No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(108)

Maybe I should have done what Blaine said. Just start tracking likely exit routes. Try to run into them on the road.

Jennifer said, “Pike, you’re going to give yourself an aneurysm.”

Like a he-man, I crushed the Styrofoam cup I was holding. “We’re doing nothing. They’re getting away. I’m sick of waiting on the Taskforce for intel. We could be here until dawn and get zilch.”

Blaine said, “They’ve got an operation primed for Dubrovnik. Johnny’s on it. Let’s wait it out. See what they get.”

I rolled my eyes and said, “What the hell does Croatia have to do with this? The kidnappers are in this country, and the entire island is only four hours across. We’re giving them the edge. Let me take Jennifer and just start cruising the highways. Go to Dublin and back. Maybe Belfast. Just to see what we can find.”

“No. Kurt could call at any moment. I need the assets here. What if he says he has the target, and it’s back in Cork? I’m not going to spread out. I’ve got enough trouble controlling the cleanup crew. Settle down and get some sleep.”

We’d left Macroom in the hands of another support crew, and they’d begun their work, cleaning the mess we’d left behind. Blaine had also coordinated a medevac bird and we’d passed the still-unconscious Travis Deleon off to a medical team, bound for the United States. I always looked to the future, forgetting about the past, but Blaine had to deal with both.

I scanned the room, every overstuffed La-Z-Boy full of Taskforce Operators snoring away. And Nung, playing a video game on the widescreen TV.

“Fat chance I could sleep right now.”

Jennifer said, “Pike, come here.”

I did so, glancing at Blaine. He studiously stared at another widescreen showing CNN.

“What?”

“Would you have a little faith? Kurt’s working the issue. You can’t solve everything by yourself.”

“I know that, but this is killing me. The guy’s got Seacrest in his car, and he’s here, not in Croatia. Every second we wait, he gets farther away.”

“You said yourself we’ve been waiting for six hours. The time to run around flailing in the dark has long gone.”

I looked at Blaine again, making sure he was focused on something else, then said, “You don’t understand. Kylie wasn’t there. She’s gone. I don’t give a rat’s ass about the vice president’s son, but without him, she’s going to die. I can’t let that happen.”

She took my hand and flicked her head at the La-Z-Boy next to her. I sat down. She said, “It’s going to come together. It will.”

I sat down and said, “No it won’t. It doesn’t work that way. No matter what you do, sometimes people die. Good people.”

She knew whom I was talking about. She said, “Don’t do that to yourself. This isn’t about your family.”

I sagged back and said, “It is. I let them die, and now I’m letting Kylie do the same.”

She said, “You still have her pendant?”

“Yeah. I’m going to give it back to her. When I find her.”

“What’s it say on it?”

Confused, I said, “You know.”

“I want to hear it.”

Before I could answer, Blaine stood up, his phone to his ear. I watched intently, like a dog following an owner with a ball in his hand. He hung up and said, “Wake everyone. We have a mission.”

We sprang up. Jennifer began walking around and shaking legs.

I said, “What did Johnny find? Where are they?”

Blaine said, “We have an address in London. Let’s saddle up.”

“London? Who?”

He started packing his small rucksack, stuffing in bottled water and PowerBars, courtesy of the FBO. “Johnny just took down a Croatian arms dealer. Apparently, he’s been working with the new IRA and connected them to some Somalis from al-Shabaab. He’s got the address to where the skinnys are holed up in London.”

“Somalis? That’s always been a smoke screen. It’s what almost got Knuckles and Brett killed.”

He stood up. “Not this time. There’s a connection. And we get to go explore it.”

Everyone began packing kit, getting ready to leave, but I was having none of it. “Sir, this is stupid. There are no Somalis attached to this. I know we want to believe al Qaida is at the heart of this, but they’re not. Flying to London is the last thing we should do. The hostages are in Ireland.”

He stopped and looked me in the eye. “Sergeant Major, get your ass on the plane. We have a target to hit, and I need your skill.”

“Sir, it’s an hour to England. Another hour to get sorted out. An additional hour getting to the target, and then at least an hour of recce. It’ll be damn near noon before we can do anything, which means we’ll roll over until the next cycle of darkness. And lose the hostages.”

“We’re not going to wait. Kurt’s orders. We hit as soon as we can. Darkness or otherwise.”

“What? A daylight hit?”

“Yeah. Direct orders. Burn it to the ground. Whatever comes out, comes out. We get additional intel, and we do a follow-on hit. Wherever that leads. Nobody stands in our way. Nobody tells us no.”

I liked the sound of that, as much as I thought the mission was misguided.