by S. L. Menear
He pocketed his phone and faced Derek. “The pilots have to know something. Nicolai was seen carrying his victims onto this airplane.”
“Time for a serious chat with the pilots. Best call the C-17 to return for us.” Derek headed for the terminal as Ross made the call.
Agent Farinati was holding the pilots in a conference room. He and Derek looked up when Ross entered.
Ross focused on the captain. “If you want to live, you’d best answer my questions truthfully. Money won’t do you any good if you’re not alive to spend it.”
“I know my rights. You can’t touch me.” The pilot crossed his arms and sat back.
Ross slammed his fists on the table and leaned into the pilot. “Terrorists have no rights. A British military transport will land here in fifteen minutes. I’ll charge you and your copilot with kidnapping and terrorist acts against British citizens. When I take you aboard, no one will ever see you again. That’s a promise.”
“You can’t do that. I’m an American citizen. The Interpol agent won’t let you take us.”
Agent Farinati quoted a law under an international treaty among cooperating nations. “That law gives Captain Sinclair the right to take you into military custody as an enemy combatant. Your only hope to avoid rendition is telling us the truth.”
The copilot’s eyes widened with panic. “Hold up a minute, I’m no terrorist. I’ll tell you exactly what happened if you promise not to put me on that military plane.”
“You have my word.” Ross sat across from him. “Let’s hear it.”
“A tall man with a Russian accent chartered the jet with cash. He said the flight was time critical. We were ordered to fly to Rome and deliver the little box to you. He told us secrecy was essential and to keep the cockpit door closed and not look out the windows when he called a few minutes before he brought us the box. He said we’d know when to close the entry door by watching the indicator lights to see when the caterers closed the galley door.”
“You didn’t see him carry the three people aboard?” Ross focused on his eyes.
“No, I did as he instructed. It felt like he got on the airplane twice. It was only a few minutes before the galley-door light went out. I opened the cockpit door. The cabin was empty except for the little box. I retracted the stairs and closed the entry door while the captain started the engines. That’s all I know, honest to God.” The copilot looked too frightened to be lying.
Ross glanced at his watch and scrutinized the pilot. “Last chance. The transport will be here in a few minutes. What hasn’t he told us?”
The pilot hesitated. “I want the same deal he got.”
“All right. Talk.” Ross searched the pilot’s eyes for a sign of deceit.
“The answer to your puzzle is obvious. The Russian carried the people aboard in plain view of the security cameras so the authorities would think they were on the flight. Then he put them in the catering truck and left. I suggest you track where that catering truck went.” The pilot shot Ross a smug look.
“Did he tell you that was his plan?” Ross watched his face.
“No, I figured it out. That Russian had crazy eyes. I had as little contact with him as possible. I just wanted to get the hell out of there in case he decided to kill us.”
Ross’s satellite phone rang. It was FBI Agent Gosk. Ross stood. “They’re all yours, Agent Farinati. I have to take this call.”
Ross stepped out as Agent Gosk said, “We found the catering truck in a private hangar, and the driver, a long-time employee named Robert George, had been murdered. A Gulfstream jet left the hangar ten minutes after the other jet took off. It flew to Bergen, Norway. The local authorities have a forensics team searching it. I’ll keep you informed.”
“Thank you, Agent Gosk. My team will fly to Norway now. You can always reach me on this satellite phone.” Ross pocketed his phone as the C-17 parked nearby.
Derek joined him. “Did they find out where he took them?”
“Aye, gather the team.” Ross jogged to the C-17 to give the pilot their new destination.
As they taxied for takeoff, Ross made a call. “Burnsie, track down the location of Lord Edgar Sweetwater and tell the DSF we need him held for questioning. Nicolai took Sam and the children to Bergen. We’re headed there now.”
“Aye, Captain. Nail the bastard. I’ll locate Sweetwater.”
Bergen, Norway
As planned, Nicolai accomplished the transfer from the private jet to the waiting boat via a black panel van before the bribed customs agent inspected the airplane. The aircraft manifest showed four new Harley Davidson motorcycles and leather riding gear, but no passengers.
Nicolai rigged the empty van to speed off the end of a deserted pier. He had opened the windows, so it sank quickly.
He secured his three unconscious victims in the cabin of the ocean speedboat and leaned over to check their breathing and pulse. Not certain of the exact dosage, he gave Sam another shot with twice as much tranquilizer as the children. It wouldn’t be any fun if the boy and girl died en route.
The vessel’s navy blue made it invisible on the water at night. Once he cleared the harbor, he set the powerful inboard engines at seventy-five percent throttle and switched off the running lights. The high-speed smuggler’s craft would cover the distance to Sweetwater’s private island in four hours, well before dawn.
A five-point harness secured Nicolai as he monitored the radar and autopilot. Unusually mild December weather with a clear night sky and calm winds helped him race across the North Sea. The enclosed cockpit kept him warm and dry.
By the time Nicolai reached the dock on Lord Sweetwater’s isolated island between the Orkney and Shetland Islands, he felt fatigued from his long day and night of kidnapping.
He pulled on night-vision goggles so he wouldn’t need lights. Satisfied his prey were still unconscious, he tied the bow and stern lines to the dock.
Nicolai strode up the steep steps to the imposing stone mansion forty feet above the sea and unlocked the heavy door with the key Sweetwater had provided. Inside, he found the control room and switched on the generator and furnace.
Soon the generator provided electrical power, and the oil-fired furnace sent heat into the duct work. His prey would be kept healthy until Lord Sweetwater arrived.
Nicolai carried Sam inside, dumped her on a twin bed in a downstairs servant’s room, and tied her wrists to the metal headboard. He returned with a child slung over each shoulder, plopped them side by side on the other twin bed, and tied their wrists on the head bar. He locked the door with a key.
When he walked back to the boat, cold damp air slapped his face, while brisk wind tussled his black hair. The weather was turning. He stepped aboard to retrieve his gear and lifted a heavy canvas equipment bag and a duffel bag onto the dock.
The bow faced the sea inside a partial breakwater made of natural rock. Nicolai started the engines and set the high-tech autopilot to navigate past the rocks and run a straight course east. He set the throttles at half power and stepped onto the dock as the boat strained at the lines.
His Spetsnaz combat knife easily sliced through the heavy dock lines. He watched until the expensive boat cleared the rocks and raced out to sea. Satisfied the island appeared deserted as usual this time of year, he returned to the dark mansion.
He dropped his duffel in the foyer and carried his equipment bag down the stone steps to the specially designed dungeon. Flipping up his night-vision goggles, he switched on the light and admired the layout of the ancient torture chamber Sweetwater had replicated when the home was built. His heart thumped faster as he scanned the floor brackets, wall brackets, and ceiling chains for securing prisoners.
So many temptations! Who to have fun with first? Must wait for Sweetwater.
A heavy wood table on the center of the stone floor was the perfect place to display his instruments of horror. His stainless-steel tools sparkled and clinked as he pulled them out of the canvas bag and lined them up across
the table. He ran his fingers over them, smiling in perverted admiration.
Is good. I will rest now. Plenty time to play with them later.
Nicolai switched on his night vision and climbed the dungeon stairs. He picked up his duffel and chose a king bed in a guest suite on the second floor. Wind and rain pelted the windows as he fell into a deep sleep.
The C-17 carrying Ross and his team from Rome landed at Bergen, Flesland Airport and taxied to the general aviation ramp where the Gulfstream jet from Orlando was parked. It had been four and a half hours since the private jet landed.
British Interpol Agent Melody Stark waited for Ross beside the crime-scene van. After brief introductions, she delivered the bad news.
“A black panel van was seen driving away from the aircraft before customs cleared it. The pilots are dead and the customs agent arrived too late to see what happened. We’ve got every police officer and CCTV camera searching for that van. So far, no trace. Sorry, Captain Sinclair. Wish I had more for you.” Melody shook her head.
Ross sighed. “Did the forensics team find anything?”
“A long blond hair. Nothing else.”
“Samantha Starr has long blond hair.” Ross closed his eyes a moment to think. “Has anyone checked the harbors?”
“Yes, there were the usual fishing boats and oil-rig tenders. One fisherman on his way to port claims he saw a dark cigarette boat headed out to sea. No way to know who owns it or who might have been on it. He didn’t see a name on the stern.”
“What about the helicopters flying back and forth to the oil rigs? Has anyone asked the pilots if they saw the cigarette boat?” Ross tried to sound hopeful.
“I thought of that too. The last chopper pilot landed three hours ago. He claims he didn’t see any fast boats, just the usual fishing trawlers.”
“Sounds like a dead end.” Ross sighed. “I’ll ask my commander if he can get satellite imaging on the cigarette boat. Thank you for your assistance, Agent Stark.” He walked back to his team.
Derek patted Ross’ shoulder. “I can see the news isn’t good.”
“Nicolai managed to spirit them away without a trace. Time to call Loren. Maybe she has received another vision about Sam.” Ross dialed the number on his satellite phone.
After Ross explained everything, Loren said, “I’ll close my eyes and try to see her. Hold on.”
Ross paced in front of the C-17 with the phone against his ear.
Loren came back on. “I can’t see anything, Ross. Maybe she’s still unconscious or—”
“Don’t even think that. Sam’s alive, and we’re going to find her. Keep trying. Let me know when you have something. I’m taking my team back to Scotland.” Ross called the DSF and asked him to task a satellite to look for the cigarette boat.
Halfway home to Scotland, the DSF called Ross. “We have satellite footage of a dark cigarette boat leaving the Bergen harbor twenty minutes after the jet from Orlando landed. He must have turned off his running lights on the open sea because the next satellite pass showed nothing. Sorry, Ross.”
“What about Lord Sweetwater? Where is he?” Ross tried to sound calm.
“He’s at his estate outside London. He had a dinner party tonight for thirty guests. If he’s involved, he didn’t get his hands dirty.”
“He has Nicolai for that, although I’m sure he still insists he’s never heard of him.” Ross couldn’t conceal the bitterness in his voice.
“MI5 is keeping an eye on Sweetwater. If he makes a move, we’ll know about it. Return to base and stay ready to deploy.”
“Aye, sir, and be advised we have Sam’s mother trying for another vision like she had when Sam was in Wewelsburg, but there’s no guarantee.”
Ross pocketed his phone and tried not to think about what Nicolai might be doing to Sam and the children.
Twenty-Five
Charlie woke with a pounding headache and a growling stomach. Confused, he glanced around and saw Emily tied beside him and Sam on the opposite bed. Memories of Nicolai and the darts twisted his gut with fear.
He nudged Emily with his foot. “Emily? Wake up.”
Another nudge. Nothing. He looked over his head at the rope that bound his wrists to the head rail and thought. He lifted his feet over his head to the wall and pushed the bed away so he could drop his feet to the floor and stand behind the head rail.
After several minutes of careful tugging on the knot with his teeth, he was free. He untied Emily and began loosening the rope around Sam’s wrists. He was almost finished when he heard Emily’s confused voice.
“Where are we? My head hurts.” She sat up and rubbed her forehead.
“Nicolai drugged us and took us prisoner. We have to escape before he comes back.”
Emily wobbled over to Sam’s bed and touched her face. “Is Sam okay?”
“She’s still drugged. I can’t wake her.” Charlie shook Sam’s shoulders. No response.
Emily lightly slapped Sam’s face, but she remained still. “What are we going to do?”
Charlie tried the door. Locked. He studied the old-fashioned keyhole. “I think I can pick this. We have some locks like this at our house. Ben and I practiced picking them when we pretended to be detectives.”
He removed a picture from the wall, pulled the hanging wire from the frame, shaped it, and wiggled it around in the lock until he heard the latch release.
Glancing at Emily, he eased the door open and peeked out. The hallway was deserted. The mansion was silent except for the oil-powered generator and furnace inside and the howling wind and rain outside. He closed the door.
Looking up at the ground-level window at the top of the wall, Charlie realized they were below the first floor.
“Right, we’ll lean the bed frame against the wall like a ladder and make it look like we escaped out the window. I’ll leave it open a little bit. Then we’ll carry Sam to the first floor and find a safe place to hide her until she wakes up. We’ll leave this door locked so he thinks we’re outside.”
“We’d best hurry. I’ll help you.” Emily pulled the mattress off the bed. “The storm is making so much noise maybe he won’t hear us moving around.”
They braced the twin bed frame against the wall with the mattress and box spring. Charlie climbed up to the window and opened it.
“Wow, it’s cold and rainy out there. We’re definitely not in Florida anymore.”
He climbed out, pressed footprints in the moist ground to the rocks, backtracked in his prints, and climbed down after partially closing the window.
“Hand me the sheet. I need to dry off and wipe my feet so I don’t leave tracks in here.” He rubbed the rain out of his hair, cleaned his feet and the floor, and shoved the sheet under the mattress.
Emily studied Sam’s sleeping form. “It’ll be easier to carry her if we wrap her in this wool blanket. You lift her arms, and I’ll get her feet.”
They slid Sam’s cocoon into the hall. Charlie locked the door with the pick and motioned for Emily to wait while he checked the stairway.
“Let’s go. Be quiet. We don’t know where Nicolai is,” he whispered.
While Charlie pulled Sam up the stairs, Emily lifted and pushed. They stopped at the top to catch their breath. He tiptoed into a large room with leather couches and chairs. A cordovan sofa was positioned with the back close to a row of tall, narrow windows.
Charlie pointed. “We can hide her behind that big leather couch by the windows. Hurry!”
They silently slid Sam across the stone floor in the blanket and stashed her behind the sofa, draping the bottoms of the velvet curtains over her. After checking from several angles, they were satisfied Nicolai wouldn’t spot her.
They froze when a brisk north wind rattled the windows.
Emily clutched Charlie’s arm and whispered, “What do we do now?”
“Help me find the kitchen. We can arm ourselves with knives and find food. I’m starving.”
“The kitchen is probably down on
the servant floor. Let’s go.”
They crept back down the stairs and found the kitchen, pantry, and cold storage cellar. Charlie selected a large carving knife and sharp steak knives. Emily stuck a small square of cheese on the tip of a steak knife to prevent tearing her pocket.
Charlie looped oven mitts through his belt for knife holsters and positioned one on each hip. He loaded the mitts with his weapons and added a butcher knife and meat cleaver.
They gobbled down some cheese and sausage and gulped plenty of water.
Emily snatched a couple of chocolate bars from the pantry. “Grab a water bottle for Sam. We’ll leave her some cheese and chocolate.”
She wrapped the cheese in a hand towel with the chocolate.
They crept up the stairs and deposited the meat cleaver, butcher knife, and water bottle beside Sam with the sharp sides pointed away from her. Emily left the food atop Sam’s belly over the blanket.
After peeking out the windows on all sides of the mansion as the wind whipped away the fog, Charlie realized they were trapped on an island. The boat dock and helipad were empty and wet from rain.
Emily’s eyes widened. “We’re trapped. Please don’t let him kill me.”
“Maybe there’s a secret passage below. Let’s look.” He took her hand and led her down a different stairway.
Emily gasped when he switched on the light. Instruments of torture taunted them from a table. The walls and floor anchored brackets with metal clasps. “This is where he plans to kill us.”
Charlie recognized an instrument like the one the kidnappers had used to cut off the left pinky fingers of his friends last summer. He slipped it into the mitt on his left hip.
Emily grabbed his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
Charlie switched off the light and started up the stairs. He froze on the bottom step when he heard Nicolai yell, “Sooka!”
“I hope he runs outside to look for us,” Charlie whispered.