by Toby Neal
“I heard about Sophie Smithson’s kidnapped infant daughter from my contact in the Secret Service, Ellie Smith, even before Sophie reached out to me. Before Sophie became pregnant, we were negotiating with her to become a confidential informant on the Yām Khûmkạn’s activities. She and Sheldon Hamilton were our contacts and we were working on a strategy to surveille the compound and the major players of the Yām Khûmkạn. After she got pregnant, she and Hamilton pulled the plug.” McDonald leaned forward on his meaty arms and met Jake’s eyes. “What’s happened to Sheldon Hamilton? And where are the rest of your men?”
“Now that’s a story that will take some telling. But first—do you know why I was released? Did Sophie, or anyone else—negotiate a deal with the Yām Khûmkạn?”
“Nope. The agency was just keeping an eye on things, waiting for more intel, hoping someone would be set free as a goodwill gesture. Is that what your liberation was—a goodwill gesture?”
“I have no idea.” Jake sat back and rubbed the back of his neck; a headache had begun as a persistent throb at the base of his skull. “I doubt good will had anything to do with it. Hamilton and I are the only ones left alive.”
McDonald turned on a recorder, and Jake laid out the ambush they had experienced as they attempted to surveille the compound. “Pim Wat, Sophie’s mother, killed everyone but me and Hamilton.”
“We have a file on Pim Wat.” McDonald’s eyes gleamed. “She is more than the socialite she appears to be.”
“No shit. And so is Hamilton.” Jake owed Connor nothing. He owed Sophie nothing. They had betrayed him, and now it was payback time. Jake laid out all he had put together regarding Hamilton’s second identity. “Hamilton killed off the Todd Remarkian identity when the FBI was getting too close to blowing his cover.”
McDonald splashed the last of the wine into their glasses. “Whoa. I will need time to verify all of this.”
“Contact Marcella Scott of the FBI. She has been investigating the Ghost. And to make things even weirder, the last time I saw Hamilton, he was dressed as a ninja-trainee and was practicing martial arts with the other recruits of the Yām Khûmkạn. I think he might have made some kind of deal with the man with the purple eyes—unless Sophie did, first.” Jake’s belly cramped at the thought. How was he going to live with her betrayal? How?
“Sophie has been off the grid for days, so I don’t think she was the one to negotiate your release.” McDonald rubbed his bristly chin. “I don’t know about you, but I have phone calls to make. I imagine you’ve got friends and family you want to reach out to, beginning with Sophie, to let them know you’re safe. We can pick up this interview in the morning.”
“Sure,” Jake said hollowly. No way was he ready to talk to Sophie. “Got a scrambler phone I can borrow?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Day Twenty-Eight
Sophie cuddled her daughter as she moved the hammock swing in an idle arc with her foot. The deck of her aunt’s house, decorated with sturdy rattan outdoor furniture and pots of beautiful flowering shrubs, was a pleasant place in which to revel in sunshine, and Sophie enjoyed feeding Momi and a moment of solitude after a busy twenty-four hours.
She, Malee, and Armita had moved Pim Wat to the storage shed under Sophie’s old house for an uncomfortable night in darkness and solitude as the three of them, with baby in tow and no further need for concealment, trooped back to Malee’s house.
They’d talked in detail about what to do with Sophie’s lethal and recalcitrant mother, who was reduced to an entirely manageable bundle of indignant squawks and evil glares now that she was bound and gagged.
But Sophie was worried. She couldn’t keep her mother tied up forever and, at some point, the Master would miss her and come looking.
Sophie had already left a message for McDonald at the CIA. She needed to get Pim Wat off her hands and into their custody, but her mother was also a powerful bargaining chip for her men’s lives.
Softhearted Malee had already wanted to let Pim Wat out of her dank prison, so now her mother was seated on a deck chair in the garden below as Malee moved among her sunflowers, deadheading and trimming, carrying on a monologue at her sister that Sophie enjoyed listening to. Malee was letting her sister know, in no uncertain terms, that many of the assumptions Pim Wat had made about her were incorrect; that, in fact, Pim Wat wasn’t the only one to have engaged in both espionage and illicit business. Aunt Malee dabbled in opium smuggling to support her habit of buying real estate, such as Sophie’s former home, and she was having a good brag about her various endeavors.
Watching Pim Wat have to listen, wriggling and snorting in her bindings, was disturbingly entertaining.
But the situation as it was could not go on. She had to try to reach McDonald again; it was time to make the call.
Sophie adjusted Momi in her baby sling, reassembled her satellite phone, and pressed the pre-programmed number for CIA Agent Devin McDonald.
McDonald came on immediately. “I was hoping to hear from you—in fact, I was about to call you myself.”
“I take it there has been some movement from Washington regarding rescuing my men?” Sophie’s heart rate picked up at the thought of being reunited with Jake and Connor.
“I was authorized to surveille and assist in any escape attempts, and one of your men was set free yesterday. I’m surprised he hasn’t called you. I thought you two were involved.”
“What? Who?” Sophie sat up abruptly, startling the baby into a yelp and flail of her tiny arms. “Who did you rescue?”
“Jake Dunn. As I said, I’m surprised he hasn’t called you. I turned him loose yesterday with a sat phone to make calls.”
“Maybe he just couldn’t get through.” Sophie frowned. “I’ve been frantic with worry. And what about Hamilton?”
“Yes, Hamilton.” The CIA man cleared his throat. “Hamilton wasn’t so lucky. He’s still in the compound. But he’s still better off than the other poor sons of bitches that were on your team. Dead, all of them, killed by your mother. I’m sorry . . .”
Sophie stared down into the garden at a bound and gagged Pim Wat, lying on the padded chaise lounge, still making indignant noises at her sister as Malee lectured her—a weirdly charming scene of sisterly togetherness. “Mother killed them all?”
“Yes. Gutted and beheaded them with a samurai sword.” McDonald blew out a breath. Sophie could almost see the florid-faced man pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m surprised to have to be the one to tell you this. I really thought Jake was going to call you yesterday.”
“Where is Jake now?”
“Not sure. He’s not a prisoner. We’re staying in the Grand Palace Bangkok Hotel. He has his own room.”
Jake was less than fifteen minutes away!
“Do you know why Jake was set free?” Sophie’s belly roiled—why hadn’t he called her? Armita came in, and, seeing Sophie’s expression, lifted the baby out of the sling and walked away with the infant, giving Sophie space to deal with the situation.
“Jake claims not to know why they cut him loose. He thought maybe you got in touch with the leader, the man they call the Master, and made a deal.”
“No, I have not. I’ve been too busy rescuing my daughter to do anything but call you and ask for help,” Sophie said. “The good news is, I have my daughter back. And now I have a trade to propose to you. I’ve got someone to trade to you, in return for helping me get Hamilton out.”
“What do you mean?” McDonald’s voice had gone cool and cautious.
“I want help getting Hamilton back. If he is the only prisoner they have left.” She swallowed bile at the back of her throat as she thought of Pim Wat cutting down the brave men who had set off on the mission. Thom Tang . . . her eyes teared up.
“We’ve had a clear directive from Washington not to get involved with any kind of direct confrontation. What is this deal you want to make?”
“I’ve got a prisoner. A woman with all the information you’ll ever
want about the Yām Khûmkạn. A woman who’s also a mass murderer. My mother, Pim Wat.”
“Whoa.” A long silence as McDonald digested this. “You’ve captured her?”
“Indeed, I have.”
“That’s quite a bargaining chip.” McDonald was stalling.
“Well. If you don’t want this deal, I’m sure the Master will be interested in making an exchange for Hamilton.”
“Not until we debrief her,” McDonald said quickly.
“I’ll allow that. And, when you do, I hope you will be using your most invasive interviewing techniques.”
McDonald gave a bark of laughter. “I wouldn’t want to get on your bad side, Sophie. Let me run this up the chain, but I am pretty confident my superiors will just about wet themselves for a chance to get their hands on your mother. I take it she hasn’t endeared herself to you?”
“Killing my friends and stealing my child has cooled my affection, yes.”
“And you haven’t even heard Jake’s harrowing tale of being tortured to death by her yet.”
“What?” Sophie’s voice went shrill.
“Yep. They managed to resuscitate him, but he spent longer than any of us want to on the Other Side. I’ll let him tell you the story.” The man harrumphed. “We definitely will want a crack at interviewing Pim Wat about the Yām Khûmkạn, but I can’t promise we can make an exchange.”
“Then the Master will be getting her. Or, I can dispose of her myself.” And it was absolutely the truth. Sophie would have no problem sticking a blade into her mother and burying her somewhere deep and dark where she would never be found. But in fairness, she should let Armita do the honors . . .
“As I said, I’ll get back to you right away,” McDonald said.
“What’s the number for the satellite phone you gave Jake? I need to reach him.” Sophie was proud of how well she controlled the wobble in her voice.
McDonald’s rattled off the digits, and Sophie recorded them mentally.
When she got off the phone with McDonald, Sophie’s hands were shaking—and it wasn’t at the idea of killing her mother.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Day Twenty-Eight
Jake woke to the electronic bleeping of the phone beside his bed as he swam up through the murky layers of the father of all hangovers.
“Shit.” He tossed something off of him—and his eyes widened as that something murmured to him in Thai, stroking his chest and tugging at his hair. Jake sat up and groaned, clutching his head. “Oh shit.”
The slender bronzed arms of one of the hookers he’d met in the bar the night before clutched at him. He looked over.
Ugh.
There were two of them. Noting his lack of interest, they turned to each other, kissing and cuddling.
Yeah, that had been a good time.
Self-disgust added to the foul brew in his belly.
He’d taken out his angst on some willing flesh that had no agenda about him but the bottom line—and it had felt great, just like finishing off the bottle of cheap Scotch tipped over on the sideboard.
And now, the party was over.
He squinted at the windows—blackout drapes cast the room into dimness, but bright bars of light around the edges indicated a day well underway.
“Thank you, ladies. Time to go.” Jake made shooing motions. He reached for the phone which had mercifully gone silent—Unknown Number.
“Oh shit. Shit.” It had to be Sophie. McDonald must have given her this number. He should have called her yesterday; he just couldn’t get up the nerve to do what he needed to.
An incoming text dinged as one of the ladies, swaying her hips saucily and dressed in a whole lot of nothing, made her way to the coffeepot in the corner of the room while the other tried to massage his head.
He pushed the woman away. “No, thank you. We’re done here. Cash is by the door.” He’d had the presence of mind to put it there last night, hoping they’d leave before morning.
The text was from McDonald. “Please contact Ms. Smithson. She wants to trade her mother for Hamilton. We can’t help her get him out, but we want Pim Wat—so stall her and keep her from contacting the Master. We’re going to get Pim Wat once we know where she’s being held.” McDonald had helpfully included Sophie’s private number.
“Son of a bitch!” He looked up from the phone and glared. “Why are you still here?”
The women twittered and giggled, but they weren’t leaving. They pointed at the cash, shook their heads. Struck poses, blocking the door with their naked bodies. They wanted more money.
What a mess. Jake grabbed his wallet and pulled out all of the remaining baht McDonald had given him. “Ladies, thanks for the good times, but you need to go. I’m going to take a shower, and I want to be alone when I get out.” He thrust the money at the one who’d made the coffee. “That’s all I got.”
Jake took his phone and the empty wallet into the bathroom with him—not that there was anything left to steal—his credit cards and ID were back at Connor’s house on Phi Ni, left there as a precaution and not needed on their jungle mission. He locked the door, groaning again as he fumbled in the toiletry basket for some aspirin.
There was none to be found. Well, a sore head was no more than he deserved. He cursed, turned on the water as hot as it would go, and got into the shower.
Jake scrubbed his skin with a washcloth and soap until he burned from head to toe. Then he turned on the cold and stood under it until he was blue. Tipping his head back to let the water run straight into his mouth, Jake drank as much water as he could hold.
And then, he puked it up.
God, the misery. Almost as bad as being waterboarded to death.
Jake drank more water and repeated his hot/cold/scrubbing.
He had to get their touch off him.
He’d never resorted to hookers in his life before last night. A new personal low. He hated himself for sleeping with them, and yet he wasn’t sorry.
He’d been betrayed. He didn’t owe Sophie anything but a “goodbye, and here’s why.”
So why was he still so totally miserable? Because Sophie wouldn’t know he’d had his cheap revenge with booze and hookers? He could always tell her. After all, it was honesty he was after. He gagged again, but nothing came up.
“Ugh! Why didn’t I just fuckin’ die in that torture room! Damn it!” Jake punched the tiled wall of the shower, and the pain did more to sober him up than his homegrown water treatment had.
Time to man up.
He got out. Dried off. Wrapped in a towel. Opened the door and peered out cautiously.
“Thank you, God.” Not that God had anything to do with the current fiasco . . .
The hookers had gone, leaving nothing but the smell of perfume and sex behind. Ugh, again.
He stalked across the room and cranked up the air conditioning to clear out the funk, poured himself a Styrofoam cup of coffee, and called Room Service for breakfast and aspirin.
After he’d shaved, dressed, eaten, and swallowed the hotel’s aspirin with a whole pot of coffee, Jake picked up his phone and called Sophie’s number.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Day Twenty-Eight
Malee was changing Momi, cooing over her grand-niece as she diapered the infant in a spot of sunlight by the window, as Sophie set a bowl of steaming noodles down in front of Pim Wat.
“I don’t know how you expect me to eat this with my hands tied behind my back,” Pim Wat complained.
“I’m sure you can kill with just a spoon,” Sophie said. “We’re not taking any chances, Mother.”
“I’ll feed you.” Armita, her eyes cold as a dead fish, approached Pim Wat.
The satellite phone rang.
“Are you sure?” Sophie cut her eyes to the phone. Jake’s number lit the screen.
“I’m sure.” Armita held a pair of chopsticks like they were a dagger. “I’ll make sure she gets what she needs.”
“All right.” Sophie snatched up t
he phone. “I need privacy for this call.”
She took the phone into the bedroom and shut the door, falling back against it and sucking in a breath for courage. She punched the On button.
“Jake! Are you all right?” Sophie put a hand to her throat, steadying her squeaky tone. “I was so worried!”
Jake cleared his throat. “I’ve been better.” His voice sounded raspy.
“You’re safe. That’s all that matters.” Sophie walked across the room to her cousin’s sumptuously draped bed and got on top of it, folding her legs into lotus position. “I got Momi back! Armita stole her from Pim Wat and messaged me.”
“That’s great! How’s the little bean doing?” They’d called Sophie’s baby that, all through the pregnancy. Tender memories of that time thickened Sophie’s throat, and she had to clear it to answer.
“Momi is fine. Thriving and putting on weight, actually. Armita took good care of her. And yesterday, we captured Pim Wat.”
“Yeah, McDonald sent me a text.” Jake’s voice had gone remote again. “I’m sure that was an interesting situation.”
“Jake. Why didn’t you call me the minute you had access to a phone?” Sophie’s voice was a cry of anguish. “I was frantic!”
“Some things happened in the compound.”
“McDonald told me you almost died. I’m so sorry.” Sophie waited, rubbing the scar that ran up her cheekbone, but he didn’t say anything more. “He also told me Pim Wat killed everyone but you and Hamilton,” she prompted.
“Yes. It was . . . bad. I’ve seen some things in my time, and what your mother did was right up there with war crimes.”
“I’m so sorry.” Sophie’s eyes stung. “Thom Tang—Rhinehart. I can’t imagine.”
“Pim Wat had me tortured to death. I died, Sophie.” Jake sighed, heavily.
“What happened?” Sophie could hardly bear to ask. “How are you still here?”
“Connor and the man they call the Master revived me.” Jake cleared his throat again. “I’d been drowned in a tub of dirty water. Not a good way to go. My lungs and throat are still a little wonky.”