by L. T. Ryan
The guy was tall, thick with muscle and a bit of a stomach. He wasn't particularly tan or pale. His hair was short, and a couple days' worth of stubble covered his chin and cheeks and jawline.
He reached down and removed the gag covering her mouth. "Tell me who you are." His accent was American.
Her throat was parched to the point where she couldn't do much other than grunt. "Water. Please."
He glanced down at her. Remained motionless for a few seconds. Finally, he turned, left the room and returned with a plastic bottle. "Lean your head back."
Kat did as instructed and opened her mouth. The guy tilted the bottle over until it was completely upside down. Water rushed out, faster than Kat could drink it. She downed what she could, while the rest of the liquid poured across her face and ran down her neck and bare chest.
The guy seemed unfazed by her breasts.
"Who are you?" he asked.
She recalled Pierre's instructions to her. Don't give up anything without getting something in return.
"Nobody," Kat said.
"You know what happens to nobodies?"
She said nothing.
"They wind up dead and dismembered."
She still said nothing.
"You insist on being nobody?"
She shook her head.
"Then who are you?"
"Kat."
"That's a good start. Kat who?"
"Kat Lyon."
"How long have you been working with Pierre Allard?"
"I've never worked with him."
"Remember what I said about nobodies? Same thing goes for liars."
"I'm telling you the truth. I've never worked with him. I'm a waitress. Pierre is my lover."
"What do you know of his operations?"
"Nothing. I never knew what he was involved with until he was shot. And since then, he had a long recovery in the hospital, then we left Paris. He wanted to be away from it all."
"He hasn't been."
"Yes," she said. "He has. He's been in the hospital or with me for months now. He hasn't been involved in anything."
The guy stared at her without speaking.
"Who are you?" she said. "What do you want with Pierre?"
"I'll be back after we figure out what to do with you."
He dropped the hood and the gag on the floor beside her, then exited the room. Kat watched the heavy door fall shut. Heard the lock click over. And then she cried.
Chapter 63
Johannesburg, South Africa.
"WE'VE GOT HIM," Sasha said. "They locked onto his cell phone. He's about forty miles outside of town. Went from traveling around sixty miles per hour to a crawl. Car troubles, maybe. He's gone off the highway, though."
"We're sure about this?" Mason said. "We can trust this intelligence?"
"Stop with the constant pissing match. My analysts are every bit as good as yours. If they say they've locked in on Taylor, then they have."
"And you think we'll find Noble's girl, then."
"I don't know, Mason. But I think we'll at least get a few answers."
Mason turned his attention to his phone. "So if he's about forty miles, then we've got approximately twenty more to go. Guess it was luck we went this way."
"Wasn't luck. We took the intelligence my people provided and ran with it." She glanced over and saw him grinning, obviously enjoying egging her on. "Real funny."
"Just trying to ease the tension."
"Let's get this guy and figure out what the hell is going on, and then we can worry about easing tension."
They continued on another fifteen minutes, reaching a point halfway between two exits, where a vehicle had been abandoned on the side of the motorway. Sasha eased onto the shoulder then backed up to within a few feet of the vehicle. They both exited onto the shoulder.
"Where would he go from here?" she asked.
Mason looked behind them. "Last exit was maybe five miles ago, right?"
She nodded.
Mason said, "Would he have taken his chances going backward? Or pressed on until the next?"
"How far away is that?"
He checked with his phone. "Another five miles, but maybe he didn't know that. Maybe he'd been watching the exits and realizing that each one was a little further than the last. Thinking back to two exits ago, there was maybe four or five miles between. So he says to himself, at the distance he's gone since the last exit, it should only be another mile, two max to reach the next."
Sasha nodded her agreement with Mason's assessment.
"Let's drive on for a bit," she said. "Perhaps we'll catch up with him."
They returned to the car. Sasha slipped back onto the motorway. Not a mile further, they encountered another car on the side of the road, abandoned.
"Coincidence?" she said.
"Don't believe in them," Mason said.
"Well, let's check it out anyway." She pulled over, came to a stop behind the vehicle.
"Rental plates," Mason said.
"What were the last?" she asked.
"Local. I remember them." He exited and walked forward.
"We should get my team to run them."
He nodded.
Sasha got out and walked to the midpoint of the overpass. Leaned over the steel guardrail. Glanced down expecting to see a creek or railroad tracks. Instead she saw faded blacktop.
"Mason," she called out.
He looked back at her.
"Down there." She headed toward him. "There's a road. My gut's telling me he's down there somewhere."
Mason stepped over the guardrail and studied the terrain. Pointing, he said, "Look there. Those tall stalks of grass, all broken, aiming toward the road. A line straight down." He knelt down and inspected one of the breaks. "It's fresh, Sasha. This happened recently."
"We have to find a connecting road," she said.
He joined her a moment later, phone in hand, map pulled up. They both returned to their seats in the car.
He said, "I don't see anything that connects."
"There has to be," she said. "Somewhere. Keep looking. That can't just be a random road that leads to nowhere, can it?"
"Explains why there's no exit here. Maybe we should start walking."
"He's got a mile, at least, on us."
"And he could get another mile, or shelter, or veer off into the woods in the time it takes us to realize we made a mistake and get back here by car."
Sasha pulled out her cell and called her office. "We think we've found where he exited. Where is he now?"
"We lost the signal."
"Can you get mine?"
"One moment."
The seconds passed. The car rocked side to side every time a vehicle passed in the nearest lane. The sound of the idling engine and fan blowing intermingled with their breathing. Finally, her analyst came back on.
"You are in the location we last saw him. From there, he headed east."
They both turned their heads to the left. The road wasn't visible from across the motorway, but the path cut between the trees was.
"I can't find any way back here," Mason said, holding up his phone.
"I need for you to find me a route to reach this road," she said to her analyst. "Can you do that? I don't care if it is an old logging road or a trail cut by elephants."
"It might not be pretty, but I'm sure I can."
"Call me back." She shifted into drive and pulled onto the motorway once again, headed south for the next exit.
"We're gonna lose him," Mason said.
"No we won't." She pushed the speedometer well past the speed limit. "My guys will find a way."
Chapter 64
Central France.
BEAR WAITED NEAR the entrance while Pierre dealt with the receptionist. The guy applied no pressure. Asked the same questions over and over. The woman grew flustered, face turned red, hands started shaking. She was lying. Bear knew it. Pierre probably did. But he did nothing about it.
The glass doors
rattled as they slid apart. A woman entered with her young son. She directed him to take a seat while she took a spot in line behind Pierre. The first one to do so.
Bear glanced back, wondering when the next patient would appear.
Pierre asked the woman about Kat and Mandy again. She pursed her lips together, tightly, and said nothing.
"Enough." Bear charged the counter and slammed into Pierre's side, knocking the Frenchman a foot to the side. The woman behind him protested, but one glance back silenced her.
The woman pushed back in her chair to create a bit of distance. Not that it mattered. She wouldn't get away if that was Bear's intention.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet. Opened it. Pulled out a photo of Mandy taken during their time in Iowa. He extended his arm, placing the picture inches from the old woman's face.
"I'm only gonna ask you this one time," he said. "After that, I'll start breaking things. Have you seen this girl?"
The woman said nothing.
Bear grabbed the top corner of her monitor and flung it to the side. The screen cracked with a hundred simultaneous thuds.
"Next time it'll be you."
She glanced toward the door. Any hope that remained on her face vanished. But Bear knew his time was limited. She'd done something to alert the authorities. Or she presumed someone else had, and now she held out hope for their arrival.
"Have you seen her?"
Pierre placed a picture of Kat on the counter. Bear grabbed it with his free hand and extended it.
He said, "And her?"
The woman started crying. She shook her head, then nodded.
"Which is it?" Bear said.
"I… I've seen the girl, but not the woman."
"Where is she?" Bear stepped back and looked at the three hallways branching off the waiting room.
"She's not here."
He snapped forward, and yelled, "Bullshit. Which room is she in?"
The woman was crying too hard to answer.
Bear almost hopped the counter, but it wouldn't have done any good. He'd smashed the monitor. Behind the woman were offices, one of which was occupied by a man watching the scene unfold in the waiting room. Bear pointed at the guy.
"Take us in there and pull it up."
The woman rose and stepped out from behind the receptionist desk. She waved the two men toward her, to the office. The guy inside shook his head as she opened the door. He tried to speak, but couldn't manage to put a word together.
"Get up," she said. "I need to show him that the girl left."
The guy rose and stepped back. By the time the woman, Bear and Pierre were all behind his desk, the guy was crammed into the corner. He breathed quickly and loudly through his nose. Bear expected the guy to pass out any minute.
"Here." The woman pointed toward the screen. Bear leaned forward and read the minimal information.
"Jane Doe. Auto accident. Checked out." He glanced back at Pierre. "That's it? That's all you have? And what does 'Jane Doe' mean?"
The woman looked to the guy for permission. He nodded. She said, "It means she had no idea who she was, and she had no identification on her."
Bear heard her, but didn't allow himself to process the information yet. "Where is she now?"
The woman waited a moment before speaking. "We can't divulge that information."
"You better divulge it or your boss here is going to end up with his head through that wall."
Pierre grabbed Bear and tugged him to the side. "Listen."
Everyone went silent. Just the man breathing and the whirr of his computer's fan.
And sirens.
"Could be the ambulance," Bear said.
Pierre shook his head. "Not in France. It's the police."
The office guy choked back a sob.
"Bastard," Bear said, pushing Pierre toward the door, where he stopped and looked back at the pair in the corner of the room. "I'm gonna find you, lady. You hear me? And when I do, you better have the information I'm looking for."
The police had already turned into the hospital's parking lot. Fortunately, thinking ahead, Pierre had parked on the side of the building.
"This way," he said pulling Bear toward the leftmost corridor.
They raced down the hallway. Double doors at the end bled sunlight through small rectangular windows. They had to get there. The sirens echoed off the walls. Surrounded them. Sounded like the cops had driven their cars right into the waiting room.
But they never heard the shouts of the cops. Maybe the lady's conscience weighed on her. Maybe she wanted to tell Bear, but feared for her job. Reasonable, if he placed himself in her position. Bullshit any other way he looked at it.
They pushed through the exit doors. The car was twenty feet away. The sirens cut off. The cops weren't in sight.
Pierre took the wheel and Bear crammed into the passenger seat.
"Don't go far," Bear said.
"We're getting as far away as we can," Pierre said. "You have no idea the trumped up charges the government could place against me if they want to."
"Why would they want to?"
"I have a good feeling they're behind all this. They were pissed that I refused to return to the agency after recovering from my injuries."
"Why mess with Kat and Mandy? If they want you, they should get you."
"You know why. To draw me out. They could torture one thousand people in my name, and I wouldn't bat an eye. But take the woman I love and I'll hunt you down and sever your head from your neck."
Bear understood. He'd say it was because of the woman involved, but at this point, Mandy was his only concern.
"Shit," Bear said. "Look out."
Ahead, a police car pulled out into the road. Pierre veered to the left as if to go around it. But another pulled out and made it impossible to pull the maneuver off. He slammed the brakes. The momentum carried Bear forward. He slammed his forearm awkwardly into the dash to keep from slamming his forehead into the windshield. A dull ache spread from his elbow to his fingertips.
"Reverse," Bear shouted.
The Frenchman, staring at the rear-view mirror, shook his head. "We're blocked."
"So what? These are hick cops. You and I can take on their entire force."
With his gaze remaining locked on the mirror, Pierre shook his head. "Look."
Ahead, four cops approached. They aimed assault rifles at the front of the car. Bear shifted in his seat and looked back at a mass of police cruisers and black vehicles. A mix of sedans and SUVs. At least ten men armed with what looked like MP5s approached. Some wore dark suits. Others were dressed in black fatigues. He made out thigh holsters where their sidearms were secured.
He glanced toward Pierre, caught site of two more men, dressed in fatigues and carrying submachine guns. Bear swung his head around, looked out his window. Three guys approached him.
"The hell is going on?" he said.
"Put your hands up and do what they say," Pierre said. "I'll do my best to get you out of this."
Chapter 65
South Africa.
JACK SPOTTED THE gas station as he reached the far end of a bend in the road. The trees thinned to a field with the pumps and a small store just beyond. There was a car fueling up, unattended. Looked that way, at least.
He picked up his pace, growing less aware of his surroundings and more focused on reaching the car. Could be his chance. Out here, it'd take half an hour, maybe more, for a cop to show up and take the guy's report. In that time, Jack could be forty or so miles away.
As he stepped off the curb and onto the store's lot, a woman exited the store. She glanced at him, then the car. She was closer. Presumably he was faster. A plan B formed. He could attempt to talk her into a ride. Say he had a breakdown, was lost, could she get him to the nearest town.
The woman stopped, looked back, waved toward the door. A child stepped outside, bundled in a checkered flannel coat. Jack slowed his pace. The child raced past his mother and
toward the car.
Dammit, he thought. The woman alone, he could risk it. But not with a child. Not with the uncertainty of what followed him wherever he went.
The woman glanced at him, eyes narrowed, lips thin, hands in her pocket no doubt clutching her keys and perhaps a can of pepper spray or mace.
Jack nodded in her direction, then turned toward the small store. He jogged toward the entrance. A chain of gold-tinted bells jangled when he pulled it open. An elderly man behind the counter greeted him.
Jack said, "Restroom?"
The old guy jutted his chin to the back of the store, toward the beer cooler. Said, "Through that door. Second door on your right. Mind the mop."
BRETT HEARD THE engine ramp up. A high-pitched whine that settled into soft idling. First car he'd heard since gaining some distance from the freeway. Asphalt and trees remained in front of him. He'd been jogging since he descended the hill and traveled underneath the overpass. Now he picked up his pace to somewhere just below a sprint. He could maintain it for a minute, maybe a few seconds beyond, but not much longer.
He rounded the bend. The trees gave way to a grassy field that butted up to a store and gas station. A small car pulled away from one of the pumps.
Noble?
Brett reached behind his back and grabbed his pistol. He kept it pressed to his thigh. Didn't want to alert the driver should it turn out to not be Jack.
The vehicle turned right, and drove away. No matter how fast Brett ran, he wouldn't catch up. Had he just missed his opportunity to catch Jack?
He slowed to a walk as he neared the store. If Jack had been by, whoever worked inside would remember. Not often Americans show up in this part of the country, Brett figured.
Every step, he slowed his breathing and his heart rate. He re-holstered his pistol. Wiped the sweat from his brow. Brett crossed the lot, pushed open the front door. A set of bells clanged next to his head. He resisted the urge to yank them down.
"Help you?" the old guy perched atop a stool behind the counter said.
"I need to know if you've seen a guy come through here. About six-two, athletic looking, brown hair."
The guy nodded. "You must be a friend of his, huh? I can't recall ever having two Yanks in here in one day."
