No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(51)

Ratko stared at him, his marble eyes reminding Braden of the pigs from the farm of his youth. Braden remained steady, holding but not challenging Ratko’s gaze in return. Showing strength but not arrogance.

Ratko hissed, spun the blade in his hand, and stabbed it into a picture of the target. He said, “We will execute. But you had better fulfill your end.”

Braden nodded, not letting the relief show.

Ratko flicked his head at the men beside Braden, and they moved away. He said, “You know the price of failure?”

Braden nodded again.

Ratko smiled his ferret grin. “No. You don’t. You think you do, but you don’t. I promise, if you cross me, you will.”

Braden had left the room in a rush, clomping down the stairs of the hotel, followed by the two men, both as stoic as if they’d been made of granite.

Twenty-four hours later and a country away, the memory still made him tremble. He would be glad when his relationship with Ratko and the other Serbs was done.






33




Alexander Palmer heard Kurt’s words and exploded. “Have you lost your f*cking mind? Ireland? Who gave you authority to start operating in Ireland? You cannot execute operations without the expressed consent of the Oversight Council. What the hell are you doing?”

Kurt went instinctively to military attention, back ramrod straight and hands to his sides. He said, “Pike was not on a Taskforce mission. He was working for me, as a friend. You guys cut him free. He was helping me find my niece. Someone I consider my daughter. And yes, I gave him some help.” He turned his head and glared at Palmer. “You want to fire me for that, then do it. But you’d better be ready to bury the vice president’s son.”

Palmer stood up, the anger on his face spilling out. He said, “You sanctimonious son of a bitch, nobody gives a shit about your niece. We have bigger issues here than your personal problems. Nicholas Seacrest could be divulging secrets right this minute.”

Kurt broke his stance, advancing on Palmer with his fists balled, the violence barely contained. In a low hiss he said, “Fuck you and your bigger issues. This isn’t about intelligence, and my niece means more to me than the vice president’s son. More than all of those people.”

Palmer stood his ground, his legs shaking, the fear evident on his face. Kurt reached him and President Warren said, “Stop!”

Kurt held up, glaring at Palmer. Wanting to rip his throat out.

President Warren said, “This is getting us nowhere. Quit the childish dick contest.”

Kurt glanced at him, and the president repeated, “Quit it. Right now.”

Kurt backed down, turning away and muttering under his breath.

Palmer breathed out, then said, “Kurt, hey, those words were poorly chosen. I’m sorry. Sorry about your niece, and sorry I said what I did. But you can’t freelance like this. You know that.”

Accepting the apology in the spirit it was given, Kurt said, “Then don’t make me freelance anymore. Let’s bring it to the Council. Pike’s onto something here. Get him Taskforce assets. Get Knuckles there.”

President Warren flipped to the second page of the report and said, “But you reported that Knuckles had found a connection. The ferry trip ticket was tied to some Somalis who came from Paris. And your Taskforce penetration of French immigration says they’ve returned there.”

Kurt sighed and said, “Yes. That’s what we know, but we can’t find a couple of Somalis in the city of Paris. We’ve got nothing. Pike has a lead.”

“You mean Pike has a lead to your niece.”

“Well, yeah, but she’s tied to the VP. I don’t understand this Somalia connection, but Pike’s onto something real. It’s in Ireland, and it’s not about torturing these guys for information.”

Palmer said, “Maybe. Maybe not. We know an Islamic group has the hostages. Knuckles has now confirmed it’s Somali. Al-Shabaab. We don’t know where they are, but we now know who they are. Might be Paris, might be Mali, but they sure as shit aren’t in Ireland. That would be the last place they’d go.”

Kurt said, “Sir, I don’t buy that Islamic crap. You think a bunch of Somalis straight out of the Stone Age could do this? Shit, there’s no way they could even track someone on Okinawa, much less kidnap them. There’s something else going on here.”

President Warren said, “Because you want it to be that way? For your niece? Or because you have some evidence?”

Kurt balled his fists up again, this time in frustration, and said, “It’s the same damn thing.”

President Warren had looked at him with sympathy and said, “Kurt, I understand where you’re coming from, but I have to play the intelligence as I see it. I’ll let you freelance Pike. No word to the Council. But Knuckles is going to follow the trail where it goes.”

Now, sitting with his cup of black coffee surrounded by twentysomethings whose greatest problem was figuring out which blend to buy, he was about to go through the same pain again. With his sister.

He glanced at his watch one more time, wondering if she was even going to show. He pulled out his cell phone to call and saw her walking at a fast pace up to the door. She entered, and he waved. She ignored the line and marched right up to his table, sitting across from him.