No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(95)

The one called Travis blinked at the light in his eyes, holding his hands up to block it. Seamus pushed his shoulder with a boot. “Talk! I told you what would happen. Where is she?”

The vice president’s son spoke up, and for the first time, Seamus saw his face was swollen. More so than when he’d left.

“That bearded f*cker took her. Colin.”

Seamus heard the words and felt his world begin to implode.

Nick continued, “We heard him talking to someone on the phone, afraid of being hunted. He said he could deliver you to them. Then he took her.”

Jesus, Joseph, Mother, and Mary.

Seamus snarled, “You’re lying. Tell me where she is!”

Travis said, “That’s what happened. It’s not—”

Seamus pulled out a pistol and jammed it under his nose, hard enough to tear cartilage. “You f*cking tell me right now, or I’m spraying your brains on the ceiling.”

Travis began mewling, losing the ability to speak. Nick shouted, “She’s gone, you shit. Probably dead.”

Seamus sized him up in the glow of the space heaters, and Nick drew up as straight as he could in his binds. Nick said, “If she is, you’re going to pay. No court will keep me from you. No prison will protect you.”

Seamus let go of Travis and screamed in frustration. He stalked to Nick and knocked him to the ground, putting the pistol on his forehead.

“I should kill you right now.”

Nick showed nothing but defiance. “You and I both know I’m walking dead. I just pray I get the chance to take you with me.”

Seamus barely heard him. He backed up, keeping the weapon aimed at Nick, his brain trying to assimilate the damage. He stood still for a moment, then began running up the stairs.

He burst into the kitchen and shouted, “Quit your preparations. We’re leaving this place.”

The men looked at him in confusion. He said, “Colin has betrayed us to Ratko. I have no idea how close they are, but they’re coming. Where’s Michael?”

“Prepping his bed—”

“Michael! Get in here.”

A tall man with ropy muscles and a farmer’s tan came in. “What’s up?”

“We’re leaving. Fuck the preparations. Get the two hostages in here.”

“Two?”

“Yes, God damn it. Two. Get them ready to move. I’ve got drugs in my backpack from Clynne. Dope them up.”

Kevin said, “Where are we going?”

“To London. We’ve gotten all we’re going to with them. The Somalis have their attack prepared. We’ll give them the hostages. Get on the computer and get us ferry tickets. How long will that take?”

“Ferry tickets to where?”

“To England, damn it! How long before we can leave?”

For the first time, Kevin saw panic. Something Seamus had never shown. He said, “Hey, let’s plan our movement. Do some research. We can’t just run willy-nilly with two drugged hostages. Let me do some work.”

“How long?”

“Maybe an hour. Maybe longer. Let me find a place where we can hole up. Get the ferry passes. Plan a route.”

Seamus sagged back, the pistol held against his leg. He said, “Okay. Do it. Michael, all men at the ready. Put most up front. Looking for vehicles. Ratko comes, and he’ll drive right up, using Colin as security.”

“You want someone at the road?”

“Yeah. Definitely. A vehicle comes in here, and I want it shot to pieces. Especially if it’s Colin at the wheel.”






67




I heard the radio transmission from the OP and knew we were in a world of shit. Blaine was going through our encrypted VPN to Kurt, telling him what we had from Retro’s earlier transmission and trying to coordinate a leisurely response, surrounding the place with overt forces, then conducting a hostage rescue, but that wasn’t going to happen.

I clicked the transmitter and said, “You sure? You saw the hostages?”

Retro said, “Roger that. Two being pulled out of a cellar and into the house. There’s a lot of activity now. I think they’re going to be moved.”

“Two? Not three?”

“No. Two. I say again, two. The place is a beehive of movement. Something happened, and they’re going batshit.”

“What’s your call?”

I heard nothing for a moment. Then, “We need to interdict.”

Damn it. He was the man on the ground. The one with the closest intelligence on what we were dealing with. It was his decision, but I really didn’t want to hear it. I thought about questioning him further, trying to decipher from my little bed-and-breakfast in Macroom what was truly going on, but I knew that was stupid. He’d made the call, and he understood the repercussions. If he wanted to assault, it meant we needed to do so or lose the hostages.

Over my shoulder, Jennifer heard the exchange and said, “We going in?”

“I don’t know. We should.”

“I agree. We lose this chance, and Kylie might be dead.”

It was small comfort but gratifying nonetheless. I waved my arm, getting Blaine’s attention. He turned from the screen, and I said, “Cut it off.”

He saw my expression and did so. “What? I don’t have a lot of time to coordinate a response. They’re asking for all kinds of information, and the UAV video isn’t satisfying them.”