Stopping the car, he reached over, grasping both of her hands tightly, knowing what she was feeling and not wanting this to stain the rest of her life. “You’re saving Harry and our families and I’m proud of you. These men can’t be allowed to live, and they don’t deserve to have more chances to hurt us or anyone else. It’s why I had to kill Gustavo Alvarez.”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
Her subdued emotions worried him. “You’re not a killer. This is self-defense. It bothers you because you have a good heart and you’re a good person. I’d be more worried if it didn’t affect you.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. He leaned over and held her. He remained like that for some time, holding her in silence and stroking her head and back.
“Thank you,” she whispered at length.
He pulled back and continued driving. The Colombian was as good as dead.
CHAPTER 24
Harry had spent an enormous amount of energy trying to break free of the zip ties.
After managing to get his arms around his butt and feet, it still took numerous efforts to break the ties. Mainly because he couldn’t drive his elbows hard enough past his torso while lying on his side. But he eventually broke them.
The ankles ties had taken another serious effort. He had to bend over from the waist in the bed, pulling on them until they finally gave way. His elbows were bruised from his efforts and his fingers ached. He shoved the remnants of the ties toward the front of the bed near his feet so they wouldn’t be visible.
His ankles and wrists were sore and he was tired. Impatient. Food and more water would help that.
He hadn’t eaten since breakfast the previous day. Refusing the poor-quality plane food when they flew into Denver, he had decided to wait for dinner. The restaurant they were originally going to eat at had healthy food, unlike many. Conscious of his weight, he liked to stay lean.
Sleep in the truck bed had also been hard to come by. In between dozing off now and then, he wasn’t always sure if they were moving or parked somewhere—with his captors waiting for the order to kill him. He doubted the woman had it in her. Her brother did though. He heard it in the man’s voice.
He tried to prepare for his escape by using one of Steel’s methods, where he visualized repeatedly what he was going to do.
He envisioned the tailgate opening. He would be curled up, his hands partly hidden and his legs pulled up close so he was hunched over in a ball.
Steel had made him practice this escape variation in a pickup repetitively. Harry remembered thinking at the time it was overkill. Now he was glad for Steel’s obsessiveness regarding readiness for all situations.
He also counted on the brother and sister being tired and sick of everything. Sick of him. If his plan worked, this was the last time he would be held caged up in the truck bed.
Sometime later, he wasn’t sure how long but it felt like hours, the truck seemed to creep along on a road that wasn’t smooth. Maybe dirt or gravel. He listened for any sounds, but nothing distinct reached his ears.
The truck stopped.
Quiet.
He prepared himself.
Another long interval went by. Several hours if he had to guess. Finally he heard the key in the tailgate lock.
He kept his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open, his left hand against his back while his right was beneath his waist. Trying to hide the absence of the wrist zip tie, he concluded his captors wouldn’t be able to see the missing ankle zip tie. People often operated on expectation, and one thing Steel had always insisted on in training was paying attention to minute details.
The tailgate creaked open.
The brother and sister talked softly in Spanish as the shotgun was shoved into his neck again. He ignored it and didn’t flinch, keeping his eyes shut and his body relaxed.
His captors continued talking in Spanish.
Two fragments he understood: “…ataque al corazón…” and “…necesita agua…” Heart attack and he needs water—they were worried about him. He prepared himself.
The shotgun was removed from his neck, replaced by two fingers taking his pulse. The brother. A few drops of water were dribbled past his lips at the same time. The sister.
He exploded.
Grabbing the brother’s wrist with his left hand, he gripped the edge of the tailgate with his right and pivoted his entire body on its side, swinging his bent legs out into the woman, knocking her down, while hanging onto the brother’s arm, twisting it and pushing him away.
He half fell out of the cab. The brother tried to bring up the sawed-off. Harry struck out with his left fist as hard as he could, hitting the man’s stomach. The guy dropped the shotgun and collapsed to his knees at Harry’s feet.
Harry kneed him in the jaw and the man fell limp to the ground.
Sensing an attack from the woman, he whirled. Searing pain hit his left upper arm. The woman gaped at him, her wide eyes showing she was as frightened by what she had done as by what he might do. With his right hand he pushed her down hard.
That left her knife sticking in his arm. He looked at it. Small. One edge switchblade. He pulled it out by putting pressure against the dull side and dropped it to the dirt. His arm hurt like hell and he groaned. She had hit the triceps. Blood soaked his shirt.
Bending over, he picked up the shotgun and sat on the lip of the open gate, pressing his left arm against his torso. The wound still sent blood down his side.
The sky was clouded, but it was light out. Early evening. They were parked on a circular dirt plateau, maybe fifty yards across and hidden from the road. Hues of gray and green covered the surrounding mountain slopes, some of which had white-capped peaks. Beautiful.
Harry took a deep breath, glad to be on his feet. A tiny section of the east side of Boulder was visible. A small cluster of antlike buildings far to the southeast. He had been right about his kidnappers driving north.
A large outcropping of rock hid them from the road, but a dirt road circled out past the outcropping. He could walk or drive out. The mountain road wasn’t visible even miles away. The kidnappers had picked a great hiding spot.
He was still on his own, but he was free. Not bad, Harry. Game over for the crazy family. He would use their phone to call his brothers. A smile crept over his face as he imagined Christie and Jack hearing he had escaped. It made the pain in his arm bearable.
He would wait before involving the police. Jack and Christie might have been forced into something ugly and might need time to sort it out.
The woman crawled to her brother, cradling his head in her hands. She glanced up at him, fear in her eyes.
“Take off your masks,” he said.
She pulled hers off, and then her brother’s.
She was attractive, as was her brother. The resemblance between the two was obvious. Chiseled features, straight jet-black hair, high foreheads, and narrow chins. And he had been right about her age. Maybe late twenties.
For some reason Harry felt sorry for the woman. Stockholm syndrome, he mused. Things weren’t turning out as she expected. The brother blinked, gazing up at him with obvious hatred.
Hearing an engine, Harry whirled around, gripping the shotgun.
A black SUV slowly pulled around the outcropping, and then forward, stopping twenty feet from him. The SUV passengers couldn’t have seen the pickup from the road, which meant they were actively searching for him.
He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
Four men wearing black hoods, fatigues, and boots jumped out of the SUV, remaining behind the vehicle doors. The HK416s in their hands worried him. They reminded him of Steel’s Blackhood Ops.
Harry stiffened, ducking down with the shotgun.
The woman blanched and gaped along with her brother at the men, but neither of them moved.
One of the men called ou
t, “Harry Thorton!”
“Who wants to know?” He held the shotgun ready, thinking he would shoot their legs from ground level. There was no way he could compete with HK416s standing up.
“U.S. Army. We’re here to take you to safety, sir. It’s over.”
“Prove it.” That sounded hopeful but felt too easy.
“Christie Thorton said you would trust us if we gave you one secret only she knows.”
“I’m listening.”
“You wet the bed until you were twelve.”
“Amen to that.” Harry rose and set the shotgun on the truck bed, and then lifted his right hand to show it was empty. “It’s great to see you guys.”
The soldiers strode forward in front of the SUV, appearing relaxed, their guns aimed at the dirt. They glanced at the man and woman on the ground. “We’re happy to finally find you, sir.”
He heard another engine and turned with the soldiers. A black car with tinted windows slowly pulled around the outcropping, stopping twenty feet short of the SUV, but broadside to it.
A man got out. Wearing a black suit and sunglasses, he remained behind his car. He had a slightly brown complexion and appeared fit.
Harry’s immediate reaction was that the man was an ally of his two kidnappers. He would have shouted to the soldiers, but they had already pivoted, their guns aimed at the man.
All four soldiers formed a line facing the car.
“Identify yourself!” snapped the lead soldier.
The man held up a badge in his left hand. His voice had no accent. “U.S. Federal Marshal Covington. Are you all right, Harry Thorton?”
“Show your right hand!” said the soldier.
The marshal held up his empty right hand.
The lead soldier relaxed, his gun still up. “U.S. Army has jurisdiction here.”
“You need to provide me with ID so I know who you are and that you’re legit.” The marshal craned his neck. “Harry Thorton, are you alright?”
Feeling better about the man, Harry heaved a breath. He held up his right hand. “Fine. Yeah, they’re good. I’m going with them.”
The marshal clipped his badge back onto his belt, his hands resting on his hips. “All right. Then, soldier, I need your superior to call my superior and straighten this out.”
The lead soldier nodded. “I can arrange that.”
The soldiers lowered their guns halfway.
The lead soldier began walking forward. The marshal walked along the side of his car, but rounded the front of it with a surprising burst of speed. In a flash the marshal’s hands dipped beneath his suit coat, appearing again with silenced Glocks. He fired at the soldiers. They all went down before they could get their guns back up.
Harry had never seen that kind of accurate and fast shooting with both hands simultaneously. It stunned him. Even Clay wasn’t that good. Four shots. Four dead.
He grabbed the shotgun and dropped flat to the ground to fire at the man’s legs from beneath the truck. No sign of the killer, but he heard a thump. The killer had jumped onto the pickup.
Harry twisted to his back, kicked the tailgate closed with his foot, and aimed the shotgun straight up along the back of the pickup. Glancing at the woman and her brother, he saw they were staring up at the rear of the truck.
“Drop the gun, Harry, or I’ll kill the man and woman.”
“Be my guest.” Harry wiggled sideways to get most of his body beneath the back of the truck in case the man stuck his gun over the edge of the topper. Harry also noted that the killer was now speaking with a Hispanic accent.
“You two, lie on your bellies and close your eyes or I’m going to shoot both of you right now.”
Harry watched the man and woman follow the killer’s directions. The man was eliminating any help from them.
“You know, Harry, I think I’ll just wait up here. That shotgun is going to become heavy after a while. And while I wait, I’m going to call in reinforcements.”
Harry heard the soft sound of a phone making a call.
“Yes, my friends. We’re on thirty-four, at the end of a short dirt road on the south side, halfway to Estes. See you soon.” Another number was dialed. It must have been on speaker this time, because Harry could hear it clearly.
He considered trying to stand up but didn’t see how he could survive that. His only other option would be to crawl to the side of the pickup and try to surprise the man. He heard some motion on the topper. Then a nearby thump. He craned his neck to look behind him.
The killer was lying on his belly on the ground, beside the rear tire near Harry’s head, his Glocks aimed at him.
“Harry, I’ll shoot your shoulders, your arms, and then your head if I have to.” The man smiled. “Wouldn’t you rather live to fight another day?” The killer lifted his chin. “Toss the shotgun to your left or I begin shooting.”
Harry did as he was told.
“Tuck your hands into your belt, and don’t move.”
Harry obeyed.
The man stood up smoothly and walked around the end of the pickup, one Glock aimed at Harry, the other at the brother and sister. His voice sounded calm and his friendly smile reflected that too.
The word that came to Harry was psychotic.
The man walked around Harry, past his feet, and stared down at him. “Ah, you’re already hurt, Harry. So sorry to see that. We don’t have time for a long conversation since we have to leave.”
The killer spoke to the man and woman in Spanish. Harry couldn’t follow it, but the man and woman rolled over onto their backs.
The killer eyed them. “Hermano y hermana?”
The woman nodded, wide-eyed. Her brother stared up at the killer with fear evident in his eyes too.
The killer said, “Nombres. Rapido.”
The brother said, “Juan y Isabella.”
“Apellido!”
Juan was silent. The killer aimed his gun at Isabella.
“No!” Juan held up a hand. “Aguilar.”
The killer glanced at Harry. “How rude of us to speak Spanish. We want Harry to understand everything. Isabella, take your phone out of your pocket, sit up, and toss it over the edge behind you. Juan, do the same.”
The two did as ordered, and the killer said, “Now lie down again.” When they did, he said, “Isabella, are you the one who hurt Harry?”
“Yes.”
“Tough woman.” He winked at Harry. “Why did you kidnap Harry?”
Tears flowed down Isabella’s face, but she said nothing.
“Perhaps to get Jack Steel and Christie Thorton to kill Garcia? A vendetta?”
Isabella continued her silence.
Harry realized the killer knew more than he did about what was going on. He had questions but kept silent too.
“Ah, it must have been painful to see a loved one die.” The killer turned to Juan. “Anything you wish to say about vengeance, Juan?”
Juan shook his head.
The killer sighed. “Children, Juan?”
Juan didn’t answer, and the killer pointed his gun at Isabella’s leg. “Should I shoot her?”
Juan said quickly, “Three.”
“Wonderful. All boys?”
“Two girls and a boy. Please, señor—”
The killer cut him off. “I bet they’re a handful. If you wish to see them again, you will do exactly as I say. Turn over onto your stomach, Juan, arms at your sides.”
Juan complied.
Isabella didn’t move, but she placed her hand on her brother’s back. “Por favor!”
The killer seemed to hesitate as he aimed his gun at Juan.
Harry didn’t get it. Maybe the guy was deliberating on what to do. “You don’t have to kill us,” he said.
The man’s brow furrowed, but he shot Juan in the back of th
e head. Juan collapsed.
Isabella gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her face twisted. She rolled to her side, her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “No no no.”
Harry assumed they were all going to die here so he rolled over and reached for the shotgun. Something slammed into the back of his right shoulder and he collapsed where he lay.
“Help him up, Isabella or I’ll have to shoot you both here. Hurry. I won’t repeat myself.”
In seconds her hands slid beneath Harry’s cut arm. He groaned but tried to help her. His arm ached, his shoulder burned, and he was groggy and weak. His knees wobbled as he rose to a kneeling position, and then stood, leaning against Isabella for support.
“Walk over to the car. Keep up. Follow me.” The man walked backward in front of them, still smiling as if he was out for a stroll, aiming the two Glocks at them.
Harry relied on Isabella to stay upright. Shuffling along, he wanted to attack the killer. His legs had no strength to charge.
The killer stopped near the trunk of his car and opened it. “Harry in first, on your side. I apologize for the cramped conditions. I’ll try to get you out soon for a nice chat.”
“Go to hell.” Harry glared at the man.
The man lifted the Glocks slightly, shaking his head as he smiled.
Harry sat on the lip of the empty trunk and slid in on his left side. That position made the knife wound ache, but it protected his more severely injured right shoulder. The assassin was arrogant and Harry wanted to kill him. It gave him a reason to cooperate. As he lay on his side, facing the killer, Isabella climbed in too, also facing out.
“Perfect,” said the killer. “Nice and cozy. Get acquainted. Talk soon.” He shut the trunk.
CHAPTER 25
Harry passed out. When he came to, the woman was quiet. He wondered how long he had been out. It felt like a few minutes, but it could have been much longer.
He tried to adjust his body to get more comfortable—and groaned. Too painful. His right shoulder was stiff and his chest was wet. Hoping the bullet might have gone through, he gingerly felt around for an exit wound with his left hand and found it. Lucky.
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