by G. K. Parks
In the meantime, I equipped myself as best I could for the unknown. There was a possibility I’d be part of a tactical assault, or I’d be on the front lines of a hostage negotiation. Either way, it was best to be prepared for anything. Decked out to the nines in an outfit I would have worn as a federal agent, complete with nine millimeter, a back-up, handcuffs, pepper spray, a few zipties, and a Flak jacket in the trunk, I detoured to Martin Technologies to ask a few more questions before resigning myself to being Mercer’s wench.
Mark had yet to call with the information, and since I couldn’t explain the urgency for needing it, I had to wait patiently. Taking the elevator to the seventeenth floor, I knocked on Martin’s glass door, and he buzzed me in.
He frowned and pressed his lips into a hard line. “I hate that look on you.”
“Unfortunately, it’s the most practical because I don’t know what’s going on.” Taking a seat on one of the couches in his office, I sighed. He wasn’t supposed to be working, but since we were back from our trip early, he had nothing better to do. “Do you have a few minutes? I need help.” Help was something I rarely asked for. I was out of practice and out of options, and Martin was perplexed by my request. Immediately, he dropped whatever he was doing and sat next to me.
“Whatever you need. You know that, right?”
“Hypothetically, you need two million dollars in forty-eight hours. How do you get it?”
“I don’t know that I could. Does O’Connell need the money?”
“No, and he wouldn’t ask. Neither would I. Not for that much. It’s just, there are these people who have a gold mine, literally, but their liquid assets can’t possibly be two million in such a short amount of time.”
“Do they only mine the ore? Or is it stored for a duration before being melted or exported?” He was business savvy and had the habit of pointing out my flawed thought processes without realizing it.
“They wouldn’t need to liquidate funds because they have access to gold.” The realization hit hard, but two million dollars in gold ore was heavy. And it had to come all the way from Peru.
He smiled. “I’m glad my brilliance is contagious.” I barely heard him because my mind was on the storage containers at the wharf.
Maybe they originally planned to ship the gold over on a boat, but with an earlier deadline, the only other option would be a cargo plane. Could the Four Seasons have moved their base of operation to a location closer to the drop off point for the money? At both, the wharf and an airfield, escape would be easy. Make the exchange and get the hell out of Dodge. But where would that leave Catherine?
“Any clue where a cargo plane might deliver a large lump sum of gold?” He shrugged, but he had done enough. “I have to go. Things are about to get crazy, so it might be awhile before you hear from me again. Don’t jump to any morbid conclusions,” I warned, and he hugged me.
“Then make sure I have no reason to jump to those conclusions.”
* * *
Mercer wasn’t at his rented apartment, so I sat in my parked car, awaiting his return. This was a waste of valuable time, but all other avenues had been exhausted. The time crunch was fast approaching. A little before six, he pulled up. He parked and shot a cursory glance in my direction.
“Looks like the bird found her way back.”
“Any word on the exchange?” I asked, ignoring him.
“Too early. Patience.”
I followed him inside. I didn’t trust him. There was no loyalty or love between the two of us, and it made it difficult to share the information I possessed. Luckily, before I said anything, he took a seat at the computer and clicked on aerial footage of private airstrips. At least we were on the same page.
“Are they shipping the ransom over on a cargo plane?” Playing a little slow couldn’t hurt, especially since he already underestimated me.
“They must have a way to get it here.” It wasn’t an answer, but then again, that was true of most things he said. “My mates haven’t arrived.” It was the beginning of a joke, and I didn’t think the punch line would be amusing. Stopping his reconnaissance, he reached over and lifted a folder off the edge of the desk. “No military training,” he mused, “but advanced marksmanship, tactical training, preliminary hostage negotiation.” He dropped the folder. “You’ll do in a pinch.”
“How the hell did you get my file?”
He cocked his head to the side but didn’t answer. “You’re here, so make yourself useful.” Silently counting to ten, I needed to get in his good graces. This was about the safe recovery of Catherine Cale. When everything was said and done, then I could tell him exactly what I thought.
“I’d love to make myself useful.” It sounded like a snarl. “Maybe I could if you read me in on what the hell is going on.”
Glancing back, almost like a taunt, he clicked through a few more airstrip images. Settling on one in particular, he scribbled an address on a sheet of paper and handed it to me. “Go check this out. If you have anything to report,” he scrawled a phone number, “call it in.”
“What are you doing in the meantime? Enjoying some fine dining? Maybe catch a show?” Playing nice was not in my repertoire.
“Scouting other locations.” He checked the time. “If nothing surfaces, be back here at twenty-thirty.”
Nine
Sitting in my car, alongside some storage units almost a hundred yards from the edge of the fence that separated the airstrip from the rest of the area, something about the location felt right. Maybe it was the storage units lining the adjacent lot or the seclusion of the airstrip, but something made the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention as I tried to determine what was going on.
The ringing of my phone served as a distraction from staring aimlessly into the empty airfield, and I answered. “Parker,” Mark was all business, “what’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” My innocent act wasn’t convincing, at least not to him. That was the problem when dealing with the one person who taught you everything you knew.
“I don’t know who called you today. The number was an unregistered burner, but since the three other numbers dialed besides yours belonged to ex-SAS, a gold mogul, and an Interpol agent, I’m going out on a limb and assuming you aren’t working some corporate angle for Marty.”
“It doesn’t matter what I’m doing. What matters is who I’m dealing with.”
“I can’t tell. From the calls listed, it could be anyone from a spy to a black ops security specialist. Maybe someone putting a team together to orchestrate a hit or perform a recovery. So why the hell did you get a call?”
“Who knows? Damn telemarketers probably sold my name to Spies R Us.”
He wasn’t deterred. “Do you need back-up?”
“No.”
“Are you even at the beach?”
“String bikini.”
“What?” he asked, confused.
Letting out a chuckle, I replied, “Ask Martin. I have to go. Vacation time is a-wasting.” It wasn’t an answer, but it was better than an outright lie. “Do me another favor, see what you can get on private cargo planes leaving Peru and landing somewhere in the vicinity, presumably at a private airstrip.”
“Parker,” he growled, “be careful.”
“People always say that. How come no one ever says, ‘have another piece of cheesecake’ or ‘take it easy’?”
“The cheesecake, you’d eat without the insistence, and the take it easy part, you’d need a dictionary to determine the meaning.” He hung up.
Obviously, Mercer received my records from whoever he called at Interpol since the OIO and Interpol often worked joint ventures, and maybe he was on the level when he said his pals were en route. Although, it didn’t look promising that they’d arrive in time. None of it meant he could be trusted, but at least based on appearances alone, he was doing what he said. However, if push came to shove, Mercer was still a gun for hire, and I wasn’t comfortable working with him. My limited exper
ience with mercenaries involved putting a bullet in two of them and taking a third captive. The encounter left a bad taste in my mouth and nearly cost Martin his life. Mercer might not be my enemy, but he wasn’t my friend.
“You’re doing this for O’Connell.” I reminded myself. “Catherine is an innocent little girl with a long life ahead of her.” Sometimes, speaking aloud helped put things in perspective, or it simply reaffirmed that I was bat shit crazy.
Getting out of my car, the only way to ensure the Four Seasons weren’t using this airstrip, hangar bay, and self-storage unit to keep the girls captive was to physically check it out. Starting at one end of the storage units, I walked up and down the rows of the two hundred individual lots, checking for signs of surveillance, something amiss, or the sounds of girls being held captive. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
The hangar bay would be perfect. It was secluded, protected from nosy outsiders by a chain-link fence on three sides and an airstrip separating it from passersby. With no other choice, I jumped the fence and scurried to the building. Tactically, I was in the open, and if surveillance was present, I was screwed. However, no shots were fired, and no one scolded me for trespassing on a private airfield. Pressing myself against the exterior of the hangar, I circled around in search of a door or window.
On the other side were a couple of windows, too high to peer through. Continuing further, I located a door. It creaked loudly as it opened, and listening for sounds, I crept inside. The room was dim. The only light came from the two windows I passed. The rest of the area was empty, except for some office furniture, a few filing cabinets, some equipment for plane maintenance, and a parked Cessna. There was no one in sight, and I rummaged through the desk and cabinets for any sign that this could be the place.
As I shut the drawer, voices approached. With no other alternative, I drew my weapon, holding it down at my side and ducking against the filing cabinet. The voices stopped outside the door, and angry words were exchanged. Two men were arguing over a delivery time.
“I’ll show you the records,” one of them huffed.
“Don’t bother. It won’t change what happened,” the other responded. “You can’t move up the pre-existing timetable.”
“When are the girls coming?” Girls? I strained to hear. Could these be two of the Seasons, blundering away at their carefully laid plans?
“Not for another day. It’ll give us time to get everything flown in and set up.” Trying to determine the best course of action, I waited to see if they might reveal more. Giving away my location or confronting them wasn’t a good idea, especially if they were responsible for Catherine and Adalina’s well-being.
Crouching against the filing cabinet, I cautiously peered around the edge. The men were still outside, and I rolled to a position behind the desk. I wanted a visual to use for identification if necessary. Creeping along the desk, I pressed myself into an almost horizontal position against its metal frame. From here, I could only make out a sliver of one of their profiles. As I scanned the area for a better vantage point, my phone rang, shrill in the empty hangar.
“Who’s there?” one of the men called.
Tucking my gun at the small of my back and making sure my jacket covered it, I carefully stood up.
“Sorry,” I called out, hoping not to get shot or abducted, “I was cleaning out my ex-husband’s storage locker. That lying sack of shit hid everything from the divorce attorneys. No good scumbag. Anyway, I was looking for the ladies room.”
The two men entered the hangar, dressed like they belonged in jumpsuits and worker gear. They didn’t look like kidnappers or criminal geniuses in their coveralls, but then again, I wasn’t up on the latest in abductor fashion. “We don’t have a bathroom,” one of them supplied. “But if you go down the road about a mile, there’s a twenty-four hour diner with facilities.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry to barge in like this. I just saw the building and thought it was worth a try.”
“No problem, missy,” the second man said. “You have yourself a good day.”
Strolling past the two men, I memorized the plate number on their pickup truck and figured I could run the plates. They were talking about girls arriving and missing flights. It was a long shot, but my time shouldn’t be a complete waste. Maybe they weren’t as wholesome as they appeared. Once back in my car, I checked for a tail or signs of tampering and started the engine. The missed phone call that had blown my cover was from Mercer.
“Are you trying to get me killed?” Melodrama was my friend.
“I’ve located their base of operations.” He rattled off an address, and entering it into my GPS, I headed for his location. I wouldn’t be surprised if the location I scouted was part of a wild goose chase to keep me out of his hair.
On the way, I dialed Thompson. He was still annoyed about O’Connell fleeing the hospital and taking refuge in my apartment, but since I was sworn to secrecy, tossing a few scraps here and there was the best I could do. “This is probably fruitless, but if you want to help, you can run these plates,” I gave him the tag number, “and let me know what you find on the owner. By the way, how’s Nick doing?”
Thompson let out an audible, exasperated groan. “I’m sure you’d know better than I would. He shouldn’t be mobile yet, and Jen tore him a new one for leaving. Not that I blame her.” He must have ratted on his partner.
“Did you get anything useful on the ballistics?”
“Teflon coated like I said. Medium caliber. The slug was too badly damaged from impacting the vest to be of much use. Tech says it was probably fired from a Glock.” There was an uncomfortable silence before he spoke again. “Listen to me, Alexis, he’s my partner and usually a by the book cop. Whatever’s going down, I want in.”
“Talk to him.”
“I’m talking to you.” This game couldn’t go on much longer.
“I’m on my way to a meeting. When things begin to unravel, we might need some flashing lights and sirens to ride in and save the day. Keep your phone on.” Depending on Mercer’s plan, the boys in blue would either be responding to a multiple homicide or tracking escaped kidnappers. It was just a matter of time.
Finally, I pulled up next to Mercer’s vehicle and cut the engine. He was sitting in his car, binoculars resting against the dashboard. He nodded, and I got out of my car and went around and sat in his passenger’s seat.
“These blokes,” he gestured toward a hangar bay much larger and more substantial in size than the one I just left, “must have serious surveillance. The electrical output is off the charts. There were two guys walking the perimeter twenty minutes ago. I’ve been timing the patrol.”
“How can you be sure it’s them?”
His anger flashed briefly in my direction before being silenced. My question wasn’t pertinent enough to warrant a response. “We need eyes inside the building before a tactical breach can be made.”
“You’re not waiting for delivery instructions?” Although posed as a question, it was the assumption I initially reached after meeting Mercer.
“No reason to wait.” He finally looked at me. “The objective is to recover the girl.” Following my harsh stare, he corrected, “Girls. The authorities worry about evidence and making a case. The only thing you and I should worry about is retrieval.”
“What about the kidnappers? Any specific resolution you have in mind?”
“That’s discretionary.”
“What if they’re not inside?”
“Bloody hell.” He let out a few harsh breaths. Poking a caged lion with a stick wasn’t wise. “Are you such an incompetent sow that you can’t figure out how to get a look inside without me holding your bloody hand every step of the goddamn way?”
“Well, since you asked so fucking nicely.”
Getting out of the car, I slammed the door and got back into mine. Starting the engine and backing out, I headed away from the hangar. Walking up to the hangar bay was ridiculous. The foot patrol would see me coming,
and red flags would be raised. No, quiet and stealthy wouldn’t work. Distraction tactics were necessary. As I meandered around the property, staying on the main roads and noting weaknesses in the fence, Mercer called.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To find another way inside. And in five minutes, create a distraction. Tick tock.” I hung up.
Ten
Five minutes later, the sound of metal crashing and the endless blare of a car horn interrupted the quiet. Hidden from sight, I waited for one of the doors to open at the warehouse. This time, I was smart enough to put my phone on silent. One man, dressed entirely in black, opened the back door cautiously and peered outside. This was the only door not covered by a surveillance camera, and he stepped out. The door shut behind him, and he stared into the dusk. There was nothing to be gained from his venture, but cautiously, he headed toward the far end of the hangar, closest to where the sound was originating.
Slipping out of cover, I held my breath and turned the doorknob. It silently opened, and I spun around the corner and entered the hangar bay. There were no planes or equipment. Instead, it was headquarters for some smoothly run operation. There was an individual seated in front of a cluster of monitors, watching surveillance footage as two sentries patrolled and the third man investigated the car crash less than a hundred yards away. At least Mercer wasn’t skimping on his distraction tactics.
Stealthily, I crept behind the man, checking for cameras or other surveillance equipment as I went. The goal was to positively locate the girls. Hell, now that I was inside, if I found them, Mercer could delay the three sentries outside, and I could deal with Mr. Computer. Unfortunately, each individual room needed to be searched separately, and there wasn’t enough time.
The man was still watching the screens, but I remained in the shadows, hoping to avoid being seen. There were six small rooms, three on each side of the hangar bay. Starting in the far corner, as far from Mr. Computer as possible, I carefully twisted the doorknob of the first room. It was a lavatory. Next, I tried the second door, but it was locked.