‘Like you said, she’s pretty independent.’ Pete gave Billy a knowing look. ‘So we decided not to mention it to her.’
‘Brilliant,’ Billy said. ‘Anyone up for a fantastic Christmas Eve dinner?’
‘Heck, yes,’ Jason said for all of them. ‘I can monitor her from anywhere.’
But Billy wasn’t listening. He was ordering up a private jet for Margo.
TWENTY-FIVE
While Margo was boarding a private jet to Washington, DC, Jack was landing at Shaw Air Force Base near Sumter, South Carolina, in an F-16CJ. The pilot, a member of the 20th Fighter Wing, owed him a favour, and was looking forward to his company on the trip.
Jack, however, said barely a word during the hour and a half flight. He was on his phone, negotiating with the men who held Marcus. For his safe return, Jack had agreed to transfer money from the offshore accounts he had found on Whit’s iPad into the account the kidnappers specified. He had already made the first payment.
When the ship Marcus was being held on docked at the Port of Charleston, and Jack personally saw Marcus on deck, the second payment would be sent. Once Marcus was safe and in Jack’s hands, the final payment would be transferred.
It could work like a charm if the men holding Marcus could be trusted.
Jack knew they could not.
Whit’s study was torn apart. Books were on the floor, desk drawers emptied out, the curtains were torn from the window. The television lay on the floor, its screen cracked. But the iPad containing all his information, his sacred ‘back door’ in case of trouble, was nowhere to be found.
This man who never showed emotion even in a crisis was in a full-blown rage. It was an anger fuelled by fear and bourbon. He had long since dispensed with the Tiffany glass which now lay shattered in a corner. He was drinking the Pappy’s straight from the half-empty bottle.
Jack McCarthy. It had to be Jack. No one but he and Marcus knew this house well enough to get in and out without a trace. And Marcus was dead.
If Jack got into those bank accounts, and Whit had no doubt he could do it in less than five minutes, it wouldn’t take him long to figure out where the money had come from. Whit had to get to him, stop him from blowing the whistle. He would explain, tell him what a paltry pension would be coming his way. After all he had sacrificed for the agency, Whit would retire as just another civil servant, living barely above the poverty line.
He would offer him anything. Half the money.
But even as these thoughts came to him, Whit knew it was a lost cause. Jack McCarthy was incorruptible. He would never stop until Whit was personally and publicly humiliated and locked in the special place the CIA kept for traitors.
Whit pitched the precious bottle of bourbon against the wall. It was over. Everything he had built, planned for. There was simply no leverage to be had over someone like Jack.
Jack sat on a bench outside the US post office on Bay Street within walking distance of the Port of Charleston. People decked out in their Christmas finery were walking to church or heading to celebrate the holiday with friends and family.
Jack took out the letter he had prepared so many weeks ago in Joliet and placed it inside a prepaid express mail pouch. It was the envelope that read TO BE OPENED IN THE EVENT OF MY DEATH. He’d called in one last favour with an old contact from Chicago he knew he could trust to retrieve it and send it to him with no questions asked. He addressed the mailer to Margo and added the key to the storage locker.
His letter would explain where Margo’s assets could be found. It would also let her know that he would love her always, in this life and the next.
He knew the chances of him and Marcus surviving the next hour were slim to none. But if it came to that at least he would know that by cutting all ties with Margo he’d kept her safe.
Jack had already transferred three million dollars into the account of Marcus’ wife. If things went south, she wouldn’t have money worries.
And while Whit knew of Margo and had sent a crew to erase Jack from her life, he would not be bothering anyone any time soon. The letter Jack had couriered to the Director of the Agency, containing the evidence of Whit’s treachery, would be in his hands before long, and Whit would be undergoing questioning by some very angry co-workers in the CIA before lunchtime tomorrow.
Jack deposited his mail into the express slot in the lobby of the post office and set off for the port. Maybe they’d get lucky and he would have Christmas dinner with his best friend Marcus.
Whit was looking behind the table that had held his iPad once again, as though the device might miraculously reappear. The ringing of the doorbell startled him. He looked at the clock. It was ten in the morning. Who the hell could be at his door on Christmas morning? Probably some pack of carollers, hoping for a handout. He wasn’t answering. Maybe they’d go away.
But it wasn’t carollers. And Margo wasn’t going away. She had seen the lights. She had heard noises coming from the house. She started banging on the door.
‘Mr Whitbred! Hello, Mr Whitbred! Please open the door! It’s Margo McCarthy, Jack’s wife. I need to talk to you!’
Upstairs in his wrecked study, Whit could hardly believe his own ears. When she called again, a small smile began to form on his face. Maybe there were Christmas miracles after all.
Leverage over Jack McCarthy might be right outside his front door.
TWENTY-SIX
It was Marcus. No question about it. Jack adjusted his field glasses. The man standing on the deck of the fishing trawler had a face altered by injury, but it was definitely Jack’s old friend. He was alive! If he had dared allow himself to feel, Jack might have wept tears of joy. But the next stage of the transfer was the crucial one and Jack had closed his mind to anything else.
The boat was idling a few yards out. In ten minutes it was to dock and a Land Rover was to drive onto the pier to pick up Marcus. He was to be brought to a parking lot that was under construction just to the left of the pier, where Jack awaited him. When Marcus was out of the vehicle and walking toward him, Jack would hit a button on his phone that would deposit the last of the ransom into the kidnappers’ account.
That was the plan.
All told, rescuing Marcus was costing Whit nine million dollars, plus the three million Jack had sent as a Christmas gift to Marcus’ wife. In Jack’s opinion, it was just a small down payment on what the traitor owed. Jack intended to make sure Whit paid in full.
Margo sat in a stiff brocade wingchair in Robert Whitbred’s small, sad living room. She had refused his offer to join him in a Christmas drink. He had been quite insistent but she was steadfast.
Even if she hadn’t been pregnant, she would not have had a cocktail with this man. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days and he reeked of liquor at ten in the morning. He was either on his way to being inebriated or had already arrived at that place. While he was managing a steely control, there was something disturbing in his eyes. He seemed deranged, Margo thought.
To be sure, Robert Whitbred was certainly nothing like the great man Kyle had led her to expect.
Whit returned with the water Margo had requested and sat down opposite her in an identical chair.
‘I’ll be frank,’ he said. ‘This tale you’ve told me about Jack seems hard to believe, Mrs McCarthy. I mean, disappearing from an airport, removing all traces of himself from your apartment …’ He stopped, shaking his head in disbelief.
‘I know it sounds crazy but that’s what happened. I was hoping Jack had been in contact with you, Mr Whitbred.’
‘Please, it’s Whit. And I’m sorry to disappoint you. I have no idea where he’s been, or even that he’d married. I haven’t seen or talked to Jack since the inquiry after his partner’s death.’
Lies were easy for Whit. It was what he was trained for.
‘What do you think happened to Marcus?’ Margo was watching him carefully, trying to gauge his veracity. ‘How was he killed?’
‘I’m afraid that’s classif
ied,’ Whit said, not unkindly.
‘So you won’t help me?’
‘I’d like very much to help you. Jack meant the world to me. I just don’t know what it is you want me to do.’
‘I need to find Jack. No matter what he’s done or hasn’t done, I need to find him.’ Margo took a deep breath. ‘There’s something I need to tell him.’ Margo was almost brought to tears of joy at the very thought of the precious life growing inside her. ‘I think it would change everything.’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs McCarthy.’ Whit leaned forward and took her hands. ‘I have no idea where Jack is. But if you have a thought, please tell me. I will move heaven and earth to find him. You have my word on that.’
Margo studied Whit again. Kyle had sung the man’s praises. Maybe this is how CIA people behaved. He hadn’t expected her this morning, she reminded herself. So if he wanted to drink Christmas breakfast, she guessed it was his business.
Besides, she had no choice. He was her only link to Jack. He was the only person with the resources to mount a search for him and to help him rescue Marcus.
‘I want to show you something.’ Margo pulled out her mobile phone and scrolled down until she came to the photograph of Marcus holding the sign that read GET ME OUT.
She handed the phone to Whit.
The Land Rover carrying Marcus moved slowly down the pier toward the parking lot. Jack had watched as his friend was hustled into the back seat between two men. They appeared to be the ones from the photograph and he was sure they were armed, although no firearms were visible.
The usually crowded docks were quiet on this Christmas morning as the car began to slowly make its way down the pier.
The parking lot Jack had chosen for the handoff resembled a dinosaur graveyard, littered as it was with huge construction vehicles that had been abandoned for the holiday. Jack took up the position he had staked out earlier. He said a silent prayer that he had planned well. Marcus’ life, and his, depended on it.
At the stroke of noon, as church bells all over Charleston were proclaiming the joy of the season, the Land Rover entered the parking lot. Jack was nowhere to be seen.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Margo watched carefully as Whit stared at the photograph of Marcus. She thought she saw his hands tremble. But that could happen to anyone who discovered a beloved friend they had thought was dead was in fact alive.
‘Where did you get this?’ Whit’s voice sounded normal but his face had turned white.
‘It was on Jack’s phone. It must have come in just as we were about to board the plane to Mexico,’ Margo said. ‘That’s why he disappeared. He went to find Marcus.’
‘This is not possible!’ Whit jumped up and began to pace the floor.
‘It seems that it is. That’s a proof of life photo dated December fourteenth,’ Margo said. ‘My team authenticated that this really is Marcus. They used the latest facial recognition technology.’
‘Yes,’ Whit said absently, ‘that is Marcus Kane. No question. But he was dead. I saw the photographs.’ He couldn’t stop pacing.
‘I know what a shock this must be for you, Mr Whitbred. The thing is, Jack’s looking for him. He could wind up dead. Or worse. The people who are holding Marcus might be using him as bait to get to Jack.’
Whit studied the photograph again, then handed the phone back to Margo. ‘Anything is possible now.’ He sat down across from her. He was the soul of concern. ‘Mrs McCarthy, does this team of yours have any idea how Jack planned to find Marcus? Or where?’
‘We didn’t know when I left Chicago. But they’ve hacked into Jack’s phone and are monitoring it,’ Margo said. ‘We think he’ll probably be contacted with instructions. But I was hoping maybe he’d come to you for help.’
‘No,’ Whit said thoughtfully. ‘He did not ask for my help finding Marcus, which is strange. He knows I have the resources to do what needed to be done.’
Whit was using every bit of training and skill he had to control his emotions. The knowledge that his career and possibly his life were over was making speech difficult.
‘Do you suppose this team of yours has further information by now?’ he finally asked, managing to sound normal.
‘Let me call them.’ She hit speed dial on her mobile. ‘Jason, hi. It’s me. Did the ransom demand come into Jack’s phone yet?’
Whit got up and looked out of the window, his mind racing.
Margo listened carefully to what the person on the other end was saying. ‘Okay, thanks,’ she said. ‘No, no help here. Mr Whitbred has not heard from Jack at all. I’m heading to Charleston. Will you all stop worrying? I’ll be fine.’
Margo disconnected the call and began putting her coat on.
‘Charleston?’ Whit asked, still looking out of the window. ‘That’s where the exchange is to take place?’
‘I have a plane waiting at the airport,’ Margo said, gathering up her things. ‘I’m sorry to have disturbed you on Christmas.’
‘Not a problem,’ Whit said. ‘Could I take one last look at that picture of Marcus? As you can imagine, it’s quite a shock to discover he is alive.’
Margo handed him her phone. But he didn’t look at the photograph. He removed the battery and the SIM card.
‘What are you doing?’ she said, her voice rising.
Whit dropped the phone onto the floor and stamped on it, shattering the device. ‘I think it’s a good idea if you stay right here. With me.’ His voice was like steel. ‘Take a seat.’
‘I’m leaving!’ Margo exclaimed, heading for the door.
Whit stepped in front of her, barring the way. ‘The invitation is not optional.’ The tone of his voice turned Margo’s blood to ice and she gasped at him, fear running through her.
Whit removed the silver pistol from his belt. ‘Sit down. It could be a long day.’
Never taking her eyes off Whit or the gun pointing at her, Margo sat, endeavouring to control her shaking. All she could think about was the baby she was carrying and how to protect herself. This man was dangerous. He wouldn’t think twice about killing her.
In Charleston, the Land Rover carrying Marcus rolled to a stop. One of the men guarding him stepped out of the vehicle. ‘Jack McCarthy!’ he shouted in heavily accented English. ‘Show yourself!’
‘First let me see Marcus,’ Jack called back from his place of concealment. ‘You have a lot of money riding on his good health.’
The man leaned back into the car and conferred with someone. Then he opened the rear door and Marcus emerged, clearly shaky on his feet. The captive was followed immediately by the other guard who held a nasty-looking weapon to the back of Marcus’ skull.
‘Transfer the money,’ the first guard called. ‘And he’s yours.’
‘That’s not the deal,’ Jack called back. His voice echoed around the parking lot, bouncing off the massive metal machines. ‘Marcus!’ he called. ‘Walk to me. Follow my voice. Pay attention. My hands will guide you.’
Only Marcus knew what he meant. Just as he had signalled to Jack in the photograph his captors sent, Jack meant to send him a signal in their ancient sign language.
‘I have my phone in my hand,’ Jack called to the kidnappers. ‘When Marcus is next to me, the money will be transferred.’
The two guards raised their weapons and aimed at Marcus. He was hobbling as fast as an injured man could, heading toward Jack’s voice.
‘You lose three million US dollars if you do not release him as agreed,’ Jack shouted. He finally showed himself in the cab of one of the enormous dormant construction machines. His left hand was at his side.
After consulting the person in the car, the two men lowered their weapons but kept them close.
Marcus limped toward Jack, his eyes on his friend’s hand. When he was almost up to the bulldozer on which Jack stood, Jack called out, ‘Making transfer!’ He held his phone aloft with his right hand. ‘Done!’ he called. At the same time he signalled to Marcus to dive left.
The g
uards lifted their automatic weapons and began to fire at both men. But it was too late.
Marcus caught the weapon Jack had tossed to him and began firing at his captors. And Jack had shifted the giant machine into gear and was headed for the Land Rover at top speed, firing at the kidnappers as he went.
Much later, when things were finally sorted out, the local police could not tell whether the two men outside the car and the one inside had been killed by gunshots or by being crushed by a 104-ton bulldozer.
But by then, Jack and Marcus were long gone.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Margo sat quietly in the wingchair as ordered. Whit never said a word and she didn’t either. She didn’t know what was going on in his head but she was savvy enough to know he was a man on the edge. She would do nothing to challenge him. He had a gun pointed at her. She would just wait it out until an opportunity to escape presented itself, although she was doubtful it would. Whit would shoot to kill if she made a move.
Knowing her devoted staff, she assumed Jason had been tracking her every move since she had left Chicago. But now with her phone disabled they wouldn’t know where she was. They would think she was heading to Charleston as she had planned.
She was on her own here. She didn’t understand what part Whit had played in the Marcus situation, but she knew he wasn’t the hero she had been led to believe he was. She now knew that her life and Jack’s depended on the outcome of this day. The prospects were not good.
The driving time from Charleston to Virginia was usually eight hours. Jack made it in six.
He dropped Marcus at a small private clinic known for its excellent care and complete discretion. Jack had made some calls and Marcus was now being protected by colleagues who understood what he’d been through and who it was that had betrayed him. No one would get to Marcus ever again, except for his family who were on their way to his side.
The story Marcus had told on the drive was hard to believe, but Jack knew every word was true. On the mission Marcus had walked into a trap set by Robert Whitbred, their friend and mentor.
Who Are You? Page 8