Option to Kill nm-3

by Andrew Peterson

  Option to Kill

  ( Nathan McBride - 3 )

  Andrew Peterson

  Nathan McBride, “the most brutally effective thriller hero to appear in years” (Ridley Pearson, author of *Killer Weekend*), returns in the third installment of one of the best new series in thriller fiction.

  When Nathan McBride receives a text message from someone who claims she’s been kidnapped, it triggers a deadly chain of events that has the potential to haunt him for the rest of his life.

  Nathan will soon learn that nothing from his past could ever prepare him for the crisis he’ll soon be facing. The girl’s name is Lauren and she’s just twelve years old. With virtually no experience with children, Nathan’s patience and compassion are about to be tested to their limits

  In a violent confrontation, Nathan rescues Lauren from her kidnapper, but as he unravels Lauren's story, he realizes his troubles are only beginning. She says she's in the Witness Security Program, and doesn't trust the US Marshals because she thinks they're complicit in her abduction. Not only that, her stepdad was murdered last night.

  In a desperate and unlikely alliance, Nathan and Lauren must stay one step ahead of her kidnapper and the brutal mercenaries who will kill anyone who gets in their way. Played out over the course of 36 lightning-fast hours, Nathan and Lauren must learn to trust each other or they won’t survive.

  Andrew Peterson

  Option to Kill

  Episode One

  Chapter 1

  A text tone interrupted Nathan’s movie. He pressed pause and grabbed his cell from the coffee table.

  echo five sierra charlie

  He sat up and squinted at the message. Someone just used his operative name, and he didn’t like it. Only a handful of people knew his former company designation, and none of them would text him like this. In fact, anyone from his inner circle would’ve called, not texted. He wanted to ignore it, but that was wishful thinking. You can’t uncook a steak, and this one was burned.

  “Sierra Charlie” — the military designators for the letters S and C — had only one meaning: “situation critical.” Someone was in a life-or-death struggle. It carried the same urgency as a “cover now” call over a police radio — drop everything and respond.

  It could be a fishing expedition or an outright trap. He and Harv had enemies all over the world, and one of them could be baiting him. He’d delete this cellular account right away. Tonight. Nathan always kept his cell’s GPS tracking capability disabled, but there were still methods of tracing a cell phone’s location.

  But on second thought, it seemed unlikely this text originated from a former enemy. If it had, he’d already be dead — or worse. One thing was certain: whoever managed to obtain his cell number had to be resourceful. Maybe he could turn this around and get some info on the sender.

  He tapped the screen.

  who are you?

  Nathan didn’t consider himself a paranoid man, but now he felt vulnerable. He went upstairs to his bedroom and changed into 5.11 Tactical clothing, before punching a six-digit combination into his handgun safe. He grabbed his SIG and pocketed the suppressor and four spare magazines. He jacked a round into the chamber and lowered the hammer using the weapon’s decocking lever. Gun in hand, he returned to the living room and turned off the Blu-ray player.

  His cell chimed again, showing a single name.

  lauren

  OK, fair enough, but not very useful. A first name didn’t tell him squat.

  how do you know about echo five?

  Nathan waited through fifteen seconds of silence.

  my mom

  What mom? Besides Harv’s wife, he didn’t know any moms who would or should know his old CIA call sign. In fact, he didn’t know any other moms, period. He turned off all the lights, cracked the blinds, and scanned the front yard. Sensing his change in behavior, his two giant schnauzers studied his every move. He took them to the kitchen door and pressed a forefinger against the capacitance scanner of the security keypad. The red LED turned green.

  “Grant. Sherman. Search!” The dogs bounded out the door.

  Nathan tapped another question.

  where are you?

  The messages originated from a phone with a local 858 area code, but “Lauren” could be anywhere. For one crazy moment, he toyed with the idea that Harv could be using someone to play a prank on him. Today was April Fools’ Day, but he knew Harv would never do this, not even as a gag.

  la jolla

  Nathan’s radar sprang up three notches. He was in La Jolla as well, his house no more than a seven-minute drive from any location within the community. Was there another La Jolla, in a different part of the country? He needed more info.

  la jolla san diego? where in la jolla?

  The answer arrived a few seconds later.

  exxon lj shores blk suv

  Nathan stared at the text. Exxon gas station at La Jolla Shores … in a black SUV? Depending on the signal at La Jolla Parkway, this person was no more than a three-minute drive away. Coincidence? Not in this Marine’s world. Time to get mobile. He grabbed his emergency travel bag from the hall closet, unzipped it, and secured the handgun, spare mags, and suppressor next to his folding Predator knife. He felt an adrenaline surge build as he laced his boots, so he slowed his breathing.

  Whoever was sending these messages now had his full attention. If this was someone’s twisted idea of a prank, there’d be hell to pay.

  In the garage, he belted himself into his Mustang. He always kept the vehicle backed in so he could exit straight out, but more importantly, he also faced the door when it opened. Seeing the driveway was clear, he took a few seconds to send another text.

  what kind of trouble are you in?

  He started the engine, pulled forward only enough to allow the garage door to close, and pressed the button. He never left his house without watching the door finish its descent. Old habits died hard. He opened the home security app on his phone and rearmed the system with a six-digit code.

  Kidn

  Kidn? “Kidding”? Was this Lauren person now telling him she was only kidding around? Then why use the “echo five” reference? It didn’t make sense.

  Nathan didn’t text often but knew there were all kinds of abbreviations. Did she mean “kidnapped”?

  He sent another text.

  you still there?

  Without waiting for an answer, Nathan started down the driveway. A few seconds later, his phone rang. He answered it, but didn’t say anything.

  “…me that phone, you little slut! Who are you calling?”

  He heard a rustling sound, then a long silence ensued. Nathan sensed a malevolent presence on the other end, like the draft from a slaughterhouse.

  “Whoever you are, this is none of your business. Stay away from her, or you’re dead. I’ll do you … slowly.”

  The call went dark.

  Chapter 2

  Nathan braked hard at the bottom of his driveway as the privacy gate rolled open, then sped away, driving as fast as possible without being reckless. This area of Mt. Soledad was residential with steep, curvy roads, and he didn’t want to plow into anyone.

  He no longer doubted the messages. There was hatred in the man’s voice, vicious and deep. Nathan had no illusions about the danger of jumping into this situation, but someone named Lauren knew his CIA call sign and also knew the “Sierra Charlie” reference. During their time as an operative team, Harv and he hadn’t interacted with many female operations officers, so it was unlikely Lauren was one of them. Besides, no trained spook would initiate contact like this, especially after fourteen years.

  This definitely smelled like a trap. Nathan was many things, but naive didn’t make the list. At this point
, he fully expected the situation to turn ugly.

  Nathan ran a stop sign and turned left on a busier street. This was a well-traveled route, so he didn’t feel as concerned about speeding. People who lived along this road knew the score. He estimated no more than three minutes had elapsed since Lauren’s first text. Pushing the limits of his Mustang, he raced down the mountain until a model citizen forced him to drive the speed limit. He couldn’t pass, so he had to endure a painfully slow pace. At the bottom of the road, the signal to cross La Jolla Parkway was red. With a little luck, the delay wouldn’t be long.

  He pulled into the line of waiting cars and replayed the call in his head. The voice had an Hispanic accent. He guessed the man’s age to be somewhere between thirty and fifty. The guy was obviously a bully by nature, and maybe worse, given the “die slowly” threat. Nathan knew about bullies — all too well — and, if possible, he intended to “properly” introduce himself. We’ll see who dies slowly.

  He assumed Lauren was fairly young because of her reference to “my mom,” which only made the situation more urgent.

  The light changed and he followed the line of vehicles onto westbound Torrey Pines. The Exxon that Lauren had mentioned stood in a small retail center about two hundred yards ahead. As he approached, he scanned the area for a black SUV or any dark SUV but didn’t see one. He turned into the driveway and coasted past the gas pumps on the left. The absence of a black SUV meant he faced two options: wait or leave. He favored leaving. At the driveway abutting La Jolla Shores Drive, he’d have to turn right — a median curb prevented a left.

  Nathan looked both directions and saw something to his right. Two blocks north, a black SUV made a screeching illegal U-turn. He focused on the vehicle as it approached from the north, heading to the light at Torrey Pines. Someone behind him honked, an annoying beep. He ignored it and studied the Cadillac Escalade as it sped past. The male driver had been trying to make the green light at Torrey Pines, but the car in front him had stopped at the yellow. A girl sat in the passenger seat, and she appeared to be fairly young.

  Nathan cut off a Lexus and accelerated to the same illegal U-turn location. In a somewhat reckless move, he whipped his Mustang around and ended up about ten cars behind the SUV. From this position, he shouldn’t have any trouble staying with it.

  He considered calling Harv and bringing him up to speed, but dismissed the thought. His friend was on vacation on the other side of the world, and this would only alarm him pointlessly. Depending on how ugly this turned, though, he’d have to get in touch with Harv soon.

  After the light changed, the Escalade gained some separation, but he couldn’t do much about it. From its current lane, the Escalade could peel left to stay on Torrey Pines or continue straight onto eastbound La Jolla Parkway. Ten seconds later, he had his answer. It went straight, heading for the intersection of I-5 and Highway 52. Without making abrupt lane changes, he closed the gap and settled into a slot five cars back.

  Nathan thought about the texts the girl had sent. The man had grabbed her cell phone midcall, that much was obvious, and if he’d taken a minute to scroll through her messages he would’ve seen her reference to a black SUV at the La Jolla Shores Exxon. If so, the driver might be looking for a tail. But even if the driver had looked at the messages, he might not have thought anyone could get to the Exxon in time. There was no way to gauge the driver’s level of situational awareness, so for now Nathan would play it safe and observe from a distance.

  At the top of the grade, the Escalade continued east and merged into the flow of Highway 52. Nathan kept the same margin until he saw an opportunity to make a move. If the driver suspected he was being followed, Nathan would know soon enough. He eased into the right lane and passed a few cars. The motorcycle in front of him moved over to exit the freeway, which left his lane clear. He closed the distance, paralleled the Escalade, and glanced left.

  Now that he had a closer look, he guessed the girl’s age to be twelve, plus or minus a year.

  The girl looked at him, and for the briefest instant, he sensed recognition on her face. She mouthed four words in an exaggerated manner.

  Kidnapped, please help me.

  Nathan learned to read lips long ago, and there was no mistaking what he’d just seen. He felt his body tighten and loosened his grip on the steering wheel. This was unquestionably the black SUV from the texts. Everything fit. Instinctively, Nathan committed the girl’s face to memory. She looked Eurasian, with strong cheekbones and a few freckles. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

  He glanced at his speedometer — seventy miles per hour — and eased off the gas. The Escalade advanced into his ten o’clock position. At least the eastbound lanes on Highway 52 weren’t heavy with traffic. Rush hour had already come and gone.

  Nathan retrieved a small notepad and pen from the glove compartment and assessed the ambient light. Not great. Most of the vehicles had their headlights on as the final traces of twilight stretched across San Diego. He wondered if the girl would be able to read his note. He thought so. Kids tended to have sharp vision.

  Holding the notepad against the steering wheel, he wrote two words in large block letters: ECHO FIVE.

  Nathan pulled forward again but kept his driver’s-side window just shy of the Escalade’s passenger window. If this girl truly was in trouble, he didn’t want the driver to see the note. He hugged the left side of his lane and brought the note up, keeping it low in his window.

  The girl looked over, and this time there was no doubt. Her expression told all.

  Nathan nodded and fell back again, faking the appearance of a distracted driver who couldn’t decide how fast he wanted to go. To complete the act, he grabbed his cell phone and brought it up to his ear.

  Now what?

  He’d just received a desperate plea for help from a kidnapped girl whose mother clearly had classified information. Some big questions needed answers. He inched forward again, matched the SUV’s speed, and looked left. The girl’s expression worsened and she mouthed, No police. Please, no police.

  No police? What did she mean by that? If she was being kidnapped, why wouldn’t she want the police involved?

  He dropped back into the Escalade’s blind spot.

  Options began forming. Should he follow the Escalade and call the police anyway?

  Nathan looked at his gas gauge: less than a quarter tank.

  His SIG SAUER P226 and Predator knife were in the emergency travel bag, but engaging an unknown adversary in gun or knife play didn’t seem like a solid option. And there could be more than one kidnapper involved, or more children. The tinted rear windows of the Escalade hid any occupants. If there were additional people back there, they might’ve seen the notes. Nathan supposed the closeness of the two side-by-side vehicles, combined with the fading light, could’ve made it difficult for anyone sitting in the back to see, but he wasn’t sure. Strike that. If anyone were seated behind the girl, they definitely would’ve seen the notes. Since the kidnapper hadn’t changed speed or done anything out of the ordinary, Nathan believed no one else rode in back.

  He felt naked in his Mustang. His six-foot-five frame barely fit into the custom seat he’d installed and his windows weren’t tinted. He needed to turn disadvantage into an advantage, but how? How did being visually unprotected become an asset? His cell phone. He’d pretend to be texting against the steering wheel and drift into the Escalade. Just a bump. Nothing serious, but enough to warrant an exchange of insurance information. But what if the driver overreacted and lost control? The Escalade might roll, or cause a multivehicle accident. And what would happen if it didn’t stop? What if it sped away? Nathan didn’t want to endanger innocent people by engaging in a high-speed pursuit.

  He needed more information and decided to risk another exchange. All he’d gleaned at the Exxon station was the image of a clean-shaven man with short dark hair and a pronounced chin who looked to be in his late thirties or early forties. He also appeared to be wearing
a business suit. How many kidnappers wore business suits?

  Assuming the girl could respond only one more time, he’d ask a tactical yes-or-no question. He wrote a new note, inched forward, and waited until he was just ahead of her window so she wouldn’t have to turn her head as far. Riskier, though — from this position, the driver might be able see it. Without looking over, Nathan brought the pad up and held it low against his window. After several seconds, he lowered the note and glanced left. Keeping her head straight, the girl offered a barely perceptible nod. Whoever this child was, she was poised and smart. Nathan dropped back and thought about the question he’d just asked.

  JUST YOU + DRIVER?

  Answer: yes.

  The big question returned. Now what?

  The I-805 interchange was just ahead, and the kidnapper moved into the right lane. Nathan opened up some distance and followed the Escalade up the sweeping onramp. He began to feel a building pressure to do something. Come on, Nate. Think. What are you going to do? Taking the wrong course of action could backfire and cause more harm than good. Patience, he told himself. Sometimes no action was the best action. As long as he kept the Escalade in sight, he had options. On the other hand, it would take multiple assets to tail a vehicle effectively through surface streets. If the driver possessed countersurveillance training, he’d likely initiate a surveillance detection route. And if he did that, Nathan couldn’t avoid being discovered. A single asset couldn’t beat a properly executed SDR.

  Ahead on the freeway, something caught Nathan’s attention: the Amber Alert sign at Clairemont Mesa Boulevard displayed three bright lines of text. Set against the cobalt sky, the message demanded to be seen:

  CHILD ABDUCTION