Читать книгу Kidnap and Ransom - Michelle Gagnon - Страница 14

They’d been at the motel for over an hour when Syd knocked on the door. Jake opened it to find her, Kane and Fribush loaded down with two duffel bags apiece.

“A little help?” she grunted.

Jake took one of the bags from her, staggering slightly under the weight. She hauled the other into the room, Fribush and Kane at her heels. Jake slammed the door behind them and double-bolted it.

“That was quick,” he said.

“Ya gotta love Mexico,” Syd said. “They were even having a sale on C4. We cleaned them out. Figured we were doing the country a favor, getting this stuff off the streets.”

“I feel like a patriot.” Fribush pulled an Uzi out of one of the bags and looked it over appreciatively.

Kelly sat on a threadbare comforter mottled with stains. Her jaw had tightened, but she didn’t say anything. Jake wondered again what the hell he’d been thinking, allowing her to come along.

“So what’s the plan?” Maltz asked. He was sitting on a chair in the corner, methodically cleaning his nails with a knife.

“I heard from my contact at Tyr. They narrowed the search down to two boroughs.” Syd unfurled a map of the city on the bed. Kelly shifted to make room for it.

Syd pointed at two boroughs on the Eastern side of the map. “Iztapalapa and Iztacalco. Think of them as the South Bronx of Mexico City. Both Zeta-friendly, lots of safe houses there. The initial raid took place in Iztapalapa, and Tyr thinks they hung around.”

“Where’s the Tyr team?” Jake asked.

“They’ve spent the past week combing through Iztapalapa block by block. They came under fire a few times, thought they might be close.”

“What about the AFI?” Kelly asked.

“Who?” Maltz said.

“The Agencia Federal de Investigación. They’re kind of our—” Kelly caught herself. “The FBI’s counterpart in Mexico City. Is Tyr coordinating the search with them?”

“I doubt it, since a quarter of their agents work for the Sinaloa Cartel,” Syd snorted.

“But I thought—”

“This isn’t the United States, Jones. The police don’t help you here. In fact, they’re usually the first to put a bullet in your head.”

Kelly started to say something, then abruptly shut her mouth. Jake considered interceding, but unfortunately Syd was right. With every K&R job they had done in Mexico, their main goal was to avoid the authorities as much as possible, paying the right ones to look the other way. Tyr probably functioned on the same model. The neighborhoods they were talking about were basically war zones. If a Mexican cop wanted to last more than a week on the job, he avoided them at all costs. The Zetas were an occupying army in those territories. And considering that, some C4 might actually come in handy.

He could see Kelly trying to reconcile that, and felt for her. This was way past anything she had ever been involved with. With any luck she was already considering booking a flight home.

She surprised him by saying, “So we’re avoiding the Tyr team, too.”

“Naturally,” Syd said.

“Where do we start?” Maltz asked.

Syd pointed to a spot in the upper right section of the map. “Tyr is here now, and moving north. I say we start above them and move south. There’s a rumor that some Americans are being held in a building in the northeast quadrant. Zetas are known for moving captives around, but we might get lucky. We’ll ask around, see what stones we can overturn.”

“Where did you hear the rumor?” Kelly asked dubiously.

“Sorry, hon. That’s classified,” Syd said smugly.

“Syd has a lot of friends who owe her favors,” Jake explained. He didn’t add that he referred to them as her “shadow network.” He’d long ago learned better than to doubt her information. In his experience, those rumors were always right on the money.

“Why do you think anyone will talk to us, if the Zetas control everything?” Kelly pressed.

Syd dug into one of the duffels and withdrew a handful of cash. “Because we’ll be paying them. And if cash doesn’t work, we’ll try something else.”

Kelly abruptly stood and went to the bathroom. Jake followed her. She stood in front of the mirror staring down at the floor. He could hear the rest of the team suiting up in the bedroom.

“You don’t have to stay,” Jake said gently. “We both know this isn’t your kind of thing.”

“Is it yours?” she asked, raising her head to meet his eyes.

“My brother is out there,” he said, although that rang hollow even to his own ears. The truth was, aside from The Longhorn Group’s first case, Jake hadn’t done much work in the field. He usually left this sort of thing to Syd and her cohorts. He never questioned how any specific job had been accomplished, probably because in the end he didn’t want to know. As long as the hostage ended up safe and sound, he figured they’d done their job. But now that he was here, facing the reality of paying off criminals—or worse—the reality of what they were about to do struck home. Maybe he should book them both on a flight, and leave the rescuing to Syd.

Jake shook his head, dismissing the thought. He couldn’t expect others to risk their lives for his brother if he wasn’t willing to do the same. But getting Kelly to understand that… “I don’t like it any more than you do,” he said. “But—”

A loud rap on the door interrupted him.

“We’re moving out,” Syd said, voice tinged with impatience. “You kids coming along?”

Kelly replied, “We’ll be right there.”

Mark opened his eyes. The van was filled with dense, acrid smoke. He coughed to clear his lungs, struggling to see.

He was lying on his back with a body sprawled across his legs. The van had come to rest on the passenger side. The driver’s head split the windshield, glass shards fragmenting the night sky into a dark constellation. It didn’t look like he’d be coming around anytime soon. Or probably ever again.

A muffled groan as the figure by his feet shifted: Decker.

Mark turned his head. No sign of the guy who had triggered the explosion. He looked for the LMT, couldn’t find it. Shit.

Mark struggled up to sitting and nudged Decker’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah, think so.” Decker said blearily.

“We gotta go,” Mark said.

“Right.” Decker awkwardly pushed off his legs and climbed stiffly into the rear of the van. Mark followed him.

There was an enormous hole in the middle of what had been the van’s floor. So the bomb hadn’t been wired to kill everyone, just them, Mark thought. Flores and Kaplan were crumpled on top of one another. Scarface, or what was left of him, was scattered across the interior. He must have been directly above the bomb when it blew, absorbing most of the blast. Thank God for small favors.

“Where’s Sock?” Decker asked. There was no sign of him. The rear door was open; through it Mark could see dirt and scrub brush. He heard a car passing by, not too far away. The van had rolled a few times, but they were probably still close to the highway. Mark went to check Flores and Kaplan.

They were both covered in blood, though it was impossible to tell how much of it had come from Scarface. He eased Flores off Kaplan. Flores started in response.

“Wha—”

“You okay, man?” Mark asked.

Flores raised a hand to his face. It came away bloody. “This mine?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Anything hurt?”

“Shit, everything hurts.” Flores slowly moved his arms and legs. “But I don’t think I’m bleeding.”

Decker was bent over Kaplan. “He’s hurt,” he said. “Pretty bad.”

Mark joined him. Kaplan was still unconscious, his face so pale it glowed in the dark interior. Carefully they turned him over. A bloodstain the size of a quarter marked the exit wound.

“At least it passed through,” Decker said.

“You have EMT training, right?” Mark asked. Decker nodded.

“All right.” Mark checked the interior again, hoping to find some sort of weapon, but there was nothing useful. “We’ve got to move out. Chances are hostiles will be here soon. Do what you can to stop the bleeding. We’ll take shifts carrying him.”

“What about Sock?”

“What about him?” A voice boomed from outside. Sock suddenly appeared in the doorway.

“What happened to you?” Decker asked.

“Came to and that asshole was heading out. Thought I’d try to stop him.”

“So where is he?” Mark asked. Sock looked largely unharmed, which was almost miraculous considering how close he’d been to the blast.

Sock looked away. “Bastard was too fast. But we gotta get moving. I think he had a phone on him. Got this, though.” He held up the LMT.

“I didn’t hear any shots fired,” Mark said.

“Couldn’t get a clear line of sight,” Sock retorted. “Figured I’d save the ammo.”

“Kaplan got hit,” Flores said.

“Yeah?” Sock glanced over. “We leaving him?”

“Never leave a man behind,” Mark said, surprised. “We’ll take shifts carrying him.”

“Carrying him where?” Sock asked dubiously.

Mark didn’t answer. He climbed out of the van, easing past Kaplan, Flores and Decker. The air felt cool on his face. Dawn was breaking over the mountains. To the west, city lights shimmered through a smoggy bubble, casting a yellow glow toward the brightening sky. Still Mexico City, he noted with relief—he’d been right, they hadn’t been moved far. That should make it easier for Tyr to arrange air transport out.

The van had come to rest in a dusty field fifty feet from the highway. Not good—anyone driving by could see it, especially now that day was breaking. A hundred yards away stood a shabby adobe building that appeared abandoned. Another stretch of field and trees, then the city reared up again. He had no idea where they were. Hell, he didn’t even know what time it was.

“Which way?” Sock pressed.

“Back toward the city,” Mark said with more conviction than he felt. “We’ll be able to contact Tyr and get medical supplies for Kaplan.”

“I vote we head east,” Sock argued. “Zetas own that town, we head back there they’ll grab us again.”

“We won’t have to lay low for long,” Mark said. “Once we make contact, they can have us out in under three hours. There might be another unit here already.”

“Yeah? You sure the first door we knock on won’t be opened by el Jefe?” Sock turned to the others. “Outside, we got a shot. We can hunker down at a farm somewhere, get Tyr to send in a chopper. The city, we gotta deal with cops and other assholes who’re gonna wonder why our buddy has a hole in him.”

Decker and Flores looked uncertain. Mark considered for a minute. Sock was right—they might have a better shot surviving in the rural areas surrounding the city. Urban warfare was a bitch; he’d be the first to admit that. But if he ceded his authority now, he knew from experience there was no getting it back. And he didn’t like the thought of Sock as their de facto leader. Something about him was off, Mark could smell it. He wasn’t about to follow someone he didn’t trust with his life.

“We head west, back to the city,” he said firmly. “Move out.”

Sock appeared ready to argue, but Flores and Decker were already moving, Kaplan cradled between them. Sock eyed Mark for a second as if sizing him up for a fight. Mark watched his hand, saw the index finger move toward the trigger of the LMT by his side. After a beat, it relaxed back down.

“You’re the boss,” Sock said. “But if we get pinched again, I’m saying I told you so.”

“We get pinched again, we won’t live long enough to talk about it.” Mark reached for the LMT. Another pause, then Sock handed it over. Mark slung it over his shoulder and they headed across the field.

“All due respect, sir, I’m not buying it.” Linus Smiley listened to the voice on the other end of the receiver, mouth tightening. “If Cesar Calderon was such a friend to the Mexican people, I don’t understand why you’re refusing to assist in his release.”

Linus had spent the morning being rerouted to different people in the hierarchy of the Mexican government, each of whom eagerly pawned him off on someone else. He had no idea at this point if he’d managed to ascend the ladder to someone who could actually accomplish something, or if he was still dealing with a low-level bureaucrat annoyed by the interruption of his breakfast. “I understand that initially we refused outside assistance. But clearly that situation has changed. Now we have three dead employees, and another five who are presumed hostages. At what point do you folks actually get off your asses and do something about it?”

There was a long pause. Finally the man on the other end said in heavily accented English, “Mr. Smiley, in the past year more than two hundred of our citizens were kidnapped in Mexico City, and another eight hundred nationwide. And those were only the ones reported, the real number is likely two or three times that. We have had five hundred homicides, more than a hundred in Mexico City alone. Are you implying that the loss of Americans is more important?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Linus said. “We’re not talking about some guy running a taco stand, Mr.—” he glanced at his sheet of handwritten notes “—Ortiz. Cesar Calderon is a major player on the global scene. If anything happens to him—”

“I don’t believe I can assist you, Mr. Smiley,” Ortiz interrupted. “Allow me to transfer you to someone who can.”

Linus fumed as mariachi Muzak once again poured from the receiver. He slammed it down. Jesus, he hated Mexico. Bunch of incompetent bastards whose third world status was more than deserved. Russia and the former Soviet bloc nations had problems, but at least money talked over there. Pay off the right person, you could get nearly anything done. Had Calderon been snatched in Kiev, Linus would have had him home in less than a week.

He pressed the intercom button. “Get the team on the line.”

Linus paced while he waited for the connection to come through. He’d sent sixteen men down there, led by Ellis Brown. Cesar had personally lured Brown from his career as a Navy SEAL into K&R work, and Brown was his go-to guy for snatch-and-grab operations. He would have led the first team, had even called to volunteer, but Smiley wanted him to finish up another operation in Colombia. A mistake, maybe. One he was now able to rectify.

“Brown here.”

“Secured line?”

“Yessir.” Brown’s tone implied that the question itself was offensive.

“Progress?”

“Still no sign of the whale,” Brown said.

“Whale” was the code name for Calderon. “What about the rest of them?”

“We think we found a safe house where they were kept, but there’s no movement. Probably gone already.” There was a pause. “One of our contacts said we’re not the only ones looking for them. You send in another unit?”

“You’re the only ones down there.” Linus’s brow furrowed.

“That’s what I thought, sir.”

“Americans?”

“Definitely. Asking a lot of questions about the minnows.”

The minnows were the missing unit. That was odd. Linus slumped back into his chair. What the hell was going on down there?

It was already beyond strange that someone had snatched a hostage of Calderon’s caliber without providing proof of life, or contacting either Tyr or his family with a ransom demand. What could they be after? Had they simply killed him as a warning to K&R companies working in the region? If so, his body should have turned up by now. When a local police chief crossed Los Zetas, his head was found in a cooler outside his precinct. Los Zetas weren’t shy about sending messages. And why seize the rest of the unit alive, then not attempt to ransom them out, too? Fucking Mexico, Linus thought. He’d never understand it.

“New orders, sir?”

“No, stay the course. The whale is your primary objective, minnows are a bonus.”

“What about the other team?”

“You run across them, find out what the hell they’re doing down there.”

“Any limits?” Brown asked.

Linus pondered for a moment. “None,” he finally said. “They’ve got no business interfering. Do what you have to.”

He hung up the phone and glanced at the clock. It was an hour earlier in Mexico City, just before 10:00 a.m. Linus wasn’t accomplishing anything by phone. The board meeting was less than a week away. By then, he’d have to have Calderon back, dead or alive, and news on the missing unit. He buzzed the intercom again. “Book me a flight to Mexico City.”

Kelly tensed on the edge of the backseat as Syd and Kane approached the bodega. Syd’s contact claimed the owner was Zeta-friendly. Apparently he and his wife stowed hostages in the apartment above the store. He was responsible for making sure they didn’t escape, she kept them fed.

Nothing about this was sitting well with Kelly. They only had the word of one of Syd’s shadowy connections to go on, and God only knew what his motivation was for ratting out the bodega. “What if they’ve got nothing to do with Los Zetas?” Kelly had asked back at the motel.

“Then we go on our merry way,” Syd claimed.

Kelly very much doubted that was true. The bodega door closed behind them. Almost subconsciously she began to count, trying to keep herself from imagining what was going on inside.

What the hell am I doing here? Kelly wondered. She’d been so gung ho to feel useful again, she hadn’t thought through what kind of moral compromises working with Syd would present. Already she felt dirty, and they hadn’t even done anything yet. She was no Pollyanna; she knew there was a seamy side to Jake’s new line of work. She just hadn’t realized how seamy.

Kelly had hoped that coming down here would restore her sense of purpose, and that after they found Mark she’d have a chance to look into the allegation that Stefan Gundarsson was still alive. But the reality of that suddenly seemed absurd. Jake would flip if she told him she intended to track down a fugitive alone. And the truth was, she didn’t even know where to start looking. She hadn’t been able to get in touch with the P.I. who provided the earlier lead. She didn’t speak Spanish, and based on what everyone was telling her, the Mexican authorities wouldn’t be helpful. On top of which she didn’t have the authority or clearance to be doing any of this. She’d wanted to dig up enough concrete evidence to convince her boss to reopen the case and put her in charge of it. But that possibility seemed increasingly remote.

Out of the corner of her eye she examined Jake. His face was inscrutable. For a second, it seemed as if he were a total stranger, and she was seeing him for the first time. She flashed back on the day they’d met, in the command-center trailer during her campus case. He seemed colder now, harder. It had been a long three years for both of them. Had he really changed so much since then? Or was her mind messing with her again?

Kelly shifted in her seat. Her leg was sore. The pressurization on the plane had caused it to swell and the socket of her prosthetic felt unusually tight. The lack of sleep wasn’t helping, either. The Xanax had worn off and she could sense the panic lurking, waiting for an opportunity to rush in. It felt like there was a spotlight on their cars, as if everyone passing by had pegged them as intruders. Kelly knew she was being paranoid, but she couldn’t help herself. Half of her was afraid that at any moment someone might open fire, drilling their cars with automatic weapon fire. The other half was worried that the people inside the store were involved in the kidnapping of Mark’s team. And she could imagine what Syd would do to them if that turned out to be the case.

Syd emerged from the store with Kane at her heels. She pulled on a baseball cap, their signal to meet her at a prearranged location a block away.

“Must have gone well,” Jake commented from the front seat.

“How do you know?” Kelly asked.

“No shots fired,” Maltz said from beside her. They were in the same seating arrangement as before, with Jagerson driving. She had yet to hear him say a word, and was starting to wonder if he even spoke English.

Kelly gazed out the window at the passing storefronts. They were in the northeast quadrant of Iztapalapa. To her eyes it was indistinguishable from the rest of Mexico City: row after row of run-down buildings, streets riddled with potholes, choking smog and horns and blaring music. Her only other trip to Mexico had been a vacation in Puerto Vallarta years before. This is a far cry from that, she thought wryly.

Jagerson eased the car over to the curb.

Syd approached Jake’s window. She leaned over as she spoke. Kelly’s eyes narrowed at the peek of bra revealed by that maneuver.

“Shopkeeper is dirty all right. He didn’t have them there, but he probably has others.”

“How do you know they weren’t there?” Kelly interrupted.

Syd barely glanced at her. “Because he heard a rumor that the guys we’re after were in a van crash on the Mexico-Puebla highway early this morning. They were being moved out of the city. He thinks the hostages got away.”

“He’s sure?” Jake asked.

“Sure enough,” Syd said. “I made a call, we should have a copy of the accident report within the hour.”

“Are they all okay?”

“Apparently.”

“How’d you get him to tell you all that?” Kelly asked. “How do we know he’s not lying?”

Syd grinned at her. “I asked nicely.” She turned back to Jake. “I’ve got the general location of the crash. I say we head out there, see what we can find. It’s only a few clicks east.”

“What about the other people?” Kelly asked.

“What other people?”

“You said he was keeping other hostages above the store.”

“Yeah?” Syd gazed at her levelly.

Kelly turned to Jake. “There has to be someone you can call.”

He paused a beat before saying, “Kelly, no one’s supposed to—”

“Someone must be looking for them. Maybe one of the other K&R companies.”

“Not if they’re local,” Syd snorted. “Hell, you don’t even have to have money to get kidnapped down here. Some of the gangs offer a layaway plan.”

Kelly stared Jake down. Finally he said, “I’ll have Demetri drop the AFI an anonymous tip.” Syd started to protest, but he cut her off. “Meanwhile, we go check out that crash site.”

“What if the cops are still there?” Maltz asked.

“They won’t be,” Syd said. “Happened early this morning, everything’ll be cleared up by now.”

“And if some of the Zetas are there?” Kelly asked.

“Then we consider ourselves lucky,” Syd said. “I’m dying to talk to one face-to-face.”