F-Stop (21 page)

Around seven thirty he’d ordered from room service for himself and his federal babysitter but the excellently prepared food had little appeal for him. Every half hour he looked at his watch, wondering if they’d have to wait until morning for the next email.

Very little made Rand Prescott nervous but the silent presence of the federal agent would have gotten on anyone’s nerves, he told himself. He’d pulled himself up to where he was over a very bumpy road and he knew there would be things anyone digging into his past might look at strangely. Things he didn’t need splashed across the front page of the newspapers or headlined on television. Things the people he did business with would be none too happy to read about.

He raised his eyes and looked over at the man on the other side of the room.

“Do you plan to just sit there all day?”

Hopewell nodded. “Until we know the details of the ransom and how it’s going to take place.”

“I suppose you know that I’m in town here on business.”

“You’re perfectly free to have all your meetings here in your suite,” Hopewell told him. “But I’m not sure how much of this you want to involve anyone else in.”

“Why do you think they emailed three people?” he asked.

Hopewell shrugged. “Maybe they’re hedging their bets. Making sure there won’t be a question of getting all the money together. Why? Are you saying you don’t want to be involved?”

Prescott chose his words carefully. “I’m saying I wouldn’t think I would be a logical choice of the kidnappers. But of course I want to do whatever I can to facilitate this. I think a great deal of Eli Wright and his family.”

“You and Mr. Wright have partnered in some business deals, right?”

“That’s correct. And everything was aboveboard, I can assure you.” Why did he feel the need to add that little extra?

“Good. Because I’m sure you know we’re going over both the business and personal affairs of everyone involved here.”

“Yes. Of course.”

Prescott rose and went to the sideboard, where he poured himself a cup of coffee.

What he really wanted was a good stiff slug of bourbon. Sipping the hot liquid slowly, he checked to make sure he had his cell phone with him and headed for the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” the agent asked him, suddenly alert.

“To use the restroom,” he said with a touch of derision. “I’m assuming I won’t get arrested for that?”

The agent simply looked at him, face unreadable and went back to looking at the papers in his lap.

Prescott passed through the bedroom to the bathroom, closed the door softly, locked it and pulled out yet another disposable cell phone. In his business he’d learned to keep a supply of them for situations just like this—when he wanted to make calls and bypass any law enforcement traps or traces. Now all three of them were doing it. And it was becoming damn inconvenient.

* * * * *

Ron Pelley was getting sick of looking at Anthony Delaware. Not only was the man a permanent fixture in his office, he’d made it very plain that he had people who worked for him digging into every corner and crevice of his life. How the hell did he get into this mess, anyway?

It hadn’t been much fun meeting with staff members and division heads with the silent presence in the corner and he hadn’t been able to come up with an explanation that satisfied anyone. They all left his office with curiosity stamped on their faces.

Sometime after six he called down to the cafeteria that operated 24/7 for Wright employees and ordered something for himself and Anthony Delaware. He ate only to try to fill the hole in his stomach, forcing himself not to constantly check his watch.

What the hell were they waiting for? The morning?

This was an impossible situation.

“You’d better hope the Wrights and Miss Culhane are still somewhere in this country,” the agent said now. “I’ve talked to my boss in Washington and he’s firm about the fact that if they’ve been taken to a foreign country, the chances of recovering them are slim to none. We won’t be able to go in after them.” Pelley didn’t want to think about that. “What makes you think they won’t turn them loose when the ransom is paid?”

“We don’t know anything for sure. What we’re trying to learn right now is who made the connection with the kidnappers. Who fed them information. And how the ransom will be arranged.”

“What do you mean, who made the connection?”

“I’ve been telling you,” Delaware said with exaggerated patience. “Someone had to set this up. None of the kidnappings in the border states have been random. Someone besides the kidnappers is going to make some bucks on this. And we plan to find out who.”

“I thought you told me they’d probably arrange to have the ransom paid by bank transfer.”

“That’s still a possibility. But in the past few months we’ve pretty much been able to trace all wire transfers, so they may decide some other way would be safer.”

“Like what?” Pelley demanded. He’d long since given up trying to get any work done. Now he was more worried about the pieces of his life being held up to the light of day.

“I don’t know. We’ll have to wait and see.”

“Why the hell is it taking so long for the next email?” he complained. “What are they waiting for?”

“It’s a standard tactic,” Delaware told him. “Ratchet up the anxiety factor so the mark will do anything, pay anything, agree to anything, to get the hostages back.”

“What makes them think we wouldn’t pay up?”

“I don’t know.” Delaware’s voice was flat and uninflected. “We’re talking about a lot of money here. Are their lives worth that much to you?”

“What the hell kind of question is that?” Pelley stood up, pushing his chair back.

“Excuse me. I think I need to hit the men’s room. This conversation is making me sick.” The agent just shook his head and looked back at what he was reading. Pelley carefully palmed a disposable cell phone from his desk, shoved his hands in his pockets and strode out of the room.

Damn, damn, damn.

* * * * *

“Why are you calling me?” Nando asked, his voiced tinged with anger. “You know you’re supposed to wait for my phone call and the next email.”

“Things are getting a little testy here,” Rip told him, “and so am I. All three of us have FBI agents babysitting us and it isn’t much fun.”

“Patience,” Nando told him. “You must have patience.”

“Patience? This isn’t some kind of game we’re playing. We need to get this done and over with.”

“Try to remember,” the man said in a quietly vicious tone, “you are not the one calling the shots here. This isn’t just about these particular…guests.” Rip felt his gut clench. “What do you mean, not about them? Who the hell would it be about?”

“It’s about sending the right message for future operations,” Nando explained slowly, as if speaking to a child. “We have a reputation to maintain. People must know they can’t screw around with us.”

“Are you shitting me?” Rip ran his hands through his hair. This was not the way he’d imagined things would go. “Everyone already knows you mean business. So let’s get on with it. When are you sending the next email? It’s already nine o’clock at night and this Fed is stuck to me like glue.”

“Timing is everything, my friend. You should have learned that by now.” A faint click and Rip was listening to dead air. He had to stifle an insane urge to punch his fist through the wall.

* * * * *

There was little to relieve the darkness in the dirt hut. No one had come to see them since the last video shoot and hardly any light reached them through the tiny slit of a window. They could see the sliver of moon against the black sky but the thin slice was no help at all.

Eli’s nose had stopped bleeding. Sydney had found a roll of paper towels in the corner of the bathroom and kept a dampened wad against Eli’s face to help with the swelling. Lissa had lost it after the guards had left the last time, so upset by her father’s smashed nose and the hurt inflicted on Sydney and Mari that she hadn’t been able to hold back the tears. Sydney had rocked her in her arms for a long time. Now, exhausted, Lissa slept with her head in her mother’s lap.

“Mari, you’ve been incredible,” Eli told her, his words slightly muffled through the wad of paper towel. “I am so very sorry we got you into this.”

“Not your fault, Mr. Wright.”

The pounding in Mari’s head had subsided to a dull thud and her vision was no longer blurred but the nausea still crept up in her throat now and then.

“I think under the circumstances you could call me Eli, don’t you think?” She was amazed that he could still manage a trace of humor in his voice. “Okay. Eli.

It still isn’t your fault.”

“Mari, someone we know, somewhere, has hooked up with our kidnappers. They fed them the information about our stop in San Diego. It was too well-planned for it not to be set up ahead of time. And forgive me, I don’t think you’re the primary target.”

“I can’t imagine anyone we know mixed up with drug cartels.” Sydney’s voice was a little shaky but Mari could tell she wasn’t about to give in to the circumstance.

“You never know,” Eli told her. “People have secrets in their lives they keep well hidden.”

“It’s just so unbelievable,” Sydney said.

“Mari, tell me about these people your sister knows. The Phoenix Agency.”

“They’re all former military. Two of them are childhood friends. Originally there were four of them but when Faith Wilding found them and got them to rescue Mark Halloran, who she’s now married to, he became the fifth partner.”

“Exactly what do they do?”

She gave an abrupt laugh. “What
don’t
they do? They have contracts to perform black ops for the government. They handle private security for corporations all over the world. Sometimes they take individual cases if it happens to be a friend of theirs. Like when Dan Romeo, the senior partner, prevented the theft of Carpenter Techtronics’

latest gizmo.” She wet her very dry lips with her tongue. “I don’t want to make you think they’re supermen but there’s very little they can’t do.”

“You know, they’ve called a couple of times looking to present a plan for our corporate security,” Eli told her. “Too bad I didn’t meet with them.”

“There’s one more thing.” Mari tried to figure out how to tell them this. “Three of the partners are married and each of the wives has a particular psychic gift. They’ve even formed a Psi department to integrate these gifts into certain missions they undertake.”

“I’m not a stranger to that,” Eli told her. “I’m actually aware the government has been experimenting with various psychic gifts to increase their intelligence-gathering capabilities.”

“You should know my sister also has a…special gift. She’s a remote viewer. And that’s what I’m pinning my hopes on.”

“Explain remote viewing,” Sydney said.

Mari gave them as brief a description as she could, surprised that neither of the Wrights dismissed it out of hand.

“When Mark Halloran was held by terrorists in the Peruvian jungle, it was his ability to communicate telepathically with Faith that ultimately led to his rescue.” She smiled, even though she knew they couldn’t see her. “So I’m hoping the same kind of thing works for us.”

“Let’s pray you’re right, because other than the slimeball who helped set this up,” Eli pointed out, “no one else knows where the hell we are.”
Chapter Eleven

By ten o’clock Mark and Michael had printed out everything they could find on Victor Herrera and the Sinaloa cartel. The only thing they couldn’t find was the exact location of Herrera’s estate. There were brief descriptions of it, more than five hundred acres somewhere in the state of Sinaloa, but no one knew or would tell exactly where.

“Arrgh,” Faith said, massaging her neck. She’d been going over the printouts from Tia one more time, hoping in her own research there’d be some kind of clue. Sinaloa was a huge geographic area. It would take days—maybe even weeks—to search every inch of it.

“We could try taking a pass with the helicopter,” Mike said, “but if Herrera’s got his own army and he sees us overfly his house, they could have missiles and easily shoot us down.”

“We’ve got to pin down a location, then try to scout it.” Mark stood up and went to the minibar, pulling out a soft drink.

“Let me try a session again,” Kat said, impatient to be doing something.

She sensed the tension in Mike’s body.

“Kitten, you said you’ve been having problems,” he objected. “You’ve already done this today. You don’t want to overtax yourself.”

“But don’t you see? With Brent off my back the fear is gone. I felt so much stronger during the last session. And we know the general area of Mexico where they’re probably being held.” She reached for the pile of papers in front of Faith. “Let me look at this. Maybe there’s something in there that will give me an item or area to focus on.”

“Here.” Mike shifted one of the laptops over in front of her. “Use this. I’ve bookmarked a bunch of sites with geographical information on the state of Sinaloa. It’s on the west coast of Mexico.”

Kat began looking at one screen after another, studying each one carefully. When she came to the general topographical information a tiny shiver skittered down her spine.

“Mike? Look at this.” She swallowed the spike of excitement, wanting to be absolutely sure before she sent everyone off on a wild goose chase.

“What is it, kitten?” He slid his chair closer to hers.

“Look.” She pointed to a paragraph on the page. “This says Sinaloa lies in the foothills of the Occidental Range of the Sierra Madres. In the last viewing session, I saw just a vague hint—shadows, really—of hills beyond the hut.” She looked around at everyone. “They could possibly be right near the Sierra Madres.”

“Is there any way for you to get a closer location? Anything that might give us a clue?”

“Yes. Can we find any photos, maybe aerial shots of those hills? Maybe I can piece it together.”

Mark immediately searched on his laptop and brought up three shots, which he saved side by side. Turning the screen toward Kat, he asked, “Is this enough for you to go with?”

“It might be. I want to give it a try.”