10
First Time for Everything
“Well, this is a first,” Xander said aloud to the small empty room. It could not have been bigger than twelve by twelve, with a metal table in front of him and two metal chairs, one of which he was sitting in while the other sat across the table from him. And behind the empty chair was a massive rectangular mirror; through which Xander could feel eyes watching him.
“You want to get this show on the road?” he asked the mirror. “Seriously, you have to get me out of here.” His last few words were tinged with panic.
He didn’t know exactly how long it had been since Melanie had told him that he had two hours to reach the coordinates, but his best guess was about an hour. The panic sank deeper into his nervous system. Time to get things moving.
“I need you to send someone in here now! I have information about the kidnapping of Natalie Rockwell!”
The words left a bad taste in his mouth and a helpless feeling in his gut. He didn’t have to stew in it for long, however, because the mention of Natalie’s name almost immediately led to the opening of the only door in the room. Xander knew that it was no coincidence.
“Okay, Monsieur King,” a slightly round and partially bald Frenchman said as he walked into the room. “We need you to tell us what happened at that warehouse earlier.” The man in the pale-yellow, short-sleeve button-down shirt and light-brown slacks turned the chair around backward and straddled it to face Xander.
“Listen, a woman’s life is at stake here. You have got to let me out of here.”
“Are you talking about Miss Rockwell? Is that the woman in danger?”
“Cut the shit . . . Detective?”
“Detective Beaumont.”
“Cut the shit, Detective Beaumont. You know I’m talking about Natalie, and I know you know who I am.”
“Yes, you are a rich American man whom my officers found armed in the parking garage of a warehouse where two dead bodies were found just upstairs. But I don’t understand what this has to do with Miss Rockwell.”
“Look, call Mary Hartsfield in Langley, Virginia. Her number is in my cell phone. Every second you hold me here is a second closer to you having the murder of a famous actress on your hands.”
“So you know something about the disappearance of Miss Rockwell?”
Xander couldn’t hold back. He slammed his still-cuffed hands down on the table in front of him. “She’s going to die if you don’t let me go!”
The door to the room opened, and two armed police officers walked in. Detective Beaumont held up his hand to let them know it was okay.
“Look, Mr. King. I suggest you just relax and give us all the information you have, because you are not going anywhere for a while.”
“The hell he ain’t.”
Just then a real-life cowboy walked into the room.
Jack Bronson.
“Jack!” Xander would have jumped up and kissed him if he hadn’t been chained to his chair. He had no idea how Jack came to be in Paris when Xander needed him most, but he had a feeling it couldn’t have been because of anyone but Sam.
The detective turned with a look of astonishment on his face. “And who the hell are you?”
“I’m the man who’s taking this pretty son of a bitch outta here right now. If you could have someone get his things, we’ll be outta your hair in a heartbeat.”
“Officers,” Beaumont said to the two policemen, “get this man out of here.”
One of them reached for Jack’s arm, and Jack retracted it with astounding speed for an older man. He may have been retired CIA, but Xander knew from what he had witnessed in Tuscany and Moscow that the old man still had a few rounds left in the magazine.
“If you wanna keep that hand, you’ll keep it off of me,” he said to the tall, bald-headed officer. Then to the detective he said, “Call your boss, he’ll fill you in on what he and I already discussed.”
Beaumont looked at the officers, then to Xander, and then to Jack. “Officers, watch these two while I step out for just a moment.”
They nodded to him. Beaumont got up and walked out into the hall, pulling his phone from its clip. Jack stepped closer to Xander, wearing a sorrowful look on his face.
“I’m real sorry to hear about King’s Ransom, Xander. Kyle told me how much that horse meant to ya. And I’m real sorry about Miss Rockwell too.”
“Thanks, Jack. What have you learned?”
“Honestly, I hate to tell ya, I don’t know a damn thing. I just got a message from Sam a while ago asking me if I would divert to Paris. When I landed, I called her and she said you were here. Said Sarah had Director Hartsfield call the chief here to tell him I’d be coming to get you. Guess that news didn’t make it to the detective here yet. You find out anything while you been here? How the hell did you end up in here anyway?”
“Long story, Jack. Let’s talk about it when we get out of here. But we don’t have much time, I know that much for sure. What time is it?”
Jack checked his watch. “Right at eight p.m.”
Just as Xander thought. It was seven when Melania explained that he only had two hours to reach the coordinates she had sent him.
Detective Beaumont walked back into the interrogation room. He didn’t seem happy, but he was also clearly resigned to the fact that he had lost this one.
“Monsieur King, I don’t know how you did it, but you are free to go.”
Jack turned to Beaumont, a smile on his face. “God works in mysterious ways, Pepe, and so doth the CIA.”
Beaumont walked around the table and began to unshackle Xander. “Your things will be at the front desk. We’ll be watching you, Mr. King.”
“Do me a favor, spend your time on something worthwhile, like, I don’t know, finding a famous actress or something.” Xander’s tone was accusatory.
Beaumont had no words, but his face showed he wasn’t pleased by Xander’s insinuation that nothing was being done about the matter. “Let us handle the dirty work, Mr. King. Your fancy hands are not cut out for this sort of thing.”
All Xander could do was smile. “Thanks for the ride from the warehouse, officer. I’ll take it from here.”
After a five-minute shouting match with the officer on duty, Detective Beaumont, and anyone else who would listen, Xander and Jack walked out of the police station, Xander without his gun. He didn’t figure they would give him back the gun that belonged to the now-dead Uber driver, but keeping his Glock was Beaumont’s way of sticking it to him. At some point Xander knew he would have to learn how to keep his mouth shut. It was that last comment, calling the detective “officer,” that cost him his weapon.
They walked out to the curb. Xander found their location on his phone. The police station was on Avenue Mozart in the sixteenth arrondissement—which meant nothing to either Jack or Xander.
“I’m assuming you don’t have a car,” Xander asked Jack.
“I don’t, but while I was bailin’ you out in there, I had him go get one.”
Jack nodded his cowboy hat toward the street where a navy-blue Mercedes sedan squealed to a stop in front of them.
“The son of a bitch wouldn’t take no for an answer. Said you promised him a job or somethin’. You shoulda seen his face when I said we was turning the plane for Paris and that you needed our help.”
The Mercedes door opened, and a man sprang out of the door, hair wild, grinning from ear to ear.
“Viktor.” His name slipped out of Xander’s half-smile.
Viktor was the crazy bastard who had come and picked up Xander in his daddy’s helicopter, in the middle of the mountains of Ukraine. He was completely off his rocker, but he saved Xander’s life. That is something you never forget. His goofball personality wasn’t easy to get out of your head either.
“Boss,” Viktor said; his Russian accent was as thick as ever. “Can’t you stay out of trouble? For even little while?” His smile grew even larger.
Xander began to walk the thirty feet
to the car. “If I did, what the hell would you do with yourself? Start a new Call of Duty clan on Xbox?”
They hugged.
“Viktor doesn’t need Call of Duty, or Xbox. Viktor work for Xander King now. Real-life Xbox soldier.”
Jack opened the back passenger-side door of the Mercedes. “You all speakin’ some kinda foreign language? If so, stop it, I’m gettin’ a headache.”
“Cowboy is old school, boss,” Viktor laughed. “He is not cool like you and Viktor.”
Xander smiled. “Yeah, Viktor, because only cool people speak in third person.”
Jack laughed and slid himself inside the car.
Viktor didn’t get it. Xander didn’t have time to explain. Viktor walked back to the driver’s side and Xander got in beside him.
Jack spoke up from the backseat just as Xander was getting ready to speak. “Save your speech, Xander. We know you’re glad to see us, but let’s not waste time on all that. Let’s go get your damsel out of distress.”
Xander’s gut rolled, first from the thought of Natalie still being held captive and second from immense gratitude for people he barely knew laying their lives on the line to help him and Natalie. He did as Jack asked and saved the speech. He opened his phone with the directions to the coordinates from Melanie and showed the map to Viktor.
“Get us here”—he pointed to the green pin on the electronic map—“as fast as you can.”
Viktor threw the Mercedes into drive and fishtailed sideways out into the street. The sun was on its way down, and Xander was determined that whoever was behind the killing of King’s Ransom and the kidnapping of Natalie was on their way down as well.
11
A Thread of Hope
Around the time that Jack was busy bailing Xander out of jail, Natalie’s darkness was once again interrupted. Three men in black ski masks entered the room and turned on the hanging yellow light. Once again, she was surrounded by death. She did her best not to look at the photos on the walls as the three men surrounded her. This time, there was no man in a turban. She could tell they weren’t there to take pictures either. They hoisted her up, two of the men held her up under each armpit, and they pushed her forward toward the door. The man in front of her turned to have a look, then stopped immediately. He shouted something in French, and the next thing Natalie knew, everything was dark again. They covered her head with some sort of knit sack and once again moved her forward out of the room. She had no idea where they were taking her, but still her mind searched for clues. Being an actress as well as an avid movie fan, her mind drifted as the air now felt slightly cooler. She couldn’t see through the sack, but she could tell the light was brighter. As she noticed a cool, smooth material under her feet, she thought of the movie Taken 2. She remembered the scene where Liam Neeson’s character was kidnapped and how he used the sounds, smells, and other triggers to help him tell where he was. The only problem for Natalie was that she wasn’t Liam Neeson, and there was no movie magic to be had. The best she could do was imagine that it was marble under her feet, and once they took her outside, she could tell it had been raining. Some detective she was.
Other than the area directly around her hotel, she knew nothing of Paris. So it didn’t help her to hear people bustling and dogs barking. That didn’t clue her in on what part of Paris she was in. She may as well have been back in California. All except for the cool temperature and the rain, that is. No, there wasn’t anything she could do that was going to help her in this situation. She would just have to hope that whatever reason they were taking her for, they would get what they wanted and then let her go.
She heard a car door open, then the two men forced her into a vehicle and slammed the door behind her. The upholstery on the seat was cloth and smelled heavily of smoke. No one said a word, but she heard two more doors close; then the vehicle started and was on its way. Somewhere. At least they hadn’t stuffed her in the trunk, and at least they hadn’t already killed her. She did find it odd that they would be driving her around in a car with a bag over her head. That would be sort of incriminating if she were easy to see. Then she figured it was probably a dark-windowed van. She did have to step up when she got in. Natalie knew she was worthless at trying to be a detective. Fear began to set in. Where could they possibly be taking her? What were they going to do to her when they got there? What did they want?
Not knowing any of the answers or the reason for any of this made her feel utterly helpless. Completely alone. She could feel the fear wrapping around her as the realization set in that this probably had nothing to do with money. If it did, they would have been trying to talk to her about it. Trying to find out whom to call at her bank or something. Anything. This wasn’t about money. This was about those pictures on the wall in that room. This was about revenge. Which meant that this was about Xander.
It was at that moment when a small thread of hope began to wrap around the outside of that fear that was creeping up her spine. A man’s voice, seemingly from the front of the van, interrupted her thoughts.
“Boss . . . Yes, boss . . . Yes, we have her, and we’re taking her there now.”
* * *
A man in a black turban sat at a desk; two men sat opposite him—one French, one Middle Eastern. He finished up the phone call he was on. “Good. Make certain no one sees her. Sebastian will meet you there and explain how to proceed.”
The man ended the call and addressed the Frenchman sitting in front of him. “Tell me that everything is ready.”
The man sat up in his chair, cleared his throat, and eagerly explained. “Everything is ready, Akram. It is exactly how you wanted. The cameras are all set and everyone is in place.”
“Perfect. I will be in touch. You can go now.” Akram nodded toward the door.
The man left the room. Akram stood from his desk and went to the window that overlooked a garden. The light of day had faded, and only streetlights beyond the grass aided his visibility. He stroked his black scraggly goatee as he turned back to the Middle Eastern man.
“Now that I have everything in place, Hanan, we must make certain that there will be an audience.”
“Yes, Akram, my men have hacked the social media accounts of Natalie Rockwell. When the video feeds go live, it will quickly spread across the Internet. We have e-mails with links to the live feed prepared for all of the news outlets as well.”
“And if they are able to cut the feeds on the social media sites?” Akram asked.
“By the time they do this, if they do this, it will be too late. All of the media will have picked it up, and it will be on every news station across the web and traditional media. However, as a precaution, once the link is clicked, every feed will have a URL that will automatically open on computers and phones and take them to our site, which is secured beyond a twenty-four-hour hackable measure. Everyone will see exactly what you want them to see. What happens after that is up to you, sir.”
“Excellent. And where is Xander?”
Hanan squirmed a bit in his seat. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but he was arrested at the warehouse.”
“Arrested? What? This means nothing without him!” Akram came away from the window and stalked right up to where Hanan was seated. Madness swirled in his dark eyes.
Hanan leaned back in fear of the man and held up his hands. “It’s all right! He’s out!”
“Out of jail? But how?” Akram softened a bit.
“I don’t know, but I have a man tailing him. He is on his way to the stadium now, just as you wanted. Everything is okay. That is why I didn’t tell you!”
Akram grunted in frustration as he kicked up on the bottom of Hanan’s seat, sending him crashing onto his back against the hard floor. Akram then rounded the toppled chair and kicked Hanan in the jaw. The force of the blow severely jarred him, and before he could turn to look up at the fierce Akram above him, he spat a string of blood onto the floor.
Akram backed away. “You will not underestimate Xander King as my brother
did. He has the world’s most powerful nation behind him.”
Hanan sat up, spit more blood on the floor beside him, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He looked into his boss’s eyes, and with all the conviction he could muster he told Akram what he wanted to hear.
“We will not underestimate him. And thanks to you, Akram Khatib, America will not continue to be the most powerful nation for long.”
12
Funny Business
The jet carrying Sam, Kyle, Sarah, and Zhanna began to descend from its 35,000-feet cruising altitude, beginning its final approach into Paris. For the past thirty minutes of the flight, all four of them had been diligently reading a file that was passed along by Marvin. Marvin called Kyle back almost immediately after he had received Kyle’s message telling him of Xander’s troubles, and asking what Marv thought about who could be behind the kidnapping. The first name that popped into Marv’s head after he read that Kyle thought it was revenge was Akram Khatib. There was little doubt in Marv’s mind that the one behind this was the little brother of Sanharib Khatib. It was one of the biggest fears Marv had when he originally told Sean Thompson that Sanharib could be Xander’s parents’ killer. Marv had spent months in Syria gathering intel on Sanharib’s operation. One of the main things he had learned was that Sanharib was merely the face of the terrorist outfit. The public figure who put himself out there when claiming an act of terror. Much the way that Bin Laden had done before him. But Marv had seen on many occasions that in fact it was his little brother, Akram, who had actually been pulling the strings. Akram just wasn’t old enough to have been involved with Xander’s father, which is why Marv only mentioned Sanharib when telling Xander about him. As far as terrorists were concerned, Akram was the most evil of them all. He didn’t just sit back and play the puppet master. He was deeply involved in everything; he actually loved getting his hands dirty. Sanharib raised his little brother Akram to be a killer. He had Akram trained in hand-to-hand combat, gunplay, and every other art of war since the time he was old enough to walk. Akram was notorious for being ruthless, killing many a man with just his bare hands. Just for the sport of it. All part of his relentless training.
Xander King BoxSet Page 54