by Alex Strong
“Oh, God,” she groaned as every bad scenario possible ran through her mind. In an effort to keep from losing it completely, she concentrated on the voices outside the door, hoping to learn something. But they were mostly muffled, and what she could pick up didn’t sound anything like English.
There was a commotion outside, someone barking orders, and then the door was opened and Jillian blinked against the bright light now spilling in. A large man walked in and scooped her up. The larger room he carried her into suggested a warehouse. There were four other men besides the one carrying Jillian, most of them in black with guns slung across their chests. But one man was dressed in a tailored gray suit that matched his eyes, and if he had a gun on him, it was hidden. She was set on a hard chair and the gray suit moved towards her.
“Otrymaty ïy̆ vody,” he snapped.
Someone brought him a glass of water and he kneeled in front of her. He lifted the glass to her lips, and Jillian drank from it with his help. She hadn’t realized how parched her mouth was and took the glasses with both hands, finishing it without assistance.
“Better, Miss Sandro?” the gray suit asked in a thick accent and she nodded.
“How do you know my name?” she asked. “What do you want with me?”
“All in due time. Come. We are going for a little ride.”
Someone helped Jillian to her feet. She was still unsteady, but could feel the strength slowly returning to her body.
A silver Mercedes was parked outside, and she and the gray suit climbed in the back with two of the armed men in front while the other two got into a dark SUV. A simple black cell phone lay on the back seat and Jillian looked at it questioningly.
“I am expecting a call from a mutual acquaintance of ours any minute now,” said her abductor.
Jillian couldn’t fathom who they possibly had in common.
“What do you mean she never came home last night?” Reid asked Jacob. “She left my place around ten last night.”
Jacob shook his head. “I stayed up until midnight, but she never came home. I’ve been trying to call her cell phone, but she’s not answering.”
This didn’t make sense to Reid. He saw her walk out the front door. She’d had no wallet, so it wasn’t likely she would have gone anywhere else but home. So then what happened in the fifty feet from his house to hers?
“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation, Mr. Sandro. But I’ll see what I can find out and you let me know if you hear from her.”
Jacob nodded, but didn’t look convinced.
“Don’t worry,” said Reid. “I’m sure she’s safe.”
As Reid walked back to his house, he pulled out his phone and dialed Aaron.
“If you’re calling to apologize—” Aaron started, but Reid cut him off.
“She’s gone missing, Wells.”
“What do you mean missing? How do you misplace a whole woman?”
“She left my house last night and apparently never made it home.”
“Maybe you scared her off,” said Aaron, but Reid was only half listening. Something sitting on the front porch caught his attention.
“If you ask me,” continued Aaron, “it’s for the best.”
“Shut up, Wells. I’m going to have to call you back.” Reid hung up on his protests and collected the cell phone sitting on his mat. He looked around. This hadn’t been sitting here when he left the house just minutes ago.
Reid walked into the house, examining the phone. It was very basic, most likely a burner. He checked the contacts and found a single number saved. Reid dialed it. After the fourth ring it picked up, but there was only silence on the other end.
“Hello,” he said.
“Reid?” said a quiet voice.
“Jillian?”
“Reid! What’s going—” She was cut off.
“Jillian!”
“Hello, Agent Jackson.” The new voice was heavily accented. Reid recognized it as Russian. No. Ukrainian.
“Who the hell is this?” Reid asked.
“I still need those codes, Mr. Jackson.”
“Casimir?”
“Very good,” said Casimir.
“I don’t have those codes.”
“If you ever want to see your lovely friend again,” Casimir told him, “you will get them.”
Reid was as confused as ever. How the hell did Casimir even know to go after Jillian?
“Even if I could get them,” said Reid, “what makes you think I would hand them over for her? She’s just my neighbor.”
“We both know that she is more to you than just a neighbor. But, if that is how you feel… Shall I put a bullet in her brain now?” Reid heard a gasp from Jillian in the background and closed his eyes. “Or would you like to put her father on the phone first, so that he can say good-bye to his only daughter? Isn’t losing his wife to cancer bad enough?”
Reid’s eyes flew open as he remembered the night Jillian asked him over.
“Jillian wasn’t being paranoid last week, was she?” he asked. “You were in her house.”
Casimir laughed. “Well, not me personally. But yes, I have been watching her. She really is quite lovely when she sleeps.”
Reid’s stomach turned. “But how did you know she was even connected to me? I’d only just met her at that point.” His head was swimming with all the questions.
“That is not something you should worry about right now. You need to figure out how you are going to get those codes to me.”
Reid knew that was never going to happen, but admitting it would only get Jillian killed. He needed to buy her time.
“Put her on the phone,” he said.
“We have a deal, no?” asked Casimir.
“Just put her on the damn phone,” Reid growled.
“Reid?” Jillian’s voice was shaking.
“Have they hurt you?” he asked.
“No. Well, yes, but—Reid, what the hell is going on?”
“I need you to listen to this man, Jillian. His name is Anton Casimir and he is incredibly dangerous,” he said. “But I will come for you. I just need you to be strong. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes,” she said, and Reid believed her. Now he just needed to hold up his end of the deal.
“Good. Put Casimir back on the phone. I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay.”
Casimir’s voice came on the line again. “You have very good taste, Agent Jackson. It would be a shame for her to become—what is the words—collateral damage. A waste even.”
“If you lay a finger on her I’ll—”
“You will what?” Casimir laughed. “You are in no position to make threats.”
Reid took a deep breath. “What’s the plan?”
“Good. We are on same page then. I think the best solution is for you to bring me John Davies.”
“He’s in protective custody,” said Reid. “Even I can’t touch him.”
“The how, Agent Jackson, is not my problem. If you ever want to see these beautiful brown eyes again, you will bring him, or something just as valuable, to me. You have twenty-four hours, when I will call with further instruction. Keep this phone on you, Agent Jackson. And don’t do anything stupid.”
The line went dead.
Anton Casimir pocketed the phone and exited the Mercedes.
“Come, Miss Sandro,” he said, extending a hand to help her out.
Jillian considered her captor holding the door open as she slid out without taking his hand. She always imagined kidnappers to be hard ruthless men. Thugs even. Yet this man struck her as well-groomed and polished. His salt-and-pepper hair was cleanly cut and brushed forward with a straight cut over the bangs. The severe scar over his left eye was the only thing suggesting he had ever been involved in any kind of scuffle. That and his threatening gaze. She looked out to the end of the pier they had just arrived at. She also never imagined them owning such impressive yachts.
They stepped onto the aft end of a ship with an outd
oor seating area, complete with lounge chairs and a small hot tub. Casimir led her past this through sliding doors and into a plush living room decorated in rich wood and stark white. Beyond this room was a dining area, where breakfast items had been laid out and a gentleman in dress slacks and a button-down shirt was seated, typing something into his phone. He looked up and flashed a smile that Jillian felt was far too charming given the situation.
“Is this her?” he asked in a British accent as he stood.
Casimir nodded and walked up to the table to sample a custard.
“Dobre,” he said, nodding.
A steward Jillian hadn’t even noticed in the corner nodded and left the room.
“This had better work,” said the English stranger.
Casimir waved him off. “It is all going according to plan.”
The English stranger stepped into Casimir’s space. Jillian could see the annoyance in Casimir’s face, but he said nothing as the blue-eyed gentleman spoke.
“That’s what you told me last time. You’d better be right, because I won’t be cleaning up your fucking mess again.”
The corner of Casimir’s mouth twitched into a slight sneer. The other man put his hands into his pockets and strode off towards the door.
“Now, if you don’t mind,” he said, “I promised to take my Love to brunch this morning.” He was almost out the door when he turned to Jillian and said, “Good luck to you, Miss Sandro. I hope for both our sakes that Reid Jackson is up to the task.” And he was gone.
“Sit,” Casimir instructed Jillian. “We will eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” she said quietly.
“It was not a question.”
“Being hit, drugged, and kidnapped kind of killed my appetite,” she said. “I’m not hungry.
Casimir’s stone gray eyes burned into her, but she stood her ground, until he slapped her across the face with the back of his hand so hard that she fell to the ground.
“I told you it was not a question,” he said, adjusting the cuff of his right sleeve. “Now get up before you drip blood on the carpet.”
Jillian touched her stinging lip. The ring on his finger had split it. She stood up and sat down on the chair, fighting back tears.
“Good,” said Casimir as he took his seat. “Was that so hard?”
Reid had tried to warn her how dangerous he was. Which again begged the question, how did Reid know this man?
“Eat,” Casimir ordered and this time Jillian knew better.
Her unsteady hand speared a piece of cantaloupe from her plate and she forced it to her mouth. It was ripe and juicy, but all Jillian could taste was the metallic tang of her own blood.
Reid pocketed the burner phone and redialed Aaron.
“Casimir has Jillian,” he said the second Aaron picked up.
“That’s insane. What would Casimir want with Jillian?”
“He’s offering to trade her for John Davies,” said Reid. “Or the codes. Neither of which I have access to.”
“This still doesn’t make any sense. How would he even know about her?”
“I haven’t figured that part out yet.”
“You need to go to Rollins,” Aaron told him.
“I can’t,” said Reid. “She’d be dead before they figured out what to do. And chances are they would decide to do nothing. We don’t negotiate with terrorists, remember?”
“Jesus, Jackson. You’re looking at treason just for thinking about giving Casimir what he wants.”
“I’m not an idiot,” said Reid. “Of course I’m not going to give him anything.”
“That what are you going to do?”
“I have to get Jillian.”
It was so quiet on the other end that Reid thought the call had been dropped until Aaron let out a long, slow breath.
“I’ll help you,” he said.
“I can’t let you risk everything too.”
“And what the hell am I supposed to do? Just sit here on my hands and hope everything works out for you? Not happening, man.”
“Be my support then,” said Reid. “Help me get info when I need it.”
“I can do that. What’s your first move?”
Now the silence came from Reid’s end.
“Jackson?”
“I’m thinking.” Reid remembered his conversation with Casimir. “He told me not to do anything stupid, which means he probably has someone tailing me.” He wondered if someone was watching him now. Whoever dropped the phone couldn’t be far. They might even be listening to him right this minute.
“I’m headed to Sea-Tac,” he said into the phone. “I think I might know where Davies is.”
“But I thought—”
Reid cut him off. “I’ll call you when I have more info.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Seattle-Tacoma International airport was packed as usual with travelers as Reid got in line for the nearest ticketing agent. He scanned the crowd, looking for anyone suspicious and found him almost immediately, but kept looking. In a terminal full of business travelers and flustered families, the man in a fedora stood out like a sore thumb. He had no luggage and wasn’t standing in any of the lines, just leaning against a trash and can smacking his gum. Casimir wanted Reid to know that he was being watched, perhaps to keep Reid from veering off course. All that meant was that Reid had to be at least two steps ahead.
Reid walked up to the counter.
“Hello,” he said to the smiling agent behind the computer. “I need a ticket for the first flight you have available to Washington D.C.”
Her smile faded as she typed away at the keyboard.
“I have a flight that leaves later this morning, but it has a layover in Atlanta and you won’t land in DC until ten o’clock eastern time tonight.”
Reid glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the man watching him. He just had to go through the motions. If Casimir thought he was on a plane all day, that gave him several hours to get a plan in motion.
“That will be perfect,” he said.
“Great, I just need identification and a credit card.”
Reid pulled out his wallet.
“And will you be checking any luggage?” she asked, taking the cards from him.
“Nope, I’m good”
Reid waited for her to print off his tickets and then walked over to security. His companion followed him only as far as another nearby garbage can to lean against. This was perfect. Reid made it through security and disappeared around a corner. He peeked back around just in time to see the man pull out a cell phone as he started to walk away.
Reid rushed to an exit point and made his way towards the nearest skybridge leading to the parking garage, when he saw a man in a white fedora exiting the double doors at the opposite end. Reid raced across the vestibule and came out in time to see him step onto an elevator. Since it was only ground transportation on the lower levels, Reid hit the up button and watched the LED screen above the elevator Mr. Fedora had stepped on. Every time another set of doors opened, Reid pushed the up button again, ignoring the confused stares from other patrons. He had to know where this elevator was headed. Reid lucked out; it made one stop only on the fifth level before heading back down. Now he jumped into the first open elevator and took it up two floors. He ran along the aisles, trying to keep his head low, until he caught sight of his man in the far north corner and Reid hurried over before his opportunity was gone. The man climbed into his car. Reid hid behind a pole. All he needed was a license number. Creeping between two vehicles, he pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the plates as the driver backed out. Reid dropped to the ground and rolled under an Acura as Mr. Fedora swung out wide to straighten his wheels before driving off.
Reid rolled back out and called Aaron while making his way back to his own car.
“Jackson, where are you at?”
“About to leave Sea-Tac. I was being followed, but I just lost him. I’m sending you a picture of his license plate. I need
you to get me a name and address and then meet me at my place.”
“That’s easy enough. See you soon.”
Reid started his car and put it into reverse, but then immediately slammed it into park again. He climbed out and started feeling along the undercarriage until he found what he was looking for. A tracker had been placed under the passenger side door. After a quick glance to make sure no one was watching, Reid climbed onto the running board of his car and stuck the magnetic tracker onto the topside of a metal bar that was running along the low ceiling of the garage. Now he was ready to go.
Back at the house Reid went upstairs and grabbed a Kevlar vest and holster from the back of his closet before heading back downstairs to the laundry room. He opened the door of the built-in ironing board cabinet and pressed hard against the right side of the back panel. It clicked opened to reveal an array of guns and other small weapons. This was only a sample of his personal collection that was hidden throughout the house, but it had everything he would need for now. He selected a knife and two guns with extra ammo before restoring the cabinet. He was just walking back out to the garage as Aaron’s motorcycle turned into the driveway.
“You made good time,” Reid said when Aaron pulled off his helmet.
“Told you it wouldn’t be hard,” Aaron said as Reid started putting on his vest. “Jesus, man, your wound is bleeding.”
“What?” Reid turned around best he could and saw the red staining his t-shirt. “Dammit, I must have pulled the stitches.” He went out to the garage to grab his first-aid kit.
“A doctor should be looking at that,” said Aaron.
“No time. You’re going to have to help me.”
Aaron bandaged it while he told Reid what he had learned. “So the car is registered to a Peter Maren, a suspected courier of local crime boss Aleksandr Morozov. Like anything else connected to the man, it hasn’t been confirmed. But here’s the thing; Morozov is Casimir’s cousin.”
“Do you think Morozov’s helping him?” Reid asked as he grabbed a clean shirt from the laundry room and started again to gear up.