by Al Macy
* * *
As soon as we passed through the airlock on her ship, which was now fully operational, some kind of force field or wind propelled the two of us—plus the dog—to the bridge. Unlike Wilson, her computer was a no-nonsense entity. She spoke to it in rapid-fire Endish.
I strapped myself into one of the command chairs. “Your computer can’t speak English?”
“Endish works better for this situation. Hush.”
My comm to Wilson was still open. “I’m being scanned,” he said.
Breck was a blur of activity, adjusting virtual switches, arranging screens. Every gesture was precise with a constant back and forth in staccato Endish. She kept one eye on the approach of the slave traders.
She swiveled her command chair toward me. “What defensive capabilities does Egg have?”
“Pretty much none. I had to sell off my quantum gun.”
“But a self-destruct, right?”
I nodded. Self-destruct was required of all salvage vessels; some cargos must not be allowed to fall into the wrong hands.
“Ion or quantum?”
“Both.”
She spun back and continued her preparations.
“Arrival in five minutes,” Wilson said.
“You have a plan?” I asked.
She kept working. Didn’t answer for a full minute, then turned to me. “Set up the self-destruct and execute it when I say. You’ll have to trust me.”
I spoke with Wilson, working through the safeguards. He made no jokes about whether he regretted his upcoming demise.
“Ready,” I said to Jan. “But you know that—”
“Prepare to surrender.” The raspy Xelon voice boomed through the ship.
“Now, Alex,” Jan commanded.
“But Egg is too close to us. We’ll be—”
“Now! Trust me.”
I clenched my teeth. “Wilson, now.”
The blast registered in my whole body as if Asteroid had shifted instantly. Egg was only one hundred meters distant while the quantum disruption bubble extended out a kilometer. The jump queasiness hit me at the same time. What?
I opened my eyes to Jan’s radiant smile. It lit up her entire face and sent a warm arrow through my heart. The stars in the view screen had changed. “What happened?”
“I used the self-destruct blast to disguise our jump. Endish ships can survive blasts like that. We jumped 120 light years, and the Xelons won’t be able to know where we went.” She displayed a spreadsheet above my head. “Check this out.”
It took me a while to decipher what I was seeing. “That can’t be right.”
She nodded. “It is. I transferred all the ByteCoin from the Xelon ships. Enough to keep us in luxury for a few years.
Us? Hmm.
“So, what do you say, love?” She turned her smile on me. “Shall I drop you somewhere, or shall we become renegade pirates together?”
I answered without hesitation. “Yo ho!”
The robodog looked at me and said, “Bad idea.” It had Wilson’s voice.
CHAPTER THREE
This story line was originally part of my book, Contact Us. Several of my critique partners complained that it was too much of a detour from the main plot, and besides, it wasn’t very science-fictiony. I agreed and drastically reduced this subplot in the book.
I missed it, though, so I’ve reconstituted here. There’s some overlap between this and some early scenes in my book, but even if you’ve read Contact Us, you might enjoy finding out what happened “behind the scenes.”
* * *
In his jazz club, Jake Corby played “Lullaby of Birdland,” achieving his favorite feeling of “flow” as he moved into the bridge. Nice! He played best when he wasn’t trying to make it sound good—when he was simply listening. The club was eight steps below street level with an atmosphere suited to alcoholics and die-hard jazz fans. It was shabby-chic, with a faint odor of cigarette smoke left over from a more permissive time. Like an old woman hiding her wrinkles with makeup, Jake kept the lights low but put a spotlight on the Steinway grand. Six regulars watched him play.
It was the spring of 2018, but Jake liked to escape into the persona of a 1940s jazz musician. He wore a dark suit with a narrow tie. His clothes were usually rumpled as if he’d been to an all-night jam session. His salt-and-pepper hair and rough face suggested a life of tough gigs in dark bars. If he’d had a cigarette hanging from his lips, the image would have been complete.
From the corner of his eye, Jake caught Stephanie rushing over. Uh-oh, here comes trouble. Stephanie reached him and poked him in the thigh with the cordless phone. He shook his head.
She put her hand on his forearm and leaned over to his ear. “This sounds really, really important. She says it’s an emergency.”
He nodded, improvised a quick ending, and took the phone.
“Jake, it’s someone named Renata. She says Sophia has been kidnapped.”
“Renata?” Jake froze and frowned as he switched gears between his new life and the old. Images of working with Renata at his security firm ran through his head. He closed the keyboard cover on the piano, took the phone, and talked quietly for several minutes.
When he hung up, Stephanie was still standing by the low stage. “What is it? What happened?”
“An old friend of mine needs my help.”
“Did she say someone was kidnapped?”
“Do you remember the four-year-old I took care of for three months last summer?” Jake stepped off the stage and walked to the coat rack.
“Of course. Sophia. Your goddaughter.”
“She’s been …” He cleared his throat. “She’s been kidnapped in Mexico City, and I have to go help rescue her.”
“But how can you …?” She went silent.
“It’s a long story, Steph.”
“You were some kind of black-ops person, right? I knew it.” Stephanie followed him out the door to his car.
“Not exactly. I’ll fill you in someday, I promise.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I have to go. Please have Darius fill in for me.”
* * *
The small Cessna cut through the cloud cover and descended toward the Benito Juarez airport in Mexico City. Jake had become addicted to private jet travel as a CEO, and his current plane-sharing arrangement was the perfect compromise between the money suck of plane ownership and the drudgery of commercial travel. They touched down at 11:30 a.m. and taxied over to the waiting Corby Solutions limo.
Jake had been the head of the company but handed the reins over to Renata Perez years ago when he decided to drop out of the world. Corby Solutions provided seminars and training to help executives become harder to kidnap. The firm also had a rapid-response team available whenever a kidnapping did occur. Even if a corporation ended up paying, Jake’s company usually negotiated a lower ransom. The irony of the new CEO’s daughter being kidnapped was lost on no one.
Archie Chen was the company’s top agent. Nicknamed the “Mexican Ninja” he had the chiseled muscles you’d expect from an expert climber and an intense gaze that could stare down a cobra.
Renata and Archie met Jake at the bottom of the airstairs. He pulled Renata into a hug, holding her head against his neck. Her dark hair lay against his chest as she sobbed. He continued to hold her while reaching out and shaking Archie’s hand. “Renata, you can have some crying time each day, but you know I also need your help.”
She nodded against his neck.
“I need your magic and your brilliant brain, okay? I realize I’m asking a lot.” He took his hand off her head, and she nodded again.
“The most important thing,” he said, “is that if they just wanted revenge, they would have killed Sophia immediately. They could have done that without getting out of the van.”
In the limo, he continued, “Are you ready to take off your Mom hat and put on your CEO hat?”
Renata dried her eyes and took a deep breath, possibly grateful to be working, doing what she di
d every day. “We’ve been involved with Dinero five times in the past. Three wins for us, one loss, and one tie. The loss was the first one—the Pierotti case. The mom caved in to the persistence of the police, gave them the go-ahead for a raid, and the kidnappers killed the child and got away.”
Jake nodded. “Right. I remember that.”
“Number two was a tie. We negotiated a ransom and had a successful exchange, but the ransom was much lower than in their initial demand.” Renata was now businesslike, easing into her normal mode. “The last kidnappings were all wins for us. In number three we paid a high ransom, but we had marked the bills. From that, we located the bad guys and called in a SWAT team. They killed two, and a third rolled over.”
“We recovered sixty-five percent of the loot,” Archie added.
Renata continued, “In number four, we kept delaying things, and the victim escaped on his own. In the fifth, we were able to discover where the victim was being held, and Archie went in and extracted her. He also killed the leader of the Dinero Cartel in the process.”
“You’d think they’d give up after that,” Archie said, “but apparently the number two guy thought he could do better and we figure he’s trying to put us out of business by embarrassing us.”
Jake nodded. “Big cojones.”
“Right. We figure he thinks no one would take advice from a company who couldn’t even keep the daughter of the CEO safe.”
The limo passed an area undergoing road work. A pair of jackhammers cut off all conversation for a block.
Once it was quiet again, Jake asked, “What’s the plan?”
“We’re waiting for the ransom demand.” Archie rubbed the back of his neck. “We have a mole in their organization. He’s low down, but he may be able to help us. He knows we’ll pay him for any information he has.”
“Have you given him any money yet?”
“No, nothing yet.”
Jake tapped his chin. “Send him one hundred thousand dollars right now and tell him he’ll get a million more if he can get Sophia safely to us or help us rescue her. Emphasize that one hundred K seems like a lot, but it won’t be enough to keep him safe from Dinero. When we give him the one million, we’ll also set him and his family up in a new country, wherever he wants, and give him a new identity. What’s his name?”
“He’s using ‘Juan’ for talking with us,” Renata said.
Jake squeezed her hand. “The mole is great news.”
“Maybe. Juan is about as low in the cartel as anyone could be. He just does things like washing the car and going out for food. There’s no way he’ll know about anything important.”
“You never know with these things. Sometimes just one little tip is all you need.” He kept his real thoughts to himself. We’re going to need a lot more than that.
* * *
After more than a week with no word from the kidnappers, the dream team was starting to give up hope. Jake secretly believed all was lost, and Sophia was dead, her body dumped where it would never be found. Outwardly, he stayed positive, saying things like, “They are just prolonging our agony to soften us up. We’ve seen that before.”
Renata sank into a severe depression, and Jake could only occasionally lighten her mood. He talked of the years they’d worked together and the surfing trips the four of them had taken to Baja, Mexico: Jake, Jake’s wife, Mary, Renata, and Pierre, Renata’s ex-husband.
In the early years of the company, whenever they’d had a slow period, they’d flown over to the Baja Peninsula, rented a cabana on the beach, and surfed until their arms turned into noodles. This was before Sophia was born, and each day ended with fish tacos, margaritas, and stories around a fire on the beach. They were perfect traveling companions, always on the same page. They handled all the typical holiday snafus with good humor.
There was a sadness to the memories as well, since Mary had been killed, and Renata’s marriage to Pierre had ended in a bitter divorce. The only upside to that: Jake had helped out by hosting Sophia in California for two months, and the two had bonded. Jake recalled his affection for Renata and wondered whether they might move to the next level, now that the two of them were unattached. Those thoughts would have to wait until they took care of the current crisis.
On day eight of the vigil, Jake, Archie, and Renata sat in her office discussing the same old ideas over coffee. They ignored the dramatic view of the Sierra Madres. A shout came from the other room and Renata’s secretary appeared in the doorway.
“El topo!” she said. The mole.
They hurried into the company’s situation room where the top negotiator, Senor Vela, was speaking on the phone. The others picked up special listen-only extensions.
“Thank you for the money,” the caller said. “I have information.”
“We are grateful, Juan, and we will take care of you.” The negotiator’s voice was soothing, like that of a caring psychologist.
“Antonio, he is the boss, he asked me for the location of two functioning pay phones in Mexico City. He wanted phones on busy streets in the southwest corner of the city. Since so many are broken, he asked me to find two that were definitely working. Are you ready for the locations?”
“Yes.”
“The first is at the corner of Parroquia and Jose Martin Mendalde. The second is at the corner of Rodríguez Saro and Coyoacan.”
“When do you think he will be calling?”
“Right now, Senor,” Juan said. “I think he will be calling now. I must go.”
Archie jumped up. “Those places are six kilometers from here.” He and Jake were off in under a minute, traveling in separate cars driven by agents familiar with the streets in Mexico City.
* * *
The call came in before Jake and Archie arrived at the pay phone locations. At the office, the negotiator let the phone ring four times, giving the agents a few more seconds to get into position. Radio communications kept everyone in the loop.
Jake pressed his foot against the floor as if there were an accelerator pedal on his side of the car. “We’re not close, what about you, Archie?”
“We are still about eight minutes out.”
Senor Vela answered the phone even though the kidnapper would certainly demand to speak to Renata. A delay tactic. The call was patched in to the radios in the cars.
“No games, no delays, let me speak with the mother.” Antonio’s voice was low.
“Just a second,” Vela said, “someone’s getting her now.”
Once Renata was on the line, the caller asked if she wanted to hear her daughter.
“Yes, of course.” The strain in Renata’s voice came through clearly.
After a delay, Sophia’s voice could be heard, unmistakably her, but possibly from a recording.
“Mommy I want to come home, I—”
“Say it!” Antonio’s rough voice contrasted with Sophia’s quavering tone.
Sophia said, “Five dead in Cuba. I want—”
Renata understood. By mentioning the news story about the deadly early-season hurricane that had cut through Cuba the previous night, the kidnappers were proving her daughter was still alive.
Jake squeezed the bridge of his nose. Knowing that this girl who felt like a daughter to him had been kidnapped was one thing. Hearing the helpless terror in her voice tore him apart.
Antonio was back on the line. “The ransom is ten million dollars. We know you have that much. You have interfered with us too much. I have three guys here who would like to spend some time with your daughter. Understand? I also have a flask of acid. If you try any tricks, that will go in her face. Understand? We will make your company look bad, and we can do that by killing your daughter, so don’t try anything.”
Senor Vela, Renata’s chief negotiator came back on the line. “You realize we—” The line went dead.
Renata’s voice broke. “Jake, do you see him?”
“No, we are still two blocks away. Archie?”
“No, we’re coming up o
n the pay phone, but there’s no one there. We’re too late.”
Jake said, “Can you see—”
“Wait a second …” Archie gave some instructions to his driver in rapid-fire Spanish. Then, “Okay. Jake are you there?”
“Yes.”
“Someone just sped off from near the pay phone on a high-end BMW motorcycle. It looks like it had been parked on the sidewalk. He’s going west on Parroquia but I don’t know if we can keep up. Can you intercept him?”
Jake looked at his driver, who waggled his hand, tilting it left and right. Jake said, “Maybe.”
After seconds, Archie’s voice came back on the radio. “He’s gone, we can’t keep up with him.”
Jake’s driver pointed to the rearview mirror. “Mira.” Look. Jake spun around. A nice motorcycle was a half block back, traveling with the traffic.
“Archie, was the bike blue and white?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Blue helmet?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Jake turned forward, but kept his eye on the side-view mirror. “I think we’ve got him. We’re a little ahead of him, going west on Rodriguez, and we are passing … Moras Street … He’s passing us … We’re following him onto the Anillo highway now.”
The two cars coordinated their tailing of the motorcycle on the four-lane highway. If the rider noticed them, it would be a death sentence for Sophia. Antonio was right. Even without getting the ransom, Sophia’s death would be a big win for the kidnappers. Corby Solutions would be discredited.
As they continued southwest, traffic thinned out. They were forced to fall farther back.
Then, disaster. The kidnapper put on a burst of speed, and they lost him entirely.
Jake slammed his palm against the dashboard.
* * *
The driver put up one finger. “Do not worry, Senor. I think I know where he is going. This highway ends in a little town called Temamatla. A nice bike like that will stay out.”
“Stand out?”
“Yes, Senor, it will stand out. Stick out. No bikes like that in Temamatla.”
Jake and Archie consulted via the radio then went back to the office. Both were obviously foreigners, and their appearance in such a small town would tip off the kidnappers. Instead, two other agents went to Temamatla and made discreet inquiries. They called in to report that several people knew about a blue and white motorcycle, and one had maybe seen it rolled into a private residence.