No Fortunate Son (25 page)

H
earing the voice mail, Seamus hung up. For the third time.

Kevin said, “You want me to send the chat request? The room’s open.”

“No. Not yet. You sure this VOIP thing is working? I’m getting nothing trying to contact Braden.”

Kevin said, “Yeah. If he’s not answering, it’s because he’s got the app turned off or he’s out of digital 3G or 4G coverage. Call him direct.”

“I don’t want to taint the phone. Right? If I call on the cell network instead of VOIP?”

“Yeah, but if you’re that worried, what’s the big deal? It’s a single call. You’ve been using VOIP for Braden since we started.”

“Because if I’m that worried, it’s the exact wrong time to do it, jackass.”

Kevin retreated to his computer screen, saying, “Well, do you want to send the request or not? I got the room open.”

“No, damn it. We need the new Snapchat video. I want to hit them with the Bitcoin request, then when they stall, hit them with the death of their hostages.”

Sitting aside, listening to the back-and-forth, Colin finally said, “What’s the holdup? Where’s Braden?”

“I don’t know. I keep getting his voice mail.”

“He called before, right? Saying the diversion was going down?”

“Yeah, but I can’t get him now. I don’t know about the robbery.”

“Why does that matter? Call the team sitting on them. Tell them to make the Snapchat. They can execute.”

“I don’t trust them,” Seamus snapped. “They fuck it up, and they’ll
have the world coming down on their heads. A hornets’ nest. Then it’ll be coming to us.”

Colin said, “I thought that didn’t matter to the mighty Seamus.”

Seamus looked at him and said, “You dumbass, of course it matters. I don’t want to give them a road map to find us, and it would take one mistake for the NSA to grab.” He paced around the room, running his hands through his hair. Feeling the pressure.

Kevin interrupted his thoughts, saying, “Seamus, got something out of Paris. You ought to see this.” He pointed to a separate laptop, streaming with live news. A breaking story appeared.

Seamus said, “Turn it up.”

The sound came on, the announcer speaking French. Seamus said, “Shit. Can you find one in English?”

“By the time I search, the story will be over.”

The screen showed a broken-down apartment complex, the area out front blockaded with all manner of emergency vehicles, the blue lights flashing like a circus. As the man spoke, the camera zoomed in to the fourth floor, grimly framing a blackened window, the drapes, stained by flame, fluttering in the breeze.

Entranced, Seamus stared at the screen, not believing he had created the chaos. The picture flashed back to the news desk, and the anchor spit something out in a rapid manner, looking flustered and holding his hand to an earpiece. The screen cut to a picture of a jewelry store called Bulgari, then to a picture of a necklace, a thick gold chain encrusted with diamonds, a heavy ruby in the center.

Colin whooped and said, “The robbery! It went off.”

Seamus smiled and said, “Looks like it.”

One of the cell phones on the windowsill went off. Not the one he held, so it wasn’t Braden. Still looking at the laptop, he waved his hand and said, “Someone get that.”

Colin moved to the window, and Kevin said, “You want to start the chat?”

“I’m not sure. You think you could talk the team through the Snapchat procedures? Make sure they send it in such a way that it can’t be tracked?”

“Yeah, it’s really not that hard. I can send them step-by-step instructions.”

“Seamus,” Colin said. “You need to take this call.” His face was drained of color, and his hand that held the phone was trembling.

“Who is it?”

“Ratko.”

Seamus took the phone, cleared his throat, and said, “Ratko?”

“Where is your shit of a brother? Where are my jewels?”

“How did you get this number?”

“Never mind that. Where is your brother? He won’t answer the phone.”

“I thought he was meeting you in Brussels tomorrow? What’s the big deal?”

“He was supposed to call, letting me know he had gotten away clean. He never did, but the news is talking about the robbery and not saying a damn word about anyone getting arrested.”

Seamus said, “Okay, okay, look, I don’t know where he is, but I don’t think it’s time to panic. Give him a chance.”

Ratko’s voice went cold. “You and that brother had better not be double-crossing me. You wondered how I found this cell number, remember that. Braden doesn’t show in Belgium tomorrow, I’ll find you the same way.”

The line went dead. Seamus put his hand down, and Colin said, “What’s wrong? Why is Ratko pissed?”

“It’s nothing. He’ll calm down.”

“Seamus, I can’t have him hunting me. He’s
worse
than the law. You hear what those guys do to people? This thing is breaking down.”

Seamus ignored him, turning to Kevin. “Can you call the team with VOIP?”

Kevin nodded.

“Do so. Give them the instructions.”

I
slapped in the combo to our hotel safe and ripped out the two suppressed pistols, handing one to Jennifer. I was kicking myself for not having them with me in the first place, but when I thought the Paris gendarmerie were on board it made little sense to bring firepower. We weren’t going to actively engage, and trying to penetrate an arrest to interrogate Braden would have been made much, much harder sporting two illegally suppressed Glocks. It wasn’t worth the risk.

I did find it humorous that Jennifer had placed our laptop inside as well, like the maids would have stolen it. For the price we were paying for this Parisian gem, I would expect to be able to leave a couple of half-dressed midgets in the room holding the Glocks and get no flack. Of course, I wasn’t going to push that theory.

She stowed her weapon and booted up the laptop, going online and furiously typing, trying to find the location of the hostages before the men who held them realized something was wrong.

I had nothing else to do, so I called down to Nung, making sure he was ready to receive us when we had a destination. Our hotel wasn’t exactly conducive to vehicles, so I’d had him drop us off, then circle like a shark until summoned. The time getting back to the hotel had eaten up thirty minutes, and I was growing worried that we were about to miss our window. We needed an edge.

Jennifer said, “No, damn it. A Samsung Galaxy,” and I realized she was on a chat with someone at Taskforce headquarters, the Samsung phone hooked to her laptop. She said, “Where’s Creed? Get him online.”

I heard, “He’s at the White House Situation Room. Working the problem.”

I wanted to punch the wall at the words, superstitiously wondering if the devious bastards we were after had managed to divert the one computer geek I trusted at Taskforce headquarters. Refusing to face the real probability that those same devious men might have killed two members of my team. Including Knuckles. My friend and my mentor.

Earlier, we’d searched Braden’s body and found a passport from the UK, confirming his identity, along with two cell phones. The cell he was using when we killed him was a ruggedized flip phone that worked on the cell network like a walkie-talkie. The other was a Samsung Galaxy smartphone, stuffed into his back pocket. I’d continued searching, stripping the body, when a museum official from the exit came down, shocked at what he’d seen.

He’d said, “The police are on the way. Don’t you move.”

Nung had simply looked at him, then at me, saying, “Time to go.”

He’d glided toward the stairs with his catlike gait, and the man stepped aside.

I said, “Give me your radio.” The guard did, and I sprinted up after Nung, reaching the exit and a group of tourists standing around with large eyes, getting more for their entrance fee than they expected.

Marching out as though I owned the place, holding the radio from the man downstairs, I picked out the first thirtysomething man I could find. A guy with Harley-Davidson tattoos and a bad goatee. An American who looked as if he was used to bending the rules.

I’d said, “Don’t let anyone else come up. I’m coordinating the first responders, but I don’t have the manpower to lock down the exit. There’s a bad guy down there.”

His wife or girlfriend said, “That’s not our business . . .” but I saw him grin, looking at my radio. Because, you know, if you’re holding a radio, clearly you’re the authority.

He nodded his head, saying, “Shush, Celia. We can help.”

We sprinted through the door, and Jennifer was waiting. Right outside. I couldn’t believe it, thanking the gods yet again that I’d run into
her and her bottomless pit of historical knowledge four years ago. We piled in, and she said, “Where’s Braden?”

I said, “He’s dead. No time to discuss.”

I pulled out my Taskforce phone and called Kurt, praying he would answer. He did.

“Sir, I don’t have time to explain, but we took down Braden, and he’s tied into the hostages. I need a geolocation of a phone signal right now.”

His answer had rocked my world. “Pike, I don’t have time for this right now. The hostages may very well be dead. Along with Knuckles.”

He’d given me the abbreviated version of what had happened, speaking in short, clipped sentences. The story left me speechless. How could we have been sucked in to such a trap? Where were the intel indicators?

Jennifer saw my face and said, “What? What’s he saying?”

I waved her off and returned to the mission. “Sir, I just caught the guy from the tape in Cambridge. I don’t know what the hell is going on with that hit, but your niece is alive. Braden was giving orders to kill her, but he couldn’t get a signal because we were deep underground. I
need
this phone lock.”

“Underground? What the hell are you talking about? And how do you know she’s alive?”

“Sir, I
don’t
, but I’m close. You guys are on the wrong thread. Help me. Please.”

I heard a bunch of background noise, then he came back. “Pike, they’ve just made a demand. I have to go. Call George Wolffe. Tell him Prairie Fire. He’ll open the world.”

I heard the command and felt some comfort. Prairie Fire was the code word for a catastrophic event, when Taskforce lives were on the line. He was giving me the keys to the kingdom for his niece, and I had no doubt he would back it up.

I said, “Thanks, sir. Gotta go.”

He spoke again, hope seeping through the connection, penetrating the disaster he was dealing with. He said, “Wait. The reports here are bad. Very bad. At least seven bodies all burned beyond recognition. Why do you think she’s alive?”

“Because she’s from your genes. Trust me, she’s alive, and I’m bringing her home. Like I promised.”

*   *   *

Kylie heard the door open to the cellar, then the stomping of feet, the adrenaline spurt from past events failing to appear. She remained prone, no longer having the energy to care, the virus that was ravaging her body siphoning off any energy to respond.

The bearded one removed her hood and forced her upright, saying, “What’s wrong with you?”

Listlessly, she said, “Nothing. Asshole.”

He set her food in place, and with an urgency he’d never shown before, he said, “You sick? You need to see a doctor?”

She heard Nick shout from the other side of the room, “Yes, you dumbass. Yes, she’s sick. You want the leverage, you need to help her.”

She saw him stalk to Nick, hood still on, and cuff him in the head. Nick hit the ground, and the man leaned over, saying, “You a doctor, asshole?”

Nick sat up, staring in the wrong direction in his hood. He spit out, “Fuck you. She’s your golden egg and you know it. And so am I. You can beat me some more if you want, but she’s going down fast. Fix it. Now.”

Colin ripped his hood off, kicking him to the floor. In the back, Travis began whimpering, curling up in a ball. Colin said, “I could kill you right now, you fuck. I have him and her.
I
have the power.”

Nick glared at him and said, “No, you don’t. You bring the food. You’re a fucking lackey. You have nothing but the power of your boot, you miserable shit.”

The words caused Kylie to sit up at last, afraid of the response. She saw Colin’s face and knew Nick was dead.

Instead, Colin kicked the wall, cursing in aggravation. She realized Nick was right. For the first time, she clearly saw he knew more about their predicament than anyone else. Colin satisfied himself with a boot to the gut, then stormed up the steps, slamming the room into darkness.

She waited a minute, then said, “Nick, please don’t do that again.”

He chuckled and said, “Yeah, that probably wasn’t smart. I let my anger get the better of me. I thought I was dead.”

From the fetal position, Travis said, “Yes, yes, please don’t do that again.”

Nick leaned over in the dirt and clawed his way forward a few feet. He put his face next to Travis’s hood and said, “I can see you. You know why? Because he left without putting my hood back on. Because I’m not a pussy.”

Kylie said, “Shh. He’s talking just outside.”

They grew quiet and heard Colin’s voice.

—“I need to speak to Ratko.”

—“Because he’ll want to hear what I have to say, that’s why. Quickly, I don’t have a lot of time.”

They sat in their underground tomb hearing nothing. Waiting. Eventually, Colin’s voice floated out again.

—“Ratko? Yes. I’m Colin. I work with Seamus and don’t like how this is going. I have nothing to do with what’s happened.”

Silence, only the shuffling of Colin’s feet on the deck of their prison. Then, a more subdued voice.

—“Ratko, I don’t want you chasing me. That’s why I’m calling. I have the people we took. I don’t know what Seamus is up to. If he crossed you, it had nothing to do with me, but I can give you more than that necklace.”

—“Damn it, listen to me! We’ve caught the son of the vice president of the United States. Along with his fiancée. They’re worth more than that necklace. Seamus is auctioning them off as I speak.”

—“Because I don’t want you hunting me, that’s why. Look, Seamus is going to be wondering what I’m doing. Am I good? I pass them to you and I’m not on your list?”

—“Okay, okay. If Braden doesn’t show, I’ll call you. Will that work?”

There was a long pause, then Colin said, “I understand. I’m not working with Seamus on this. No tricks. Trust me, you want him, I’ll set it up.”

They heard nothing else. Kylie said, “What does that mean? What’s he talking about?”

Nick said, “It means we have a seam. Something to exploit.”

She looked at his face in the shadow of the heat lamps and saw despair. She knew he was lying, and things had gone from bad to worse.