by K. J. Howe
The process completed, she tossed the empty cartridge and cannula into the garbage can on the far side of the room. In two hours, her sensor would be all warmed up and ready for action.
She grabbed the new satphone Hakan had sent and dialed Prospero’s number. It rang and rang. Finally, she heard a click.
“Salvatore.” He sounded slightly out of breath.
“We have the truck.”
“So I heard. I’ll send the coordinates in Turkey.”
“Not so fast. I want to speak to the boys.”
“I’m out. I’ll call you when I’m back.”
“That excuse isn’t going to fly a second time. Put them on now.”
“In two hours.” He ended the call before she could respond.
Her fingers clenched her cell. Why not put the boys on the phone? She had what he wanted, and vice versa. Something is wrong.
Chapter 69
Rif positioned a metal chair in front of the Syrian, then straddled it, staring at him. “Remember me, from the plane?” he asked in Arabic.
The man’s narrow face paled. Rif could only imagine the distress caused by having a plane buzz so close, followed by being catapulted into the Danube. The man would not forget the experience for quite some time.
“Let’s talk about the truck. Where did you get it?”
Rif sensed the man was weighing his options, realizing he had none. His partners had tried to shoot their way off the bridge and failed. He was the one person left who had knowledge about the vehicle. He had something to trade.
“I want to stay in Europe.”
“You’re in no position to negotiate. Help me, and maybe I’ll help you.”
A few seconds passed. “They told me if I went to prison, my family would be safe, rich.”
“Who asked you to bring the truck here?”
“The man spoke with a German accent.”
“Name?”
“No names, just a bank account. I did this for my family.”
“The man wired you money?”
“Not me. My colleague, Mohammed Amir. Western Union.”
Hakan might be able to trace the funds transfer. Rif texted the info to his father, asking him to investigate.
“Where were you supposed to take the truck?” He already knew the answer but wanted to see if the guy was playing it straight.
“The Parliament Building.”
“Why?”
“Lots of police.” The man shivered periodically, undoubtedly the aftereffects of his dip in the icy waters of the river.
“So you wanted to be caught?” It made no sense.
“We would go to prison, but our families would be given money. But we had to reach the Parliament Building, or the deal was off.”
Rif’s mind raced as he tried to grasp the shape of the plan. What the hell is this all about?
“Rif, you need to see this.” Thea had emerged from the office and was standing by the truck with the rest of the team, her tone clipped.
He went to the GMC. Brown and Johansson had ripped open a false panel in the back of the truck. Two metal cylinders rested inside the rear hatch. He read the letters: USAF. But it was the familiar black and yellow emblem that left his blood cold: the symbol for nuclear material.
His gaze locked with Thea’s. What had they stumbled upon?
Chapter 70
Thea dialed Gabrielle Farrah’s number. The two women had forged a friendship during Christos’s kidnapping. Formerly CIA, the Hostage Recovery Fusion Cell member was based in Washington, DC, but had connections around the world. And the Quantum team needed information and advice—fast. Nuclear material had been sent in a truck full of Syrian refugees, headed for the Hungarian Parliament. And someone else wanted it discovered. Why? To start a war? What was the Sicilian’s involvement all about?
Gabrielle picked up. “Last I heard, you’d been skyjacked. You drop the hijackers from thirty thousand feet?” Her tone was playful, but Thea sensed tension in her voice.
“Actually, I was the one jettisoned from the plane.”
“Ever think about taking a normal vacation like the rest of us?”
Thea smiled despite herself. “The skyjacker was Prospero Salvatore, a mob capo from Sicily. He wanted me to hijack a truck carrying Syrian refugees from the streets of Budapest in exchange for the return of the plane’s passengers. The rendezvous is in Turkey. We have the truck; problem is, we found two American nuclear capsules hidden inside. What are we supposed to do now?”
Silence. Thea waited.
“Give me the serial numbers. I’ll look into what those capsules are, exactly, and get back to you asap.”
“Thank you. It’s a major quandary. I can’t exactly hand over nuclear material to a mafioso, but I need to get those hostages back.”
“You never do things halfway,” Gabrielle said. “Any idea where the passengers are being held?”
“None. Quantum is still searching for the plane, which we assume never left Africa. But that might not get us closer to finding the passengers before we have to exchange the truck.”
Gabrielle let out a long sigh, as if she’d been holding her breath. “Okay, I’ll call as soon as I have something. Meanwhile, see if you can delay the hostage exchange until we know more.”
“I owe you one.” Thea ended the call.
Rif stood beside her. “You didn’t want to share your suspicions that the passengers are being held in Turkey?”
“I trust Gabrielle completely. But you never know who might be listening. For now, I’d like to keep everything on the down-low. We don’t want to spook Prospero or the other players.”
“Did you talk to Ayan and Jabari?”
“No. Prospero told me to call back in two hours.”
Rif frowned. “He knows we have the truck?”
“Absolutely.”
Her satphone rang. Hakan.
“Rif there?”
“Yes.” She put Hakan on speakerphone.
“The wire transfer to the Syrian originated in Salzburg, Austria.”
“Austria. I wonder if there’s a connection to the recent terrorist attack at Schönbrunn Palace. . . .”
“Keeping an open mind.”
“Rif told you what we found?” she asked.
“Yes,” Hakan said, searching for a silver lining. “At least it wasn’t a bomb.”
“But if there is fissile material in there that can be weaponized, all that’s missing is a facility and a qualified engineer . . .” Rif said. “Like Ocean. I wonder if Prospero is part of this plan or trying to disrupt it.”
“Whoever loaded the truck wanted the refugees caught with it. Why frame a bunch of asylum-seekers?” Thea asked, shaking her head. “We gave Gabrielle Farrah the serial numbers in the hopes she can offer more information about the canisters. Any updates on Prospero’s contacts in Turkey?” She couldn’t just hand over nuclear material, no matter how badly she wanted those passengers back.
“Nothing definitive, but we’re working on it. Prospero has forty-three connections in the country,” Hakan said. “Oh, and a very nervous young man with a German accent called, said he had information for you. We tried to get him to talk, but he refused. He said he would call again, but I haven’t heard from him. He called from a burner phone, untraceable.”
“Patch him through to my satphone when he does.” They had a couple of rental cars ready to drive to the meet in Turkey, vehicles that hadn’t been used in snatching the truck. “Can one of the local assets pick up our guest?” She glanced over at their prisoner, tied to the chair on the other side of the warehouse.
He was just a pawn in a game. Like the two smugglers. But who were the players?
Chapter 71
Following the footsteps of the three escapees, Prospero was sweating even though the snow had started to fall again. He told himself it was from the exertion of running around in the winter wonderland, but the ticking clock definitely played a part. Now that Thea had the truck, he wasn’t about
to let the escapees ruin his plans.
After retracing several false paths, he finally found their actual route. He grudgingly admired their tactics. Tracing the maze of footprints had wasted valuable time, but he now knew he’d find them.
He hurried to where Luciano waited for him, the snowmobile parked just south of the trees. His nephew paced in the snow, smoking one of his foul Turkish cigarettes.
“I checked the other side of the forest. No sign of them.” Luciano sucked in another lungful of smoke.
“I know where they’re headed. Let’s go.” He hopped onto the snowmobile and fired up the engine.
Luciano flicked the butt into the snow and jumped on behind him. Prospero zoomed down the slopes, following the partially filled tracks. A small village nestled in the nearby valley. Tea and kiwi farmers lived there, cut off from the world by the surrounding mountains. If Ocean and the boys made it that far, they might have been able to catch a ride out of the area. But the tracks on the outskirts of the village were fresh, barely snow-covered, so he doubted it.
Arriving at the village, Prospero parked the snowmobile at the side of the main road, near the only petrol station. Shutting down the engine, he nudged Luciano off the back. As much as he wanted to keep a close eye on his nephew, time was of the essence. They had to split up to cover more ground.
He slid Luciano’s SIG out of his jacket pocket and handed it to him. “Only use this to influence. No one gets shot.”
“W-what if they run away?”
“If you see them, call me. Don’t do anything stupid. I need all three hostages alive and well.”
Luciano shrugged.
Prospero grabbed him by his jacket and pulled him close. “Whatever you do to them, you’ll get the same, you hear?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
He released Luciano. “Cover the east side of town. I’ll head west.” He strode down the main artery of the village, memories flooding back of getting very drunk at the local watering hole with Aslan one lazy summer afternoon. The town looked different covered in snow, with hardly anyone on the streets, the residents huddled inside the stone buildings. Wrought-iron streetlights framed the quaint street. A butcher shop sat on one corner, a bakery on another.
The blizzard intensified, blasting particles of sleet into his face. His cheeks were numb after being exposed to the elements. Grateful for the goggles protecting his eyes, he crossed the road. He glanced down the alleys between the buildings where the escapees could be hiding—from him and from the storm.
Nothing.
He passed the local watering hole, wishing he had time for a grappa to warm his insides. He peered through the front windows: except for the bartender there was just one person, of indeterminate sex, head down on the bar. The poor weather had kept everyone at home. Prospero longed for the sunshine of Sicily.
Crossing an alley, he reached the local mosque, an enormous building with an impressive minaret. The hinges on the large steel door creaked as he entered. Inside, he brushed snow off his jacket. No sign of the imam or anyone else. He made his way to the front, scanning for movement.
Empty.
Frustrated, he left the relative protection of the mosque and tromped down the street. The soft glow of the streetlights guided him through the falling snow.
His phone buzzed. “You find them?”
“I ran into a guy plowing the streets,” Luciano said. “He saw strangers running in your direction ten minutes ago—said he couldn’t believe people were out in this weather.”
“I can’t believe we’re out in it,” Prospero said. “Get the plow driver to give you a ride, head this way, and join me. They can’t have gone far.” No cars on the streets, no pedestrians, so the chances of them hitching a ride or finding help were minimal—unless they’d stolen a vehicle.
“Where are you?” Luciano asked.
He scanned the nearby shop fronts. “Near the cheese store.”
“On my way.”
Prospero pressed the end button, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He forged ahead with renewed energy. Up ahead, movement caught his eye. He blinked, then looked again. Maybe the snow was playing tricks with the light. No, he’d definitely seen something. He quickened his pace. An old blue-and-white phone booth stood on the corner, snow building up on the weather side. Someone was inside it.
Moving slowly, Prospero kept his eyes on phone booth. Two figures, both short. A flash of red: Ayan’s jacket. Had to be the boys. He scanned the nearby area, searching for Ocean. No sign of her.
Now that he was closer, it looked as if they were on the phone.
Sprinting the final twenty feet, he ignored the pain in his hip.
Jabari was talking to someone.
Propero tore open the snow-covered door and lunged into the booth.
Chapter 72
Prospero raised his Glock, aiming it at the two shivering boys inside the phone booth. The gun wasn’t loaded—he wasn’t going to risk hurting Ayan and Jabari—but they didn’t know that. Snow covered the boys’ hair and clothes, little clumps of white on their eyelashes, their teeth chattering. He reached in with his left hand, ripped the receiver out of Jabari’s hands, and slammed it down, ending the call.
“How’s Thea?”
The look on their faces said it all. They’d spoken to the kidnap negotiator. He knew better than to ask what they’d told her. These two would just lie.
“Where’s Ocean?” he asked. She couldn’t be far.
Jabari shrugged.
“That’s not an answer.”
Trapped inside the phone booth with a gun pointed at them, the boys were still defiant. His patience was wearing thin. “I don’t want to have to use this.” He lifted the Glock in the air.
“She ditched us,” Ayan piped up, looking anything but scared.
A prickling started at the base of Prospero’s neck and crawled up his skull as realization washed over him. All this time, he’d believed he was tracking three escapees, but Ocean had been on her own, possibly for hours. His mind recoiled at the complications this might cause.
“Which way did she go?”
“It was dark. We didn’t see.” Jabari wrapped his arms around Ayan, trying to keep them both warm.
So it was not that long ago. A pickup truck with a large cab and a snowplow attached to the front lumbered down the street toward them. Luciano hopped out of the passenger side and joined them. The boys shrank back at the sight of his nephew.
Prospero turned to Luciano. “Ocean left the boys. We’ll need a search party to find her. Let’s go.”
He directed Ayan and Jabari to climb into the back seat of the truck and piled in with them, letting Luciano sit up front. He didn’t want any more trouble. The driver negotiated the twisty roads with the skill of a lifelong local, following Luciano’s directions to the villa while the boys huddled together in the warmth of the cab.
Propero called his Turkish host. “We have the kids, but Ocean escaped.”
“Any idea which direction she was headed in?” Aslan asked.
“None.”
“I’ll have a search team ready to go in fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks. We will have to leave with the passengers immediately—the boys called Liberata.” Aslan’s men would retrieve his snowmobile, handle the hunt for Ocean, and recover Bassam’s body, which was for the best, since they knew these mountains better than anyone.
“Ah, that is a pity. It’s been a pleasure having you around, my friend.”
He ended the call, irritated afresh that the boys had contacted Thea. Even if the boys couldn’t identify the town, Thea would have traced their call. They needed to relocate immediately.
Prospero had planned this operation meticulously, nailing down every detail, but things had begun to go sideways. One passenger had been killed, and he would miss Bassam, who was very capable. Co-opting Thea and her team to hijack the truck had seemed a better option than his original plan, but now it was beginning to look like a mi
stake. No matter. He still had an opportunity to get his hands on what he wanted.
His cell buzzed. Thea. He ignored the call. Let her stew a little before he gave her his new demands.
Chapter 73
Thea could barely stand the tension. The boys had escaped. But they’d hung up in mid-sentence. She recorded all her calls—it was often helpful to listen to conversations repeatedly in her job, analyzing voices, inflections, discerning ambient sounds that could help identify the location. She pressed play to listen to the conversation she’d just had.
“Thea, it’s Jabari. We got away! Ocean left too, but she went a different way.”
“Where are you now?”
“In a phone booth.”
“Look for a sign. Any names. Tell me what you see.”
“It’s snowing. Lots of mountains.”
“Okay, that’s good. Any street signs, names of businesses.”
“The letters look funny. I can’t read them.”
“What about license plates, any cars around?”
“No, it’s snowing hard. I can’t see any.”
“Is there a number written on the pay phone?”
A scuffling sound. Click.
“Jabari, are you there?”
Silence.
“Talk to me, Jabari.”
The recording ended.
What had happened to the boys? She tried phoning Prospero, but he didn’t answer. At least she now knew why he’d been putting her off, not letting her speak to them. They’d escaped. Had Prospero just caught up with Ayan and Jabari? She kept the line free in case they called back so they could trace the call from the Quantum office.
They’d narrowed the number of likely locations for Prospero’s hideout from forty-five to thirteen, focusing on the man’s known associates within Turkey. Reading the clues from the live video she’d seen and based on the fact that the kids had reported signs written in a non-Roman alphabet, she was sure they were right about Turkey. Of course, even if they did find the safe house, they’d have to proceed cautiously. Rescues were dicey propositions, with only one in five successful. And in this case there were children among the hostages.