by Mia Caldwell
Amara shook her head softly. “No, I don’t think he was. I mean, I didn’t understand them, but I didn’t hear his voice.”
“The way it seems to me … and, this is on instinct alone, but it seems like the third option is the most likely. I’m inclined to trust my gut on this — it’s gotten me far. He’ll want to know more about the opportunity I dangled out there. He can’t know our connection, so he’ll be in touch. I’m sure of it.”
“I hope your instincts are right,” she said.
“We’ll still follow up with some of the lesser-connected family members. I have information on the Orlandos who are still connected with the family but live down in the city, as well as a few disaffected or cast-out relatives who didn’t fit into the family for one reason or another. There are plenty of leads to track down, and it’s still early in the day.”
His dark hair glistened in a stray sunbeam that streamed through the window. “Don’t worry, Amara. One of these people is going to roll and give him up, I’m sure of it. Time is about to run out on Frederik Orlando.”
AMARA LEANED OVER THE RAILING of the balcony, slowly sloshing a small, mostly drained glass of ice and rum, scanning the spectacular view of the city.
Nearly at the top of Palacio Salvo, she could see most of Montevideo, from the docks to many of the buildings they’d visited over the course of the day.
Everyone they talked to had told them the same story Gabriela spun: not only had they not heard from Frederik, but they basically didn’t know him because he’d been gone so long. Some cared enough to ask questions about how he was doing, but most seemed disinterested.
As the sun began to set, Quint decided that the only people who would know anything about Frederik and his whereabouts were back on Cerro de Montevideo at the Orlando villa, tucked away behind the ancient, creaking door.
Having exhausted their initial batch of leads, they decided to head back to the condo Quint’s people had arranged for them. Palacio Salvo was built to be a hotel, but the plans never came to fruition, and it mostly housed condominiums on the higher floors and some offices on the lower floors.
The condo in which Quint and Amara were staying was already sumptuously furnished and lived-in, the actual owner likely out of town on some business, leasing his place for side income.
Touches of America were present everywhere, from the movies to the books that lined the large shelves in the spacious living room, and the aura of home made Amara feel more at ease at the end of an extremely discouraging first day in a foreign land.
The only progress they’d made was that the city was more familiar to them. They’d scoped out the different barrios and gotten a feel for each of them, and while Quint seemed pleased about it, Amara wasn’t sure it was going to be of any use.
Quint stood just inside, talking to his local contacts, getting updates from everyone he could reach, leaving Amara alone with her thoughts on the hotel balcony for an hour or so while he cooked and gathered intel.
Watching him work and trying to piece together leads and bits of info with him had been a strange sort of bonding experience, and she felt closer to him than she ever had in the course of her pregnancy. At first she chalked it up to actually being physically around him rather than getting calls and e-mails, but it soon became clear that Quint wanted to be around her and wanted to be a part of her life.
Quint called out softly from behind her. “Amara? Everything’s ready, if you are.”
Amara was pulled from her haze of recollection. “If … ah, if you wanted to eat out here, I think that’d be nice. There’s a little table and chairs, and this view is fantastic.”
He looked past her, his brow hiking up. “You’re right. That’s wonderful. I’ll bring the plates and the bottle. A proper dinner and drinks. I feel like the last one didn’t go so well, so … let’s make up for it, hmm? There’s nothing more we can do today, so let’s try to enjoy the night.”
She smiled and nodded, moving immediately to take her seat at the table, her gaze cast back out over the city the moment she sat down. Quint returned not long after with the food and then went back to grab the bottle of local rum and his own glass.
When Quint didn’t move to start a conversation, Amara shrugged it off and stared out over the city. Was Hampton out there somewhere? What was he doing? Was he eating enough? Was he warm? Was he —
She had to break the silence or she’d lose it. “You know, it’s been a really hard day, but this meal is wonderful. Dinner is incredible. I had no idea you could cook.” It truly was delicious, a pan-seared steak with a fresh herb and butter sauce, and a selection of grilled local vegetables.
“Thank you. I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”
Silence again.
And again, Amara broke it. “Part of me can’t help but feel guilty. That bastard is out there somewhere with my son. Our son. We’re probably looking at the building he’s holed up in right now, and we have no idea.”
Chapter Twenty Six
AMARA SIGHED HEAVILY AS SHE moved to refill her glass. “Maybe you could tell me what happened on that flight. You never said what caused the crash. If it’s not too painful to talk about, I mean. You’ve seemed fine since you got back, but I’m sure it couldn’t have been easy on you. I’ve been wondering, but we haven’t had a chance to talk through it. If you want to I mean.” Amara cleared her throat and shifted in her seat.
He nodded as he leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “It’s been easier to put it out of my head, honestly. I don’t remember a lot of what came after the crash, and what I do remember is pretty vague up to a certain point. But if you want to talk about it, we can absolutely do that. I told you some of it after dinner at the Forsythia, but that wasn’t the whole story.”
Amara stared down at her glass for a long moment before speaking. “Do you know what actually happened? I mean, you’ve been so … I don’t know, intrepid, detective-like since we’ve gotten here. Is that something you’ve always had? Did it give you any ideas about why the plane went down?”
“There was no need for any detective work. We lost both engines. We sucked up some kind of debris — birds, probably. We were flying in low visibility as it was, so there was no way to avoid it. We were preparing to climb to reach a safe altitude over the mountains when it happened, and the plane pretty much stalled out. I’d never wish that feeling on anyone. Anyone. The feeling of … of the nose of the plane suddenly dropping down. How fast it picked up speed, and hearing the captain over the speakers, trying to stay calm, but being unable to miss the unmistakable resignation in his voice. He was struggling so hard to level the plane out enough to bring it down somewhere relatively safe. But there was nowhere safe. He never had a chance.” Quint drank deeply.
“I’m so sorry, Quint. I can’t imagine what that was like.”
He shook his head slowly as he set the glass down. “I don’t think anyone who hasn’t experienced it can. He was a damn fine pilot, and I trusted him with my life. He did everything he could have done, and he gave us the best chance at surviving the landing. I was staring out through one of the windows, trying to get the lay of the land before we went down, so I’d know which way to start walking if we had to hike our way out. It was mostly just the mountain range, but I saw a few things that pointed me in the direction of the city. I knew we were headed for it. The ah …” a heavy sigh as he wiped his brow, “… the crew pretty much grabbed me and moved me to the back of the plane. I had a small section installed as a backup security measure, in the event of a crash. Water, food and most importantly, insulation and impact dampening.”
“Is that why you’re the only one who made it out?”
“Yeah. The jet was supposed to be pretty safe, but it wasn’t equipped for a landing on terrain that uneven. It was all so procedural. I’d practiced it a few times when I had the compartment installed, but it felt like second nature to get the bag of supplies, strap it to my back and hold onto the bracing rails. In my haste t
o get the bag, I neglected to sit in the seat and strap in. I didn’t have much time, so I tried to hold on. The impact wasn’t too bad inside the safety compartment, but it was enough to shake me off the rails and slam me up against the top of the space. It messed my shoulder up, and I’m pretty sure I had a concussion, or worse. I’d find out later that I had a minor spinal injury and more than a few fractures in my upper body — not that I could tell that at the time. Maybe I was disoriented from the whole ordeal and couldn’t feel much. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Regardless, when we came to a stop … I guess, one way or another, the fuel was ignited. I got out of the compartment the second I felt the plane settle, but the front section was already burning. They’d sealed the bulwark, and when the accelerometer detected what’d happened, it blew the side panel out of my section. The fire was roaring outside of course, but I was spared it while inside. My crew … the pilot, co-pilot, the others … they … weren’t so fortunate.”
Amara sat forward and placed a hand on his, stroking the top softly, feeling the slightly irregular surface. “And that’s where the burns came from.”
A nod.
“I’m so sorry, Quint.”
An uncharacteristically bitter smile crossed his lips, and he scoffed. “Yeah, I know. Only I can’t understand how the universe can heap all that on me. I dream about Marduk and his donkey cart, though I have few memories of it.”
He seemed in another place as he continued. “The memory of the smells is so strong. The wood, or … paint, maybe. The donkey itself. It’s overwhelming in my dreams. I vaguely remember Marduk hauling me onto the cart, how much my shoulder hurt when he pulled me up. I guess I passed out then, because my next memory comes weeks later. I was apparently conscious often enough, but I had severe amnesia. Retrograde and anterograde apparently. I couldn’t form any new memories, and wasn’t too clear on the ones going back in time either.”
“It’s a miracle you ever remembered who you were,” Amara said.
“I only have the foggiest recollection of the hospital itself before the day I managed to tell that nurse my name. She spoke enough English and consumed enough Western media to recognize me once I told her who I was. I was in pretty rough shape when I came in, and I was almost unrecognizable with all the swelling from my injuries. And after so many weeks of languishing, it’s no big surprise she didn’t recognize me. Poor girl, Lia, had only been working there for a week when I came to myself. Imagine dealing with that in your first week at a new job.”
“I’m so glad you made it out alive, Quint. Are there any lingering effects from all of that? You seem almost as strong as ever.”
He shook his head quickly, eager to dispel the notion. “No, nothing. No seizures, no fogginess, no memory loss aside from what I already mentioned. I still have some pain, but that’s to be expected. They had to do something with my shoulder. I honestly have no idea how much work they did on me in the field hospital. I’ve got scars, some little, some decidedly less so, but I don’t know which are from the crash and trek and which are from procedures. They were all closed up the same way. It seems impossible that a tiny hospital in such a remote area could do what was done for me, but I’m not going to question it. They gave me the chance to come home, to see you again. To see my son.”
“That’s right.”
“I’ll be damned if some opportunistic vulture is going to take that away from me,” Quint said, his voice gaining force. “We’re going to find him, and he’s going to pay for what he’s put us through. He’s going to pay for ripping an innocent child from his mother’s arms. I’m not a violent man, Amara, but justice must be done. When we do find him, we have to be sure he’s extradited to the United States. Once we locate him, I’ll get the embassy involved.”
Amara nodded firmly. “Right. Trust me, I’m with you. That bastard has to pay, and pay dearly. I can’t believe he’s managed to stay hidden, but when you have all the money you could ever need, it’s probably nothing to disappear in a city this large.” She downed the rest of her drink. “Mmm. That’s enough for me, I think.”
“You have to admit, though … you can’t beat this view,” he said.
It was obvious that he was eager to move away from the pain of his crash memories and from the frustration of the day, and Amara was more than happy to help. “Nothing like back home. I mean, we have a nice skyline and everything, but these buildings, the docks and the colorful lights downtown.” A warm smile crossed her lips. “Under different circumstances, this could be romantic, you know.”
He simply smiled back before turning his gaze down to the city, watching the sun sink below the horizon. Once the pink had shifted to a strikingly gorgeous red-orange and the sun was out of sight entirely, Quint stood and gathered up the plates, giving a quick jerk of his head toward the condo. “Come on in. It’s still pretty early, and I saw some decent movies in there. Your pick.”
Amara nodded and grabbed the bottle and glasses, giving a sigh so content it surprised even her. She swayed slightly and realized the rum had gone to her head. That was okay. She could use a moment of lightness.
Once Quint placed the dishes in the sink, he emptied his pockets on the marble-top island between the kitchen and the entertainment area and sauntered off to the master bedroom where he’d put his clothes. He called out to her playfully from inside. “Just undressing! There goes the shirt! And the pants!”
Amara giggled, realizing Quint had drunk a glass of rum too many himself. She leaned against the island and waited for him.
She was already comfortable enough, and called back. “Shame! I thought we were watching a movie, and I’m out here missing the real show!”
He laughed heartily, more earnest and genuine than she’d heard since he got back. His phone chimed on the island next to Amara, and he called out. “Grab that for me! Who’s it from?”
When she didn’t respond, he dashed back to the kitchen, half-dressed. He found her with a hand clasped over her mouth, staring down at the phone in horror.
On the lock screen, a single short text was shown from an unknown number:
What’s a billionaire’s baby worth?
Put a dollar value on it
and make me an offer.
I might return your brat
if it’s good enough.
Chapter Twenty Seven
AMARA SLOWLY LOWERED HER HAND. “It’s Frederik.”
Quint motioned for the phone, and she handed it to him with a shaking hand. He re-read the text. “So, he knows I’m Hampton’s father.” His eyes lifted up to Amara. “How could he possibly know that? And how would he have gotten my private number? There’s —”
He stopped mid-sentence and placed the phone on the counter. “Gabriela, perhaps? She has my card.”
“True. But it still leaves the question of how he knows Hampton is yours. This doesn’t make any sense. There’s no way he could know.”
Quint waved a hand, shaking his head slowly. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care how Frederik knows. If I have to hand over every red cent I own, we’ll have our son back as soon as the funds can be transferred. Frederik’s from a wealthy family, so I can’t low-ball him to begin with, but ten million should do.”
“What do you mean? Ten million dollars?” Amara’s eyes were wide, her hand tightening on the edge of the counter-top. “You’re going to give him all that just … just like that?”
Quint turned to her, confusion all over his features. “Of course I am. That’s nothing to me, but from what I know of his personal wealth, it’s enough to at least entice him. If he pushes for more, my coffers are deep. We’re leaving Montevideo with Hampton, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.”
He hurriedly typed a message and sent it without another word, leaving the phone face up and unlocked for Amara to see the response as he left the room and paced back and forth in front of the TV.
Ten million USD in untraceable bills.
We can all come out of this ahead.
; THE LAST TWO DAYS HAD BEEN more hell than purgatory, but they were both lingering helplessly, waiting for a response from Frederik. He hadn’t contacted them after the initial message, and the single follow-up message Quint sent got no response.
Amara had hardly been able to eat, despite chiding herself internally. Though she knew Hampton was safe, the confirmation that Frederik was holding him like a bargaining chip had sent her into a deep, angry despair that she’d been unable to shake.
A silence fell between her and Quint, though it wasn’t for a lack of trying on his part. Every attempt to cheer her up or reassure her seemed to fail, and his feelings of helplessness were starting to show through.
Despite the strained communication between her and Quint, he’d been completely assured of the outcome from the moment they received the message. He had confidently reassured Amara that success was only a matter of time. Still, the waiting game was almost more emotionally draining than not knowing anything.
Amara’s eyes were fixed on Plaza Independencia below, watching the people and vehicles come and go. The longer the wait, the more bitter and angry she became. As much as she tried to keep it bottled up, she lashed out in hopeless frustration a few times, and only felt worse for having subjected Quint to her outbursts.
He did his best to keep her calm, but she knew that there was no way he could understand the pain of being a mother separated from her child, especially in such a traumatic and heartless way.