No Fortunate Son (34 page)

J
ohnny peered out the side window of the panel van, waiting on his teammate to return, when his second in command, a guy with the callsign Axe, said, “Why are we taking this guy down again? I mean, specifically? Did they give you our intel requirements?”

“Not really. Just that he’s associated with the kidnappings. We take him and interrogate as fast as possible. We dig until we hit something worthwhile. Pike’s apparently waiting on intel, and we’re it.”

“That’s great. Pike. I should have known.”

Johnny said, “What the hell is taking Crash so long?”

Axe said, “Maybe he’s already accomplished the mission.”

Johnny laughed. “Doubt it. Not with the security he called in.”

“We going in as soon as he briefs?”

Looking out the window, Johnny said, “Still waiting on the call. Nothing until we get the execute authority.” He stiffened and said, “Crash is inbound.”

The door opened and the teammate called Crash entered the back of the van. He said, “Okay, I’ve got at least four PSD. Maybe one extra, but the last guy seems more like a secretary than actual physical protection. That guy called the Frog just left the bar and went back to his suite, taking some local talent with him. Real hammers.”

“So our biggest threat is a couple of hookers?”

“I wish. They’ve got one PSD at the elevator on the floor, then two outside the door, then the rest inside.”

“Going to be a fight?”

“Looks that way. He’s on the fourth floor, so we could climb, but
that would take some time. And that’s
after
we waited for them to go to sleep.”

Axe said, “It’s close to two
A.M.
, so it might not be that long.”

“I don’t know about that. You should have seen the chicks. They’re going to be busy for a while.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Johnny replied. “Kurt was pretty clear. No waiting. Pike’s standing by, and this is apparently critical. How can we get down the hall? Do we have cover?”

“Not really. The elevator opens at a T intersection, but once you turn the corner, they’ll have eyes on.”

“What’s the distance?”

“About fifty meters.”

Axe said, “Shit, I’m not sprinting half a football field.”

“I was thinking about the drunk routine. The one we did in Sudan? You good with that?”

Axe said, “Yeah. That might work. Better than running and gunning down a linear target.”

Johnny said, “Okay. Axe and I head down the hall. You deal with the security at the elevator. We get as close as possible. Anyone escalates, and it’s game on.”

Axe said, “I cannot believe I’m acting like a drunk to help out Pike. That bastard is going to owe me big time.”

Johnny’s phone vibrated, and he answered. Axe knew the decision by the look on his face. He hung up and said, “Okay, this is it. We hit hard, suppressed weapons. We interrogate in the room. We get whatever we can, and we leave. But we can’t kill everyone. Only self-defense. No offensive shooting.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means this place isn’t designated a hostile force. Unfortunately. Kurt has no idea who this guy is or what he knows, so we don’t have authority to start killing. Only in self-defense.”

Axe said, “What if we can’t leave? If the police show up?”

“We go to jail. That’s straight out of Kurt’s mouth. You guys still good?”

Axe screwed a suppressor on his Glock, saying, “You have to ask that?”

The three exited the van, slinking across the cobblestone street to a boutique, high-end hotel overlooking the Atlantic. Surrounded by much older buildings, it kept to the local charm with its architecture but was clearly a cut above. Like the rich bride attending her first party with the redneck family. Wearing the same clothes, and trying to fit in, but failing miserably.

According to the intelligence Kurt had sent, the man known as the Frog lived on the penthouse floor, and the reconnaissance earlier had confirmed it. The floor consisted of two suites. The Frog had the one on the left, which wouldn’t have been a problem, except his personal security detail started their protection at the elevator.

Crash led the way past the desk to the cars. He pressed the penthouse button and said, “We get out, it’s game on. We control this right, and nobody from the desk will know. We need to hit hard. Really hard. Before anyone can call reinforcements.”

The bell rang, and Johnny held out a fist. The other two bumped it, and the doors opened. Johnny and Axe spilled out, shouting for someone named Felton, with Crash staying behind in the car, out of sight. The first PSD grabbed Johnny’s coat, telling him to stop. He jerked out of the man’s grasp and continued on, shouting, “Felton! You fuck! Your bride’s looking for you.”

Axe continued the charade, stumbling forward toward the T intersection. The bodyguard grabbed his shoulder, calling on his radio. Axe turned, drawing the guard’s full attention, and Crash put a barrel against his head. The guard raised his hands high. Crash pointed to the floor, and he sank down.

Axe and Johnny turned the corner, shouting and yelling for Felton. Weaving and stumbling, they saw the two outside the door. They got within five feet, and one advanced, politely telling them they were in the wrong spot. Axe said, “Bullshit. You’re hiding our friend. What’s with you, man? Where is he?”

The bodyguard pulled out a pistol, intent on jamming it into Axe’s face and showing he meant business. What he got in return was a display of controlled violence.

Axe trapped the pistol in his hands, then rotated underneath the
man’s arms, torquing his joints in a small circle. He whipped toward the ground, and the man went flying over his shoulder, slamming into the carpet. Axe let go of the arm and hammered him in the temple with a closed fist. The man ceased moving. Axe turned to help Johnny, but it didn’t matter.

His target was down as well.

Searching the body, Johnny held up a keycard. Axe took it, glanced back to make sure Johnny was ready, then swiped. The light went green, and they exploded in.

They entered a den, Axe seeing a man on the couch and one at a liquor cabinet. The couch man leapt up, drawing a gun and aiming. Axe broke his trigger to the rear, popping his head back with a suppressed round. He turned to the right and saw Johnny holding liquor-cabinet guy by the hair, the man on his knees, compliant. Johnny hissed, “You had to kill that guy?”

Axe said, “Your guy doesn’t have a weapon.”

Johnny jerked his head to the right, toward the bedroom, and Axe sprinted toward it, Glock at the ready. He pushed open the door and saw a dream of every red-blooded male on earth. Two women on top of a man, both with impossibly inflated attributes. Both writhing and moaning. The target clearly had no idea Axe had entered. In a world of his own.

Axe hit the lights and the girls rolled off in confusion. The man sat up and yelled in a language Axe didn’t understand.

Axe leveled his pistol and said, “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Frog, but I’m here to ask you some questions. Please don’t disappoint me with your answers.”

The girls began screaming, and Johnny entered the room. Into his radio, he said, “Crash, target secure. Clean up the hallway. Bring them in here.”

In a heavy accent the Frog said, “You fuckers have no idea what you’re messing with. None.”

Axe looked at one of the girls and said, “I don’t know about that. I think I’ve been in something similar.”

Taking that as a cue, one of the girls sidled over to him and, in
broken English, said, “American. I speak American.” She knelt down, reaching for his belt, completely unashamed at her nakedness. Axe roughly knocked her away with his knee, spilling her to the ground and leaving no illusion of the state of play.

The Frog said, “Leave now, and I’ll pretend this didn’t happen. I have no money here, and I have powerful friends in very high places.”

Johnny said, “I’ll bet not as high as ours. We’re looking for Nicholas Seacrest, and we understand you’ve had some dealings with some Irishmen who know where he is.”

The words hung in the air. For the first time, Axe saw fear crawl across his target’s face.

I
paced back and forth in the lobby of the Shannon FBO, feeling more and more frustrated, slamming back one tepid cup of free coffee after another. We’d been sitting on our asses for more than six hours, and the thread from the hostages was growing distant.

Maybe I should have done what Blaine said. Just start tracking likely exit routes. Try to run into them on the road.

Jennifer said, “Pike, you’re going to give yourself an aneurysm.”

Like a he-man, I crushed the Styrofoam cup I was holding. “We’re doing nothing. They’re getting away. I’m sick of waiting on the Taskforce for intel. We could be here until dawn and get zilch.”

Blaine said, “They’ve got an operation primed for Dubrovnik. Johnny’s on it. Let’s wait it out. See what they get.”

I rolled my eyes and said, “What the hell does Croatia have to do with this? The kidnappers are in
this
country, and the entire island is only four hours across. We’re giving them the edge. Let me take Jennifer and just start cruising the highways. Go to Dublin and back. Maybe Belfast. Just to see what we can find.”

“No. Kurt could call at any moment. I need the assets here. What if he says he has the target, and it’s back in Cork? I’m not going to spread out. I’ve got enough trouble controlling the cleanup crew. Settle down and get some sleep.”

We’d left Macroom in the hands of another support crew, and they’d begun their work, cleaning the mess we’d left behind. Blaine had also coordinated a medevac bird and we’d passed the still-unconscious Travis Deleon off to a medical team, bound for the United States. I always
looked to the future, forgetting about the past, but Blaine had to deal with both.

I scanned the room, every overstuffed La-Z-Boy full of Taskforce Operators snoring away. And Nung, playing a video game on the widescreen TV.

“Fat chance I could sleep right now.”

Jennifer said, “Pike, come here.”

I did so, glancing at Blaine. He studiously stared at another widescreen showing CNN.

“What?”

“Would you have a little faith? Kurt’s working the issue. You can’t solve everything by yourself.”

“I know that, but this is killing me. The guy’s got Seacrest in his car, and he’s
here
, not in Croatia. Every second we wait, he gets farther away.”

“You said yourself we’ve been waiting for six hours. The time to run around flailing in the dark has long gone.”

I looked at Blaine again, making sure he was focused on something else, then said, “You don’t understand. Kylie wasn’t there. She’s gone. I don’t give a rat’s ass about the vice president’s son, but without him, she’s going to die. I can’t let that happen.”

She took my hand and flicked her head at the La-Z-Boy next to her. I sat down. She said, “It’s going to come together. It will.”

I sat down and said, “No it
won’t
. It doesn’t work that way. No matter what you do, sometimes people die. Good people.”

She knew whom I was talking about. She said, “Don’t do that to yourself. This isn’t about your family.”

I sagged back and said, “It
is
. I let them die, and now I’m letting Kylie do the same.”

She said, “You still have her pendant?”

“Yeah. I’m going to give it back to her. When I find her.”

“What’s it say on it?”

Confused, I said, “You know.”

“I want to hear it.”

Before I could answer, Blaine stood up, his phone to his ear. I watched
intently, like a dog following an owner with a ball in his hand. He hung up and said, “Wake everyone. We have a mission.”

We sprang up. Jennifer began walking around and shaking legs.

I said, “What did Johnny find? Where are they?”

Blaine said, “We have an address in London. Let’s saddle up.”

“London? Who?”

He started packing his small rucksack, stuffing in bottled water and PowerBars, courtesy of the FBO. “Johnny just took down a Croatian arms dealer. Apparently, he’s been working with the new IRA and connected them to some Somalis from al-Shabaab. He’s got the address to where the skinnys are holed up in London.”

“Somalis? That’s always been a smoke screen. It’s what almost got Knuckles and Brett killed.”

He stood up. “Not this time. There’s a connection. And we get to go explore it.”

Everyone began packing kit, getting ready to leave, but I was having none of it. “Sir, this is stupid. There are no Somalis attached to this. I know we want to believe al Qaida is at the heart of this, but they’re not. Flying to London is the last thing we should do. The hostages are in Ireland.”

He stopped and looked me in the eye. “Sergeant Major, get your ass on the plane. We have a target to hit, and I need your skill.”

“Sir, it’s an hour to England. Another hour to get sorted out. An additional hour getting to the target, and then at least an hour of recce. It’ll be damn near noon before we can do anything, which means we’ll roll over until the next cycle of darkness. And lose the hostages.”

“We’re not going to wait. Kurt’s orders. We hit as soon as we can. Darkness or otherwise.”

“What? A daylight hit?”

“Yeah. Direct orders. Burn it to the ground. Whatever comes out, comes out. We get additional intel, and we do a follow-on hit. Wherever that leads. Nobody stands in our way. Nobody tells us no.”

I liked the sound of that, as much as I thought the mission was misguided.

Jennifer hoisted her knapsack and said, “Pike, we can talk on the plane.”

“I’m not sure we should
get
on the plane.”

“What’s on the pendant?”

I remained silent.

She said, “
Tell
me.”

“Let us do evil that good may come.”

“You can’t give her that pendant back without fulfilling its prophecy. I’m ready.”

I said nothing, sizing up whether she was playing me.

She said, “Pike, I want her back as much as you. I’m willing to do what’s necessary.”

I realized she wasn’t manipulating me. That she meant it from the core of her being. I reached down and grabbed my bag without looking at her.

Blaine nodded at her, a silent thanks, and I said, “Sir, don’t go patting her on the back just yet. You have no idea what evil I’m about to do.”