Hunt for Evil (ICE Book 1)

by Amy Jarecki

  When his phone vibrated, Logan pulled it out and ducked behind the rental car in an effort to muffle the repeating gun shots. The ID read Oma—Olivia’s alias. “Speak loud,” he said.

  “We caught one of the kidnappers.”

  “You what?” He’d left her at the apartment to enjoy a day of relaxation, or so he’d thought.

  “Long story. We have the perp secured. A construction site on the corner of Rue Bichat and Rue Denuziere. Walk along the chain link fence to the back, then knock on the first door.”

  Logan made a mental note of the address. “You got any dirt?”

  The gunfire stopped.

  “Not yet. You’re doing the interrogation.”

  Logan gave a thumbs-up to Hakim who was changing magazines. “Great.”

  “Is there a problem?” the Iraqi asked, pulling back the retractor.

  “Nothing I can’t handle.” Logan turned and lowered his voice. “I’ll meet you there.”

  Hakim proceeded to fire another round into the barrel. What he lacked in finesse, he made up for in zealousness as he held his finger on the trigger, drilling bullets until the barrel collapsed. He turned with an ugly grin. “If only that was a bastard American.”

  Logan didn’t flinch, though a knot balled in his stomach. Not so long ago he’d been on the other end of an M4 carbine rifle, facing shitheads like Kadir Hakim. If only he could ask the bastard what they were doing with the girls they’d been kidnapping. But that would show his hand and buy him a ticket home. He’d be out of a job and on his ass. Besides, Olivia might have just cracked that problem wide open.

  But if being a SEAL had taught him anything, it was to stay the course. And the phone call had been timed perfectly. Logan held up his phone. “That was another buyer.”

  “Who?”

  “Russians.”

  Hakim looked over the top of his sunglasses. “I don’t do business with—”

  “I’m in the business of selling guns,” Logan cut him off. “Like I said before, you’re my preferred buyer.”

  “Then why are you meeting them? I heard what you said.”

  “That’s only insurance. Look, I want on the inside track. I have some weapons of interest—was moving them through Khalil, but that deal got blown to shit. If you can get me in with your handler, I’ll cut ten grand off your price.”

  “It’s not that easy, my friend.”

  “It never is.”

  “I don’t give a shit what you did for Khalil. If you want in through me, you’ll have to prove to me you’re willing to get blood on your hands.”

  “What kind of blood?”

  “One thing at a time, my friend. We’ll take your M4s in two shipments.” Hakim handed him a slip of paper. “We need delivery in three days.”

  Logan looked at the address and swiped his fingers down his chin. “Three days is a stretch.”

  “Where are you keeping them?”

  “One thing at a time, my friend.” Logan waggled his brows. Two could play at Hakim’s game.

  The Iraqi set the rifle on the table and wiped his hands. “If you can’t deliver, we’re not interested.”

  “All right. Midnight on June 22nd.” Logan flicked the paper. “At this address? A warehouse?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you be there to take the shipment?”

  “My contacts in Syria will.”

  “Who?”

  “You ask too many questions. Midnight. Someone will meet your driver.” Hakim’s phone rang. “Once the shipment is made, we’ll talk again.”

  Logan busied himself returning the guns to his trunk while Hakim answered. “What do you mean the car’s there? Where is he?”

  Logan’s eye twitched at the agitation in Hakim’s voice. Then he waved to the goons and slid into his rental car. Yes, indeed. Logan had no doubt Olivia had caught herself a bad guy.

  Let’s see if we can turn up the heat.

  ***

  The blonde French girl’s name was Abella and Olivia kept her cuffed in the back of the Mini, parked in the alleyway behind the construction site. Thus far, the seventeen-year-old girl had been self-righteous, and all she’d divulged was her boyfriend’s name was Louis. A blatant alias. The man’s driver’s license read Maulama Uddin, which was more probable.

  “How did you meet this guy?” Olivia asked.

  Abella rolled her eyes. “Where everyone else does.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “Find out for yourself.”

  Olivia rubbed her fingers together, forcing herself to remain calm which did nothing to ease the knot forming between her shoulder blades. It was a whole lot easier to interrogate people she could slap. “Look, your boyfriend’s name is not Louis. Do you know how I found out?”

  Abella shook her head, her eyes reflecting a hint of fear.

  “His driver’s license says he’s Maulama Uddin, and know what he does for a living?”

  “He works at the Banque de France. He told me. It’s on my Facebook Messenger.”

  Now Olivia couldn’t help but roll her eyes. French teens were the most dedicated Facebook users in the world. “I’m going to say this once and, unless you want to be arrested, you’ll start cooperating.”

  The girl shrank while her eyes shifted wildly. “You’re not the police. This is a Mini.”

  “I’m far worse than the police—that I can admit with the utmost honesty. But I have no qualms with handing you over to the chief and telling him you are an accessory to international terrorism.”

  “What?” Abella looked like she was ready to pee her pants. “I didn’t do anything bad. I just snuck away from a concert to go on a date so my parents wouldn’t find out.”

  “Right. You were off on a date with Maulama Uddin, a known terrorist. He lied to you about his name, and I imagine he lied to you about far more than that.”

  “He’s really a terrorist?”

  “You’re catching on.” Olivia patted the gun she’d now holstered under her left arm. “Look, if you want to get out of this and back to your life, you’ll need to answer my questions.”

  “Will you tell my parents?”

  Ah, yes. The typical teen’s fear of parental intervention. Olivia would use it and anything else she could latch on to. “That depends on you. Cooperate and you might just make it out of here without bringing your parents in to save your ass.”

  Abella gave a nod.

  “How did Maulama approach you? Was it just on Facebook?”

  “He friended me a couple months ago. Then he liked some of my posts, so I went to his page and thought he was pretty cool, so I commented on some of his posts.”

  “Did he start messaging you right away?” That made Olivia’s skin crawl. Jihadi kidnappers were taking on the role of cyber predators. But what the hell were they doing with innocent girls and why weren’t they blowing up buildings? ISIS liked making big statements. Kidnapping European girls wasn’t their style…until now.

  “He only messaged me when he asked for a date—made me think he was legitimate.”

  “How many times have you seen him?”

  “This was our first date.”

  “Why didn’t he want to go to the concert?”

  “He said he’s older…didn’t want to hang out with a bunch of immature teenagers.”

  “Did you tell your parents about him?”

  “Of course not. They would die if they knew I was seeing a twenty-six year old.”

  “He’s thirty.”

  “Huh?”

  “That’s what it says on his driver’s license.” Olivia drummed her fingers. “Is that why you left the concert? You had to make an excuse that you forgot something?”

  “Yes.”

  “What would your friends do when you didn’t come back?”

  “I told Marci I had a date. She knew.”

  “Did you tell her his name is Louis?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he was taking you where?”

  “We w
ere supposed to go to the park for a picnic, but he said he forgot his blanket. He was taking me to his apartment to pick it up. That’s all!”

  Olivia shook her head and looked out the window…taking her to his apartment to tie her up and God knew what else. “Well, this is your lucky day, Abella. I’m going to drive you home.”

  A wave of relief washed over the teenager’s face. “Oh, God, thank you.”

  “But let me make one thing perfectly clear: If you breathe one word of this to anyone, including Marci, the police will come down on you so fast, your head will spin. If you tell a single soul about our conversation, I will inform your parents and your teachers. Everyone in your neighborhood will know you are an accessory to international terrorism.”

  Abella gulped. “No! You can’t do that. I didn’t do anything wrong. I swear I didn’t.”

  By the time Olivia dropped Abella at her parent’s home, she was positive the girl wouldn’t dream of posing a threat to their investigation.

  ***

  When Logan arrived at the construction site, the sun had dropped below the Basilique Notre-Dame de Fourvière, presiding atop the hill that overlooked Lyon’s rivers. In front of him, the construction site’s building had been partially demolished and was surrounded by a chain link fence. It appeared abandoned, as if the owner had run out of funds to complete the job.

  Logan followed directions and slipped to the back of the site where an open lock swung from a chain on a gate. He pushed through and walked to a steel door and gave a firm knock.

  Olivia opened, flashing a grin. “Hey, ace.”

  “Looks like you’ve had quite a day.”

  “I live for this stuff.” She pulled him into an empty room, her demeanor far peppier than it had been since they’d arrived in France.

  Logan saw nothing but derelict walls spray painted with graffiti. “Where’s the perp?”

  “Down the hall. Muhammed is with him.” She filled Logan in on the day’s events, making his deal with Hakim pale in comparison. “I’ve got the webcam set up along with a defibrillator.” It wasn’t a normal defib machine. Engineered by ICE, it was an interrogation nightmare, at least for the suspect.

  Logan nodded. “Has Uddin told you anything yet?”

  “No. He thinks he’s going to be rewarded for being a patriot.”

  “All right. Let’s start out by the book.”

  Olivia ran a hand down her ponytail. “It would be faster if we just zapped him.”

  “Yeah, but regs are regs, no matter what government you work for.”

  “We don’t work for a government.”

  “That’s why we have Jon’s defib.” No western government would sanction its use. Logan checked his watch. “How long has he been restrained?”

  “Just over an hour.”

  “All right. Be ready to play rapid fire.”

  “Roger that.”

  Olivia led him to the interrogation room. With paint chipping off the wall and a layer of dust on the floor, it looked like the place hadn’t been used or cleaned in years. The perp sat duct taped to a chair facing a wall with his back to the boarded-up windows. Logan moved into Uddin’s line of sight and crossed his arms. Towering over the thug would automatically put Logan in a position of power.

  Uddin looked up, his eyes flashing with recognition. “Bloody Mason?” He twisted his neck around and regarded Olivia. “What the hell is this?”

  “I ask the questions,” Logan said. “You answer.”

  “I’m not telling you shit.”

  “No? Do you know what can happen to you here?”

  “You can’t hurt me. Your government won’t allow it. You have to follow regulations.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. You see, I have no country.”

  The man squirmed.

  “Who are you working for?” Logan asked.

  “You know who.”

  “Hakim?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who else?”

  “Just Hakim.” The jerk snarled like a tough guy. “Who the fuck are you working for?”

  Logan viciously slapped the arrogance off Uddin’s face, leaving a welt across his cheekbone. “Like I said, I’m asking the questions. Why are you kidnapping girls?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Know what I think?”

  Uddin pursed his lips like he didn’t plan on speaking again.

  Logan slapped again, this one quick, debasing and hard. “I think you’re into kinky sex.”

  The man didn’t say a word while blood trailed from the corner of his mouth.

  After walking behind Uddin, Logan lowered his lips to the jihadist’s ear. “I think there’s a mob of you who like underage girls. You get your rocks off with child pornography.”

  The back of Uddin’s neck turned red. “You don’t understand what we’re doing. Your kind are all the same. I told Hakim not to trust you.”

  Logan signaled to Olivia. “Where are you holding the girls?”

  “I—”

  “Who else has access to them?” she snapped.

  “No—”

  Logan fired again, “What are you doing with their corpses after you murder them?”

  “I’m not—”

  “How many other girls have you met on Facebook and then kidnapped?” Olivia sniped.

  “Abella is the only—”

  “Where are the girls now?”

  “Not in France.”

  Logan looked at Olivia with the corner of his mouth twitching. At least they’d cracked the ice and he hadn’t even zapped him…yet. “All right. They’re not in France. Tell me where they are.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where do you think they are?” Logan asked.

  “In paradise.”

  “What was that?” asked Olivia. “Are they still alive?”

  Uddin shrugged like he didn’t care.

  Logan motioned to Muhammed to wheel over the defibrillator. “I don’t have all day, mate. I need to know where these girls are, who’s behind Hakim, and why the hell you’re kidnapping them.”

  A flicker of fear flashed through Uddin’s eyes as he caught sight of the machine. “What is that?”

  “Thought we’d add a spark to our conversation.” Logan rubbed the paddles together before cranking up the voltage. “I call this a time saver, but we can go around in circles for days if that’s what you want.” He gestured to Muhammed. “Open his shirt.”

  Piss seeped through the crotch of Uddin’s pants. “No.” His voice filled with panic. “You can’t do this to me!”

  “Wrong answer.” Logan zapped either side of Uddin’s chest with the paddles, holding them steady for the count of three. It wasn’t the amperage that usually killed, it was the length of exposure time. The terrorist shrieked as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, his body convulsing.

  “What are you doing with the girls?” Logan asked before he pulled the paddles away.

  “Fuck you.”

  “How many have you taken?”

  “None.”

  Logan brandished the paddles. “How many?”

  Uddin shook his head violently. “I told you! Abella was my first.”

  “How many girls has Hakim been responsible for kidnapping?” asked Olivia.

  Logan raised the paddles.

  “Fuck!” Uddin flinched. “I don’t know.”

  Grinding his teeth, Logan gave him a zap twice as long as the first, the bastard jerking wildly in his chair.

  “Stoooop!” Uddin’s voice climbed through the octaves until he squealed.

  Logan pulled the paddles away. “Tell me what I want to hear.”

  Uddin’s head dropped forward as he panted. “I d-don’t know shit.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Logan motioned to Muhammed with an upward thumb. Time to crank up the voltage. He jammed the paddles onto Uddin’s chest and let him fry.

  The man’s legs kicked, his head jerking erratically.

  “Where are they?” h
e shouted before he let up.

  “I don’t know. I-I-I swear!”

  Olivia bent down, inclining her lips to Uddin’s ear. “What do you know?” she screamed so loudly even Logan’s ears rang.

  Uddin grimaced. “Al-Umari is building a harem of fair-haired virgins.”

  Olivia straightened. Moving behind the thug, she covered her mouth with her hand, looking like she could deal a lethal blow to the base of the bastard’s skull.

  Logan gave her a slow shake of his head, telling her to back off. But the bile churned in his gut. He knew nothing good could come of the kidnappings, but this? Sex slaves? To a mob of deranged radicals? The girls would be better off dead. “Where is this harem?”

  “No one knows, not even Hakim. I swear it. Shit, I swear on my mother’s life.”

  “How many girls?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t. I don’t.”

  Logan held up the paddles. “How many have been kidnapped in Lyon?”

  Filled with terror, Uddin’s eyes shifted from Olivia to Logan. “I know of two, damn you!”

  “Where is Taaha Khan?” she asked.

  “He’s gone.”

  Pushing a button, Logan made of show of rubbing the paddles together, a new trick that emitted a lot of sparks. “Where?”

  “Left weeks ago. Haven’t heard from him since.”

  “Is this al-Umari’s fantasy?” asked Olivia.

  “Everything is for al-Umari.”

  “Why is he building a harem of blondes?” Logan asked.

  Uddin exhaled loudly as if resigned to spilling what he knew. “To reward his disciples for good deeds. Our leader is creating heaven on earth for the bravest soldiers.”

  Revulsion crept down the outsides of Logan’s arms. He could barely gulp back a swallow. Every sailor who’d ever set foot in the war-torn Middle East knew what those animals did with western women. Barbaric didn’t come close to describing the savage torture those girls would endure.

  Olivia’s face turned into a blank canvas, her blue eyes staring at Uddin with the same hatred Logan felt. “How do they know if the girls are virgins?”

  The bastard actually laughed. “If there’s no blood on the sheets, they’re stoned…” He grinned, red blood in the cracks between his teeth. “…to death.”