Get Back Jack

by Diane Capri

  Neagley settled herself in her seat and returned a booted foot to Dean’s neck where he lay in the wheel well. Maybe he was still breathing. She crouched near him and patted him down. Expertly. Thoroughly.

  “What are you looking for?” Gaspar asked.

  “Dunno,” Neagley said.

  She pulled his wallet and a cell phone and flipped both onto her seat. She found a switchblade tucked into his boot, which seemed to piss her off. She unbuckled his belt and pulled it out of his pants. She used it to tie his feet together. She pulled off his shirt and boots and tossed them into the back of the van. Then she returned to her seat, put her foot back on his neck, and stared at the cell phone for a while.

  “You know you’re broadcasting a signal to his crew, right?” Kim asked. “They’ll find it and they’ll come to get him with heavy firepower.”

  Neagley looked her straight in the eye as she turned the phone on and scrolled through the call log. “Nothing would make me happier, Otto.”

  Before Neagley guessed what she’d planned, Kim reached over and grabbed the phone from Neagley’s grasp. Reaction was swift. Neagley raised her hand to strike but Kim had leveled the Glock and aimed it center mass.

  “I don’t plan to die tonight in Mexico,” Kim said.

  Neagley’s nostrils widened and her brow creased and her breathing quickened with the effort of restraining her impulses. Maybe she wanted to smite Kim. Maybe she wanted Kim to think so. Hard to tell. Kim held the gun steady until Neagley worked it out.

  Neagley replied, “Everybody dies, Otto.”

  “I’m aware,” Kim answered. She glanced up to catch a road sign. Matamoros 78 kilometers. Which meant forty-nine miles until they reached the Veteran’s Memorial Bridge and crossed safely into Texas again. God willing.

  She opened the cell phone and disabled the battery, knowing that would only buy them an extra few minutes at best.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Monday, November 15

  9:54 p.m.

  Matamoros, Mexico

  Morrie drove the van across the bridge and into Texas without mishap. He chose a particular booth and had a quiet conversation with the agent, but no one asked to look inside the van. Nor did the agent take notice of a man in the back wheel well.

  First time for everything, Kim thought. She’d never smuggled a human being across the Mexican border. It was frighteningly simple. Maybe moving hostages across the border was easier than she expected. Maybe Dean and Berenson had moved the hostages to Black Star after all.

  Which wasn’t necessarily good news.

  Ten miles past the border crossing, Kim said, “Pull over at the next gas station. We need a break.”

  Morrie did as she ordered without seeking Neagley’s permission. When he stopped the van, Kim nudged Dean with the toe of her boot. He groaned. He was alive, which was all she cared about right now. He was shirtless, shoeless, shackled, and seriously dehydrated. She rolled him onto his side with her foot. His throat was bruised and swollen where Neagley had choked him. His temple lay against the floor. His eyes were open.

  “Where are the hostages?” Kim asked him again.

  He cleared his throat. Again.

  Kim waited. She pulled the Glock and held it pointed loosely in his direction. “Shall we let Neagley ask?”

  His eyes grew wide, wild. Barely audible, he whispered, “Black Star.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she said.

  He nodded, scraping his face against the floor of the van. “Black Star. Black Star,” he said, as if repeating the words would make them more believable.

  Kim stuffed the Glock in her jacket and opened the passenger door. Night breeze rushed into the cabin, bathing her face in welcome coolness. Exhausted by tension and exertion and lack of sleep, she almost fell onto the pavement. Gaspar reached her side in time to steady her.

  She felt wobbly. “Let’s walk a bit.”

  “What about them?” he asked, meaning the rest of the van’s occupants.

  She shrugged. “With any luck, maybe they’ll leave us here.”

  Gaspar’s fatigue-lined face lifted into a relieved grin. “You’re in a mood, aren’t you Susie Wong?”

  She walked away from the van to the sidewalk and kept going. Gaspar limped by her side at first. As always, his leg seemed to stretch out and strengthen with exercise. He would be okay. He could take care of himself.

  Which was a good thing because it meant she didn’t need to worry about him. She was tired. Tired of the Reacher file. Tired of being watched. Tired of Neagley’s psychopathic behavior. Tired of being tired. She wanted to sleep, eat a decent meal, call the Boss, and figure out what the hell to do next. In that precise order.

  They walked a couple of blocks, then turned to head back. From this distance, Kim saw Morrie buying gas and Neagley stretching her legs around the van. Dean had to be feeling the cramp, but Kim didn’t have the energy to care. She hadn’t wanted a hostage and now they’d transported one across the border. They hadn’t gotten caught, but that didn’t make the action any less criminal.

  When the Boss had recruited her because her ex-husband had been arrested for stealing and selling military secrets, she’d vowed then and there never, ever to unwittingly be on the wrong side of the law again. Before The Reacher File assignment, she’d never violated a rule in her life. It seemed every moment of this job took her farther away from the solid, secure world she preferred to navigate. She was tired of that, too.

  What happened to the real Kim Otto?

  She died. Reacher killed her.

  “What’s going on with your family, Chico?” Kim asked, seeking a respite from the craziness she found herself in now. “Maria okay? The kids?”

  Gaspar tensed. “It’s complicated.”

  “I’m good with complicated.”

  “Not a distraction we need at the moment.”

  “Seems like you’re too distracted already.”

  When he didn’t explain further, Kim shrugged. “What happened to your leg, anyway?”

  “You’re a bundle of questions tonight, aren’t you? What happened to your husband?”

  She sighed. “Okay. Let’s talk about Reacher. Crazy as it seems, that’s a safer topic.”

  “What about him?”

  “Dean thinks Reacher has $65 million that in some twisted way belongs to Dean and Berenson. You think he does?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Where did the money go?”

  “Was the money ever there?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Dean seems to think someone was going to pay him $65 million for missiles. He never delivered the missiles. He never collected the money. Maybe there never was any money. How many arms dealers have you met that are all that trustworthy?”

  “But Neagley said the missiles were ready for delivery.”

  “Doesn’t mean the money was there, does it?” Gaspar asked. “You wrestle with pigs, you both get dirty, as my grandpa used to say.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning this cash-for-weapons deal was made between killers and thieves. Maybe they both got screwed.”

  “Neagley knows. I think it’s time she told us, don’t you?”

  “Long past time,” he said, then chuckled. “Who’s gonna make her do it?”

  “The problem is that Black Star isn’t ready to be raided. There’s a solid year’s worth of work to be done there. If the government goes in too early, a lot of work will be lost. Dozens of scumbags will get away scot free because we can’t prove anything against them.” She smoothed her palm over her head. Weary. “Dean holding hostages at Black Star is brilliant, even if he doesn’t know why. Almost as good as putting them on Mars.”

  “It’s the same as Mars to them. Dean is a rocket scientist,” Gaspar replied. “Berenson’s no dummy, either. They chose the one spot they knew Uncle Sam couldn’t touch them.”

  She thought about that for a minute. Shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
/>
  “What?”

  “We know Black Star is under investigation. But they don’t know that. They think Black Star’s real business activities are still a secret.”

  Gaspar shrugged. “Either way, whether they’re aware of the investigation or not, the result is the same. Our hands are tied. What can we do?”

  “I say we leave that up to the Boss.” She pulled out her cell phone and made the call.

  He picked up on the first ring, as he usually did.

  She said, “We need an extraction.”

  “Who? From where?”

  “Seven hostages. Black Star.”

  Silence.

  “Can you do it? Or should Neagley call the Pentagon?”

  Silence.

  “Tomorrow morning at 5:00 a.m. Central. On the dot.”

  She could hear him breathing a second longer before he finally said, “It’s tricky. Might take some time. Requires inter-agency cooperation. Not a good idea for your assignment.”

  Kim noticed he wouldn’t say Reacher’s name aloud, even on the untraceable, encrypted cell.

  She wasn’t in the mood for fencing. “I’ve got a high degree of confidence in your ability to make it so,” she said. “Call me to confirm.”

  She disconnected and slipped the phone into her pocket.

  Kim glanced at her Seiko. 10:55 p.m. They had less than seven hours left to get into Black Star and get the hostages out alive.

  Which would be a lot harder than it sounded. Too bad they couldn’t send in a couple dozen anti-terror teams.

  “Come on,” she said. “We’ve got a lot to do.”

  When they reached the van again, Morrie drove to the closest roadside hotel. They registered under false names and paid cash and chose rooms on the backside, away from the road.

  Morrie drove around back, pulled up close to the stairway, and let the engine idle while the three of them got out. He would clean the van of all trace evidence of their actions in Mexico and get rid of it. Once he accomplished the job, he’d return to the hotel.

  Kim hauled Dean out of the van and pushed him ahead of her up the stairs and into his room. She let him drink water. She asked again. “Where are they?”

  “Black Star,” he said, glaring into her eyes.

  “Dixon, the Sanchez family, Angela Franz and Charlie? All seven are being held there?”

  “Yes.” His voice was raspy, but firm. Defiant.

  Kim believed him because she had no evidence to the contrary. And because it made a crazy kind of sense.

  The challenge now was to keep all seven alive until the Boss’s extraction team arrived, all while keeping the Black Star investigation undercover. And to do it before Berenson killed another hostage.

  Okay, so that was more than one challenge.

  “Morrie should be back in an hour,” she said.

  “Everybody gets a shower and clean clothes and coffee,” Gaspar replied. “We’ll be ready when you are.”

  Neagley and Kim left to shower and change and gulp coffee and make phone calls.

  When everyone reconnected in Dean’s room, they were ready.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Tuesday, November 16

  12:07 a.m.

  Chacho, TX

  Edward Dean was strapped to a straight desk chair placed in the center of the room. Gaspar lounged on the bed as if he’d never been more relaxed. Neagley stood in the corner, back to the wall, watching Dean. Morrie leaned against the door as if he were body-blocking it to prevent entry.

  Kim paced as she talked, like a caged tiger. She felt like one, too. She’d opened up the laptop and displayed the satellite images of Black Star Ranch. The Boss had sent two encrypted videos showing workers and residents going about their business. Kim didn’t share those. She wasn’t sure how much cooperation they could expect from Dean.

  Everything about Black Star was under intense scrutiny. As soon as the ATF and FBI and Homeland Security had collected enough evidence to nail them, the Las Olas Black Star farm would be shut down. The plan was to close the arrests in six months.

  Until then, the operation was as undercover as it was possible to be when several hundred people already knew about it and some of those people were politicians.

  She looked straight at Dean and pulled out a syringe filled with yellowish liquid. She held it up to the light, pulled off the protective plastic cap, pushed the plunger to prime the needle and release any potential bubbles.

  “This is our most sophisticated truth serum. Way better than anything we’ve ever used before,” she said. “Three minutes after this hits the bloodstream, people feel euphoric and extremely talkative. They know what they’re saying. They feel like we’re their best friends in the world. They tell us everything we want to know. Not that they want to reveal all secrets. But they simply aren’t able to lie.”

  She recapped the needle and laid the syringe on the desk.

  Dean’s face had reflected snarling contempt and now showed something like alarm. He was prepared to resist questioning. He was defiant. But chemical interrogation was another matter entirely. Resistance was futile and he knew it. He also knew he was a dead man the second Las Olas learned he’d been compromised. He sneered, but he was appropriately sweaty.

  Kim continued, “Agent Gaspar and I are going to get coffee for everyone. You like yours black, right? We’ll leave our colleagues here with you.”

  He glanced at Neagley and his smirk lost a bit of its edge.

  Kim said, “When we come back, we’re going to ask you about the hostages. And you’ll tell us where they are and how to collect them. After we’re done here, a half-dozen FBI agents will arrive to question you and record your answers. You’ll confess to everything you’ve done. You’ll identify all of your Las Olas pals. You’ll help us bring them down. If you’re lucky, you’ll be tried and convicted and since this is Texas, you’ll be put to death pretty quickly. If you’re not lucky, your Las Olas friends will reach you before trial.”

  She stopped pacing and stood directly in front of him, eyes steady on his face until he blinked and looked down. She put her index finger under his chin and lifted his gaze back to hers. “Be back in a few. Looking forward to it.”

  Gaspar got up off the bed and followed her out into the hallway. When the door snugged closed behind them, he said, “Where are we going to get good coffee at this hour?”

  “You know what La Quinta means?” she asked.

  “The Fifth,” Gaspar replied, puzzled. “You think he’s going to refuse to answer? Try to stonewall until it’s too late?”

  She smiled and said, “It’s a joke. LaQuinta. The hotel chain. I saw one two doors down. La Quinta means next to Denny’s.”

  “Denny’s. Right.”

  They walked toward the lighted sign three blocks away. The sidewalk was in good shape. No cracks or lifted sections. No grass or landscaping on the dry shoulder, but that was okay. Kim felt good to be outside in the breeze. She’d been cooped up too long. Too much tension. Too many antacids.

  Gaspar asked, “So you asked the Boss for a raid on Black Star and he sent you the syringe?”

  She stuffed her hands in her pockets and slowed the pace a bit. Neagley needed time to give Dean the injection and let it get to work.

  “The Boss said they aren’t ready for the raid yet. There are too many lives at stake if they don’t get enough evidence to shut down Black Star and make a serious dent in Las Olas when they go in for the raid.”

  “You knew that was the situation before you asked for help.”

  “True. But negotiations have to start somewhere,” she said.

  “He made the right decision,” Gaspar said. “Simple math. Seven lives are at stake here, but thousands more are impacted by Las Olas’ money laundering and drug and kidnapping-for-ransom businesses.”

  “Agreed. But we can’t go in there alone, either. That place is fortified like a bunker.”

  Gaspar shrugged. “We can’t expose the undercover work, but
local law enforcement is available. We are back in Texas, after all.” He stopped walking at the second intersection to wait for a green light.

  “True.”

  “We escaped Valle Alto, and we were outgunned there, too,” Gaspar pointed out.

  “We had limited options in Valle Alto and we got lucky,” Kim said, tersely. “It was dark. Las Olas was distracted. We were all conscious and able to run.”

  The light changed. Kim stepped off the curb and over a dead raccoon in the middle of the street and continued to the other side. Denny’s was next to LaQuinta half a block ahead.

  She said, “Berenson is focused like a laser. She hasn’t heard from Dean. That’ll make her more cautious. The hostages are deeply anesthetized. It’s too risky to wake them up without medical supervision and we can’t possibly carry them all.”

  At Denny’s they took a seat and waited for the waitress. Gaspar gazed longingly at food on the plates of four nearby patrons, but there wasn’t time to eat right now. They’d come back after they learned whatever Dean could tell them.

  Kim checked the time. Even though they had Dean in custody, she fostered no illusions that Berenson or another Las Olas member wouldn’t shoot a second hostage if they missed their deadline by half a second.

  “What’s your plan?” Gaspar asked.

  “Black Star pretends to be a legitimate business. So I figure we should treat them as if they are what they claim to be.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “We get Dean to tell us exactly where the hostages are located on the ranch. We call four civilian ambulances to go in there and pull them out,” she explained.

  He thought it through, nodding. “Are there four ambulances in this town?”

  “No. There’s two here and two in a town about ten miles away. We’ll have to stagger the calls so they arrive at the same time.”

  The waitress came and took Gaspar’s order for nine coffees to go and left.

  “Nine?” Kim asked.

  “Two each, and one for the throw-away,” he said. “Where will the ambulances take the hostages?”

  “There’s a military hospital thirty minutes away. They’ll be guarded there. When they wake up and we’re sure they’re okay, the Boss will get them home again.”