by K. J. Howe
Easy for him to say now. She hated that bitterness resurfaced whenever she and her father discussed Nikos, but she couldn’t help it. “But what happened to Nikos, how it changed him—that’s why I work hard to bring hostages home. To stop what happened to our family from happening to others.”
“But you’re in constant danger.”
“I’m careful. And I have a good team.”
“You’re my only child now.”
“Emotional blackmail won’t work on a trained kidnap negotiator.”
He smiled and shook his head. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to manipulate you.”
“I’m not sure you can help yourself.” She softened a little. Papa loved her in his own, imperfect way. He’d made grave mistakes, but then, so had she. They had a long road ahead if they wanted to heal their relationship. She had to learn to forgive, and he had to figure out a way to stop trying to control her. She wasn’t sure it was possible—Christos’s stubborn streak had helped him reach great success, but it hadn’t made him the best parent—but they had to try.
“I respect what you do. I just worry,” Papa said.
“Well, it’s the boys we should both be concerned about now. Did you speak to the Wavertons? Do they know what’s going on?”
“Yes, and they are very worried and upset. But they wanted me to tell you they believe in you.”
A sharp knock came on the door. Aegis barked. Thea walked to the peephole, Aegis tailgating her across the room.
Rif. She let him in, his hair still wet from a shower. Tall and broad shouldered, he looked good dressed in black. Aegis pushed past her legs to get to Rif—the dog adored Christos’s godson.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize I was interrupting.” Rif hesitated at the door, scratching the big dog behind the ears.
“Not at all, not at all.” Christos and Rif had always been close, but it irked Thea a little that her father was suddenly acting as if this was his room, not hers.
Rif gave Christos a grin and turned to Thea. “We’ve mapped out a plan. I’d like you to take a look.”
Maybe they could find a way to bring everyone back home. Well, not everyone. Looking across the room at her father, Thea could feel Nikos’s ghost beside her. She remembered the day she’d first met Ayan and Jabari. Two years ago, she’d arrived in Kanzi in the middle of the night, heading straight to the orphanage after thwarting a piracy attempt in Somalia.
Bone tired, she’d expected everyone to be asleep for the night. But a lone light acted as a beacon, tempting her to wander down the corridor. Nikos sat in an armchair beside a single bed, a young African boy asleep in his arms. Tucked under the covers, a slightly older boy mumbled incoherently, sweat glistening on his forehead.
Her brother looked up as she entered. Shifting the child in his arms, Nikos reached over to the basin on the night table, squeezing water out of a cloth. With his free hand, he wiped the older boy’s forehead, removing the perspiration. The boy writhed and moaned.
“Fever.” Nikos’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Here, let me help.” She opened her arms, and her brother passed her the sleeping boy. The child nestled against her shoulder.
Nikos refreshed the cloth, using it to cool the older boy’s upper torso and forehead. “It spiked a few hours ago. The doc says if he makes it through the night, he should recover.”
The sick boy couldn’t be more than ten—he’d hardly experienced what life had to offer. He had to recover.
She pulled up a chair and joined her brother, and they kept a vigil for the boy, talking softly about their childhood in Kanzi, the orphanage, their father.
Thea wished Papa could witness this side of Nikos, but the two men clashed whenever they met—and no détente could ever be reached. Nikos’s kidnapping had revealed fault lines in the bedrock of their family, and it seemed that Nikos was on solid ground only in the company of the kids at the orphanage.
Hours later, dawn brought the beauty of Kanzi to life. A massive acacia tree dominated the yard, casting shadows on the windows. The young boy sleeping in her arms stirred, opening one eye, then the other. He reached up and traced the S-shaped scar on Thea’s cheek. He shifted, then lifted his left arm, revealing two jagged scars. She smiled.
His gaze swept around the room, taking in Nikos sitting beside the bed.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Nikos’s sister, Thea.”
“He told me all about you.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear.” She smiled.
“I’m Ayan, and that’s my brother, Jabari. What happened to you here?” He pointed to the scar on her face.
“Just a battle wound—I can see you have a few of your own.” She’d long forgiven her brother for the incident that had caused the mark.
Movement in the bed drew their attention. Jabari stretched, yawning. His forehead was dry, his eyes clear. The fever had broken.
“I’m hungry. What’s for breakfast?” Jabari asked. “And who is that pretty woman?”
They all laughed. Thea didn’t know it then, but it was the last joyful moment she and Nikos would ever share.
Chapter 42
Rif sat beside Thea in the conference room they’d converted into a temporary operational center. The Quantum team had gathered around a mahogany table, drinking coffee, eating kifli and delicious little cheese puffs called pogácsa from the pastry shop down the block. Their sole focus since the team had checked in was finding that truck, and all the operatives had been working nonstop, discussing the vehicle’s potential routes and tactics for a takedown in the middle of a busy city.
A large screen showed a detailed map of the main arteries of Budapest, bright red lines highlighting the toll routes. Both a city and a county, the capital of Hungary held a third of the country’s population. Needless to say, thousands of vehicles peppered the roads. The one saving grace was the time of year: with a holiday weekend coming up, many people were already out of town, visiting their families in the suburbs or traveling, so there’d be fewer pedestrians and less traffic to worry about.
Prospero had said the truck would be coming from the east, but they couldn’t trust his information. Every route into the city had to be covered. Looking at the map, Rif understood why the wily mafioso had wanted a tactical team to handle the extraction. The Quantum team had the communications, intel, and the skills necessary to locate and secure the target in this environment. Why send your own men into a situation where they might botch the job?
Rif started the party. “The colored dots represent members of our team. We have all the main routes covered, assuming the truck will have to use a major artery due to its size.”
“Who’s got eyes in the sky?” Thea asked, getting straight to the heart of the plan, as usual. Leaving aside her combat skills, it was Thea’s ability to keep the big picture in mind even when discussing logistics that inspired such confidence in the team.
“I’ll be in the bird,” Rif said. “The truck will be easier to spot from above. Once I locate the target, the team on the ground will converge on its location.”
“Do we know what’s so special about this vehicle yet?” Brown asked.
“It’s full of Prospero’s mama’s homemade spaghetti sauce,” Johansson said.
“Thanks, asshole.” Brown whipped a cheese pastry at his teammate.
Rif didn’t blink; the back and forth was all part of their team’s dynamic, a way of letting off steam and creating a cohesive unit. “We’ve secured several warehouses. Once we have the truck, we head for the closest location, dismantle the vehicle, and figure out exactly why it’s so important to Salvatore.”
Thea spoke without looking away from the map. “Brown, track down any calls Prospero has made from the phone number he gave me. Maybe it’ll give us a lead to where he’s holding the hostages.”
“On it.” Brown grabbed his laptop and booted it up.
“Any other questions?” Thea asked.
“We have time to catch a
few winks?” A cigarette hung from the corner of Neil’s mouth.
“You bet. Rest up, and stand by for my signal.” Rif turned off the screen, ending the meeting.
Everyone but Thea and Rif rolled out of the room buzzing like tuning forks. It was always like this before a mission, adrenaline flowing, everyone slightly on edge. Practically the entire team had flown in as soon as they heard about Thea’s skyjacking, even the members who were scheduled for time off. When someone at Quantum needed help, it was all hands on deck.
“How was your visit with Christos?” Rif had sensed the tension in her room. Not one to push, he also wanted her to know she had his support.
She plunked back down in one of the leather chairs. “Confusing. Hard.”
“Yeah, well, Christos made some strange decisions.” It was the understatement of the century; those decisions had put the entire Quantum team in danger.
“I love Papa, but he set off a chain of horrific events. Many people paid the price, a few with their lives—and he was lucky to lose only a limb. And Nikos . . .” Her voice broke, and she sucked in a long breath before going on. “At times, my resentment is overwhelming. I can also see the guilt eating up my father, and I know he needs my forgiveness and support, but I don’t know if I ever can, not fully. Then again, he’s the only father I have.”
“You have every right to be angry. Anyway, we both know that my godfather is an acquired taste.” He tried a smile to soften the moment. “Now it’s just a question of finding a way to heal.”
“Work helps. Since Papa left rehab, I’ve been traveling constantly, so our paths have hardly crossed.”
“I’m sure Christos realizes you’re avoiding him—and understands why.” Rif ran a hand through his hair and smiled. “You know, he was in the Quantum offices when he heard your plane had been hijacked. He was devastated.”
Thea shrugged. “I know he loves me, Rif. It’s just hard to forgive a lifetime of lies.”
“Maybe he learned his lesson. I know you lost your brother, but don’t forget—he lost his son.”
A long silence stretched between them before Thea looked up into his face, searching. “Why didn’t you tell me about Nikos’s past?”
“It wasn’t my place.” He felt guilty that he’d known more about Nikos’s kidnapping than he’d let on, but the situation had been complicated—not least because he had pretty ambivalent feelings toward her brother.
“I’m sorry, Rif. Look, I don’t want you to think I’m making you choose sides between me and Papa . . .”
“Not at all.” He didn’t think he should say it out loud, but he’d always choose Thea, over anyone else.
Brown rapped on the door.
Thea sat up straight. “No need to knock. Find something?”
The tech guru held his laptop in his hands, fidgeting with it and looking down.
“What?”
“Maybe I should talk to you privately . . .”
“Whatever it is, Rif can hear it.”
“Prospero’s calls. Most of it is just standard stuff, but two stand out. The first is a call to the same banker—Falcon Private Bank—that one of the passengers uses for his software business. Matthias Houndsworth.”
“Could be a coincidence but definitely worth checking out. Great job. And the second?” she asked.
“Well, umm . . .”
“Just spit it out.” Thea wondered what was spooking Brown.
“Prospero phoned Christos’s cell yesterday. The call lasted ten minutes.”
Rif watched Thea’s mouth fall open. So much for healing.
Chapter 43
Prospero’s mind wouldn’t stop whirring. His cell phone was a beacon of annoyance on the bedside table. He’d left the ringer on in case Thea texted or called. Twenty minutes left to his deadline, yet still no word from her. She certainly had bravado.
He propped up a couple of pillows, grabbed his computer, and tuned in to the outbuilding’s live feed. It reminded him of one of those ridiculous British reality shows his wife watched. Violetta. He wondered if she missed him or if she preferred it when he was away. Twenty-three years of marriage had dampened their passion but not their love; she provided a normal life at home, where he could just be himself, a middle-aged man with a bad hip. He couldn’t imagine life without her, but he knew it couldn’t be easy, living with him.
The screen flickered on, allowing him to see what the hostages were doing. Even though it was early morning, most of the passengers gathered near the door, drinking the bottled water he’d provided. He glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes left. There were so many moving parts to this plan—should he have involved Thea? Too late for that. Anyway, Liberata was a pro. She’d call.
His gaze drifted over a group hovering close to a window, a few of them peering outside. They could look all they want, but if they tried to escape, Bassam’s men would sort them out.
Mike Dillman put a burly arm around Ayan. “Hope the floor wasn’t too hard on you, buddy.”
The young boy shrugged. “Nah, we’re used to sleeping on the ground, taking turns on night watch.”
“Looking for animals?” The Texan’s eyebrows arched.
“Enemies. Sometimes they would try to raid our camp, but then me, Jabari, or another boy on watch would go bang-bang, and they’d be dead.”
“You shot people?” Dillman’s voice deepened.
“Lots of war in Kanzi. Boko Haram killed our mom and dad, taught us to shoot, made us fighters.” Ayan yawned. “But now we’re going to our new home in London.”
“Children shouldn’t have to fight.”
Prospero agreed with him there. Only adults should wage war.
“If we get their guns,” Ayan said, motioning to the guards outside, “then we can escape.”
“Promise me you won’t try anything. For now, we wait. Remember, Thea is coming.”
Ayan smiled, his two missing front teeth making him look even younger than he was. “I love Thea.”
Dillman smiled. “She loves you too. Let’s hang tight and see what happens, okay?”
Ayan frowned. “These men are bad.”
“Yes, but right now we have to do what they say.”
Prospero wondered if the man had children, grandchildren. He and Violetta had never been blessed. Probably better that way, given his profession. Still, he wondered what he’d be like as a father. When Stefano had died, he’d felt adrift, a piece of him gone forever.
Jabari sat in a corner of the room, Ocean close beside him. They were deep in conversation, but he couldn’t make out any words because the other passengers’ voices drowned them out.
Matthias, Karlsson, and two businessmen rifled through the cupboards in the outbuilding, searching them. They’d find nothing of consequence. A few kicked at the doggy door Luciano had nailed shut. His nephew had done a thorough vetting of the shed before locking the hostages inside. They could look all they wanted. It’d give them something to do.
A ping from his cell caught his attention.
Finally.
Chapter 44
One look at the group of cars parked outside his family’s castle, and Johann wanted to slink in the back door and up to his room for a quiet evening alone. But as luck would have it, Father was in the kitchen giving Chef directions.
“You’re late. Everything okay?” A further question, unasked, lingered in his father’s eyes.
“I needed to talk to my English teacher about entering a creative writing contest.” Since when did lies roll off his tongue so easily?
“Fiction? The Dietrichs are making a concrete difference in the world, not losing ourselves in fantasy.”
They left the kitchen together, his father headed for the rear stairs. Johann could think of nothing but Omar Kaleb’s death, Uncle Karl’s murder, and the plan to eradicate people of Arab descent. If he put all that in a story, he’d be asking a lot from his readers, but these were now the facts of his life.
“Is there a Freiheitswächter meeti
ng tonight?” Johann asked, just to make conversation, and then instantly regretted it.
“A special guest is joining us from America.”
The promised land. Father wanted Johann to return home to run the family business after completing his studies. But that wasn’t Johann’s plan for himself—he wanted to work in environmental engineering, where he could use his math and computer skills to build bridges and water-treatment plants in developing countries. That’s where he could make a difference.
“Come downstairs and meet him,” Father said.
“I have too much homework.” Johann started up the stairs.
“This is more important.”
Turning around, Johann traipsed back down the steps, dropping his backpack on the hall table and following Vater to the basement. No point arguing with Father when he had that look in his eyes.
The crowd of Watchers welcomed Father with adulation. Father worked the room, scanning the crowd, his charisma drawing people to him. Johann skulked to the shadowy area at the back of the room and collapsed onto the leather couch, guilt and disgust washing over him.
The cellar used to be a comforting cave where he watched football on the big screen. He was a Red Bull Salzburg supporter, enjoying their aggressive, flashy style. He wished he could emulate their bravado, but he’d never been much good at team sports, and his build was not good for football. He was better suited to skiing and other solo athletic activities.
Johann wanted to disappear as the group grew, crowding into the antique-filled basement. Old World Austria meets New World Order. Clusters of Freiheitswächter gathered around the fireplace. Whispers of a three-letter US-based organization peppered the air. Former or current, he didn’t know, but Father’s guest had to be a spy. And, given the secretive nature of the work, he figured he’d never know for sure. What did it matter, really? The bottom line was that someone with connections to the CIA was helping with the plan. Had the whole world gone insane?