by G. K. Parks
“How can I possibly go to work now?” Logan squawked.
“Your position at Trila is the only thing useful to them.” Bastian kept his voice even. “They probably know Trila is monitoring your movements. If you start acting suspicious, it practically guarantees that you won’t be able to deliver the protocols. You need to be at work to prove to them that you’re trying. Do you understand?”
“Yes, but how can they expect me to act normally at a time like this?” Logan asked.
“Because you have been doing exactly that. They took your wife, and nothing changed. Now negotiators arrive. Trila’s tracking you. And you cancel the company car with no plans to go to the office. They know you told your bosses about the abduction,” Mercer said.
“Oh my god.” Logan slapped his palm over his mouth. “I am a moron.”
“Go to work,” Mercer repeated. “And get my name put on the freaking approved list in case I need to stop by.”
Logan continued to sputter out questions, but Bastian ushered him to the garage. The man could drive himself today. Hopefully, the kidnappers would conclude that after the grand theft debacle yesterday, Porter was too embarrassed to ask for a ride.
Once he was gone, Mercer turned the stereo back on full blast and placed a piece of tape over the camera lens in the kitchen. The idea of shorting out the entire system was appealing. But Bastian was piggybacking off the surveillance, and it might prove just as useful to them as it was to Trila. Picking up a pen, Mercer wrote on a sheet of paper: The kidnappers have access to the car service.
Bastian nodded. It made sense. They had always been suspicious of the drivers. Perhaps this was a lead, not that they were in the business of identifying the culprits. More often than not, it simply helped to have as much background information as possible in order to aid in negotiations. However, when negotiations failed, it was also nice to know how much firepower would be necessary to subdue the kidnappers.
“Let’s pack up,” Bastian suggested. “We’ve been compromised. It’s a new day. Time to start fresh.”
The storage locker he’d visited the previous night was no longer secure which is why he’d unloaded everything from it. The burners they’d been using would have to be destroyed. The flat they had occupied was questionable, and if they returned, they’d have to be extremely vigilant.
“We’ll reconvene at our hotel rendezvous point,” Mercer said.
Donovan was somewhere in the city, but he hadn’t made contact. And Hans might have something to add about what he’d witnessed last night. In the event either of the other two team members had compromised their location, Mercer didn’t want to walk into a trap.
After their equipment had been removed from Porter’s home, the phone rang. Mercer glanced at the security camera in the hallway. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. Two rings later, he answered.
“Don’t try to outsmart us or outthink us. You are outmatched,” a mechanical voice said.
“I’m Mercer. To whom am I speaking?”
“Alpha,” the same voice replied. No additional words were wasted. “You are the negotiator.” It didn’t exactly sound like a question, but Mercer answered anyway.
“Yes. Logan Porter hired me.”
“Don’t lie again.”
“Trila hired me on his behalf. However, I work for him. The safe return of Sarina Porter is my primary concern.” Normally, Mercer was in control of the conversation, but this time felt different. “Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
“I need proof.”
“You’ll have to earn it.” The odd spacing between the words caused Mercer to pause. Initially, he suspected a voice modulator was being used, but this sounded more like a type and talk program.
“That’s not how this works,” Mercer warned.
“It is now.”
“Without proof, you’ll get nothing.”
The voice remained silent, so Mercer internally counted to fifteen and hung up the phone. It was the worst part of the job. Potentially, it was the most devastating moment. Normally, it was his way of reasserting control over the situation, but it could easily backfire and lead to serious injury or death of the abductee. So far, he’d been lucky, but it was only a matter of time before his luck ran out.
Bastian stood completely motionless in the doorway. He was in one of the surveillance blind spots and didn’t want to move back into the picture. Already, he had the time and number down and hoped to trace the call just as soon as he was behind a computer screen. Silently, the two men waited.
After what felt like an eternity but was actually closer to ten minutes, the phone rang again. Mercer swallowed. Turning his back to the camera, he took a moment to regain his composure and perspective before answering.
“Proof is on the way,” Alpha declared. Before Mercer could say a word, the call disconnected.
He put the receiver back in its cradle. “Go,” he said to Bastian. “I’ll stay here. See what you can find.”
“Jules, I don’t think—,” Bastian began, but Mercer silenced him.
“Hurry. I’ll see you at the rendezvous.”
“You better be there.” Bastian gave the commander a final glance and headed out the door. Unfortunately, he now had the task of finding transportation. “What I wouldn’t give for an Uber right about now.”
With Bastian gone, Mercer was alone. He stared at the closest security camera. There was no reason to believe Alpha was monitoring the feed, but something told Mercer that was the case. The call didn’t come in until they were no longer prepared. Surely, that couldn’t be a coincidence.
Going into the kitchen, Mercer searched the drawers for a rolling pin. Then he went from room to room, knocking out every camera inside the house. So much for using the surveillance system to his advantage.
While he waited for proof of life to be delivered, he evaluated the house and the various rooms for tactical advantages. Deciding that the landing on the staircase provided the greatest vantage point but the least amount of cover, he moved on to other parts of the house. The kitchen and living room had ample cover but were prone to multiple entry points. Frankly, a gunfight inside would come down to the element of surprise and who was a better shot.
“Fantastic,” Mercer muttered.
He remained on high alert, watching and waiting. Alpha provided no insight into how the proof of life would be delivered. It could be an e-mail message, a phone call, or even a delivery. Most were done via e-mail or phone, but Alpha wanted to send a message.
The doorbell rang, and Mercer cautiously went to the window. Outside was a delivery truck from a flower shop. He memorized the truck’s details and went to the door with his Sig in hand.
“Whoa.” The man stepped backward, almost dropping the arrangement.
“Who are you? Who sent you?” Mercer’s gaze swept the exterior of the house, not seeing anyone else.
“Here. Just take it. Okay?” The man continued to step backward until he had cleared the porch, then he ran back to the truck and drove away.
Attached to the flower arrangement was a thick envelope. It had red blotches on the outside that didn’t look intentionally decorative. Mercer carefully reached down and opened it. Inside was a finger with a perfectly manicured nail and a wedding ring.
“Fuck.”
Thirteen
“You have your proof,” Alpha said.
“I said she should remain unharmed,” Mercer replied. His voice was devoid of emotion. There was nothing left but the cold, surgical precision needed to properly execute a negotiation. “Damage to the package is unacceptable.”
“I say what is unacceptable.” A slight clicking sound resonated inside the receiver. “Logan Porter is aware of our demand. We want the protocols ready for delivery in forty-eight hours.”
“That’s impossible. We are prepared to provide a different form of payment.”
“No.”
“They have no determined value. What are they worth to you?”
&n
bsp; “What is a hand worth to you, Mercer? Or an ear?”
“Doing further harm to Sarina will only decrease the value of the ransom.”
“I think you should ask Logan about that. I will make contact again in twelve hours. Be prepared to provide the protocols.”
The call ended, and Mercer slammed the phone down. Then he picked it up and slammed it a few dozen times. Eventually, it shattered into pieces. Taking a breath, he sifted through the shards, locating a small listening device. Obviously, Bastian must have missed it. Unsure if it was operational any longer, Mercer wrapped it in a few thick layers of aluminum foil in an attempt to block any possible transmissions before shoving it inside his pocket.
After locking up the house, he did a quick check of the perimeter. Briefly, he spoke to the sentry at the guard post, Thomas Redding, who had waved the delivery driver through. It didn’t take long to obtain a screenshot of the truck and driver from the exterior security feed. Once that was done, Mercer headed in the direction of the rendezvous point. There was much to discuss, and he wanted his team clued in and prepared before he spoke to Logan again. No one paid any heed to Mercer, and he continued at a quick march toward the hotel. They were now on a deadline, twelve hours and counting.
Inside the lobby, he spotted Donovan. The younger man looked utterly bored. He flipped through a magazine, absently drumming his fingers against his thigh. Mercer didn’t acknowledge him but instead took the lift to the seventh floor. He stepped outside, walked to the end of the corridor, nearest to the stairwell, opened the door to check for any uninvited visitors, and then unlocked the adjoining door to the neighboring room. A few minutes later, he heard the corresponding latch on the other side open, and Donovan stepped inside.
“Really, mate? Did you think it was the bogeyman?” Donovan asked, rolling his eyes at the Sig pointed in his direction. “You’ve got to get over your hang-ups. Maybe get a massage or find a hooker. You need to do something to blow off steam.”
“Have you spoken to Bastian?”
“He’ll be here. He’s updating our tech. I swear you’re making him just as paranoid as you tend to be.” Donovan sunk onto one of the two beds in the room. “This is comfy. How about we don’t speak for the next six hours?”
Mercer reached into his jacket and removed the envelope and listening device. Without a word, he handed the envelope to Donovan and sat on the adjacent bed. Reaching across to the table, he picked up the pad of paper and began jotting down notes on Alpha, the delivery truck, and their brief communication.
“Did you see anyone last night?” Mercer asked.
“Nope. No one followed you back to the client’s house, and the street traffic seemed normal.” Donovan sighed, placing the envelope on the nightstand. “I’ll get a bucket of ice.” He shook his head. “I hate it when things go this way.”
“This was the result of our first contact.”
Donovan nodded. “What do they want?”
“Computer protocols.” Mercer stopped writing. “He’s called Alpha. That was his proof of life.”
“Doesn’t ring any bells, but he’s done this before. And he must know you have too. A novice wouldn’t cut off a finger as proof of life or expect a negotiator to be smart enough to realize that it better damn well be bloody.”
“No blood, no heartbeat,” Mercer stated.
“Precisely.”
Donovan returned with a bucket of ice to preserve the finger. Mercer removed the wedding ring to show to Logan since the aggrieved husband didn’t need to see the extent of the damage. Ideally, the finger would be printed and compared to Sarina Porter in order to confirm identification, but in this instance, that would likely be an unnecessary step.
“Julian,” Donovan said, “it’s not your fault.” He nodded at the ring that Mercer had yet to put down. “This is some sick twisted bastard who wants to play mind games with you.”
“Where’s her engagement ring?” Mercer wasn’t listening; he was thinking.
“Maybe she didn’t have one, or she didn’t wear it out.” Donovan raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t exactly a place to flaunt your wealth.” He squinted. “From what I’ve seen, shouldn’t she have had her own security detail? Frankly, Logan ought to as well. Doesn’t Trila pay for everything else?”
“Who knows?”
Placing the ring on the table, Mercer rubbed his face, feeling two days worth of stubble scratch against his palms. He needed sleep, a shower, and something to eat. The order wasn’t important. He studied Donovan, who upon closer examination didn’t look much better.
“I could go for a hot and a cot,” Mercer admitted. “Try to get some rest while we wait for Hans and Bastian. Then we’ll update them and trade out.” He looked at the clock. “We have ten hours until the next communication with Alpha.”
“Any idea what you’re going to do?” Donovan asked, edging back toward the adjoining room.
“Not yet.”
For the next forty-five minutes, Julian Mercer twisted and turned. He was exhausted, physically and mentally, but sleep didn’t come. Too many things were in the works, and he knew he didn’t have the luxury of resting. Instead, he took a shower, did a few dozen push-ups and sit-ups, and watched the news. Trila owned this city and everyone in it. They probably controlled the local media outlets, so it wasn’t surprising that there was no mention of anything pertaining to them or their workers.
By the time Bastian and Hans arrived, Mercer had mentally evaluated the three separate phone calls with Alpha. All of which had been brief. Whether that was by design was undetermined. After briefing the other two members of the team and hearing Bastian announce that the calls were untraceable since the phone number originated from an unregistered internet number that had been run through a proxy, it was obvious they were dealing with professionals.
“I’ll make some calls and see if anyone has dealt with this Alpha bloke,” Hans offered. Thankfully, their former service to the Crown afforded them friends in various international intelligence communities. Surely, someone would know something. “You could always ask the local bobbies. They’re particularly fond of you.”
“What’d you discover after dropping us off last night?” Bastian asked.
“Not much. The coppers stayed behind to watch the two of you. I double-backed after a time, but they were dispatched.” Hans shrugged. “I can’t tell you where they went, but I know they weren’t waiting at that pub or at Porter’s.”
“What about Trila?” Mercer asked.
“Security is tight. They’ve been trained,” Hans exchanged a look with each of the men, “like we have.”
“What’s some tech company doing with a bunch of special ops military personnel?” Donovan asked.
“Their international dealings and government contracts might have something to do with it, but I’ll ask Porter,” Mercer said. “In the meantime, Donovan will sit on Trila. Bastian, see what you can dig up on this shit.” He gestured to the notepad he’d filled with data and the photo of the delivery truck and driver. “Hans, ask your friends about Alpha, Trila, and the Porters. We’re missing something. I want to be prepared for our next conversation instead of standing around with my dick in my hand. Got it?”
“What are you planning on doing?” Bastian asked.
“Finding a way to get Alpha what he wants.”
“Jules, do you understand what that entails?” Bas inquired. “We’d be breaking dozens of laws, sacrificing our position and reputation, and jeopardizing countless corporations.”
“We need leverage. A good bluff works just as well.” Mercer sighed. “I’m going to Trila to have a talk with someone in charge. Since they got Porter into this mess, they ought to help get him out.”
“Make sure you ask nicely,” Bastian warned.
“I’ll go as back-up,” Donovan said.
“No, you will remain a ghost,” Mercer ordered. “I don’t want to tip our hand and let them know our team is larger than they expected. Regardless of their ge
nerosity,” he spat, “I don’t trust them.”
“Fairly certain that feeling is mutual,” Bastian responded.
“I’ll need a ten minute head start to get set up in the shadows,” Donovan said, returning to the adjoining room and leaving from that door. Hopefully, it’d be enough to prevent any potential onlookers from realizing the four men were together.
“Be careful,” Bastian said, watching Mercer check the clip in his gun, “and try not to shoot anyone.”
“We’ll see.”
Fourteen
Mercer made it inside the lobby of the Trila International building before he was stopped by security. It was an improvement from being chased away by the guards inside the parking garage. Although, Julian had avoided them this time by being dropped off by a taxi near the front entrance of the building.
“Remove your weapon slowly, sir,” one of the security guards said.
“No.”
“Sir?” The momentary surprise was replaced with anger over Mercer’s insolence. Apparently, the guards weren’t used to being told no. Then again, they weren’t used to dealing with this particular kidnapping negotiator either. “I won’t ask again.”
“Good because the answer will be the same.” Mercer kept an eye on the four men. “I want to speak to someone in charge.”
“You work for Mr. Porter. You do not have clearance to speak to anyone else.”
“I work for this fucking company. Now ring your boss.”
The guards didn’t want to budge or give in to Mercer’s demands. The five men remained locked in a battle of wits, waiting for the other side to concede. The lobby grew silent as others began to notice the commotion. One of the guards reached into his jacket and pulled out a radio. He whispered something and returned it to its previous position. A few seconds later, the man pressed his fingers against his ear, obviously receiving a message over his earpiece.