by Ian Bull
THE
DANGER
GAME
IAN BULL
STORY MERCHANT BOOKS
LOS ANGELES • 2020
Praise for The Picture Kills
Book I in the Quintana Adventures
“The settings are stellar and richly detailed. We’re gripped from start to finish...pacing is spectacular, and story excels. Characters are multi-dimensional, and settings gleam.”
—Writer’s Digest National Book Competition
“A thrilling page-turner with real literary value…combines the international intrigue of Lee Child, the procedural know-how of Michael Connelly and, yes, the Hollywood insider's expertise of Jackie Collins, with a plot that takes the reader on a Bond-like adventure across the globe.”
—Amazon reviewer
“The book comes together in a shocking, hair-raising climax that only later will the reader realize had been set up by the author chapters in advance.”
—Amazon reviewer
“Steve Quintana is…a new thriller hero who’s human, prone to mistakes, frailty, and self-doubt, yet with Scot Harvath power, Angus MacGyver ingenuity, and Ethan Hunt resilience that makes him ripe for a continuing literary series.”
—Amazon reviewer
Praise for Six Passengers, Five Parachutes
Book II in the Quintana Adventures
“The author has a stellar instinct for crafting interactions between characters…fabulous foreboding and panic…an engaging read and, in Steven, a character who could live on the big screen.”
—Writer’s Digest National Book Competition
“The adventures of Steve Quintana are as compelling as ever…with the action moving at breakneck speed. Bull’s work is up there with Connelly, Cussler, and Patterson when it comes to creating an intense, exciting thrill ride full of technical expertise, whether it’s Hollywood, espionage, or travel. And he has the guts to take his lead character into situations that you will have to read to believe.”
—Amazon reviewer
“This book picks up where the first book left off, with Steven Quintana trying to track down the people who funded the kidnapping of Julia Travers in the first book. The twists are incredible. In the first book, Steven struggled to rescue Julia. In the sequel, it's Julia who must save Steven!”
—Amazon reviewer
The Danger Game
Copyright © 2020 by Ian Bull. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author.
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To my wife, Robin, and my daughter, Lily.
Thank you for your love and patience.
A Note from Steven Quintana
You don’t need to read The Picture Kills and Six Passengers, Five Parachutes to enjoy The Danger Game—just let me give you the highlights:
In The Picture Kills, I was a top Army Ranger reconnaissance photographer turned Hollywood paparazzo. Taking photos of celebrities was an easy way to get rich, while trying to forget my past.
That’s how I met the beautiful and talented Julia Travers. While doing my job, I snapped shots of Julia boarding a yacht with her ex-boyfriend, Xander Constantinou. Except she wasn't running off with him for a secret rendezvous, he was kidnapping her and taking her to his private Bahamian cay. Julia’s best friend and manager, Trishelle Hobbes, was days away from being kidnapped, too.
Swearing that no one would ever be harmed by my photos again, I set out on a rescue mission with Carl Webb, my best friend and a fellow former Ranger.
Keep in mind, the last person Julia wanted to see was me—the paparazzo who was ruining her life in the tabloids.
In mounting a rescue attempt, Carl and I wound up shot, stabbed, and nearly dead. But we saved them, and Julia and I developed a deep, permanent bond.
Six Passengers, Five Parachutes picks up eighteen months later. My bond with Julia deepened into love but not so much a relationship. I blew that one. (Having a celebrity girlfriend is as hard as it sounds.)
Instead of working on being the “perfect boyfriend,” I did what I do naturally, and left to track down Julia’s kidnappers incognito. They figured out my identity and sent men to kill me. Long story short, I ended up on a plane programmed to crash with five convicted criminals and five parachutes—you do the math. One of us wasn’t leaving alive. Oh, and they televised the whole thing. At the helm of this deadly moneymaking scheme were TV producers Robert Snow and Tina Swig, taking orders from this supervillain known only as Boss Man.
I somehow escaped. Unfortunately, Tina Swig and Boss Man did, too.
After that, Julia gave me another shot—leaping from a crashing plane changes a guy.
And our lives were perfect for the next two years….
1
STEVEN QUINTANA
Saturday, March 9, 10:00 a.m. (PST)
California
It’s time to pull the trigger on Operation Bacon. I’ll sneak two pounds of fried Canadian pig inside Julia’s trailer, and we’ll enjoy the fatty flesh before her big press conference. Julia tries to be vegan, but she can’t turn down the luscious pork from the land of her people. I love being a bad influence.
I walk through a maze of tables arranged on the grassy bluff. Chatty journalists sit in chairs, enjoying their catered breakfast while ignoring the majestic Pacific Ocean below. I sidle up to the chef’s station where Chef Rafa is whipping up omelets. He hands me two paper plates taped together. “There’s a lot of pig in there, Esse, so it should stay warm.”
“I owe you, brother.” I slide out of line and weave back through the tables.
It’s going to be a busy day. After breakfast, Julia and Trishelle will announce that their new company, A-OK Productions, will be producing its first movie, Under Withering Fire, about the Vietnam War, to be shot here in Malibu. Trishelle is Julia’s best friend, manager, and producing partner, and she convinced Julia they should host the press conference onsite, which is, coincidentally, not far from our home. The weather, eleven days before spring, is perfect.
I’ll be the stunt coordinator. It will require focus, planning, and zero schmoozing, which is perfect, for now. This is not my career—flipping cars for my movie star fiancée is not the long-term plan, but at least we’re together.
Carl Webb appears from nowhere and steps in front of me. “I’ve seen that look before. You’re on a mission.”
“I’m sneaking bacon into Julia’s trailer. We’re going to chow down.”
“How about you and I joyride that Ferrari parked over there later? That’d be nice.” He points at the red stunt car that Julia’s character will be driving in the movie.
“Don’t get too excited. It’s got a Ford Fiesta motor. It’s just a prop I drove here for the press conference.”
“Too bad,” Carl says and leads the way through the last tables toward Julia’s trailer.
Carl was the team leader of our Army Ranger reconnaissance team. He now runs Global Webb Securities. We’ve saved each other’s lives enough times that we don’t need to wear friendship bracelets to remember.
He also looks like a football Hall of Famer in his thousand-dollar suit, while I’m in jeans and a T-shirt. At least I have a thick head of black hair. He’s as bald as Mr. Clean.
A small blonde with a big voice blocks our path. “Wait. You’re those
Rangers.”
“Used to be,” Carl says. He tries to pass, but she puts her hand on his chest.
“Gwen Thompson, CBC correspondent. You’re Carl Webb, and you’re Steven Quintana. You rescued Julia once.”
“Yup. In the Bahamas. Almost four years ago,” Carl says.
“And Julia rescued you from that crashing plane,” Gwen says, pointing at me.
A man eating at a nearby table, yells. “Celebrity Exposed says that was all fake!”
“Nope. It all happened,” Carl says.
“Then prove you’re as amazing as they say you are,” Gwen says.
“Hand me a piece of paper with something on it,” I say, accepting her challenge.
Trishelle appears behind us, holding a clipboard. “Gwen, can I answer any questions?”
“Give Steven Quintana whatever’s on your clipboard.”
Trishelle hands me a piece of paper. “It’s just the call sheet for today’s event.”
I look at the four quadrants of the page, moving my thumb to each corner, then hand the paper to Gwen. “Quiz me.”
She rolls her eyes and looks at the page. “Nearest emergency room.”
“Providence Saint John’s, 2121 Santa Monica Boulevard.”
“Who is the production assistant, and what’s his call time?”
“She’s a woman. Toni Fleischaker. Her call time was 5:45 a.m. at the crew parking lot at Gladstone’s at the Beach, in the crew shuttle van at 6:00 a.m.”
Gwen seems impressed. “You have a photographic memory.”
Carl nods. “And that’s only one of his superpowers.”
There is no such thing, but I don’t admit that. I had an eidetic memory as a kid, but it’s fading with age. The Army taught me how to memorize something fast and keep it in my brain for a day or two.
“Thank you for the show, gentlemen!” Trishelle shoos us away, but not before trading a wink with Carl. We leave her behind to smooth things over.
Carl and I dart past the last table and up the stairs into Julia’s trailer. I put the warm plates on the Formica table, grab a red Sharpie, and draw a heart. Julia busted me hard for not giving her a Valentine last month, so maybe this will make up for it.
The bedroom door opens, and Julia emerges. We lock eyes and grin. She’s dressed as her character: low jeans, a tie-dyed shirt, and a headband around her wavy, blonde hair, like a war protestor from the 1970s. My knees knock like a swooning high school girl. We slam into each other and kiss.
“You send me. Honest you do,” I whisper.
Carl motions like he’s gagging.
Julia sniffs the air. “Did you bring me bacon?” She rips the plates apart and pops a greasy piece in her mouth as her eyes roll back in her head.
She notices Carl. “Hello, Mr. Webb! You look wonderful, as usual. Steven, what are you going to wear?” She looks at me like I’m naked.
“What for? I’m not making any speeches.”
“To meet the minister and the wedding planner after the press conference. They’re making a special trip out here.”
Even with my memory training, I still forget the scary stuff, like marriage. She wants us to get hitched right after production, and then adopt a child by the end of the year. Parachuting into war zones with Carl was less daunting.
“What about you? You look like a hippie.”
Julia puts her hands on her hips. “I have a proper outfit steamed and ready.”
Carl grins, enjoying my discomfort. “Let me cut the tension.” He pulls an envelope out of his jacket pocket and thrusts it between us. “Major Glenn Ward found the names of the man and woman who caused all your problems. Just tear it open.”
Julia and I stare at the envelope like it’s radioactive. Major Glenn Ward works for Army Cyber Operations and consults for Carl on the side, with the Army’s permission. Eighteen months ago, when I was trapped on a crashing plane, Glenn’s expertise helped save my life. Now, after months of work, Carl and Glenn have tracked down the sick masterminds who created Six Passengers, Five Parachutes.
Neither Julia nor I reach for the envelope. It reeks of bad luck.
Carl flicks it up and down. “Boss Man’s real name is Douglas Bushnell.”
I saw Boss Man only once, standing next to his jet on an airfield in Mexico. That was right before he and Tina strapped me into a flying bomb alongside five killers and broadcast it on Pay-per-view. That was a bad day.
Carl stops flicking. “I understand if you don’t want to open it. You two are on a winning streak. But, now that we know his name, we can catch him, no matter how rich he is. But only if you want.”
I don’t touch it. We’re still wounded. Escaping to a lake house in Canada and living off-grid for a year until our nightmares pass is the best solution. Not for Julia. She pushes through the pain instead. She produces a movie, plans a wedding, and preps for a family, all while paying a fortune to catch the bad guys who gave her the pain in the first place.
We stare at each other.
Julia exhales and grabs the envelope. I half-expect it to burn her, but it doesn’t. She rips it open. I hope whatever is inside won’t spoil our lucky streak.
2
JULIA TRAVERS
Saturday, March 9, 10:30 a.m. (PST)
California
I rip open the envelope, wishing it was Tina Swig’s head. I want to catch her even more than Boss Man. She put Steven on that plane. I won’t be happy until I can say, “I beat you,” right to her face.
Blood pounds in my head as I pull out the information—photos of yachts, maps, and a dossier of billionaire Douglas Bushnell. I shake it at Carl. “What about Swig?”
“I saved the best for last. Yancy Mendoza located Swig in Wisconsin. She snuck back into the country and is hiding in a motel next to a river. Yancy and Victor are watching her now, gathering evidence, and will call the FBI to arrest her within a day.”
Six months ago, I hired Carl and his firm to find Boss Man and Tina Swig. He hired Major Glenn Ward and offered LAPD Detective Yancy Mendoza a bucket of money to take a sabbatical and join our team. Carl then assigned Victor Marsh, a young hotshot at Global Webb Securities, to help Yancy.
Steven knocks for luck on the Formica. “You wanted everything settled by the time we get married, and we’re almost there. Nothing to weigh us down anymore.”
There’s a knock, and the trailer door opens. Trishelle sticks her head in. She spots Carl, and they smile. “Hello, again. Planning on staying a while this time?”
“As long as you’ll let me.”
Carl and Trishelle had a brief affair and continue to hook up when the timing is right. I don’t know how they do it. I’d get too jealous.
A middle-aged woman in a blue suit stands behind Trishelle on the bottom step of my trailer. Next to her is a tall, blond man in a seersucker jacket. They peer inside. I
Trishelle raises her voice a tad too high. “Julia, good news! Pastor Eileen Campbell and Toby Jenkins both came early!”
“I didn’t want to miss the Hollywood press conference!” Toby yells. “The pastor only agreed because I insisted!”
Pastor Eileen and Toby back up to avoid getting flattened by all of us, tumbling out of the trailer. Pastor Eileen stares at my hippie clothes as if I’m dressed like an alien.
“I’m in costume. I was going to change for you later.”
Steven offers his hand and saves me. “Hello, Pastor, I’m Steven. Thank you so much for coming all this way on a Saturday.” He can’t dress, but his parents raised him right.
“Steven, the war hero? Call me Eileen,” she says, pumping Steven’s hand.
Trishelle claps her hands. “Everyone! Let’s head to the podium on the bluff, and we’ll start the conference!” She steers Toby by the elbow, and we all follow behind.
“You’re a very striking couple,” Pastor Eileen whispers to Steven and me.
We smile at each other. I feel like I’m floating. A word pops in my head: success. I’m producing my movie with my
best friend, I’m marrying the love of my life, and we’re starting a family. It’s a lightness I haven’t felt before. Then I remember Tina Swig and the heaviness returns. It’ll feel better when the FBI arrests her. Then we’ll really be in the clear.
As we pass the journalists on the way to the podium, a Sousa March starts on the hillside behind us. Everyone looks up the slope, searching for the source of the blasting music. Trishelle and I look at each other with wide eyes. An intruder is sabotaging our day.
Gwen Thompson groans. “They didn’t secure the hillside! Amateur producers!”
“What’s going on?” Pastor Eileen asks.
“Someone is trying to disrupt my event. It happens all the time when crews shoot in Los Angeles. Usually, it’s someone looking for a hand-out,” I explain.
“Find that guy and give him this, please!” Trishelle yells, holding up a hundred-dollar bill.
Journalists aim their TV cameras at the hill. This guy is not just ruining my event, he’s creating an even bigger story. This doesn’t feel right, though. Intruders harass crews in urban Los Angeles, but this jerk came all the way to Malibu to ruin my press conference?
I glance at Steven. He’s wearing his thousand-yard stare. What does he see? He grabs my hand and points at a crew guy with a tattoo on his neck, walking past us with an extension cord. The hair on my neck goes up. I never hired him. He disappears behind my trailer.
Steven tries to follow him, but I tug his hand to stay. He scans the crowd again. All I see are overworked journalists. Steven points to my right—there’s a man with a tattoo down the right side of his face and bolts coming out of his lower lip. He kneels like he dropped something. Another new face. A cold shiver runs through me.