by Toby Neal
This trip had a two-week window, and they were nearing the end of it.
Connor had sent short text messages to Sophie and Bix, apprising them of progress. But five days after the planting of the cameras, he and Jake still didn’t have any confirmation on Momi’s location. No ransom or other demand had come through, either, according to Sophie—so they had no alternative idea of where to look for the baby.
Connor mulled over the activity of the last few days.
The men had continued to optimize their situation, moving closer to the stronghold until they’d found a mounded hillock above swampy ground that was screened with vegetation to hide their camping area. Jake had supervised the setup of electronic perimeter alerts and a rotating two-man watch detail. And then they’d settled in to wait and watch for a sign of Momi’s presence, some confirmation of where they could retrieve her.
The hours spent battling boredom and mosquitoes dragged.
Not having his computer eyes and ears, just this one grainy window into the building, was driving Connor nuts—along with a rising conviction.
He’d made a grave error coming on this mission. His time would have been much better spent on Phi Ni, monitoring the situation from a safe distance with high-speed internet. The Ghost could have kept working in the background, looking for other ways in, other places the baby might be.
He’d been driven by emotion when he came on the op; he hadn’t been thinking clearly about the best use of resources. But this situation couldn’t go on for much longer . . .
As if that thought had conjured it—BAM! Something blew Connor backward into the fabric of the tent.
Darkness.
Connor came back to consciousness in stages.
Shouting.
The rattle of nearby gunfire.
Connor curled onto his side, covering his ears with his hands, shutting his eyes instinctively.
The weapons fire stopped.
Thank God. That shit was loud, and his head was already pounding like a taiko drum.
Another detonation, right near him this time.
Light flashed red behind his eyelids. More blackness.
He was being dragged. By the back of his shirt. His cheek scraped and banged on the dirt. Whoever was dragging him was yelling in Thai. He struggled to assign meaning to the rapid, liquid sounds of the language: “Bring the rest of them. Put them in a line.”
They’d been captured.
Adrenaline surged through Connor in a potent wave. He pulled in his center of gravity, yanking in his arms and legs. He thrust up to stand, wrenching his shirt out of his attacker’s hand. He spun around to run—if he got away, he could get help.
Powerful LED lamps switched on suddenly, blinding him, throwing the jungle into sharp relief and giving a surreal look to the scene.
Ninjas three deep faced him on every side, their black outfits menacing, their weapons even more so.
Connor went down under pummeling fists and feet, and was soon forced into a ragged line with the remaining survivors.
He, Jake, Thom Tang, two remaining Security Solutions operatives named Snowman and Davies, and Rhinehart were the only ones left alive from the blitz attack that had overwhelmed their camp.
The ninjas secured their hands and feet with zip ties and pushed and prodded them until all of the men sat up on their knees.
Jake, beside Connor and last in the row, spat blood on the ground. He had a huge shiner swelling one eye, but his grin was untamed. “Not bad for a civilian. Took four of them to bring you back into the lineup.”
“Too little, too late,” Connor said darkly. He had a bad feeling about the way they were lined up.
“They’ll negotiate our release,” Jake said. “Let Rhinehart do the talking. He’s good at what he does.”
Rhinehart, first in the lineup, looked battered but confident—his powerful shoulders looked relaxed, his head held high, gleaming in the electronic lamps’ light.
Connor felt a little of the tension torquing his muscles leach out. The members of his team were pros and were used to dealing with situations like this.
The roar of an ATV brought their heads around to face an arriving vehicle. A petite female figure all in black got off the back of the vehicle piloted by a hulking ninja slung about with automatic weapons.
The woman strode into the light, and the lithe way she moved reminded Connor of Sophie. Exquisitely beautiful in her black ninja outfit, her tawny skin glowing in the arc lights, Pim Wat drew every eye. She didn’t appear to be armed.
Silence fell. The ninjas went still. Pim Wat raked the row of them with her dark gaze, and Connor’s mouth dried.
“Who speaks for you?” Pim Wat said.
“I do,” Rhinehart replied. Even kneeling, he looked strong and capable. “We can work something out.”
“Where is my daughter?” Pim Wat reached over her shoulder. She drew a samurai sword out of a back scabbard with a slithering sound. She was armed after all.
“We can discuss that. We will need to negotiate for that information, though . . .”
Pim Wat took a step past Rhinehart to stand in front of Davies. The man didn’t even have a chance to beg for his life before Pim Wat brought the sword down in a slashing arc, eviscerating him. As Davies opened his mouth to scream, looking down at his entrails spilling in disbelief, she decapitated him with a single blow.
Davies’ head hit the ground with a wet thump. Arterial blood sprayed the men on either side of him.
A cacophony of yelling and panic erupted as Snowman, on the other side of Davies, instinctively tried to escape and was manhandled back into line.
Pim Wat stood quietly, her blade dripping. Her gaze moved down the row of them to fall on Jake—and then, horrifyingly, landed on Connor. Recognition flared her eyes wide. A delighted smile lit her blood-spattered face. “Sophie’s lovers! Oh, how delightful!”
Pim Wat turned back to Rhinehart and her smile was pure poison this time. “I don’t need any of the rest of you now. I have something my daughter will want as much as her child, and these two men will give me all the information I need.”
Pim Wat swung the sword.
Rhinehart’s head joined Davies’, and Snowman’s.
She reached Thom Tang. She hadn’t even bothered to wipe her sword between executions. “NO!” Connor cried out involuntarily.
The diminutive Thai pilot had closed his eyes, his face pale as he awaited his fate stoically. Thom had been more than a pilot and driver to Connor—he’d been a friend, and Connor had precious few of them.
Pim Wat paused. Her beautiful dark eyes flashed as they met his. “Where is my daughter, Mr. Hamilton?”
Jake bumped Connor with his shoulder to get Connor’s attention, and glared at him. He couldn’t tell Sophie’s location!
“Sophie is safe,” Connor said.
Pim Wat’s face twisted into something ugly. “I need to know where my daughter is. Tell me and I will spare this man’s life.”
Connor groped for something to sway her. “Please. Thom is a good man with a family. Not a soldier or a killer. He never signed up for this life.”
“Give me what I want and he can be as good or bad as he pleases.”
Thom turned his head and met Connor’s gaze. The pilot’s warm brown eyes were pleading, though he said not a word. The sight gutted Connor. Jake bumped his shoulder again, reminding him of the stakes.
Connor bit down on his lip.
He had to think of something to trade. “We were waiting for a message from you about the baby,” Connor stalled. “We were willing to negotiate to get the child back. But you never contacted us.”
“That’s because you don’t understand what our purposes are for my daughter, and for my granddaughter.” And with no further warning, Pim Wat lopped off Thom Tang’s head.
Blood from the pilot’s severed neck sprayed Connor in a hot, coppery-smelling spatter. Connor convulsed with a cry, falling to the ground. He heaved, emptying his belly. He writhed
and fought, unable to silence his own rough cries of grief and horror as the ninjas grabbed him, dragging him and Jake toward the ATV.
Pim Wat was taking them back to the stronghold.
Yes, he’d made a grave error in coming on this mission.
Chapter Fourteen
Day Twenty-Four
Sophie squatted under the barbell, then lifted with a powerful push of her glutes and legs. This exercise had been really hard to do even without weight when she first started; her entire pelvic area had been weakened by pregnancy and giving birth. Two weeks of steadily increasing weight and reps had brought her to an approximation of her former strength, and that wasn’t the only change.
She’d lost the puffy water weight of pregnancy, her abs had tightened up a good deal, breast milk was down to almost nothing, and her chest was normal size again.
But as she did another set of squats, watching herself in the mirror, the ache of the Momi-shaped hole in Sophie’s heart had not shrunk at all.
Today made two weeks since the men had left. Connor had communicated briefly at first, just a few short lines that came into the secret chat box they’d used to communicate since their first encounters online. He’d posted their progress: landing on the mainland, rendezvous with their team, the arrival at the surveillance node close to the stronghold, planting the cameras inside the fortress . . . then nothing.
Nothing! For a week.
Sophie dropped the bar and stomped over to the lat pulldown machine. She sat on the bench and used her abs for leverage as she pulled down on the bar, worry and anger a potent fuel.
She finished her weight routine and stood up, looking around the immaculate, top-of-the-line gym. Connor spared no expense on his equipment, and with Nam cooking healthy, nutritious food for her, she’d been in the equivalent of a fitness spa since her arrival.
Time for her afternoon run.
Sophie put in her earbuds and picked up her phone, checking it for the hundredth time for anything new. No ransom note or request had come in since the baby had disappeared. Alika had told her that the Kaua`i police had no further leads, and he’d updated Detective Jenkins recently on what Security Solutions was doing, operating on the assumption that Momi had been taken by her grandmother.
She’d caught up her father, Marcella, and her friend Lei, briefing them on the situation, but talking about it just made her angry and frustrated. After the initial calls, she’d stopped communicating except to let them know things were status quo.
As she thumbed to her favorite running playlist, the phone dinged with an incoming text message from an unknown number. She read: “Sophie. This is Armita. Come to the magnolia tree to find what you seek.”
“What?” Sophie cried aloud. “What are you talking about?” She replied quickly: “Tell me something only Armita would know so that I can be sure it’s you.”
“Your dogs were beautiful the night I visited your balcony,” came back immediately. “Contact no one. I have left the compound with your treasure and she must not find us.”
Armita had to be referring to Pim Wat! And the magnolia tree? Where was that? “What’s going on?” Sophie texted. “Please, I need to know more!”
“She will be looking for us. Come alone. Tell no one, not even your men.”
A photo appeared on Sophie’s phone.
Sophie gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as she gazed down at her baby’s photo—Sophie would know that precious face anywhere. Momi’s large, light brown eyes were open. Angelic curls topped her head, and her cheeks were sweetly pink, and plump with health.
“Thank you, Armita. I will come,” she texted back.
A message appeared: Not Deliverable.
Armita had destroyed the phone already. The nanny was taking no chances in being tracked.
Sophie sat down on the weight bench abruptly as her knees gave way.
She stared at her daughter’s face, eating up the precious vision—and realized that the baby’s head rested on a current newspaper, printed in Thai. The date appeared beside her tiny, shell-like ear.
Come alone and tell no one? What if the message was a trap?
The message could be from someone trying to lure Sophie out of hiding. Perhaps her nanny had caved in to pressure from her mother and told Pim Wat, or someone else, about that midnight visit she’d made to Sophie’s apartment.
Only one thing was certain: this person had access to her daughter—the photo gave proof of life. Whoever it was also had access to Armita, because only Armita knew the details of her nighttime visit to Sophie—and about the magnolia tree.
Sophie shut her eyes. Her surroundings went dim as she was transported back in time to her childhood home, a large wooden compound built on palisades near the Ping River. The magnolia tree she remembered grew up through a raised deck upon which she’d loved to play with her cousins as a child. Tall and robust, its spreading arms had provided shade and a place to climb. They’d even had a rope swing tied to one of its branches.
That house had been sold many years ago, shortly after her parents’ divorce and Sophie’s departure for boarding school. She’d then met her father at various hotels over the years, and spent time with her mother at her Aunt Malee’s house, right next door.
Her Aunt Malee was the only relative she had kept in touch with after she escaped her ex-husband Assan Ang and emigrated to the United States. Did she dare contact her? She was right next to Sophie’s former home. She could check on what was going on over there.
But what if Malee’s phone was tapped? If someone was looking for Sophie, her father and her aunt were both likely surveillance targets.
She couldn’t risk it.
She had to get a message to Connor and Jake about this. Wherever they were in the mission, the Yām Khûmkạn stronghold was now the wrong target.
Momi wasn’t there.
Sophie headed for the computer room.
Chapter Fifteen
Day Twenty-Five
Jake lay curled up on his side in the corner of the large, stone-walled room with a drain in the center of it. Water seeped from cold, rough walls; weak illumination from light penetrating a slit high near the ceiling barely lit the room. He was naked, and he folded his legs tighter against his chest to preserve body heat, pressing against his fellow prisoner’s back for warmth.
They’d already tried to get each other loose, but the ninjas who took them had placed crude brass handcuffs on their wrists—and so far, there was no getting out of them.
Behind him, Connor shivered nonstop. They’d crossed the line a while ago from employer and employee to friends. Jake worried that Connor couldn’t hold out against Pim Wat for much longer. Jake had trained for this kind of treatment. Hamilton, while brave, hadn’t any such background.
Jake looked down at his rope-bound feet. He’d spent some hours working on getting loose by rubbing his ankles back and forth against a rough protrusion on the floor, but he’d only succeeded in abrading the damp skin around his ankles, and now yellowish ooze darkened the coconut fiber ropes binding him.
“This isn’t good.” Connor’s teeth chattered as he spoke. The tropical climate outside the compound might as well not exist in this basement dungeon.
“She’s not going to get what she wants, and she doesn’t take disappointment well.” Neither man used Pim Wat’s name when they spoke of her.
“She won’t kill you, man. You’re too valuable as a hostage—the CEO of Security Solutions ought to be worth a few mil to the Yām Khûmkạn.”
“We don’t know that they want anything but Sophie and the baby.”
“We can’t tell her what we don’t know. Sophie’s safe. But the baby’s gone. Someone double-crossed her. That much is clear from what she’s said.” Jake tried for a bantering tone. “You’ll be fine, Mr. CEO.”
“I don’t think she cares at all about money,” Connor said softly.
Pim Wat had been torturing him and Connor for days: taking turns, making each other watc
h. She’d played with electrodes and sandbagged their bodies. Yesterday, her ninjas had pummeled their feet with sticks. He was sure there was more unpleasantness ahead.
Jake shut his eyes, regret suffusing him as he ticked over the decisions leading up to now. They should have taken longer to assess the situation.
Waited for a ransom demand.
Got more men.
Anything but imagined they’d be able to sneak up on this fortress!
How long had the Yām Khûmkạn been aware of their presence? Connor had told Jake that he suspected that they had been following their movements the entire time, and had waited until they were close to the compound to take them, just for their own convenience—so they wouldn’t have to walk as far through the jungle.
Jake shut his eyes, trying to close out the memories of the nighttime attack that had resulted in their capture.
Screams and cries. Splattering entrails. Ripe and terrible smells. Sick sound of steel against bone. Blood spray hitting Jake, warm and damp. The wet thunk of good men’s heads hitting the ground.
Pim Wat, a small black spider of a woman, wielding death without a flinch.
They may have been stupid about this op, but at least they’d left Sophie on Phi Ni.
Sophie was alive and free. Maybe she could somehow help them. But when would she know to sound an alarm, contact Bix? They’d agreed the op was for two weeks, and according to his mental count, that was up about now.
Jake felt the vibration of feet walking on the stones, and stiffened. He tried not to give in to nausea as the door rattled.
Pim Wat always asked the same thing: Where is Sophie? Where has she taken the baby?
Yep, someone had double-crossed her, and the woman was pissed.
Jake felt Connor’s shivering increase as the key turned in the lock. His friend’s body tightened, a plucked bowstring.
He had to keep Connor calm, keep his resolve strong. Sophie getting help was their only hope. He turned his head to speak to Connor over his shoulder. “Fighting it makes it worse. She won’t kill you. You’re worth too much as a hostage back in the States. Now me, on the other hand . . .” Jake chuckled grimly.