo.
Three shots remaining.
The dead guy wore a fu
lly-loaded combo ammo/holster belt. Unsure what else they’d encounter, Briggs helped himself, unfastening the brass buckle, then giving it a few hard tugs. With his Glock at the ready, he checked the suite for more company before calling, “All clear!”
“Are you all right?” India asked, rushing toward him for a hug. “Any sign of Bridgette?”
“Yes to me, but no on our girl.”
Sawyer asked, “How about the tower entrance?”
Briggs smacked his forehead. “I was so consumed with keeping our asses alive, I forgot to check. Let’s repeat the drill with feeling the wall. The tower door has to be here.”
They performed as a team in the obnoxious strobing light, systematically working along the wall until India discovered a push-spring lock mechanism. “Got it.”
“You’re a genius.” Briggs framed her face for a kiss before peering up dark stairs.
“This area must be on a different power grid.” Sawyer stepped around India and Briggs. The only faint light filtered through the window walls lining the tower’s crown. “At least we don’t have to deal with the strobe.”
“Agreed. But there could be anyone hiding between us and the top.”
“Only one way to find out.” Briggs set the pace, taking the stairs two at a time. If his daughter was on top of this tower, he had to reach her. He climbed and climbed until his calves and thighs and lungs burned.
Nearly at the top, he paused upon hearing muffled voices.
“Hold back!” he called in a stage whisper to Sawyer and India below.
Proceeding with caution, he entered a posh, glass-walled seating area with a view to the world. And on a man. Who was in the act of mounting a zipline—all while carrying a baby in a backpack. A freakin’ backpack.
Bridgette? A hot rush of nausea swept through him.
“Stop!” Briggs ran out the door onto a limestone patio that they must have earlier thought was the roof. He waved his arms, but when a second man on the ground popped off a shot, he ducked.
The startled baby’s cry ripped through the night, deep into Briggs’ soul.
His chest squeezed in pain. She was so close, yet so far.
By the time he raised back up, the guy on the zipline had reached the ground and released the tension on the pulley, leaving the cable useless and slack, meaning to give chase, Briggs would have to go the long way down. Where the hell were Jasper and Nash?
Forsaken (SEAL Team: Disavowed Book 6) Page 6
