by Linda Ladd
“Okay, let’s get outta here,” said Booker. But Novak knew the guy was concerned as hell and for good reason. He was experienced in war. He knew good and well that they had made a major miscalculation right off. One that could be catastrophic.
Jack walked swiftly to the cockpit, took his place in the pilot’s chair, and began to ready the controls with his copilot for takeoff. Booker sat back down at the table in the main cabin and hurriedly started typing on his laptop. Novak glanced around the interior of the plane. The compartment was set up a lot like Black’s war room at Cedar Bend Lodge had been, with all the same maps, the same kind of computers, but all hidden behind locked cabinets that now stood wide open and blinking with digital figures and GPS screens. With all this kind of equipment, surely Claire had a chance to survive. But that didn’t make Novak’s jangled nerves stop jumping around.
Novak said nothing else, just sat down in one of the swivel recliners beside a window and watched the red blinking light across the room that was supposed to be Black’s position in southern France and hoped to God that it never went off. Minutes later, they were buckled in, roaring down the runway, and then climbing high in the sky and heading east to the shores of the Atlantic Ocean and well beyond.
Booker turned and looked at him. “I’ve got the latest satellite image of where they’re keeping Nick. We need to decide how to go in.”
Moving over to the table, Novak sat down beside Booker and stared at the image on the computer screen. He’d seen it before in the hotel and studied it with the others while they waited for Jaxy Soquet to call back. “That’s a big area for just the three of us. The outer fence will have to be breached. I can set charges along the perimeter, cause a distraction while the two of you take the front gate. That’s what I’ve been thinking.”
“It sure as hell isn’t gonna be easy.” Booker cursed under his breath. Novak just looked at the computer screen and waited for Booker to continue. “But it can be done,” he said at length, “if we plan it out well enough. There’s gonna be some risks to Nick and Claire, but we’ll just have to take them. We have no choice, and we don’t have time to waste. We have about seven hours, eight tops, to nail down a detailed plan and carry it out. Having two hostages now instead of one, that’s our biggest problem. We don’t know if they’ll keep them together or in different places.”
“I think they’ll take Claire straight to Nick so he’ll do whatever they want in order to protect her. He’ll panic when he sees her, and that’s what they want him to do. I don’t think they’ll kill her right off.” Novak saw an ugly vision inside his head: Claire in chains being beaten with that weighted sap. He quickly shook it away. “They will probably hurt her in front of him. God only knows what they’re gonna do to her. We never should’ve let her get on that helicopter.”
“It was her choice. She knew she had to go. We knew it, too, as bad as it makes things. Right now, all we can do is concentrate on following Black’s signal and try to get them out alive. Hopefully, Claire’s gonna be there, too. That’s why they wanted her. If not, then we’ll just have to free Nick and then go find her.”
Novak listened to all that and didn’t comment. That would be the worst-case scenario, of course, that they were keeping them prisoner in different locations and maybe using FaceTime to torture Nick with Claire’s mistreatment. He hoped to God that wasn’t the case. The whole mission was already iffy, all of it, every step along the way, and they hadn’t had time to thoroughly plan the extraction. It was going to be hit and miss, and they were going to need a helluva lot of good luck. Again, he regretted not preventing Claire from putting herself in the hands of a loathsome creature like Marcel Soquet. But he couldn’t have prevented it. Nobody on God’s green earth could have prevented Claire from trying to save Nick’s life. Not without tying her up hand and foot.
Before Novak’s wife had died, he would have done the same thing. He would’ve done whatever it took to rescue her. But he hadn’t had that option, no, he had to stand below on the street, completely helpless, and watch Sarah and both his children die. Before he could make his way inside to save them, he had to watch the South Tower of the World Trade Center collapse in gray dust and rubble and thunderous fury, his family inside on one of the highest floors. Novak had never been the same since. So he understood Claire’s motives well enough. If he could have given his life to save them that day, he would have, with no regrets. He still wished he could have. Most of the time, he wished he was dead, too.
But today, with Claire being the one who faced the danger, everything had gone from bad to worse from the very beginning and that just might be their downfall. He was ready and able to fight his way inside that fortress or chateau or whatever the hell it was. So were Booker and Holliday. But he was more worried about Claire than Nick. Nick was a former Army Ranger, and a very good one from what he knew. Decorated for valor over and over again. He knew exactly what to do if captured, what to expect, how to face each and every kind of torture, and he had had specialized training to live through it.
But Claire? She did not have any of that foreknowledge of what might happen. She had her police training and was very skilled at that, and she probably knew some methods of torture and how to respond. He hoped to hell she did. God only knew what was happening to her right now while they sat and tried to figure out the best way to save her. He couldn’t stand to think what they’d do to her in order to break Nick. It wouldn’t take much, not with the way Nick felt about Claire.
On the other hand, Novak had to believe she’d manage to survive. He had seen for himself, up close and personal, that Claire Morgan was a very smart lady, well trained in law enforcement techniques, capable, courageous, intuitive, so she would have a better chance to survive with the Soquets than any other woman he had ever known. And she had spent the wait time in the penthouse studying the Soquet dossiers, individually and as the family from hell, for the entire time they waited for the call. She hadn’t slept much or eaten anything, just pored over Black’s notes, page after page after page. Unless she did something reckless, which was a distinct possibility with her. But still, he’d lay odds on her. Every single time. He had never taken a partner before, and he’d been slightly wary of aligning with her at first. But now, after a few cases working alongside her, he knew she would fight like hell for survival, no matter what she was up against. No doubt about it.
“All right. Here’s what we’ve got so far.” Booker pointed down at the map lit up on the screen in front of them. Jack’s copilot had taken over the controls, and he sat down with them, too, and listened to Booker’s detailed plan of action. “Here’s the front gate, and it looks like it’s usually manned by at least two men, both armed with AR rifles. Behind that is a second gate, with a fenced no-man’s-land in between them. Even if we storm the first one, we’ll be trapped inside with armed guards looking down on us from these two towers set up on each side.”
“So a frontal assault is out of the question,” Novak said. “We need for me to get out there and set up the diversions. I can work with C-4. I’ve done it lots of times.”
“Good,” said Booker. “The fence encircles the entire compound. See there, how it runs up through the edge of the woods and then around to the sea.” He pointed out the line running across the monitor. “My guess is that it’s probably about twelve feet high but no more than that. Most likely it’s topped with coils of razor wire. From what I’ve been able to find out, several armed guards patrol from inside night and day on foot, walking the perimeter in opposite directions. Soquet doesn’t want anybody inside those gates. But it appears there are fewer men on guard than I would’ve expected. The main house is up the road about half a mile from that gate. It’s a huge place, several wings, several stories high, enclosing a big paved courtyard. More men up there but still a manageable force. The back of the chateau bumps up against the sea. No way can we breach it from that side.”
“Maybe we could get in by boat?” asked Jack. “Find a way up the
cliff?”
Novak studied the compound closely and then shook his head. “Coming in from the back is out. One of us will have to take care of the guards at the gate. I assume there would be several there around the clock. Maybe they relieve each other. We’ll have to reconnoiter to find out. I don’t see an airstrip anywhere close by, but they could have it camouflaged somehow. They seem to have a pretty sophisticated organization going on. That’s probably how they got Nick inside. Yeah, get me enough C-4, and I’ll blow the hell out of every inch of that fence and lay it out on the ground for you.”
“A full-on assault might get Nick and Claire killed,” Booker pointed out, still looking at Novak. “A couple of us probably ought to try to go in at some point back here near the trees, fight our way in and find them while you blow charges to keep Soquet’s men busy while we get them the hell out.”
Novak frowned. “You’ve done this kinda thing before, I take it?”
“Yeah, we’ve done it,” said Jack, but didn’t elaborate further.
“Okay, then you’re the boss. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. I just hope to hell we get there in time.”
“We’ll go over the plan and the exact times to strike until we’ve got every eventuality covered. We all know what to do and how to do it. Nick’s gonna be expecting us to come in. If he can find a way to help us, he’ll do it. Claire will, too. You know how she is.”
Novak leaned back into his chair and listened to the other two men sketch out all the parameters of their plan to attack the large chateau, willing to let them do their thing. They seemed to know the score. They were highly trained and highly equipped with the best, both in weapons and technology. And yeah, he did know how Claire was all right, and that was what concerned him the most.
Chapter Six
Inside the sleek black aircraft, Claire found the familiar trappings of a top-of-the-line luxury private jet. It was a great deal similar to the fancy Learjet that Black used to own before these freaks blew it to smithereens. The decor was maroon and black, all very plush and lush and with a look-at-me-I’m-so-freakin’-rich motif. Apparently, psycho torturers/bombers/assassins did quite well in today’s world.
One man sat alone at the very back of the main compartment, all relaxed and right with the world and comfortable as pie in his large black leather recliner. He needed a big one, too, because he probably weighed two hundred and fifty or sixty pounds, or more even, and no diet plan on the horizon. It looked to Claire like he was all hard muscle. He had hair the same rusty color as Jaxy’s stupid cartoon braids, and he had a lot of it, hanging down around his shoulders as if he was starring in an Herbal Essence shampoo commercial. It was all shiny and silky, probably used vinegar as a rinse, and everything. Oh, yeah, it was his pride and joy all right. A regular Samson. Maybe she’d get a chance to cut it off and then kill him deader than a doornail. That would be the best-case scenario. He had a goatee and mustache, too, trimmed neatly and quite close to the line of his big lantern jaw. He was fairly nice looking, in a dangerous, hardnosed way, sort of like a great big male Jaxy. He had his legs crossed demurely and looked so extremely relaxed, as if bored to distraction with all his family’s horrific abductions and bloody tortures and nasty coercions. Probably thinking: Poor me, just tryin’ to keep my hair lookin’ nice, while Sissy and Papa keep killin’ everybody. The guy was so laid back, in fact, that his sustained repose made Claire wonder if it was for real or if he was really nervous under all that display of calm. And she knew at once that he was Max Soquet. A true devil in the flesh. Creep Number Two starring in the Soquet Traveling Freakshow.
Zeus, Max’s big black scary Rottweiler, which was also mentioned in Black’s reports, the one trained to scare the living daylights out of captives/victims, lay at his master’s side, panting, his tongue hanging out and dripping saliva on the nice maroon and black carpet. The hellhound was watching Claire with cocked ears, as if waiting impatiently to hear his master’s command: Go Zeus, kill woman, good doggie.
Max looked exactly like the photographs in Black’s Maximilian file, which was pretty much a plethora of wanted posters from just about every country in the inhabited world. He was a man who liked his female victims to fight him while he beat them to a pulp with his fists. But fists that were encased in his own special, made-for-Max leather gloves that resisted bloodstains and kept his hands nice and soft no doubt. The beatings would go on until the women were too black and blue and bloody to put up any more fight, and then he tied them down on a bed and raped them, probably so he could watch them bleed for his added prurient enjoyment. That was just one of his little sick and salacious idiosyncrasies. But Claire did remember that little grotesque habit of his. She also remembered fairly well that he hated any kind of weakness or begging for mercy as he abused his victims. Actually admired courage, which was rich, with him being the kind of coward who tied women up so they couldn’t fight back. But Black had emphasized in red letters that he treated his victims much worse if they pleaded or got on their knees and begged for mercy. Something Claire had better remember, and remember well.
“Welcome to our little world, Miss Morgan,” he said finally in a very deep and cultured voice while she continued to stare at him. And oh, so pleasantly, too. Yeah, what a peach of a guy. Then he just stared at her for several more highly uncomfortable moments. No doubt designed to intimidate her and make her cringe, right off the bat. She didn’t oblige. He didn’t smile, either, didn’t rise to his feet like a true gentleman should, didn’t do anything but watch her with some very cold and close-set demon-black eyes.
So Claire said nothing to him, either, and made sure she didn’t show fear on her face. Not that it wasn’t there, deep down and well hidden. Or at least she hoped it was. Nope, she wasn’t feeling exactly sure of herself and on top of the situation. She had entered the lion’s den all right, with nary a weapon on her person. But she had come forewarned, thanks to Black’s detailed files, and thank you, God, that Booker still had Black’s GPS blinking steadily and was following her across the River Styx and down into the darkness of hell and an underworld filled with monsters.
The girl, the always lovely and despicable Jaxy, ended their staring match when she shoved her hard in the back, so hard that Claire stumbled forward a few steps. That’s when Claire spun on her so quickly that the other girl wasn’t expecting the attack. Claire shoved her back. Hard, with both palms slamming against the other girl’s chest with enough force that Jaxy fell over the seat behind her and sprawled down on the floor on her back. All unladylike and everything. Maybe even broke one of her spike heels or black dagger fingernails.
Jaxy got over her shock pretty damn quick and scrambled back onto her feet, her face so dark with rage that she looked almost apoplectic. Her cute little pink girly sap was already off her belt and in her right hand. She raised it high and rushed forward to strike Claire down. Claire tensed to defend herself against the coming blow.
At the other end of the cabin, Max said quietly, “Don’t.”
Jaxy stopped in her tracks, but she looked as if she might explode at any second, still experiencing a full-boil rage that had nowhere to go. She was practically gnashing her teeth and foaming at the mouth. That’s when Claire knew for sure that Jaxy was not in charge, not at all, at least not on this flight down into Hades. Max was the boss, just like Black had written. No question about it. It also meant that Claire could probably safely stand up to everybody, and he’d appreciate her courage. At least at first. She hoped. But that was only when he was around, and there would probably be a limit to what he would allow her to do. Or it just could be that he didn’t want Jaxy to kill her before they landed in France.
Claire turned then and looked back down the cabin at the big guy, appraising him with newly assessing eyes. He looked quite a bit older now than he’d been in Black’s pictures. Handsome and elegant, maybe, but in a rough and rugged, French lumberjack sort of way. Even in his light blue dress shirt and black pants. But he looked extremely
competent, too. Totally in charge and relaxed, as if he was used to giving orders that better be obeyed or a knife would be inserted forcibly into the offending one’s gut. His cease-and-desist command had certainly worked wonders with his insane sister. He continued to sit there, all serene and pleasant, but he was a sadist, too, just like the rest of his family, and she knew it. He was just the kind of sadist who displayed a quiet demeanor when not committing atrocities.
Claire bet he was very quick on his feet, too, and with his fists. She looked to see if he was wearing those custom-made gloves with which he liked to beat people to death and not bruise his knuckles. That would not be a good indication. She would have to be much more careful with what she said to him. Jaxy was emotionally charged; he was not. He was slow to anger and ruled by practicality and good, calm common sense. If psychopaths could even have common sense. Claire thought not.
“Please sit down, Ms. Morgan. We really have no desire to hurt you. Not yet. We have been instructed to bring you back home as our guest with no undue injuries that will interfere with our future plans for you.”
Well, that was a helluva good news bulletin. Sort of. Claire decided to try some smart-ass to impress him. What harm could it do? He just said he wasn’t gonna hurt her now, and she was probably gonna die, anyway, so what the hell? If Max liked gumption, he was gonna get a whole load of it. “Gee, thanks, mister. And since you guys are so civil and friendly and upstanding, how about givin’ me back my weapons and letting me fire a couple of slugs into your brains? Wouldn’t take long. Just a minute or two. I’d like that. Now that would be some kind of fun.”