No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(89)

“Huh? You can’t leave! What are you talking about?”

Colin snorted and said, “I’m sick of eating microwave crap. I’m going for some real bog. You want something?”

“You can’t drive to town. I can’t watch this place by myself.”

Colin moved close, letting his size speak for him. “Well, that’s what you’re going to do. Do you want any food or not?”

Kevin shrank back, saying, “No. No, I’m good.”

Colin exited the house, the fear from Seamus’s threats driving into his body like an electric current. Barely thinking, knowing if he did, he would change his mind, he went to the car and started the engine, backing it up to the small hatch in the ground.

He shut the engine down, considering what he was going to do. Reflecting on how he was going to escape the wrath of the Serbs, but in so doing fall into the wrath of Seamus. A dilemma with no good answers. He went back and forth, then chose: Seamus was the lesser threat. Ratko would hunt him down anywhere in Europe. Seamus didn’t have that power.

The decision made, he focused on the next problem: He couldn’t take all the hostages. At most, he could control only one. But which one? Who should he take? Who would he bring to show Ratko he was on his side? The vice president’s son was the easy choice, as Ratko could leverage him immediately, but he was also a fighter. Someone who would cause trouble and possibly escape. The other man was a coward but was still a threat. If he chose to, he could put up a fight at an inopportune time. Colin couldn’t afford that risk.

He opened the ancient wooden doors, hearing the woman cough, sick and weak. And had his answer.


* * *

Lying on the cold earthen floor, Kylie heard the door open and knew it wasn’t feeding time. She pushed upright, seeing the light through her hood. She felt Nick rise as well, understanding something was happening.

He crawled over to her and took her hands in his, both still bound. He leaned in and said, “No worries. Maybe early chow.”

She heard the footsteps and felt the doom growing with each one. They stopped next to her. She heard, “We’re going to a different place. Just you. Do not fight me.”

The panic flooded through her, causing her to shake uncontrollably. In a halting voice, she said, “Why? Where?”

Nick, still hooded and still holding her hands, said, “Bullshit. She goes nowhere. Not without me.”

Kylie heard something like a mallet smacking a breast of chicken, then felt Nick’s hands torn away. She heard the man kicking and screamed, “Don’t hurt him! Jesus, please don’t. I’ll come. I’ll come.”

From across the room, Travis said, “Stop it! Stop it now!”

The man said, “You want a piece of the action?”

Travis said, “You will not take her from here. We are together. A package. You will not do this.”

Kylie scuttled back, clawing away from the man she couldn’t see. He let her be, walking to Travis. He said, “I’ll do whatever I want. You looking to be a hero now? After being the traitor?”

She heard a meaty thump, then heard a man shout, hitting the dirt of their floor. And it wasn’t Travis. She jerked her hood off, seeing both Nick and Travis on him, kicking and punching, doing what they could with their bound limbs.

The man—she saw it was Colin, the bearded one—escaped easily. He punched Travis in the gut so hard she heard the whoosh of air forced out of his lungs. Colin flung Nick to the side, then stood up, breathing heavily. He lined up his leg and kicked Nick full in the head, laying him out. Travis heard the damage and rolled into a ball.

She shouted, “Don’t!”

Huffing, Colin said, “Get the f*ck up. Now.”

She did so.

He said, “I’m going to cut your leg bindings. You make any move, and I’ll kill both of them. Understand?”

She nodded.

He came over and bent down, using a large folding blade to slice through the plastic of her flex ties. He rose, saying, “Walk up the stairs. Slowly.”

She looked back at Nick, unconscious on the floor. Then at Travis, curled in the fetal position, arms over his skull. She said, “Travis.” She saw his head jerk to her voice.

Colin poked her in the shoulder, saying, “Get moving.”

She didn’t. She waited until Travis was looking her way, searching for her under the hood. She said, “Thank you. Don’t let them hurt Nick.”

Colin cuffed her again, and she exited the dank prison, seeing a white Toyota sedan, engine running. She said, “Where are we going?”

“Someplace where I won’t get killed.”






63




The pub was pretty much empty, with two sots at the bar, veins popping on their noses from a lifetime of Guinness. I let Brett and Retro wander around, scoping the place out, and ordered three pints from the bartender.

An older lady who looked like she’d been pouring beer for a century, she said, “Americans?”

I said, “Yeah. We heard An Spailpin Fanac was the one pub we had to see in Cork City, but I guess it takes a while to pick up.”

She smiled at my butchering of the Gaelic tongue. “We have nightly music, but even in Ireland the bars are a little empty at four P.M. Come back at nine.”

I picked up the beers, saying, “Might do that. Thanks,” then went deeper into the pub looking for my teammates. I passed a small cubby on the right, seeing two men leaning across the table, deep in conversation.