Full report to come. I hope there’s some intel SD-6 can salvage.
I’m on my way home. I’ll see you at 8 A.M. I’m sorry.
Sydney
7
A CAB HEADING STRAIGHT for Vaughn missed his left headlight by centimeters. Horns honked, drivers cursed out their windows at him, and a little old lady actually gave him the finger, but Vaughn couldn’t have cared less. All he could think about was Marianna. When he’d reached Chloe by phone, she had said that she and Marianna were on their way back to the hotel after an outing with the first lady.
If Dominic had gotten away, he had a head start. Plus a couple of crates full of state-of-the-art weaponry.
That was why Vaughn found himself navigating his car along the median that separated north- and southbound traffic on the East Side Highway.
Cutting the wheel, Vaughn sliced through a yellow light, taking the 23rd Street exit into the heart of the city. Pressing down on the gas and willing pedestrians to stay on the sidewalk, he spun onto Third Avenue and kept his eyes on the traffic lights ahead. Midmorning traffic wasn’t half as bad as lunchtime or rush hour, and Vaughn counted himself lucky as he watched the street signs fly by, their numbers getting higher and higher.
He had to get back to the hotel before Dominic did. But he also recognized the possibility that if Dominic was part of the conspiracy, other members of the president’s security detail might be as well.
Vaughn skidded to a stop in front of the hotel and jumped out of the car. As he raced past the uniformed doorman, the guy called after him to move his vehicle, but Vaughn ignored him. The hotel was crawling with federal officers and NYPD, thanks to the event at the UN. Someone would recognize the auto as government property and deal with the angry cabbies and hotel staff.
Sprinting across the lobby, Vaughn shouted to a group of well-dressed senior citizens to hold the elevator. They appeared startled when they saw him coming, and Vaughn couldn’t figure out why until he saw his reflection in the gold doors of the elevator. He still looked—and smelled—like a street rat.
“Federal agent!” Vaughn shouted to them, whipping out his badge for all to see. “I need this elevator.”
The seniors stepped back to let him in, and Vaughn smiled his thanks. His face fell when he saw a couple of the elderly women holding their noses and turning their faces away. He was going to have to remember to drop-kick Barry later.
The doors slid closed, and Vaughn used his special code to send the elevator zipping up to Marianna’s secure floor. Vaughn practiced keeping his cool, regulating his breathing and keeping his feet from tapping. Everything was going to be fine. Chloe was probably sitting with Marianna in her room right now, chatting about clothes or makeup or whatever it was women chatted about.
The elevator beeped, announcing its arrival, and Vaughn stepped out into the hallway, making a quick right to head for Marianna’s room. The two guards stationed outside her door stepped aside instantly when they saw him coming. No doubt Chloe had told them he was on his way.
Vaughn took a deep breath and entered Marianna’s room. As he’d predicted, she and Chloe were sitting on the couch in front of the TV, talking. Contrary to what he’d predicted, they had a NASCAR race roaring on the television screen and were lamenting the shoddy work of one of the pit crews.
A big sigh of relief escaped Vaughn’s lips, but it was short-lived. The second Marianna turned and caught his eye, he recalled the news he had to deliver. He didn’t relish her reaction when he informed her that her most trusted bodyguard couldn’t, in fact, be trusted.
“Agent Vaughn!” Chloe said, rising from the couch. She was looking much more herself now in a sleek gray suit and white shirt, her hair drawn up in a modern bun. “I see you didn’t have time to change your clothes,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“I came right up,” Vaughn replied, glancing at Marianna.
“Is everything okay?” Marianna asked, draping her arm over the back of the flowered couch. She pursed her lips and gave him a slight, teasing smile. “You look like death.”
“Smell like it too,” Chloe said, scrunching her nose as she approached her partner.
“Thanks a lot,” Vaughn said with a short laugh.
“So . . . I’ll leave you guys to it, then,” Chloe said. She shot Vaughn an encouraging look before exiting the room. The door clicked shut softly behind her, and Marianna reached for the remote and muted the television, plunging the suite into perfect silence. Even the regular city noises from the street below were blocked out at this altitude.
“Leave us to what?” Marianna asked, standing to face him. She was wearing a cream-colored slip dress and pearls, and he heard the soft swish of her pantyhose as her legs moved. “Michael, what is going on? We were about to have tea, but Agent Murphy said there had been a change of plans and escorted me to my room without telling me why. I thought—” She paused. “I thought something might have happened to you,” she finished, looking into his eyes in a way that made his whole body clench.
“I’m fine. Nothing happened to me,” Vaughn said.
Marianna’s features relaxed slightly and she sank back down into the couch.
Vaughn sat down too.
“What is it, then?” Marianna asked. “What happened?”
“There’s no easy way to tell you this,” Vaughn began, pressing his hands into his thighs. “We think . . . in fact, we’re fairly certain that Dominic is involved with the effort to assassinate your father. He’s a member of La Rappresaglia.”
Marianna began to laugh. “Dominic? It’s not possible,” she said, wiping at the corner of her eye with her fingertips. “Dominic has been my bodyguard for years. He would never betray my family.”
“I’m sorry, Marianna, but he has,” Vaughn told her, swallowing hard. “I saw him buying weapons. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“No, Vaughn, I’m sorry,” Marianna replied, quickly growing serious. “Dominic’s family has been in the service of the Italian government for generations. They take their commitment very seriously. If Dominic was buying weapons, it was only to use them to protect us, not to hurt us.”
Vaughn took a deep breath. He had to admire Marianna’s loyalty to her constant companion. He only wished Dominic had the same loyalty to her. There was no doubt in his mind that Dominic was dangerous, but how could he convince Marianna of that if she was going to be so stubborn?
Then it hit him. The videotape. It was against policy. But it was the only way.
“There’s something you need to see,” Vaughn said quietly.
Marianna opened her mouth to speak, but she never had the chance to say a word. Suddenly Vaughn and Marianna were grabbed roughly from behind, soaked handkerchiefs secured over their mouths. There was the sweet scent of liquid chloroform . . . the struggle to resist . . .
And then he blacked out.
8
THE PAIN WAS LIKE nothing Vaughn had ever felt before. His brain seemed to be trying to expand, pressing against his skull, pounding and tightening, pounding and tightening. He opened his eyes and the light assaulted them, sending a new shock wave of pain straight through his cranium. He pressed his eyes closed again, hot tears stinging at their corners, and tried to use his hands for an added shield, but he couldn’t move them. His arms were tied behind his back, secured to a solid metal chair. When he tried to move his legs, he found that his ankles were bound as well. Fighting off a sudden bout of nausea, Vaughn breathed in slowly through his nose and out through his mouth.
This is not good. Very, very not good, Vaughn thought groggily. He shook his head slowly, ignoring the pain, and tried to focus. He had to figure out where he was—and whether Marianna was still with him. Vaughn took a deep breath and concentrated. Using his eyes, for the moment, was not an option. What could he smell? What could he feel? What could he hear?
There were voices, low and urgent, somewhere off to his right and in front of him. The sound echoed slightly, leading Vaughn to believe he was in a larg
e room, maybe a warehouse. The air was bitingly cold, as it would be in an open, unheated space. Vaughn was still in the thin CBGB T-shirt and his bare arms were covered with goose bumps. Beyond the scent of chloroform that still clung to his nostrils, Vaughn could smell stale dust and dirt. If it was a warehouse, it probably hadn’t been used for a long time. Beyond the voices were the sounds of rushing traffic, the occasional screeching of brakes. Wherever he was, he was very close to a major roadway. That, at least, was a plus when it came to escape.
Behind his eyelids, Vaughn’s eyes were gradually adjusting to the onslaught of light. He blinked them open again and ignored the tears that formed.
The room yawned in front of him like a huge cave. Row upon row of tiny windows near the two-story-high ceiling let in streams of bright white light from outside. The walls appeared to be made of cheap, corrugated steel that had rusted and rotted out in places along the cement floor. To his left and right were shelves packed with crates, boxes, and sacks, some new, some covered in decades’ worth of dust. Vaughn inspected the shelves quickly but didn’t see any crates that resembled the ones Dominic had attempted to purchase.
Across the room, in the more open end of the building, two black vans were parked—no license plates, no markings. Directly behind the vans was a large, wooden double door that could be opened for vehicles to drive through. Another door stood to Vaughn’s left, secured by a sturdy-looking padlock. Vaughn knew that if he was going to escape, those double doors clear across the football field–sized warehouse were his only hope.
Somewhere behind the second van the kidnappers were powwowing. Vaughn could hear unintelligible voices and the scrape of feet against the silt-covered ground. There was no sign of Marianna. Vaughn felt a chill run through him. If he had failed in his duty . . . if anything had happened to her . . . he would never forgive himself.
Okay, think. They used chloroform, so I’ve probably been out for about an hour, Vaughn rationalized. Chloe definitely knows I’m gone, and I had my cell phone on me, so she might be able to use the tracking device to pinpoint my location.
Of course, that could take half a day. And who knew what these people would do to him and to Marianna in the meantime? What they might have already done . . .
A sudden groan very close to Vaughn’s right ear caused him to flinch. He strained his neck to look over his shoulder, and relief instantly flooded his body. Marianna sat a couple of feet behind him, just out of his natural line of vision. Like Vaughn, she was also tied to a chair, and her head lolled around on her neck as she began to awaken. She was alive.
“Marianna, it’s me,” Vaughn whispered. “Don’t open your eyes.”
“Michael? Why not?” Marianna whispered back. Then she opened her eyes and groaned, pulling her head back.
“Because it really hurts,” Vaughn replied quietly, now stating the obvious.
“Where are we?” Marianna mumbled.
“Somewhere in the city, I think,” Vaughn told her. “I’m guessing downtown. There are still a lot of abandoned warehouses in the meatpacking district.”
Suddenly, the voices in the far corner grew louder and the sounds of movement increased. The kidnappers had heard them talking. Vaughn’s senses went on high alert, and he steeled himself for whatever was to come.
Four men emerged from around the side of the van, each of them dressed in army fatigues, their faces covered by green ski masks. Only their eyes were visible. They wore black leather gloves, and two of them—the two in the center—carried automatic pistols. Vaughn was outnumbered and outarmed, but still he felt a surge of hope. It could have been worse. There could have been more men. They could have all been toting guns. The guns could have been Uzis. Perhaps La Rappresaglia wasn’t such a formidable foe after all.
“Gli ospiti svegliano,” one of the guards in the center of the line said, his voice booming. “Dite buon giorno!”
Vaughn’s arms tensed as the two unarmed guards walked up to him and Marianna. The man before him raised his left arm to strike, and Vaughn’s first instinct was to turn his head to the right to lessen the impact, but he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. He braced himself as the man’s beefy arm swung down and backhanded him across the cheek. His eye felt as if it were going to explode as his face snapped to the side. Marianna cried out next to him, and Vaughn clenched his teeth, staring down the man who had given the order.
“I thought the Italians were a welcoming people,” he spat. “That’s how you say good morning?”
“Agent Vaughn, is it?” the man addressed him in English, his Italian accent thick, making his words clipped. “You arrogant Americans believe you can do a better job of protecting Miss Toscana than her own men. See the fruits of your success?”
He laughed, spreading his arms wide, and the others around him chuckled. Vaughn narrowed his eyes, tucking what had been said into the back of his mind. Those comments sounded like they came from someone who was personally offended by his existence—someone who was one of Marianna’s own men and resented his presence. Carefully Vaughn checked out his captors—what he could see of them—and saw that Dominic was not among them. None of them had Dominic’s lazy brown eyes or his massive square shoulders. If Dominic was involved, he had made the wise decision to stay away from this particular mission. But these men could be part of the president’s security detail.
“What do you want from us?” Vaughn asked. “Is La Rappresaglia in the habit of kidnapping innocent young women? Is that part of your cause?” As he spoke, he twisted his wrists back and forth carefully, the ropes shredding his skin. It was painful, but he could feel the binds begin to loosen, making him want to struggle even more. But he had to be careful and keep his movements imperceptible. They couldn’t know he was trying to break free.
“Do not pretend to be so naïve,” the man in charge said, waving his gun around in front of him. “The sins of the father are often visited on his children.”
He walked over to Marianna, his thick boots clomping on the cement floor, and hovered over her. “We have contacted your father, Miss Toscana. We have made an offer. We give you to him, he surrenders to us.”
“My father will never give in to you,” Marianna retorted, her voice full of unshed tears.
The man stared at them. “If he does not contact us within the hour, we will kill you.”
Vaughn continued to work his hands. He knew enough about these people to realize that they weren’t just going to let them sit here for an hour and wait for their deaths. These men were heartless, ruthless, violent. If they were going to use Marianna’s execution to send a message, they would want her body to be mutilated when it was found. He had to figure out a way to escape before these men did Marianna any more harm.
“I wish I could stay and chat, but I have a telephone call to wait for,” the ringleader continued. He looked at his two unarmed henchmen, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as if he was grinning under his mask. “Divertitevi!”
Have fun, Vaughn translated as the leader and his other buddy walked off toward the vans again. He definitely didn’t like the sound of that. The two lackeys left behind approached him and Marianna. As Vaughn quickened the movement of his wrists, he felt his skin burning and ripping, but the ropes were growing looser and looser. When the man in front of him pulled a large, jagged blade from his waistband, Vaughn’s ropes fell free. He kept his arms in the same position, though, pretending he was still bound.
“Michael!” Marianna moaned. The man in front of her had an identical blade poised along her cheekbone.
Vaughn held his breath. He had one moment to save their lives. One moment to play this right. The guard leaned over him, brandishing his weapon, muttering insults in Italian. The second Vaughn was able to see the gold flecks in the man’s eyes, he pulled both arms around, grabbed the surprised man on either side of his head, and snapped his neck.
Marianna’s attacker was temporarily frozen in shock as the man crumbled at Vaughn’s feet. Vaughn dove forward
, grabbed the man’s blade, and quickly severed the ropes that bound his legs. As he did, Marianna’s attacker lunged at his back with his knife. Vaughn whirled out of the way, swung around with his weapon, and sliced a deep cut in the man’s arm. He cried out in pain, and Vaughn knew he had less than a second before the two gun-toting psychos came to the rescue.
He picked up his chair, raised it over the guy’s head, and flattened him, then yanked his knife from his limp grip. Just as he grabbed the back of Marianna’s chair, the leader and his friend reappeared from behind the vans. Vaughn dragged Marianna’s chair behind the shelves next to her as the kidnappers aimed their guns.
Suddenly, the wall behind Vaughn exploded with a series of shots. He got to his knees behind Marianna and sliced her hands free. Then he handed her the extra knife and went to work on her left leg as she went to work on her right.
“We cannot survive this,” Marianna said as she jumped to her feet.
Vaughn pushed her to the floor and crouched next to her behind the huge crates on the bottom shelves. Unfortunately, he was inclined to agree. The men had seen where they’d hidden themselves, and any moment they would be hemmed in from both sides.
“Give up, Vaughn!” the leader called, his voice echoing. “We know where you are!”
Vaughn looked around for some kind of weapon. He checked on the shelves, then dropped to the ground to check under them, but he found nothing. Then Marianna tugged on his arm and pointed up. The shelves were fashioned out of a series of horizontal silver bars, forming a kind of ladder. If he and Marianna could climb up there and get through to the other side, they might be able to get to the vans before the two kidnappers realized what had happened.
It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was all they had.
Marianna met his eyes. She could do this.
“Lose the shoes,” he whispered, nodding at her high heels.
Marianna stepped out of her expensive shoes without hesitation and grasped the first rung of the shelving. She looked at Vaughn for confirmation, and he nodded.
Close Quarters Page 6