And Wyatt could see it, see what was coming. He could not believe it, it couldn't be about to happen. It couldn't.
"I saw your wife, Wyatt, at the Club Friday night. She is very beautiful and very talented. I value those attributes greatly. I would treat her as a queen, she would--"
"Get out."
"Please just consider what I am offering, what you --and she-- would gain if you merely--"
"I'll kill you. You touch her, I'll kill you. Not a threat, Rashid, a promise. This meeting is OVER." Wyatt's voice was low and violent, sulpherous, his expression one of explosive fury. He charged to his office door white with rage flinging it open to thunderstruck secretaries. Rashid rose and walked cautiously toward the doorway.
"I am sorry, my friend, very sorry, " he said without putting any real effort into it.
In a small way he supposed he genuinely was sorry for Wyatt but then again he actually would give him his new port. And as for her, he'd return her.
Eventually.
Probably.
Well, possibly.
Or maybe it was just a suitable thing to believe.
Chapter Seven
"I'm going to figure this out if it's the last thing I do," Wyatt said loudly to George an hour later over the din of the whirling helicopter blades. George flew the helicopter starboard, away from the brilliant sunshine and shot downward a hundred feet.
"This port hasn't changed in years, bro, you're not going to spot anything up here you don't already know. If Rashid is going with the Chinese just look for someone else."
"I have heard there may be a problem with the Chinese," Johnson barked from behind George and Wyatt who were seated in the front of the chopper, "Rashid isn't taking their phone calls."
"He doesn't want their deal anymore," Wyatt reviled, an odd ugly malevolence to his voice, "he wants something else."
"What?" both George and Johnson asked together.
Wyatt hesitated. But then he said it.
"Angelique."
"Are you kidding me?" George yelped diving into his pocket to retrieve his vibrating cell phone.
"You didn't tell me about this sir," Johnson said deliberately, his face a sudden pallor. George hovered the helicopter while he read his text message, listening to Wyatt explain all about Rashid's visit and very much regretting his decision. But when Wyatt finished it was Johnson who spoke first. "She'll need security."
"Yes," Wyatt agreed. "That's why I'm almost glad I let her have the GT9 this morning, it'll be a last fling for her. She's going into lockdown as soon as she's back."
"That maybe might not have been a good idea, bro," George said, unsuccessfully hiding his trepidation. "She called me just before we took off, said she and Tinka were at a restaurant out on the interstate and there was a 'creepy' man there. She took his picture, asked if I could identify him. I should have told you but I figured she was just overreacting to some dude gaga over the GT9 and you already seemed pretty uptight. But I did have the boys do a face recognition on it, they just texted me the results, I'm forwarding it to both of you. It's bad, Wyatt, really bad. Internationally-wanted bad."
Wyatt and Johnson were already reaching for their phones.
"Angelique! Listen to me," Wyatt bellowed into his phone, "where are you? Good. That man, the picture you sent George, that guy is dangerous. I want you to stay there, stay in the restaurant, we're in a helicopter not far from you, we're coming. You understand? Just stay there. And stay on the phone, I have to put you on hold for a moment to get something. Don't hang up."
George banked the helicopter roughly and opened up full throttle.
"I know that place, Wy, but it's going to take almost ten minutes to get there and I don't know if there's a place to land," he raved in raw frustration.
"God curse him!" Wyatt exploded, his face contorted in rage as he read the text. "This guy is--"
"Exactly the kind of man Rashid would hire to orchestrate the kidnap of your wife," Johnson said, fury slashing through his voice, his face hardening, aging, as he too read the text.
"But it was just an hour ago! He hasn't had time, it must be surveillance,--"
"I wouldn't count on that. You said he saw her perform Friday night? He's had all weekend to assemble his team, put a plan together, take her before you have a chance to put your security in place. This will be his move. When that picture was sent in, was it encrypted?"
"Oh my God no. I didn't think it would be important," George spat in a muted growl.
"Then you can bet Interpol, the NSA, half the intelligence organizations in the world are going hyper right now. They'll be coming for you and in less than thirty minutes they'll have identified that picture as coming from Mrs. Cochran's phone and they'll be coming for her too. Dammit. I've got the GT9 on my app. It's moving."
"ANGELIQUE! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? I TOLD YOU TO STAY THERE!"
"That guy was creepy," Angelique said disgustedly to Wyatt over his phone. "I needed to get away from him. Besides, how's he going to catch me in a car that goes two hundred fifty miles per hour?"
"That black SUV is following us!" Wyatt heard Tinka's voice say.
"George," Wyatt breathed in pure desperation, "you gotta get us there--"
"I need your phone sir. Please." In blinding temper at her for having left the restaurant, Wyatt thrust his phone to Johnson who put it on the loudest speaker setting.
"Ma'am?" Johnson said in the controlled voice of an uber professional, "are you transferred over onto the car phone? Good. Both hands on the wheel please. You're on the interstate, right? Okay, here's what I want you to do. Stay in the right hand lane, not the left. If you have to go off, I want it to be the shoulder, not the median into oncoming traffic. Now you know what to do. What's the first thing?"
"Don't panic," Angelique answered him.
"That's right."
"I... I think there's another one of them."
"There's three of them!" they heard Tinka cry feverishly.
The final color drained from Johnson's face as molten tension surrounded them all.
"Mrs. Cochran, I don't want you to try and outrun them. In fact I want you to slow down, no more than eighty miles per hour. They are going to box you in. You know that maneuver. They don't know you know what to do about it. You need to stay focused. Follow your training. You can do it. We're over the interstate, you're not far from us."
"Okay," she reacted, "I'm slowing down. Oh God. Here they come. There are three of them, all black SUV's."
"There!" George shouted.
George, Johnson and Wyatt all looked into the distance, at the ribbon of interstate stretching below them. It was hard to spot but they could see it. Three black cars speeding behind one bright red one.
"Mrs. Cochran, they're positioning. Okay, I see the lead car is making its move. It'll be coming up on your left. Let it. It's going to swerve in front of you. Keep yours straight. Just like in practice. Wait."
Two of the black SUVs behind her had pulled out onto the left lane, one speeding ahead of Angelique, the other remaining at her side while the third stayed behind her. And then the lead car swung sharply in front of her.
"Wait... wait..." Johnson said. "Okay... now!"
Bam!
Angelique hit the accelerator at the same time she steered the GT9 to the right, ramming the SUV in front of her on its right bumper. The SUV fishtailed, the driver overcorrected, it veered off onto the shoulder and Angelique saw it in the rearview mirror flipping onto its side shooting along the grass.
"DID YOU SEE THAT?" she yelled. "I DID IT!"
"Concentrate, Mrs. Cochran," Johnson enjoined her. "Now I want you to--"
"Wyatt! It's that foreign guy from the Club! He's in the car on my side, he just rolled down his window, he's signaling me to pull over. The one who wanted the meeting with you, why would he--"
"I know, Angelique," Wyatt yelled, twisting in his seat to his phone in Johnson's hand, "there's an exit up ahead, I want you to--"
"Mrs. Cochran, h
e's pulling in front of you," Johnson interrupted, ignoring Wyatt. "Slow down. He's going to flash his brake lights at you, frighten you. You know what to do when he does. C'mon..."
"He's going for it," George hissed as they watched the black SUV pull in front of Angelique.
"His left bumper, Ma'am, as soon as you see those brake lights but a lot harder this time, really shove him off," Johnson said, his voice still immaculately calm, like he was just giving her directions to a McDonald's but his white knuckles around the cell phone belaying his emotions --he was terrified for her.
They watched from above as the GT9 smashed into the black SUV in front of it, both cars swerving wildly, out of control as they hurtled down the highway, now passing almost underneath the helicopter that George turned hard, chasing and dropping down after them. But it was the GT9 that recovered and Rashid's SUV that careened off into the median. George dove the helicopter directly after the remaining SUV on Angelique's tail almost like he was going to punch the thing right through the vehicle's back windshield.
"The exit, Angelique, the exit!" Wyatt screamed, his voice laced with threat. "Get off at that exit!"
"Wow!" she yelled and he was flabbergasted to hear both Tinka and Angelique excitedly laughing. "Did you see that, Wyatt? Did you see--"
"STOP CONGRATULATING YOURSELF AND--"
"Sir," Johnson cut in knowing Wyatt was not used to being challenged, "it's the adrenaline. Don't. Mrs. Cochran? Slow down now please. Take that exit up ahead at a reasonable speed."
"What about the guy behind me? I can--"
"No, Mrs. Cochran! Don't do anything more. We're right on him. He's not going to continue, not with his boss back on the median and a helicopter on him. Let him go. Just slow down now and take that exit. Carefully."
"I really think I could--"
"ANGELIQUE I am friggin' warning you if you don't take that exit--"
"Okay, Wyatt, okay, keep your shirt on." In a lower voice Wyatt heard her say to Tinka "but I think we could'a taken him too."
I'm gonna kill her he thought. (Again.)
"Very good, Mrs. Cochran. Up on your right just a little way down there's a field we can land in. Go there. Go there now. The other car stayed on the interstate. You're fine. Just go to that field and we'll meet you."
George had broken off tailing the remaining SUV and was headed to a small field near the exit. Jeez, in all his flight hours he'd sure never flown the chopper like this. Life with Wyatt was cool. He set the helicopter down just as the GT9 pulled into the field and it's doors burst open. Wyatt bounded out of the helicopter in a flash rushing to Angelique who was sprinting toward him flapping her arms wildly. She was shouting, almost dancing, but he couldn't hear her over the din of the helicopter and he wasn't listening anyway. Behind him George ran to Tinka who had emerged looking a bit dazed like she didn't know exactly what she should be doing. Johnson didn't run for either of them but for the car which he leapt into and peeled out of from the field, mud flying. He did an impossible one-eighty turn in the middle of the road and disappeared heading back to the interstate.
Wyatt reached Angelique who was still flailing her arms rowdily, gesticulating her victory and shouting. Without any pause Wyatt shoved himself directly into her midsection hurling her up onto his shoulder, turning and running back to the helicopter into which he pitched her none too ceremoniously.
I am so gonna kill her, he fumed in utter wrath.
*****
"It's done," Johnson said to Wyatt later that night in Wyatt's house, in his study.
"You want a drink?" Wyatt asked him.
Normally Johnson would have said no, not a good idea to drink with the boss, but this... "Okay," he said.
"How did it go down?" Wyatt asked handing him a pretty stiff one, Wyatt figured Johnson could use it. The whole thing had probably brought back some pretty bad memories for Johnson, reasons why he'd left the CIA in the first place.
"I met them in the hanger, made the transfer there. They're sure it's him."
"I imagine they were fairly delighted."
"As delighted as I'm sure our own people are pissed. You must have had your hands full keeping them occupied."
"It was worth it. The Saudis will be doing a far better job of administering justice than our people could. Ours might have even traded him for something, some information he'll offer them. I wouldn't like that."
"Well the Saudis definitely won't. Blow up one of their princes, his wife and three kids, no, there will be no bartering. His punishment... will be severe."
"Pity he was the only one you got out of that car. I'm not criticizing, just... I would have liked to have gotten all of them."
"Alone I could only handle one and I took the most important one," Johnson said sitting down on Wyatt's couch.
"What will happen to the other two?"
"When they're released from the hospital they'll be sent home. They'll have diplomatic immunity. Their government, however, is quite displeased with them. Which brings me to Rashid."
"He's probably on a plane home by now. That bastard didn't even stop to pick up his own men. I will deal with him."
"I would like to talk to you about that." Johnson could see it in Wyatt's face, clear as day, and it shook his soul.
"He tried to take my wife, Johnson. You know there can be only one punishment for that."
"Please... Wyatt." Johnson had never called him that before. "Hear me out. What I know you are going to do, it changes a man. I know that. You have a beautiful wife. You must stay a beautiful man, for her. Do what you're planning to do to Rashid and you won't be, not for a long time, maybe never again. You know I speak from personal experience."
"You expect me to just let it go?" Wyatt asked, sitting in a leather chair near his picture window, his own drink in hand (actually his second).
"No, no. I have spoken to my contact in Rashid's government. They are not happy with any of this, not at all. They are particularly peeved that Rashid was going to saddle them with that Chinese port just to line his own pockets. They have asked for some time before you carry out your... retribution. They want to look into this, verify things. Once they do they would like to handle this internally. With your agreement. And by the way if you do agree, they will give you the port deal just as starters. They are asking for a week."
"A week? Rashid hired the world's premiere kidnapper assassin to abduct my wife, risked my sister's life, and they want a week to sort it out? Shit no."
"Two days. Give them two days then. Sir, I guarantee their punishment of Rashid will be appropriate. They very much do not like this kind of embarrassing behavior committed by their members in the West. And his money will actually work against him, they will now have grounds to appropriate it. Please."
Wyatt was burning. He wanted to pick up the phone and call in the favor he'd thought he'd never use, but Rashid had tried to kidnap Angelique and what he would have done to her... Wyatt couldn't stand it. But Wyatt knew that Johnson was asking. In all the time Johnson had worked for Wyatt, Johnson had never asked for anything yet now he was. And the thing that Johnson was asking for was that Wyatt not become a killer. Like Johnson had once been. He paused and there was silence in the room for several minutes. Finally Wyatt spoke.
"Two days," he brooded. "And it better be fitting. For all of them."
"Thank you, sir," Johnson said, his insides mercifully unclenching. "I will keep you informed. Now I must go deal with State. They are nuclear we handed that filth over to the Saudis instead of to them. And you..." he didn't know how to say it, he didn't have the words and worried this might be the very wrong moment, "will... speak... with Mrs. Cochran tonight? She meant no harm, sir. This situation was completely new to her."
"Mrs. Cochran," Wyatt said putting his drink down, his eyes suddenly hard, "I will be dealing with."
Johnson nodded. There was nothing more he could do for her. It just wasn't going to be Angelique's night.
*****
Angelique lay o
n the bed near paralyzed. He'd actually done it. When he'd finished, she'd fled into the bathroom staring at her cherry red bottom in the mirror. She couldn't believe it.
I said I will take you over my knee right now. I wasn't kidding. You ever again do anything I think puts yourself at serious risk --like that poker game of yours-- I'll do it. Maybe worse. I don't know. You choose to be my wife, you accept that right now. No crying about it later.
He'd told her to stay at the restaurant. She hadn't. And that had earned her... she just couldn't believe it. And the ferocity of it!
And you can bet if there's ever a next time it won't just be my hand, Angelique.
Come to think about it, how could he do that to her without his hand being just as sore as her... And strangely, in all of it, he hadn't even mentioned his car, his try-not-to-scratch-it eight hundred thousand dollar car she'd nearly destroyed.
Who cares, how could he have done that to her! Where does a man learn that sort of... she gasped.
But I have to admit, he did teach me some stuff.
Malcolm.
That stinking godrotting uncle of his, that's who she had to thank for Wyatt hauling her across his lap, yanking her pants down (oh Gawd she groaned inwardly) and walloping her backside again and again and...
Malcolm.
"I know you're awake," Wyatt said in the dark beside her, his voice strained, feeling like he was in the eye of a storm but nonetheless craving her. "If you want to cry, go ahead, but if you're going to pout for heaven's sake go put some more clothes on."
She wouldn't look at him and for a moment she almost wasn't going to answer him, just continue the silent treatment. But the sulking wasn't doing it for her so she went back to making him feel badly. Before leaving the bathroom she'd stared at herself in the mirror hard, thinking wounded fawn. That had gotten him but good when she'd emerged, he'd looked positively stricken. Served him right.
"It hurts," she whimpered a bit theatrically.
"It's supposed to."
She'd been right. He was a shit.
"I can put some cream on it if you want."
Okay now that made no sense. One minute he was smacking the hell out of her rear end, the next he was offering to rub cream on it?
Angelique Rising Page 11