“Good questions,” Holly said. “Our local resident office will be able to help. Kramer was dumped on federal property, so technically it’s a joint federal case.”
“Good. But whatever we do, it has to be low-key. Otherwise Montez could find out the feds are after him, and if he gets spooked, we’ll never find him.”
“I agree about being low-key,” Holly said, “but it may not be possible if the State Department gets involved. And it’s reasonable to assume it already is. Attachés assigned to U.S. embassies fall under the State Department’s jurisdiction. Whatever time we have, I’m afraid we’re looking at a very brief window.”
“Right,” said Nathan. “So all the more urgent we get to Utah as soon as possible.”
“Like today,” said Harv, looking at his watch. “Right after we meet with Thorny.”
Chapter 6
Nichole Dalton backed her Escalade out of her garage and smiled. Another blue sky day in San Diego. The only flaw in the weather? A slight haze from a wildfire in San Bernardino County. One of many in a newer tract of single-family homes, hers secured in the desirable end of a cul-de-sac. She lived in an area of Del Mar where her daughters’ bicycles could be left in the front yard overnight, where you didn’t have to lock your front door for a short trip to the market. Or worry about finding graffiti on your fence in the morning. On the other hand, she lived with a huge mortgage associated with such amenities. Fortunately, her ex-husband made a generous, five-digit alimony payment every month and Nichole’s own Eastern Bloc language skills were in high demand, especially by her employer, the National Security Agency. With both incomes, she was doing well. The vast majority of Nichole’s work involved translating telephone conversations through encrypted data links in her soundproof home office. The only drawback was the constant intrusion of the NSA’s technical surveillance countermeasure specialists, one of whom kept hitting on her. She didn’t mind as long as it didn’t get too heavy. She could handle friendly flirting—she’d been dealing with it since age twelve.
On a whim, she decided to hit the huge women’s shoe sale at Nordstrom today. To promote the event, the store would open two hours early. The place was going to be a zoo, but shoes remained one of her weaknesses and she’d just have to brave the hordes. Nobody beat Nicky Dalton when it came to shoe shopping.
At thirty-nine, she possessed the energy of a high school cheerleader and the looks to match. After her divorce, she never had a lack of offers, but often declined when asked out. Marriage remained out of the question, at least for the time being. Before walking down the aisle again, she needed to know her man was firmly committed to her and her daughters first, his job second. Her first husband, a former Air Force officer, had been a walking job. Been there. Done that. No thanks.
The man she’d been dating lately worked as an industrial refrigeration contractor and spent the majority of his time in Eastern Europe. At first, she didn’t mind so much. Their reunions often spawned some of the most intense sexual encounters she’d ever experienced. Five years younger, the man was an animal. Voracious. But within the bigger picture, sex played a minor role in their relationship. A union based on sex alone felt empty, like a vacant house. Sex was a fleeting commodity. Here today. Gone tomorrow. Love remained eternal, like a diamond buried in the sand, or more appropriately, adorning her finger. But diamond or not, when her man returned this evening, she intended to greet him in a new pair of Manolo Blahniks. Only the shoes. Not by coincidence, both her daughters were headed for sleepovers after school.
She pulled into the Fashion Valley Mall’s parking garage on Friars Road and realized she couldn’t remember her drive down here. Weird. She had tons on her mind, but having no memory of the thirty minute trip frightened her a little. Had she run any red lights? She hoped not. At least no one had honked at her, she would’ve remembered that. This wasn’t New York. Honking your horn around here was practically an act of war.
Nicole looked at the dashboard clock: 7:47 am. Perfect. She’d have time for Starbucks before Nordstrom opened. Got to have it.
***
USMC Gunnery Sergeant Christopher “Big Kid” Kiddrich slid out of his Jeep Cherokee and stretched. Just under six feet tall, he looked like an aging surfer because he was an aging surfer. Cropped blond hair. Blue eyes. Broad shoulders. Not quite buff, but definitely not flabby. He worked at Miramar as an MP. He liked his job and had his sights on the San Diego PD after retiring. Who said forty was too old to become a street cop?
He also looked forward to the Nordstrom shoe sale, but for a completely different reason. Simply put, he loved looking at women—not in a perverted or stalking way—he just liked them. All of them. Short or tall, big or thin, he just liked watching them. The way they walked. The way they dressed. The way they cocked their heads when considering a purchase. Their interaction with each other. Everything. Nothing boiled his blood more than the idea of a woman being abused. Women were to be cherished, not mistreated.
He’d just locked his Cherokee and started toward the pedestrian bridge linking the parking structure to Nordstrom when a stunning beauty drove by. More than stunning. Gorgeous. Nice wheels too. He slowed his pace as she pulled into a parking stall. Incredible. She looked like Angelina Jolie. It couldn’t be her, but the similarities were striking. Mesmerized, he watched her slide out and use her remote to lock her SUV. It chirped once in confirmation.
He turned his head toward the roar of an engine and frowned—the dumb-ass. This was a friggin’ parking garage.
A white van sped by, its passenger-side mirror missed his arm by inches. What a jerk.
The van screeched to a stop behind the woman’s Escalade. Two Hispanic men in dark clothes jumped out the rear doors and rushed toward her. Before she had time to react, the bigger of the two grabbed her.
Without conscious thought, Big Kid sprinted toward them.
The smaller man pulled a handgun from his under his Windbreaker.
Big Kid dived for cover between two parked cars just as the gun boomed.
The bullet skipped off the concrete and plowed into his left shoulder. Shit!
Throughout the structure, car alarms blared from the handgun’s concussion. The woman’s screaming and electronic howls echoed eerie desperation.
Big Kid ignored the fire in his shoulder and lifted his head just enough to peer through the parked car’s windows. The bigger man clamped his hand over her mouth and dragged her toward the rear of the van.
The gunman hadn’t advanced.
He watched in admiration as she drove the back of her head into her assailant’s nose and stomped down on his foot.
She jerked free and bolted toward him.
The gunman cursed in Spanish and took off in pursuit.
Big Kid needed to time his move precisely. With a wrecked shoulder, he couldn’t do much, but at least he could help her escape. The problem was staying alive, and he didn’t like his odds. If he only had his Beretta. He could end this with two quick head shots. Big Kid had many faults, but cowardice wasn’t one of them. He’d never be able to live with himself if he didn’t help this woman, even if it cost him his life.
Steady. Steady.
Now!
He swept his foot and tripped the gunman.
Arms whirling, the gunman went down. He managed to land on his elbows, but his momentum drove his face into the concrete.
Big Kid had the satisfaction of seeing the gunman’s nose explode. The pistol clattered away. He gained his feet and lunged for the weapon. He was inches from reaching it when multiple gunshots deafened him. Two hard blows struck his rib cage. Despite being shot twice more, he grabbed the gun and pivot toward the van.
A fourth bullet nailed him squarely in the stomach.
Determined to stay in the fight, he brought the handgun up and took aim at the shooter. He squeezed off a shot, but missed. The report hammered his eardrums.
Like something out of hell, a harbinger of death materialized through the smoke and dust. His e
yes grew as a red laser beam swept onto the middle of his torso…
And stopped.
His legs quit as the fifth bullet ripped through his large intestine and shattered his spinal column. Paralyzed, he fell forward like an expertly cut tree. His jaw struck the concrete with a sickening crack. Barely conscious, he watched in fury as the gunman ran past him and grabbed the woman.
The van’s tires squealed as the driver backed up.
Right on top of him.
His body contorted into an impossible position when his chest caught on the differential. Crushed beneath the van, he saw the woman’s legs and feet leave the ground as her assailant threw her into the van. He sensed their combined weight added to the vehicle, heard the doors close, and steeled himself for the agony of being dragged.
The van accelerated and Big Kid’s body bent and broke again. He tried to scream, but couldn’t draw any air into his lungs. Fifty yards further the van hit a speed bump and freed him from the differential. Broken and dying, he tried to call for help. Nothing came out.
The last thing decorated Enduring Freedom veteran Kiddrich thought as his life ended was, I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.
Chapter 7
Nathan watched General Hawthorne’s C-20G, more commonly known as a Gulfstream IV, taxi up to the transient parking area in front of the jet center. He knew Harv was thinking the same thing, what a beautiful ship. Thorny had arrived a little early. Nathan’s watch indicated 1147 hours. A minute or two passed before the passenger stairs unfolded from the fuselage. A sharp-looking aide stepped out, surveyed his surroundings, and nodded toward the interior. Thorny ducked slightly as he exited the aircraft. The aide offered him a crisp salute, which was promptly returned.
It felt good to see his former commander again, even under the circumstances. Thorny’s no-nonsense expression hadn’t changed over the years. He still looked as though the weight of the world remained planted on his shoulders. Nathan had never known the man to back away from a fight. Thorny, nearly eight inches shorter, seemed taller than his actual height. At sixty-two, he didn’t look a day over fifty, except for his hair color, but at least he still had it. His aide looked equally crisp and professional, just thirty years his junior. They were both dressed in summer attire—desert Marine pattern—Thorny’s preferred appearance. Were it not for the four black stars on his rank patch, he could easily pass for a sergeant major, not the Marine Corps’ top dog. Thorny entered through the automatic sliding glass doors, and out of habit they both saluted.
Their former commander extended his hand. “You’re civilians now. Get your damned hands down.”
Nathan suppressed a smile. “Aye, aye sir.”
“Damn, it’s good to see you two.”
“The same, sir.”
“Harvey, you’re looking fit as ever.”
“Thank you, General.”
“This is my aide, Major Bob Halliday. He’s not a Robert, like me. It actually says Bob on his birth certificate.”
“Major,” Nathan said, pumping his hand. Harvey did the same.
“Please, call me Bob.”
“How was your flight?” Nathan asked.
“Comfortable. It’s a nice ride.” Thorny lowered his voice. “Maybe too comfortable.”
Harv said, “There’s nothing like a cross-country flight in a herky bird’s jump seat.”
“Amen to that. Is your vehicle clean?”
“Yes, we did a sweep of Harv’s Mercedes yesterday. Mine’s in the bat cave as we speak.”
“The bat cave?”
“It’s the nickname for our countermeasures garage.”
Showing no reaction, Thorny said, “Let’s take a drive.”
Three minutes later, Harv turned right onto Pacific Coast Highway and accelerated into traffic. Seconds from touchdown, a commercial jet roared over their sedan.
“Harv, how are the wife and kids? Candace, Lucas, and… shit.”
“It’s Dillon.” Harvey made a left onto Laurel Street. “But ‘shit’ isn’t too far off the mark at times. They’re doing great, thank you for asking. Lucas graduates from high school this year. I think he’s going to enlist. He wants to be a sniper. Army, though.”
“Army? You’re screwing with me.”
“Afraid not, General. He likes the Army.”
“Well, if he must.… I’ll personally follow his career.”
“He’s a good student, OCS material, but he wants to be a sniper. I haven’t discouraged him from pursuing it.”
“You have anything to do with that, Nate?”
“Lucas is a good kid. I had a heart-to-heart talk with him about what it’s really like. For a while, he reconsidered, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to do it.”
“If he’s anything like his old man, he’ll do fine.”
“Thank you, sir,” Harv said.
Nathan looked out the window. Time to change the subject. “I’m going to be frank, General. If Montez is up to his old tricks and operating on U.S. soil, then he needs to be neutralized.”
“Agreed. I can’t think of a better team. Nobody knows Montez better. On the flight out here I reread your debrief.”
Harvey crossed Sixth Avenue, heading for the Cabrillo Bridge.
“I’ll be honest, sir, this is a major skeleton for me. Harv too. I—” Nathan broke off in midsentence. This wasn’t a discussion he wanted to pursue in Major Halliday’s company.
“Don’t worry about Bob,” Thorny said. “He’s had a complete briefing. I didn’t want him involved in the dynamics of this operation unless he knew everything. Bob’s very resourceful.”
“Being the personal aide to the commandant of the Marine Corps has its advantages?” Harv asked.
“Indeed it does,” Halliday replied.
Thorny rolled his window down a little. “So what’s your plan?”
“Harv and I talked about this. Whatever we do, it has to be covert. It can’t be leaked that we’re after him. We’ll only get one shot. If we miss, he’ll disappear forever. We’ll start at Lake Powell, where Kramer’s body was dumped. We’re getting some help from the FBI, but there’s a number of things we want to look into. Where Kramer was staying, and why. Where Montez stayed, if anywhere, and the location he used to torture Kramer. We plan to look into every rented, leased, or stolen boat in the area just prior to Kramer’s death. I doubt Montez is doing much himself, it’s not his style. He’ll have mercenaries doing the heavy lifting. They’ll probably be Hispanic. Maybe they were seen. Harv and I are flying out there this afternoon. In the meantime there’s something you could do for us.”
“Name it.”
“See what you can dig up on Kramer and Montez with any intelligence agencies you have trusted contacts in. Discreetly, if possible.”
“In my circles, there’s no such thing as discreet. Harv, you’ve been awfully quiet.”
“It’s no secret I’d like to see Montez skinned. But we can’t let that compromise our mission, assuming we’ve officially agreed to find him. Have we?”
“Yes,” Nathan said.
“Then you should know,” Thorny said, “this is purely a Marine Intelligence operation, and off the books at that.”
“Sounds familiar,” Harv said under his breath.
“You know the score. It’s your call how it goes down.”
“As in dead or alive?” Nathan asked.
“If the opportunity presents itself, we’d prefer to get Montez alive for obvious reasons. He’s a walking gold mine of military intelligence. We’ve got MIAs all over the globe, some in Central America. We might be able to close some files and give some families closure.”
Harv said, “I guess it wouldn’t break my heart to see Montez get a dose of his own medicine.”
“Look, I’m only asking you to bring him in if the opportunity presents itself. But under no circumstances are you to risk your lives. Clear?”
Nathan’s cell interrupted them. He looked at the screen. Holly.
“General, I�
�m sorry, but I should take this. It’s SAC Simpson.”
“Go ahead.”
“Hi, Holly, I have you on speaker. Harv, General Robert Hawthorne, and his aide Major Halliday are with me.”
“Hello, gentlemen.”
“Nice to meet you, SAC Simpson.”
“A few hours ago, a woman was kidnapped at gunpoint from the Fashion Valley Mall in San Diego. I think it could be connected to Kramer’s murder.”
“Why is that?” Thorny asked.
“I was doing a search in the NCIC database with the keywords Eastern Europe, Eastern Bloc, Hungary, and attaché. I got a positive hit on the abducted woman. Her name is Nichole Dalton. Six years ago, we did a complete background check on her. Ms. Dalton currently works for the NSA as an Eastern Bloc language specialist. Care to guess what one of her languages is?”
“Hungarian,” Thorny said.
Nathan glanced at Harv.
“And she was abducted today? There’s no way that’s a coincidence,” Thorny said. “No way.”
Nathan squinted. A slideshow of a woman being tortured by Montez invaded his thoughts.
“There’s more,” Holly said. “Her two daughters are also missing, presumed kidnapped. The report said they’re eight and nine years old. San Diego PD activated the amber alert system.”
“That’s a bad deal,” Harv said.
It was no secret Nathan held a soft place in his heart for kids. He forced the images aside and tried to stay focused. “We need to find out all we can about any potential Kramer-Dalton connection as soon as possible. Holly, can you send us more info on this? Pictures of Ms. Dalton and her daughters, the police report, and anything else you’ve got?”
“Sure. Can we set up an encrypted fax line at your office?”
Harv jumped in. “No problem, I’ll take care of it within the hour.”
“General Hawthorne,” Holly said. “I hate to tell you this, but there was another victim in this morning’s kidnapping. An off-duty Miramar MP was shot to death while trying to stop Dalton’s attackers.”
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