by L. T. Ryan
They hadn't tracked his signal. They were watching numbers he might call. And when he did, they found him. He nodded, knowing how it worked. If Frank could do it, someone else could. But none of that explained why Frank was so close and able to show up minutes after Jack exited the house Charles had sent him into.
"All right," Jack said. "Talk."
Frank wiped a layer of sweat off his forehead, using the slickness to mat his hair back. There were a few more flecks of silver there than the last time Jack had seen him.
"Where to start?" Frank said.
"How about the beginning?" Jack said.
"Thanks." Frank spit into the water, then jutted his chin toward a spot in the distance. He began walking, and started talking without checking to see if Jack was following along. "I've lost three guys in two weeks. Two were in the same vehicle, involved in a single-car accident. Tried to take on a two hundred-year oak. Left a nasty dent on the tree. And a couple teeth in the bark."
Jack said nothing as the man paused and drew in a sharp breath of lake air.
Frank continued. "The other one was shot, execution style, after being tortured for at least two days. Missing eight fingers. We found them in pieces. They weren't cut only at the knuckles. The digits that remained were missing nails. Same thing with his toes. And, you know, other obvious signs."
They were approaching a thicket of trees. Jack looked back to make sure they weren't being followed by the driver. "I had nothing to do with any of this."
Frank stopped, held out his arm as a barrier. "You were moments away from being Ithaca's first drive-by shooting in, like, forever, Jack. You really think I would have saved you if you had something to do with my guys' torture and deaths?"
"So those guys were involved then."
Frank held out both arms, palms up, shrugged. "All I know is they're dead, and I got a hit on you. Your file, to be exact. So I started digging around. What I found helped me make a little sense of it."
"OK?" Jack tried to figure out where it was going. Every thread his mind created wound up at a dead end. What did anyone want with him? Someone was hell bent on taking out a couple SIS agents. Even tried to get information from one of them. It happens. Everyone who signs up knows it can. Still, none of it had anything to do with him. He was off the radar. Wiped clean by friends, and friends of friends. And the people watching out for him had said nothing.
At least until Frank showed up.
"Someone's trying to clean up a lot of loose ends in the black op community. And I mean a lot. Agents and contractors. Business associates of targets if necessary." He looked away. "Other associates. The more you operated under the cloak of secrecy, the more they want you dead."
"Why?"
Frank shook his head. "This is way over my rank. Not for me to know. All I'm trying to figure out is why I'm not dead yet."
"Easy," Jack said. "You're too public. You meet with people on Capitol Hill. If you go missing, people will talk."
"The people I know could make something like this happen."
"Apparently not all of them. All it takes is one outsider to start asking questions."
"Didn't help our old friend Sinclair."
Jack said nothing.
"You haven't heard?"
"No."
"Killed in Boston recently. At the airport. They're going after the rest of his team, too."
Jack thought of Clarissa. Last he had heard from her, she was working with Sinclair. He had to push his concerns to the side. For now.
"So why'd you come all the way up here to save me? And how'd you know I was here if you only grabbed my position because I made a phone call?"
"I have access to certain systems. You know, things gained over the years that I probably shouldn't have. Someone from Langley or Quantico being careless while showing me something. Anyway, I saw the hit on your file. Saw when they located you. Started tracking you myself then. I couldn't believe how careless they were being transmitting this information back. Nothing in code. It was almost as if…"
"They were trying to draw out other targets."
Frank nodded, slowly.
"So why not go after them then?" Jack said. "Sounds like you've got enough evidence."
"Well, for one, I don't know who's at the top of this thing. I'm not trying to stand out here. Second, they were careless with their information. Not their identities." Frank paused, looked out over the water. The pelting wind caused his eyes to glass over. "Anyway, this situation with DeCosta and one of his guys arose, and I suppose they figured it was the perfect cover. Get you away from the city, away from your friends, and make it look like you were performing a hit. Everyone would know it was for DeCosta, and what for, but no one would move on him. That organization ain't the same with him running it, but it's still pretty damn powerful."
Jack took a second to think things through. Everything Frank had said, while pushing the bounds of Jack's current thoughts on reality, made sense. He still didn't understand why whoever wanted him dead didn't just do it. He assumed the meeting in the condo had something to do with this. They could have taken him out there. Would've been easy. The right person could have cleaned it up there, too. Why go through this elaborate scheme to get him to Ithaca?
"Charles said he had a guy watching Erin and Mia in Tenerife," Jack said. "I'd spoken to her the day before -"
"Pretty sure that's how we found you."
"-planned on hopping a flight tomorrow after checking on something in South Carolina."
"What's down there?"
Jack waved him off. "Some other thing. Probably not important now."
Or perhaps it was more important than ever.
Frank said, "Look, if DeCosta was threatening it, then maybe these guys do have someone in position there. You said you spoke with her recently?"
"Yeah, but what are the chances?"
"I told you, Jack, this goes deep. They could have been watching her. They could've flagged her credit cards and followed the trail."
It was more than a possibility. Why make a bluff like that? Because it grabbed him by the balls and pinned him to the wall. That's why. He had no choice once he thought his daughter and her mother were in danger. Maybe it was an idle threat. Or maybe they'd tighten the screws a bit more.
Frank said, "This wasn't some random encounter. They've been looking for a way to take you down. See how they knew about your relationship with DeCosta? And these guys, they know your weaknesses. I've seen some of the information they pulled. They are prepared to exploit whatever they can to get to you."
"We're wasting time out here," Jack said. "I've got to get over there. Now. I need you to put me on a flight."
"I know. I've got a Gulfstream waiting. The pilot can bend some rules. Fly you direct. All in all, should take a touch over six hours. I'll give you something so you can sleep on the way."
As they headed toward the car, Frank got on the phone and arranged the flight.
Chapter 37
Tenerife.
JARED AKERS WATCHED the girl and her mother sitting at a counter licking ice cream from gigantic waffle cones. How long would he be relegated to watching them? Something had to go down sooner or later, or he'd fall asleep from boredom.
The cell phone vibrated in his pocket. It gave him renewed hope. He tapped at the button on his earpiece.
"Do you have the targets in sight?"
"Yes," Jared said. "Mother and daughter. Twenty yards away."
"The time to move is now."
"OK." Jared slid the phone into his pocket and continued watching the woman and the girl. When they got up and left, he followed, waiting for the right opportunity.
Chapter 38
Unknown Location.
HOW MUCH TIME had passed since the woman had left? That wasn't quite correct, the girl thought. She'd been taken away. Forcefully. Against her will. And for some reason, the woman knew it was coming and remained in the car. That's right, her leg. She'd broken her leg. The pain was too much
to free them both. The woman knew what was coming and did everything she could to protect the girl.
If only she knew how long ago that was. One moment it felt like minutes ago. The next, it could've been hours. And no cars had passed. Where was everyone? Why didn't anyone take this road?
The girl tried to remember where they had been going. She realized that she wasn't even sure which country she was in. The woman had an accent. A thick one. European? Was that even a thing?
For the first time, the girl began crying. Frustration had taken hold, and with being pinned under the dash of the vehicle, there was nothing else she could do.
Then lights splayed across her legs. As the beam intensified, so did the hum of a car engine. Car doors opened and shut. A voice called out. A second followed it. A man and woman. The woman continued talking amid approaching footsteps. She spoke hurriedly, but the girl understood much of what she said.
A single car involved in a crash. Mangled. No one else is around. The driver's door is open. No, there's no one inside. Oh, God. Please, God. No. Someone is trapped. Might be a girl, eleven or twelve or so.
The girl wanted to speak badly enough that she didn't care about the pain associated with it. She shifted side to side, then drew in a deep breath. Her chest burned in retaliation. She opened her mouth, intending to scream the word help. Instead, she let out a primal sound.
"She's alive," the woman exclaimed in French. "Please, get someone here now to free her from the wreckage."
The girl smiled as tears streamed down her cheeks. A mixture of pain and happiness.
She saw the man and woman, standing on the other side of the wreckage from her. They pulled on her door. Opened it a crack. Fingers stuck through the opening and gripped the frame. They yanked and tugged, finally freeing it enough for the woman to wedge her head and torso in. She smiled at the girl.
"It's going to be okay," the woman said. "Help is on the way."
The girl smiled. The tears ceased.
"What's your name?" the woman asked.
The pain she had felt in her chest didn't compare to the sinking feeling she felt all over.
The woman had asked a simple question.
And the girl couldn't answer.
Chapter 39
Nice, France.
BEAR FOLLOEWD PIERRE away from the apartment building. Away from the beach. Away from the crowds. The lights grew thinner. The heat and humidity felt thicker. Sweat coated his forehead, his brow, his upper lip and beard. He didn't bother to wipe off. Since they'd left, his head had been on a swivel, looking back and forth for anyone following them.
Pierre, on the other hand, continued forward with his eyes ahead. If he had a destination in mind, he hadn't said. In fact, he'd failed to tell Bear anything since they left the building. It was as though he wanted to be seen. Like he hoped someone followed them.
The few people they passed didn't let their gazes linger long on either man. The two of them, Pierre with the steeled look of purpose, and Bear the look of a deranged madman, were not to be messed with. Anyone could see that. In fact, some saw it from far enough away that they dodged traffic to cross the street.
Ten minutes into their walk, Pierre said, "Seen anyone yet?"
"Nobody," Bear replied.
"Keep looking."
"Where are we going?"
"This way."
Bear resisted the temptation to knock the Frenchman down. "I can see that. What's our destination?"
"I've got a car parked at a friend's house. Whoever these men are, they've likely never seen it. But we have to arrive there unnoticed."
"You really think it matters?"
For the first time, Pierre glanced back. "What?"
"If they see us. You think that matters?"
Pierre shrugged, said nothing.
"They could be tracking us other ways. That's probably why they aren't following us. They don't need to. They'll wait until we stop, or our course changes, then they'll move."
"Good. I want the bastards to find us. So long as we are a bit past the city. Then we can stomp on their throats and find out what the hell they want."
"Should've invited them up to the apartment for that."
Pierre pointed at the street sign and then aimed his finger right. "Couldn't do that. Not with Kat there. And especially not with Mandy present."
"She's a tough girl."
"I don't doubt she is." Pierre slowed enough for Bear to catch up to his side. "And you don't have to worry. Kat's taking care of her. No one will find them where they're going. Trust me. We'll be there soon, too, and then you two can hide out for a while until we figure this out, or you can disappear."
"Figure what out?"
Pierre almost slowed to a stop, sidestepping on the curb and glancing around. "Not here, my friend. I'll tell you what I know, or what I think I know, I suppose. I can't make sense of this. No one can. The chatter is loud and as usual, deceitful."
"You're talking gibberish, man."
"Up here." Pierre squared up and increased his pace. He led Bear through three more turns, left, then right, then left again. The streets here were deserted. Streetlights were placed even further apart, leaving dark spots along the sidewalks where the canopy of trees shielded the ground.
And Bear heard footsteps. Not theirs. Not anyone visible.
"We're not alone," he whispered.
Reaching behind his back, Pierre nodded. "I am aware."
Bear followed his lead and retrieved the Glock. Never trust a firearm you've never fired. The words had been drilled into his head. Unfortunately, he had no choice. If this was some elaborate scheme to get him alone to dispose of him, he was screwed. No other way to put it. But he wouldn't go down easy. Whoever was closest, be it Pierre or someone else, was going down with him. At least Bear wouldn't suffer long. The bullet would make sure of that. His victim wouldn't be so lucky.
"It is time for me to play the role of bait," Pierre said. "Hide behind that tree there. I'm going to continue another twenty meters. There, I'll stop and get on the phone. You watch every direction. If the right person appears," he glanced down at the suppressed Glock, " you know what to do."
They separated, with Bear heading for the cover of the tree and the blackness it provided, and Pierre continuing another sixty feet or so, where he stopped and placed a phone call. The phone's screen lit up, and Bear could only assume the call was real, although he questioned whether Pierre had actually called the weather line.
From his position, Bear scanned both ends of the street. He watched the gaps between the houses, searching the darkness of the alleyways. Pierre was a sitting duck. If someone was there they'd shoot him. There would be no confrontation.
"Come on, Pierre," he muttered under his breath. "Get out of the middle of the damn street."
And then the Frenchman stopped talking. For the first time, he produced his gun. A pang of fear ran down Bear's spine. It didn't last long, a second at most. But it served to send his adrenaline and senses into overdrive. If they were going to set him up, they'd have to work for it. He stuck to the shadows and moved toward the house, keeping his body facing the street so he could watch.
Pierre moved to the sidewalk, traveled on the lawns to stay out of the pools of orange light cast by the street lamps. Even in the dark, Bear could see the man straining to locate him. Pierre focused on the tree where Bear had been. By the time he reached it, Bear had distanced himself.
"Where are you?" Pierre called out. "Was a false alarm."
Bear waited a moment before beginning his approach. He had no false ideas that he'd get out of this alive. He was in a foreign city, in a foreign country. His only contact might be trying to kill him. His best chance was taking the guy and getting the Frenchman to call it off.
"We're wasting time," Pierre said.
Bear crept through the shadows, pistol drawn, aimed at the Frenchman's silhouette.
"Don't move."
Pierre ignored the request and turned toward
the sound of Bear's voice. "What are you doing?"
"Where are they?"
"Fuck if I know. Not here, that's all I can tell you. I thought my call would draw them out. It didn't, so now we have to move."
Bear took a few steps forward. Pierre's eyes widened at the sight of the gun aimed at his head.
"The hell are you doing?"
"Tell me you aren't setting me up."
"I'm not setting you up."
"Liar." Bear kept his distance, aware that Pierre was the kind of man you couldn't touch with a gun. It would take him half a beat to disarm Bear and another half beat to shoot him.
"Listen to me, I am not sure what the hell you've been drinking since we separated, but I am on your side. In fact, you're about the only person in France I trust right now."
Bear said nothing. Held steady.
"How could I set you up if I had no idea you were coming until you arrived? How could I have arranged for those men to be there, for you, if I didn't know myself?"
The gun felt heavy in his hands at that moment. He'd allowed his mind to weigh too heavily on Mandy's predicament. So much so that his own judgment had become cloudy. Pierre was on his side. They had a common goal. And once it was achieved, things might be different.
"Sorry," he said.
"No worries," Pierre said. "Now let's go. We've got three blocks left to the car. Then a four hour drive following that."
Chapter 40
West of Madrid, Spain.
MASON HADN'T ALLOWED Sasha to drive. He thought he was being a gentleman, handling the duty after their ordeal on the plane. In reality, he'd only pissed her off. Four hours in the passenger seat had done a number on her. She was over it. Tired. Exhausted. Sick of staring out her window at the blackness.
The smell coming from his bag of chips gnawed at her. She'd given up carbs a couple years ago. Normally, resistance was easy. But tonight, when she hadn't eaten in half a day, the pangs of hunger were winning. But to grab a handful, she'd have to acknowledge Mason's existence, and she wasn't ready for that.