by R. J. Blain
I groaned and slumped, bowing my head. “This is not my type of op, Bard.”
“We’ve run out of leads, and we need you. You’re the only operative I know who can find things people don’t want found. Your ability to infiltrate sticky situations and get out alive makes you invaluable. You’ll have a full support team, the best intel the government can provide, and no leash. We need these people back alive, and you’re the ideal man for the job.”
“Until I was stupid enough to use my passport to book this cruise, Haney, I wasn’t even a factor. I’m not your live-body extraction guy. You have far better, more qualified men for that.”
“And you’ll be working with our best. We need your intel, we need your plan building, and we need your ability to execute unexpected extractions.”
The coffee maker gurgled, and I grabbed a mug to pour myself a cup. I glared at the Vice Admiral. “I wasn’t even a factor until recently.”
“That alone should make you aware of the severity of the situation. I need you for this op, son.”
Instead of my usual salt, I went for the cream and sugar, which raised brows from both men, who watched me butcher my coffee until it turned pale gray and my spoon all but stood up in the syrupy mess. I drank it all back without stopping, shuddered at its sickly sweetness, and made another.
“Fine. Brief me, and you better make it good, or I’m tossing myself overboard and swimming for shore.”
“There are seven notable businessmen in the United States and Canada who have had people close to them kidnapped and taken as hostages. We believe they will be used as bargaining chips to prevent certain business transactions with the US government from happening. These transactions are rather sensitive. All of the individuals missing are women. They are close enough to these men that they’re important bargaining chips. They were all kidnapped within a three-month window.”
“No hostage terms or ransom demands?” I asked before treating my second coffee as I had my first.
I needed the sugar to function, and the extra calories wouldn’t hurt me any. I gave my third cup a single pinch of salt before making my way into the sitting room.
“The only contact we’ve had include some anonymous warnings against working with firms with known government connections, which were sent to the businessmen along with lewd photographs of the hostages.”
“Lewd.” Rape was a likelihood, depending on who was behind the kidnappings. “Okay. They’re potential rape victims. Do we have any solid information?”
“That’s the problem. We can’t get a traceback to where the messages are originating; they’re being sent expedited mail, clean of fingerprints, from all over Europe and Asia. The correspondences are weekly, and the culprit is using a new set of contacts each time to send the packages. The few times we’ve gotten a hit, the chain has been broken, usually by a murder, effectively preventing us from figuring out who is behind it.”
Setting my mug down on the coffee table, I paced across the sitting room, clacking my teeth as I considered the situation. “Why do you think I can do any better than trained CIA field agents?”
“You have the devil’s luck.”
“I hate you,” I muttered.
Haney didn’t seem concerned by my complaint, chuckling and relaxing enough to prop his feet up on the coffee table near my mug. “We don’t have jack shit on this case. We have their names, we know who they’re connected to, and we have some half-baked theories on the kidnapper’s goals. There have been no ransom requests, and our concern is that the kidnapper has no intention of releasing the women, preferring a holding pattern. If he wanted a ransom…”
The man sighed, and I echoed him. “If he was after a ransom, he’d be a lot easier to find, but the ladies would likely already be dead.”
“I thought you’d understand. The real problem is the fact these disappearances are high-profile enough to worry other investors and companies, adding more delays to a very important contract we need.”
“The culprit is likely targeting the military or government, using intimidation tactics.” I paced to the window, staring out into the darkness. The waxing moon was on the rise, and I was aware of it as a tingling throughout my entire body. As always, I ignored it, and my wolf stirred enough to sigh his disappointment we couldn’t answer its call. In a few days, his disappointment would crest when the moon reached its peak, and we’d suffer together in silence as always.
When we finally found our way deep into a snowy wood, we’d howl for forgiveness at ignoring the moon’s silvery glow. Until then, we would wait.
“We have a two-part mission. First, we extract the women and return them to their families. Second, we locate and neutralize the party behind their disappearances,” Haney announced. “Pull out the file, Fredrick. You may as well see exactly what you’re getting into, McGrady.”
“I’m not a neutralizer, Haney.”
“You’re going to serve as our scout and nothing more. You won’t be on the kill team unless you want to be. Your role will be intel, scouting, planning, and analysis.”
“It’s the scouting part that tries to get me killed,” I grumbled, rubbing my forehead in the futile attempt to drive away my growing headache. “Self-extraction after the scout?”
“You’ll have an extraction team for you and the hostages should you locate them. We’re planning the op as a one and done. If you find them, you’ll bag them and bring them home.”
“You know, I could have been sitting behind a desk for the past ten years pushing papers around for all you know, Haney. You have no idea if I’m still qualified for this work.”
“I know you, son. You don’t sit on your laurels. You’ve been up to something over the years, though hell if I know what.”
I glanced at Lane, who studiously examined one of the paintings on the wall. Following his stare, I took in the replication of Monet’s Waterlilies, unable to smother my smile. “That’s a shoddy print. The colors are dull, and the strokes aren’t visible.”
Lane snorted. “You’re unique, I’ll give you that. First, your bracelet is calling from ancient Egypt and wants to go home. Second, did you take an art major or something? What sort of Marine are you?”
I pulled up my sleeve to glance down at the scarab bracelet. For its size, the thing didn’t weigh nearly as much as I thought it should, and I had a tendency to forget about it. It was thin enough it fit under my dress shirt, loose enough I could shunt it up my arm so I could button the sleeve, and light enough I didn’t care too much I hadn’t figured out how to remove it. “The hinges are busted,” I improvised. “I’ll get it fixed later.”
“McGrady has a certain reputation for helping others misplace their things,” Haney muttered, shaking his head. “Check your pockets before you leave.”
“Too much effort today. You’re safe.” I sighed, headed for the arm chair beside the couch, and slumped onto it. “Who are the businessmen being targeted?”
“This is classified information and does not leave this room,” Haney ordered. “Understood?”
I straightened, reaching for my coffee to have a sip while I considered if I really wanted to become irrevocably involved in a hostage crisis. “Understood, Vice Admiral. What classification?”
“Higher than your normal pay grade, Major.”
The slight emphasis on Major worried me, and unnerved, I used my coffee as a distraction and a chance to steady my nerves. “I already went over this with Lane. I have to be paid have a pay grade.”
I really didn’t like the way Haney smirked at me. “You’ll find all back pay for the past ten years is ready to be deposited into an active account, on or off-shore. They’ve been in holding for your recovery, as you have not been debriefed. You’ve been technically on active duty roster, serving on a top secret undercover mission involving complete radio silence. Of course, I may have used your circumstances as part of some high-level training exercises to test the mettle of potential recruits, although none of them were able to de
termine your whereabouts.”
“I’m pretty sure that isn’t legal, Haney.”
“We all have our faults.”
“Who are the targeted civilians?”
“While I said seven, there are ten businessmen in particular affected by the kidnappings. I have a suspicion one of the hostages was specifically chosen to corner three specific men associated with one woman. Richard Murphy is the closest to one of the hostages, although she also has close ties to Dante Anderson, who is an active supplier for the military. In addition to this, Richard Murphy’s father-in-law, Charles Desmond, is a respected lawyer and also a rather successful businessman. Of the three, Mr. Anderson is the most important, as he serves as a negotiator between the United States and several other nations.”
“Why hasn’t the culprit targeted them for kidnapping, then?”
“All three gentlemen have been, ah, troubled over the past few months, especially Mr. Anderson. He has been assigned a six-man squad to ensure his safety. Unfortunately, Mr. Murphy and Mr. Desmond are both headstrong men who have certain opinions on how they should spend their time. Despite our continued suggestions they leave the extraction to trained professionals, they insist on trying to involve themselves in the case.” Haney sighed. “They’re rather like you in that regard. In order to muddle their efforts, we may have leveled some accusations of their disappearances at Mr. Desmond. Unfortunately, our ploy motivated all three rather than discouraged their efforts.”
I hid my wince by taking another sip of coffee. “In addition to having to extract seven women, we also…”
Something clicked in my head, and I spluttered, trailing off to consider the unlikeliest of possibilities. Benjamin Scully had held seven women in his castle. My client had mentioned being accused of the kidnappings of seven women, one of whom he knew by name.
The evidence I had already extracted the women in question mounted. The more I learned about the situation, the less I wanted to be involved in it. Groaning, I set my mug down, bowed my head, and ran my fingers through my hair.
“Problem, Major?”
“I was just thinking about the idea of having to extract a bunch of loose cannons during an already convoluted operation, sir.” It wasn’t quite a lie, but it wasn’t the truth, either. I regretted not having delved for more information on the two-man team set to complete the extraction I had organized. “How are these men involving themselves?”
“Private investigators, mostly,” Haney complained. “Fortunately, they haven’t done anything excessive or illegal yet. The only good they’ve done is establish an exact timeline of each and every kidnapping, including the method used to grab each of the women.”
“That’s substantial information.”
“We could put it to good use if we could anticipate the targets. Unfortunately, we have limited information on why the culprit chose the victims he has.” Haney sighed. “We’ve been chasing dry lead after dry lead for almost six months. We have reason to believe they are still alive, but we do not know how long that will be the case.”
“How influential are these three men?”
“Extremely. They’re quiet, so far as multi-millionaires and billionaires go. They prefer to stay off the radar. They’re all married, and Mr. Anderson and Mr. Desmond both have children. Mr. Murphy’s wife is almost as successful as he is, which is another thorn in our side. If she becomes involved, I foresee a lot of problems for the ground team.”
“She’s not involved?”
“Not yet, no. She only involves herself if she believes Mr. Murphy is in danger. We’re worried the hostage situation will escalate to involve them. It’s in our best interest to make certain none of these individuals fall into the wrong hands.” Haney refused to meet my gaze, which set me on edge.
“You have no clue in hell where Mr. Murphy is right now, do you?”
Silence answered my question in more ways than one. I groaned, leaning back into my chair and wishing I had never been so stupid to accept half a million dollars to take photographs of a snobby collector’s middling art collection.
“The woman’s about to involve herself, isn’t she?”
“She assured me if I put my best men on the mission, she would give me two weeks to locate her husband. She originally wanted forty-eight hours.”
“When was that?”
“A little over a week ago.”
The timing matched when I had extracted the seven women from Scallywag’s castle. I glanced in the direction of the moon, narrowing my eyes in speculation. The women would likely need to become wolves to answer the moon’s calling in a few days. If they were wise, they would have gone somewhere secluded and far from civilization.
I’d never had a pack, but I understood my wolf’s desire for one; if Mr. Murphy was associated with one of the werewolf women, he, too, was likely one. It was always safer to operate under the worst-case assumption, and if I assumed Mr. Murphy was a werewolf and Patricia was a part of his pack, I had no doubt he would’ve crossed the ocean to retrieve her himself.
I would’ve done far more than cross the sea to come to the aid of a teammate, which came as close to having pack as I got. The men had come and gone from my life in a steady stream, but I remembered the names and faces of every man lost. The survivors soothed some of the ache of my failures, though not by much.
“What are you thinking, McGrady?” Haney asked, his tone sharp with impatience.
How the hell was I supposed to find a bunch of werewolves darting around Europe before Scallyway got his act together and hunted them down? If he had managed to catch seven and hold them, two men wouldn’t be enough to stop him.
“I need a new job. This one is a load of fucking bullshit. I’m going to need the details on the kidnappings, the timelines, and any information on how they were transported from the United States to Europe. I’m also going to need every scrap of information you have on Mr. Murphy and what I can expect if I have to extract his meddling ass out of this mess. If Mr. Murphy has any potential accomplices working with him, I’ll need to know who they are and what they’re capable of. So help me god, if you are bullshitting me about a team and a full extraction, I’m going to feed you to a fucking shark.”
“Welcome aboard, son.”
Declan: 0, SEALs: 2.
Chapter Nine
Confirmation of my suspicions came in the form of seven photographs. While my vision had been blurred when I met the women, I recognized Julie, as did my wolf.
He was far more enthused about the idea of meeting her again than I was. According to her information sheet, she was twenty-seven, had worked as an executive secretary for one of the targeted businessmen, and had won several local karate competitions. My wolf was eager to learn the werewolf female was listed as single. Her father had been former military and had died in combat several years ago.
Her mother lived in New Hampshire while Julie lived in New York City.
The other women were either married or engaged; Patricia was listed as a close friend of Mr. Murphy’s, and she was engaged to the son of another friend of his. On paper, the relationships of the women to their respective businessmen made no sense, but when I factored in the possibility all of them were also werewolves, the situation disturbed me.
I had never experienced it for myself, but I understood my wolf’s longing for a pack and a mate. The thought of having a pack and losing a precious member of it sickened me.
Setting aside the sheets on the women, I snatched up the second file, grabbed my new cell out of my pocket, and tossed it up and down as I considered my options. Contacting Anthony and my client would probably give me the best leads, but if I did, I’d have to reveal I knew exactly what had happened to the women, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to play that card yet.
There was no way of knowing if Scallywag had a mole inside the military.
“McGrady—”
“Declan,” I corrected, flipping through the sheets on the businessmen involved with the kidnapped wo
men. I froze when I reached Mr. Anderson’s file. The familiar face staring up at me startled me into straightening. “Hello, hello. Who do we have here?”
I knew him by a different name, which didn’t surprise me; those who worked under the government’s radar always hid behind a mask. When we had started working together, neither one of us had been willing to give a name at all, resulting in an ongoing joke. He was Bob, I was Bob, and neither one of us had dug any deeper than that. I hadn’t seen him in a few years, instead working with one of his close associates for what I needed, but I liked the man.
In a world of cutthroat dealings, there were few who had such clear eyes.
“That’s Mr. Anderson, the liaison I was telling you about.” Haney sighed. “Perhaps we should deal with this later. If you’re that tir—”
“Stop your whining,” I muttered, dialing my contacts number and holding my phone to my ear.
Four rings later, a sleepy voice answered, “Hello?”
“Hey, Brandon. I need you to patch me through to Bob.” Struggling against my urge to laugh, I focused on the sheet in front of me in my effort to avoid betraying myself. “Sorry to wake you.”
“Oh, hey. You haven’t gotten yourself killed yet? What the hell are you doing calling me this time of day?”
“Work, what else? You know me; if it wasn’t important, I wouldn’t be calling you.”
“From Germany? What the hell are you doing in Germany?”
“Doing Bob a big favor, apparently.”
“I’ll one up you; got a pen handy?”
I reached across the coffee table and stole Haney’s pen out of his hand. “Ready.”
Brandon gave me a phone number, which I dutifully wrote down. “That’s his private cell, so you should be able to get a hold of him. When are you coming back to Miami? We need to get together for a beer.”
“Beer sounds good.” Picking up the sheet of paper with Bob’s number, I got to my feet and headed to the window. “Might be a while, though. I’ll give you a call when I’m in the area. Thanks for Bob’s number.”