Skyjack: A Kidnap-And-Ransom Thriller

by K. J. Howe

  A homeless man, a couple of teenage punk rockers, and a few broken-down drunks loitered around the station. Johann avoided them all and headed inside to the ticket office. His baseball cap was pulled low over his eyes and his sweatshirt hood over that; he hoped not to be recognizable on any CCTV footage. He purchased tickets for Berlin, Budapest, and Rome.

  In Budapest, he would buy the ticket for Istanbul. Maybe he was being overly cautious, but he didn’t think so; Vater was very resourceful and obsessed with his plan of extermination, so he’d stop at nothing to find the canisters once he realized they were missing.

  Johann scanned the station, looking for Fatima. No sign of her. Could she have changed her mind? He wouldn’t blame her, but disappointment stole into his heart. Maybe she hadn’t been able to sneak out of her house. She had three sisters and shared a room with one, so that could make it complicated for her. Or maybe Vater’s man was still watching her?

  He walked to the escalators and headed to the tracks upstairs, still searching, hopeful. The large board listing departures and arrivals showed only fifteen minutes before their train left.

  A familiar figure walking toward him in the distance sent him into a cold sweat. Falco, who’d been inside the chamber when Omar Kaleb died. Could he know that I’m here?

  Johann averted his gaze and walked steadily until he reached a nearby pillar, slipping behind it. Becoming invisible was his specialty, a skill he’d honed at school. After a few seconds, he chanced a look around the pillar. Falco was walking down the platform, far away now, obviously headed for another train. Johann let out a deep breath. Close call.

  A light in the distance jangled his nerves. Their train. If Fatima didn’t arrive in the next few minutes, he’d be making this cross-country journey alone. The train’s headlight grew larger and more blinding until the front of the train passed. The red-and-white cars zoomed into the station, the screech of the brakes the loudest sound he had ever heard. The doors opened with a hydraulic hiss.

  A small figure dressed in all black, including a head scarf, emerged from the shadows at the other end of the platform and scurried onto the train. He immediately recognized Fatima. She came.

  He stepped on board, hopeful for the first time. Maybe they would stop this horrifying disaster after all. Fatima’s cousin Marush sounded like someone who’d know how to dispose of the bioweapon. Or maybe Thea Paris could help. He had been too afraid to call Quantum back from inside his house. Just knowing his father was nearby made everything seem more real. He’d try Thea again from the train.

  Johann adjusted the backpacks on his shoulder and found a seat. The whistle blew, and the train pulled away from the station.

  Chapter 54

  Prospero showered and shaved, preparing to face the day. After Mike Dillman’s death, he was worried about morale among the passengers. Once the first hostage died, anxiety set in: who would be next? But it certainly hadn’t robbed the two boys of any spunk. Last night, the cookie bandits had suggested a visit to the main house, but he’d declined.

  Luciano was in the kitchen, surrounded by a cloud of smoke.

  “Those cigarettes will kill you—if I don’t first.”

  “Mustache Man had it coming, m-making fun of me.” Luciano gulped his caffè.

  His nephew’s stutter had been a difficult cross for the young man to bear, but it was still no excuse for his violent outbursts.

  “Control your temper. We need those hostages alive.”

  “One won’t be missed,” Luciano said.

  Prospero leaned closer to his nephew, speaking with intensity. “Anything could have happened when that gun went off. You could have killed the boys—or our target. Don’t let it happen again.” He slipped on a down jacket and a knit cap.

  “I didn’t start the whole mess.”

  Everything is always someone else’s fault with this one. “How did it go last night?” Luciano had been assigned the overnight shift of watching the live feed.

  His nephew shrugged. “Boring. They slept.”

  “You stay here. I’ll check on them this morning.” Luciano couldn’t be allowed near the boys without supervision.

  More snow had fallen overnight, and the wind had picked up, creating swirling white drifts around the property. The cold prickled his skin. Bassam nodded a good morning.

  “Little chillier here than in Libya,” Prospero said, smiling.

  “The conditions don’t bother me.” Bassam had a camouflage scarf wrapped around his face.

  He should think not, considering the massive sum he’d given him and his men for this operation. Bassam directed the guard posted at the outbuilding to open the door. Prospero entered the building, finding the passengers gathered near the space heater. The sound of the shower running this early surprised him. It was a little chilly to get wet, especially since the water probably wasn’t even hot yet.

  Laverdeen strode over to him. “We’re freezing our asses off in here. Can we get another heater?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” He couldn’t blame them for complaining. After the snow, it was damn cold. Prospero scanned the shed for Ayan and Jabari. Must be in the shower.

  “Can I talk to my kids?” Rivers asked.

  “Maybe later,” he said, distracted.

  Matthias was leading what looked to be a yoga class, most of the participants in a lunging pose, arms pointed into the air. Smart: it was easier to stay warm if you kept moving. Unlike Karlsson, shivering in a corner, looking completely detached.

  Wait a minute. He couldn’t spot Ocean either. Could she be helping the boys? He strode to the bathroom door and pushed it open. Only the sound of water splashing greeted him. No sign of anyone. He yanked the shower curtain aside. The stall was empty, the water running with no one inside.

  Che diavolo?

  He hurried into the small rear storage room. A few area rugs littered the floor. A broken lamp rested on a wooden table. When they’d first arrived, Luciano had nailed down Aslan’s doggy door, closing it off. But now it was hanging by its hinges, having been ripped back open.

  He lifted the flap and studied the hole. Maybe large enough for the boys and Ocean, given her slender frame. None of the other adults would be able to squeeze through the small opening.

  Returning to the main area, he pulled his Glock from its resting place at the back of his pants. Silence filled the room. Prospero strode to Rivers, wrapped his fingers around the captain’s throat, and shoved him against the wall. With the barrel pressed against the man’s temple, Prospero leaned close. “You have ten seconds to tell me everything. If you leave out even one detail, I will have your daughters killed immediately.”

  “I had nothing to do with it! I told them not to.”

  “Just answer the question.” Prospero jammed the barrel into Rivers’s skin. “When did they leave?”

  “Hours ago, in the dark.” The captain’s eyes bulged, his breath raspy.

  “What’s the plan?”

  “Find another house, call for help.”

  “There are no homes nearby.” They’d chosen Aslan’s house for its remote location and the rugged terrain surrounding it. “Who came up with the plan?”

  “It was Ocean’s idea.”

  I’m sure it was.

  The boys, his leverage over Thea; Ocean, his target.

  Gone.

  Chapter 55

  Anger and anxiety warred for dominance in Prospero’s mind. He forced himself to think logically. Even if Ocean and the boys had escaped six hours ago, they couldn’t have traveled very far on foot. And the challenging terrain and deep snow would slow them down. Actually, his greatest fear was not that they’d get away but that they’d freeze to death on the mountain before they could be found. The boys were his ticket to securing that truck—and Ocean must be kept from reuniting with the Freedom Guardians.

  “Anyone else have information?” He kept the barrel buried in the flesh of Rivers’s temple as he turned to face the others.

  Lave
rdeen spoke up. “After Luciano killed Dillman, they figured the same thing would happen to them.”

  “They were in no danger.”

  “How could they know that? They were probably more terrified of that psycho than of what might happen to them in the wilderness,” Laverdeen said.

  “You’d better hope they don’t die out there.” Prospero swept his gaze over them all, then turned to Bassam. “Go search for tracks.”

  As Prospero tucked the Glock back into the waistband of his pants, he thought of the food Ayan and Jabari had pilfered from the house—and how they’d asked for boots and coats. They were planning this escape from the beginning, working me the entire time. A hot flush ran through his body. He wouldn’t underestimate them again.

  “They used a metal sheet they found like a toboggan.” Matthias pointed out the window toward a pile of construction materials, obviously trying to curry favor with him by providing information on the escape.

  Gutsy. They’d make better time sliding down the mountain instead of walking, but they’d taken a hell of a risk doing it in the dark. He might find them unconscious or dead at the foot of a tree or boulder.

  He glanced at one of Bassam’s men. “No food for anyone today. Only water.”

  Unhappy faces stared back at him, but no one said a word. Maybe they’d think twice about letting anyone else leave.

  He shoved past the passengers and stormed out of the shed. A white mist blew into his face, icy blades prickling his skin. Snow still tumbled down in large fluffy flakes. His hip hurt like a son of a bitch. Damn, I hate winter.

  Bassam sprinted toward him. “The wind and fresh snow have covered their tracks. I can’t tell which way they went.”

  Prospero joined him in scouting the yard, searching for evidence of their departure, but the snow had obliterated any sign of the three escapees.

  “You ever driven a snowmobile?” Prospero asked.

  Bassam shook his head.

  “Of course not,” Prospero sighed. “It’s easy enough. Have your men secure the doggy door in the back room and tell them to do a head count every hour.” He wasn’t taking any more chances. “Back in a minute.”

  He burst through the front door and went straight to the kitchen. Luciano was busy wolfing down bacon and eggs. Prospero cuffed his head hard from behind, sending food and utensils flying across the counter.

  “Hey—”

  “Sei uno stronzo. I give you one job, you lazy fuck, and you can’t even do it.”

  His nephew oozed insolence. Prospero was tempted to beat it out of him.

  “W-w-what the hell is the matter with you?”

  “The boys and our target escaped is what’s the matter with me. And they did it while you were supposed to be monitoring the live feed.”

  “It w-was dark. I didn’t see anyone leave.”

  “Shut up. I know you weren’t watching.”

  “We’ll find them.”

  “Damn right, we will. Get your coat and boots. We’re leaving now.”

  “What’s so special about that woman anyways?”

  “Keeping her here under our guard could help prevent a nuclear holocaust. That special enough of a reason for you?”

  As he stood up, his nephew shoved a piece of toast into his mouth. “W-w-wait till we find those kids.”

  “You won’t lay one finger on the boys. Your temper is what got us into this situation.”

  “But—”

  “Not. Another. Fucking. Word.”

  Prospero hurried to his room and pulled out a scarf, down gloves, and a pair of goggles. After filling a canteen with water and grabbing a few protein bars from the kitchen on his way out, he joined Bassam near two snowmobiles. Canary yellow and white, the sleek machines both had full tanks of fuel. He fired one up, the throaty engine roaring to life.

  He pointed to the controls. “Just steer and ease the throttle with the grip to speed up or slow down, but always be ready with the brake. The mountain is steep, and these machines are fast.”

  “You want me to follow you?” Bassam asked.

  “Better to split up so we can cover more ground. Head down the west side of the mountain and look for any tracks. We’ll go down the east side. Stay in touch via satphone.”

  Bassam climbed onto the first snowmobile and eased the throttle open, making a slow circle around the outbuilding, testing out the machine. Several of the hostages had their faces pressed against the window.

  Luciano rushed outside, fastening his coat. He slipped behind his uncle on the second machine. At least that way Prospero wouldn’t have to look at the idiot.

  Bassam parked beside him, his engine running. “Okay, I have the hang of it.”

  “Head that way.” Prospero pointed westbound. “And watch the steep inclines.”

  “Got it.” Bassam goosed the engine and zoomed down the mountain.

  Prospero turned to Luciano. “Keep your eyes open for tracks.”

  With a quick nod to Bassam’s men posted outside, Prospero threaded through the alley between the villa and the outbuilding.

  As they headed down the cliffside, he scanned the cascade of white snow blanketing the area. Three jagged peaks stood together in the distance. The view would be spectacular under any other circumstances. His eyes watered even underneath the goggles. It was bitterly cold—he needed to find the escapees before they succumbed to hypothermia.

  His satphone vibrated against his chest. Maybe Bassam had found something? He pressed the brakes and parked sideways so the snowmobile wouldn’t slide down the mountain. He reached inside his jacket to grab the phone.

  He glanced at the call display.

  Not Bassam. Liberata.

  Chapter 56

  Prospero killed the engine and shoved Luciano off the back. He stomped through the drifts around the snowmobile to get away from his nephew, his mind working overtime. He took a deep breath and picked up. “You have the truck?”

  “We’re closing in on it. But I want to see the boys first.”

  “The live feed isn’t working,” Prospero said.

  Luciano wandered over to a nearby group of trees to take a piss.

  “Put them on the phone. I need to know they’re okay,” she said.

  “I’m not with them right now.”

  “Patch me through to your men. They can connect me.”

  “Have you forgotten who’s in charge? Do the job; then you get the kids back.”

  “Then let me speak to Laverdeen or Dillman.”

  The Texan wouldn’t be talking to anyone ever again. “So you can work them for information?”

  “You need to give to get.”

  “Send me proof you have located the truck, and you can speak to the boys.” He should have them back soon.

  Another call was coming in. Bassam. Maybe he’d found Ocean and the kids.

  “Ayan and Jabari matter to me—if I can’t see them or talk to them, you get nothing,” Thea said.

  “Don’t worry, they’re flying high on sugar from eating their body weight in cookies.” True enough—they’d stolen the entire plate. “Get the job done, and then we’ll talk about the exchange.” He pressed the button to end his conversation with Thea and accepted Bassam’s call. “Tell me you have them.”

  “I found fresh tracks. The GPS coordinates are coming via text. I’m following them.” The growl of Bassam’s snowmobile’s engine over the phone made it difficult to hear him.

  “We’re coming now.” Prospero glanced at the coordinates as Luciano returned to the snowmobile. “Bassam found something. Let’s go.”

  He cranked the engine to life, the throaty yowl echoing across the mountainside. As soon as he felt Luciano get on behind him, he goosed the throttle. The whole mission would fall apart if he didn’t get the three runaways back.

  Chapter 57

  The snowmobile blasted through fresh powder, spraying an icy trail in their wake. Bassam had found the runaways’ tracks, and Prospero wanted to be there when they were reca
ptured. He’d let down his guard and been hoodwinked by the kids, but they’d be under lock and key from here on in. He should have known the former child soldiers wouldn’t relinquish their freedom so easily. Still, he admired the boys for being so cunning—securing food, clothing, and a partner in crime to aid in their escape.

  Prospero crested the peak, gunning the powerful machine. A ray of bright sunshine burst through the thick cloud cover, turning a portion of the snowy slopes into a glimmering expanse. Bassam was bulleting across the mountain below them.

  Descending, Prospero focused on keeping the snowmobile upright in the fresh powder, leaning right or left as needed, Luciano following his lead. Bassam’s snowmobile disappeared into the trees for a moment, then accelerated along an open stretch of mountainside.

  His gaze scanned the ridge, but he didn’t see any sign of life other than Bassam.

  Prospero blinked, then looked again. What the hell? The Libyan was torpedoing toward a pile of branches, but the thick brush actually masked a massive drop off the side of the mountain. He slowed the snowmobile and reached for his phone. He dialed Bassam’s number. It rang and rang, but the man didn’t answer. Instead, his snowmobile jetted toward the cliff while Prospero watched, powerless to stop him.

  Seconds later, Bassam must have realized he was in trouble and slammed on the brakes. His snowmobile fishtailed left, then right, but he had too much momentum. The world slowed, the events unfolding in what felt like slow motion. The machine crashed into the fallen branches and catapulted off the mountain, flipping once and throwing the screaming passenger off before both hurtled into the snow-covered trees far below.