Into the Whirlwind (26 page)

“That won't be a problem. See you there,” Nolan said and hung up the phone.

Chapter Thirty-One

A rough jolt shivered through her body and Meg slowly opened her eyes. For a moment she couldn't figure out where she was. Her mind felt sluggish and her head was pounding. There was a kink in her neck. She had to concentrate to force her limbs to move. Was she sick? Maybe she was in the hospital.

Then her gaze lit on the man on the wide leather seat across from her. Well dressed in navy slacks and a yellow button-down shirt, an expensive pair of shoes. Dolce & Gabbana, she thought vaguely, somewhere in the depths of her mind. Black hair, dark eyes, early forties. She didn't recognize the man and yet she felt a spike of fear just looking at his face.

She bit back a cry as it all came rushing back. Being drugged and abducted, seeing Jonathan when she'd been tossed in the back of a van. She dimly remembered being half-carried up the metal stairs into a sleek private jet, remembered the two rough-looking men who had guided her into a seat.

They'd said something to the pilot or copilot, something about her being afraid to fly. Drugs were mentioned, and alcohol. She'd been buckled into the seat, a blanket tucked around her.

She faintly recalled the jet roaring down the runway, surging into the air, but she hadn't been able to keep her eyes open for long.

She opened them now, realized the plane had hit a patch of rough air. She took a deep breath and tried to summon enough energy to sit up, but the black-haired man reached over and pressed a white rag over her nose and mouth. She tried to struggle, fought not to breathe in the sickly sweet smell, then the drug kicked in and she slipped once more into the dark depths of unconsciousness.

* * *

The office was buzzing with activity by the time Dirk walked in. Sadie had promised to talk to Ian, to phone Nick and Ethan and bring them up to speed. Montoya was working with M-Jazz, but a couple of other BOSS, Inc. contractors had agreed to cover if more help was needed.

Ian and Nick were sitting at the long mahogany table in the conference room as Dirk strode through the open door. Luke had beaten him there—no surprise because he always drove too fast and, in his battered old Bronco, rarely got stopped. Sitting at the table across from Nick, Luke glanced up as Dirk walked in, then went back to work on his laptop.

Ethan walked in a few seconds later, spread open a rolled-up map of South America, then opened one of Argentina on top.

“I've got topos on the way,” Ethan said. “Guy from the print shop is bringing them over as soon as they're ready.” They could open a digital map on the computer and project it on the wall, but Ethan was old school. He liked to be able to mark things up and refer back to them.

“We're waiting for Sadie,” Ian said. Brodie rose from his chair to study the maps spread out in front of him. “She should be down any minute.”

Dirk glanced at the men in the conference room, the best men he knew. A tightness crawled into his chest. He should have known his friends would be on board, already hard at work to set a plan in motion.

He was bringing Meg back, hell or high water. None of them seemed to doubt that. Be a lot easier now, with his friends there to back him up.

He shoved down the unwanted emotion. No time for that now. He moved to the head of the table to gain the men's attention.

“I spoke to Agent Nolan at the FBI,” he started. “I'm hoping the feds'll be able to call in some international help on this, get Meg off the plane as soon as it touches the ground.”

“Been my experience,” Luke drawled, “in a situation like this, the feds are about as worthless as a roll of wet toilet paper.”

A chuckle went around the room.

“I guess we'll find out soon enough,” Dirk said. “Nolan's on his way to the office.”

Luke ran a hand over his sun-streaked, brown hair. “Meantime, why don't we go over what we know so far?”

Dirk sat down at the head of the table. Whatever happened, this was his operation and everyone knew it, accepted it. “According to the barista at Starbucks, the van was in the parking lot around eleven a.m. We'll use that as the baseline for when Meg disappeared.”

“Any way to get a line on the vehicle?” Nick asked.

Dirk shook his head. “Not even a partial plate number. Got to be about a thousand white vans in Seattle.”

“They would have had to drug her or knock her out,” Luke said. “From what I know of the lady, it's the only way they could have gotten her inside.”

The tightness returned to Dirk's chest. Meg would have fought them with every ounce of her strength. She had a little boy to think of. She wanted to be there to watch him grow up.

“They used chloroform on her kid,” he said. “Probably immobilized her the same way. Hollander says they had a private jet waiting at Boeing Field to fly her out of the country. He didn't know if it was Gertsman's or a charter.”

“A private jet's no problem for Otto Gertsman,” Sadie said as she walked into the room, the wrinkles in her face more pronounced, curly platinum hair a little mussed. “Guy's got a small fleet of them. Gertsman's one of the richest men in South America and half the rest of the world.”

She carried her laptop over to the conference table, the worry in her pale blue eyes kicking Dirk's nerves up another notch. Sadie sat down in one of the black leather chairs, opened her computer, and went to work.

A forty-eight-inch flat panel monitor hung on the wall at the opposite end of the table. In seconds a photo of Otto Gertsman appeared on the screen.

“Fifty years old,” Sadie started. “Six foot three, gray-blond hair, and blue eyes. Born to German parents in an Argentine town called Villa La Angostura. It's in the Neuquén Province in the alpine region on the slopes of the Andes. It's an area heavily settled by Germans.”

“Neuquén Province,” Ethan repeated. Grabbing a yellow Sharpie, he located and circled the area on the map.

“A lot of Nazis fled to the region after the Second World War,” Sadie continued, “including Herman Gertsman, Otto's grandfather. Grandpa Gertsman left Germany right before the war ended. He made no bones about being a Nazi; in fact he was proud of it.”

“How did Gertsman get his money?” Nick asked.

“Inherited a lot of it. Good ol' gramps looted a fortune from the Poles, the Russians, the Jews, and anybody else who crossed his path. 'Course there's no proof of that. When Grandpa died, his son, Wilhelm, became a very rich man. He began to build a business empire. Wilhelm died and left his money to Otto, who continued the tradition. Today OGAR International has interests in energy, steel metallurgy, airlines, shipping, petrochemicals, and automotive parts.”

“My guess,” Dirk said, “Otto also continued his family's association with the Nazi movement. That's his connection to Mad Max Bremmer, one of the men involved in the original kidnapping, a neo-Nazi born in the same region.”

“Good guess,” Sadie said. “Bariloche's less than sixty miles from Villa La Angostura.”

“Hollander told us Gertsman's planning to take Meg to his compound,” Dirk said, adding information he and Luke had pumped out of Jonathan before the feds had arrived to haul his ass away. “Any idea where it is?”

Sadie made a low sound of disgust. “Unfortunately the guy owns five palatial homes in Argentina alone. Got one near Nice in the south of France, got one in Macao. He's got property all over the world. He could be taking her anywhere.”

Dirk's stomach knotted. “Christ.” When were they going to catch a break? He raked back his too-long hair, reminding himself of the haircut he had intended to get that day. He had wanted to look good for Meg.

The knot in his stomach went tighter.

“Take it easy, bro,” Luke said, reading the tension vibrating between his shoulders. “We're just getting started.” Luke grinned. “If it was too easy, it wouldn't be any fun.”

Dirk whipped a look at his friend. Luke was trying to lighten the moment, give him the boost he needed. A faint smile flickered across his lips. “Yeah, what was I thinking?”

Ethan shoved back his chair, hoisting his heavily muscled frame up from the seat. “I've got a friend at Sea-Tac who owes me a favor. Odds are he'll know someone in the office at Boeing Field. The pilot had to file a flight plan. Maybe we can get the tail numbers off the plane, see where it's scheduled to land.” Ethan pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and headed out the door to make the call.

As he disappeared from sight, a sandy-haired man appeared in the doorway: FBI Special Agent Ron Nolan. “Looks like a war room in here.”

With Gertsman's photo still up on the screen, maps spread open on the table, iPads, and smartphones, it kind of did.

“Close enough,” Dirk said. He shook Nolan's hand and Ian did the same. The men farther away gave him a nod. “I hope you're here to tell me you have a line on the plane and know where it's going, and men at your disposal to meet the jet when it lands.”

Nolan pushed out a soft breath of air. “Unfortunately meeting the plane isn't going to happen.”

“Told you,” Luke grumbled.

“Do you at least know where it's headed?” Dirk asked.

“We're working on it. We should have the information very soon.”

Ethan walked back in just then. “The plane was a chartered G4, tail number N108EC. The flight plan calls for a refueling stop at Juan Santamaria International Airport in Costa Rica. From there it's going to El Tepual International Airport in Chile. Looks like that's the final destination. The pilot is planning to fly the plane back to Seattle from there.”

“Chile?” Dirk walked over to where Sadie was working her laptop. “What the hell's in Chile?”

Her fingers ran over the keyboard. Her head came up as she pointed to the info on the big screen on the wall. “You see that?” A Google map of the area pinpointed with a red balloon.

“Yeah, I see it. So what?”

“That's El Tepual Airport in Chile.” She zoomed the map a little to the east. “And right there on the other side of the Andes—that's Bariloche.”

A grim smile touched Dirk's lips. “Alpine region. He's taking her home. He's meeting the charter and picking her up in one of his own planes, flying her back to Bariloche or somewhere close by. He must have a place in the area. Good work—both of you.”

“Let's see if we can find out exactly where he's headed.” Sadie started pounding on the keyboard again.

Ron Nolan moved closer to the table, slid a glance past each of the men. “Whatever you're planning, it isn't going to happen.” Sadie stopped typing. “At least not today or anytime for at least the next week.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dirk shot Nolan a glare. “You need to put boots on the ground, get men to that airport before the plane arrives.”

“Not gonna happen. Here's the deal. Interpol is all over Gertsman. According to them, the guy's involved in all kinds of criminal activities from drug smuggling to gun running. They want him bad. They've got a man deep undercover and they're within days—a week to ten at most—before they have everything in place to take him down.”

Anger vibrated through every muscle in Dirk's body. “And in the meantime what's going to happen to Meg? Gertsman didn't take her all the way to Argentina so they could have a nice little chat over afternoon tea. She's an internationally famous model. He wants her—just like any other red-blooded male. You don't think he's ruthless enough to take what he wants without her permission?”

“I know you're worried,” Nolan tried to soothe. “But Meg's a big girl. She was a lingerie model, for God's sake. She knows how to handle men. All she has to do is placate the guy for a few days, give Interpol a little time.”

Luke made a disgusted sound in his throat and Dirk moved into Nolan's space. “She's a mother, you bastard—not some fucking whore!”

Nolan backed a little away. “You need to take it easy, Dirk. You're not thinking clearly. You're too emotionally involved because you think she's yours. Isn't that right?”

Did Meg belong to him? Did she? Who was he kidding? She'd been his since the moment she'd invited him into her bed.

“She's mine, Nolan, and I protect what belongs to me.”

“Not this time, Reynolds. You're going to wait. If you try to interfere with the investigation, you're going to jail.” He turned. “Same goes for the rest of you. You need to step back, let the authorities do their jobs.” His voice softened. “Interpol knows what's going on. They're doing everything in their power to bring Megan home. And so are we.”

A heavy silence hung over the room.

Dirk's jaw was clenched too tight to speak.

Agent Nolan turned and walked out of the conference room. No one said a word till they heard the back door leading to the parking lot close firmly behind him.

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Time to go to work,” Luke said, breaking the silence, continuing as if the agent had never been in the room. “Before I got here, I put a call in to Morgan Flynn, my buddy in South America. Gave him a sitrep and asked him to be ready to handle the details should we have to go in and do the extract ourselves.”

“Special Agent Nolan has just made that plan a go,” Ethan said darkly.

“Flynn's currently in Uruguay, but he's done plenty of work in Argentina. He'll have access to whatever tactical gear and weaponry we need, and he's ready to go in with us once we get down there. I told him I'd get back to him as soon as things got under way.”

Dirk nodded. Taking action eased the pressure between his shoulder blades. Luke had been right all along. He'd been a fool to think there'd be an easy way to bring Meg home.

Nick spoke up just then. “I've been doing some checking.” He looked down at the iPad on the table in front of him. “It's 2,972 nautical miles from Seattle to Costa Rica, a little less than nine hours flying time. Meg went missing from Starbucks at around eleven. That means the plane should be arriving at the airport in Costa Rica, our time, around eight p.m.”

Dirk checked his watch. It was already a quarter till eight. “Without international help, we can't do jack to stop them from leaving Costa Rica.”

“I figure they'll refuel and head out,” Nick said. “It's another nine hours to El Tepual. This time they change planes, load Meg onto one of Gertsman's jets, and head for Bariloche. There's an airport there big enough to handle a business jet so that's likely the final destination. It's not that far from Chile, only a little over a hundred miles, but they have to get over some kick-ass mountains.”

“That's eighteen hours total flying time,” Luke said. “Plus the drive from Starbucks to Boeing Field, loading and takeoff, refueling stops and plane changes. With the five-hour time change, that puts them in Bariloche at eleven hundred tomorrow morning.”

“Eleven a.m.,” Dirk repeated. “Unless there's some delay or they run into inclement weather.”

Ethan glanced at the men at the table. “That's six a.m. our time. It's gonna be a late night, boys. We'd better call our significant others.”

Luke rose from his chair. “Since I'm currently and with any luck at all will remain without a significant other, I'll call Flynn, bring him up to speed, and get him started on lining up the gear and weapons we're going to need.”

A noise sounded in the doorway. “Which, from what I've just overheard, is going to necessitate chartering a jet—among various and sundry other expenses.”

Dirk turned toward the familiar deep voice. “Mr. O'Brien.”

“Edwin will do. I wish you had phoned me. Instead, after I tried calling Meg's cell for the past few hours and never got an answer, I rang the house and spoke to Mrs. Wills. I could tell she was upset. She said you were looking for Meg, too. I had a feeling I'd find you here.”

“I didn't want to call until I knew what was going on.”

“And now you do,” said the tall man with the graying red hair.

“Unfortunately yes.” He turned to the other men at the table. “This is Edwin O'Brien, Meg's dad.” He made the introductions. “The lady behind the laptop is Sadie Gunderson. The blond guy is Ian Brodie, my boss. The man over there with the black hair and blue eyes, that's Nick Brodie, and the big guy, that's Nick's cousin, Ethan. You already know Luke.”

Edwin gave a respectful nod toward the men. “I assume you're all here to help Dirk find Meg.”

“That's right,” Ian said.

“Whether you know it or not, you'll benefit from my assistance as well. Let me start by saying the undertaking you are about to embark upon will not be a cheap endeavor. Fortunately I have money to burn and I want my daughter returned safely home.”

Dirk felt a rush of relief, followed by one of respect for Meg's dad.

Dirk reached over and pulled out a chair, inviting him to join them. “Sit down and I'll fill you in.”

While the men left to refill their coffee mugs and call their women, Dirk sat down with Edwin O'Brien and told him Meg had been taken to Argentina. He told O'Brien he had spoken to the FBI and wouldn't be getting any help from them or anyone else, not while they were in the middle of an investigation involving the man who had abducted her, Otto Gertsman.

He told O'Brien about Jonathan Hollander and watched the blood drain from the older man's face.

“Jonathan was also involved in Charlie's kidnapping,” Dirk said. “I'm not sure how he got tied up with Gertsman in the first place, but apparently Hollander owed him money. That's what set all this in motion.”

O'Brien's big, freckled hand unconsciously fisted. “He's going to pay. I can promise you that.”

“At the moment, Hollander is the least of our problems.” Dirk ended the discussion by telling Meg's dad that his participation in the mission might wind up landing him in jail.

O'Brien seemed unfazed. “I want my daughter brought back—at any cost. Charlie needs her. Her mother and I need her.”

“I need her, too,” Dirk said softly.

For the first time since he'd entered the room, O'Brien seemed to relax. “Then I guess I don't have anything to worry about.”

Dirk didn't tell the man he had everything to worry about.

All of them did. But the solution had gotten easier the moment Edwin O'Brien and his unlimited checkbook had walked into the conference room.

“By the way,” O'Brien said to Dirk before the others returned, “my wife called my cell as I drove over. Apparently she suspected something was wrong. She asked me to tell her straight out what was going on. I told her Meg was missing, and that I was on my way to talk to you. She's picking Charlie up as we speak. He'll be staying with us for the duration. When you talk to Meg, you can tell her that she doesn't have to worry about her son. He's in good hands with his grandparents.”

Dirk breathed a sigh of relief. He'd been worried about Meg's little boy, too. “That's good news. I figured we could count on you to watch out for Charlie, but I was hoping it wouldn't come to that.”

“Unfortunately it has. I'll let Patsy know. I promised I wouldn't keep any more secrets from her.”

Dirk nodded. He looked into strong features and pale blue eyes that reminded him of Meg. “I'll bring her home, Mr. O. I swear it. I won't come back until I find her.”

O'Brien fixed a steady gaze on Dirk. “I shouldn't have interfered with the two of you the first time. I didn't come out and say it, but Meg knew I wouldn't approve. I was wrong about you. I hope it works out this time. You're everything a man could want in a son.”

Dirk swallowed. He'd never had a real dad, not a man like Edwin O'Brien. Meg was lucky. “Thank you.”

Dirk turned as the men filed back into the conference room carrying cups of fresh coffee. The guy from the print shop had arrived with the topo maps, which Ethan also spread open on the table.

Sadie returned to the room carrying her laptop, setting it back down on the shiny mahogany surface. Apparently she had never stopped working.

She looked up and caught Dirk's eye. “Gertsman's plane isn't landing in Bariloche,” she calmly announced.

Dirk inwardly groaned. He prayed they weren't back to square one. “Then where the hell's he taking her?”

“Oh, he's headed home, just like you figured. But Otto doesn't need a public airport to land his fancy jet. He owns a hundred-and-eighty-thousand acres due east of Bariloche. Twenty by thirty miles of high desert country. Plenty of room for the seven-thousand-foot airstrip he built.”

Nick whistled.

Sadie brought up photos of the arid landscape on the flat-panel screen, sagebrush and cactus that looked like parts of the American southwest.

“So he's got some kind of compound out in the desert?” Dirk asked, his mind already running scenarios of the best way to get Meg out.

“That's where his plane's landing. Otto owns another twelve-thousand acres up in the mountains a couple of hours away. His family estate's near Villa La Angostura, where he was born.”

Sadie clicked up another series of photos. Rugged, snow-capped peaks, dense pine forests, and raging rivers, majestic beauty that seemed to have no end. Gorgeous to look at—and a real bitch to maneuver in and out of when it was completely unfamiliar terrain.

“Estancia Adelina,” she continued. “That's what Gertsman calls it. Named after his mother. Otto entertains at the estate on occasion, but only his most intimate friends. I couldn't find out much about the house and grounds. Satellite picture shows it's big.” The screen lit with a Google photo of the estate and the mountainous area around it.

“Main house has to be fifteen, twenty thousand square feet,” Luke said.

“Those outbuildings look a lot like barracks,” Nick said darkly, studying the white-walled, multiwindowed images on the screen.

Sadie flipped to another shot that showed the property around the house, surrounded by what could only be a high, protective wall. “Otto enjoys his privacy to the point of paranoia.”

Dirk studied the screen. “The photos are great, but they're just a start. We need to know as much as we can about the region and the people before we go in. We can work on the plane, but even then, we'll have to recon the area once we get boots on the ground.”

Sadie brought up photos of San Carlos de Bariloche, the town's full name. “Population eleven thousand. Big ski resort in the winter. Pretty fancy place, kinda the Aspen of Argentina. In the summer the tourists come for the lake it sits on. Got white sand beaches, bikini babes, fancy restaurants, chocolate shops—”

“Too bad we aren't going on vacation instead of going to war,” Nick grumbled, getting a chuckle out of the group.

“One thing we know,” Dirk said, “it's a long haul to Argentina. We definitely need a jet. Ethan, you've chartered for some of your clients. Can you line something up?”

“I'll take care of it.” O'Brien rose from his chair. “The G4 carrying Meg has a range of a little over forty-three hundred nautical miles. That's why it had to stop and refuel. A G6 can handle up to seven thousand nautical. It can fly straight through, no refueling necessary. And you can land right there in Bariloche. That'll help make up a little time. I know who to call. Let me get things rolling.” O'Brien headed out the door.

“I need to update Flynn,” Luke said, rising and also leaving the room.

While the men were gone, Dirk and the others tossed out possible strategies, but nothing could be locked in place.

“The trouble is we won't have the info we need until we get there,” Dirk said.

“We'll just have to do the best we can,” said Nick.

A few minutes later Luke walked back into the room. “I talked to Flynn. The good news is he knows a guy who knows a guy, baggage handler at the Bariloche airport. We'll be able to bring our personal weapons.”

“How's that going to work?” Nick asked. “How do we get them through customs without winding up in jail?”

“We go in as American tourists,” Luke said. “Just there to hike and fish and enjoy the lake and the sun. We wear our civvies, take our carry-on luggage with us, but leave our gear bags on the plane. Flynn's contact unloads them and takes them to a previously designated location. His services don't come cheap, but Flynn's pretty sure he can be trusted.”

Dirk scoffed. “Unfortunately at this point
pretty sure
is about as good as we're gonna get.”

“I can communicate with Flynn from the plane,” Luke said. “Montevideo's only about a three-and-a-half-hour flight from Bariloche. He'll be there way before we are. We'll stay in contact, work out more of the details on the plane. I keep my weapons and a go-bag in the Bronco. I can be wheels up in fifteen minutes.”

Dirk nodded. “Now that I know we can bring our own gear, I need a few things from my apartment.” Yeah, like his AR-15 assault rifle, his S&W .45, tactical vest, survival gear, and extra ammunition.

“I need to collect my stuff, too,” Nick said. “I'll go by my house, then meet up with you at the airport.”

“Hold it.” Dirk's gaze slid to Nick. “You're out of this, Brodie. You've got a wife and a brand-new baby. You're staying right here.”

“Bullshit.” Nick's brilliant blue eyes flashed with determination. “I'm going.”

Dirk ignored him. “Ian and Ethan, same goes. You're family men. Plus, this is going to be a military operation. You guys were great cops, but you're civilians. Luke and I know the drill. For us it's second nature.”

“I'm a Ranger,” Nick argued. “You need me. The two of you won't be enough.”

“Morgan Flynn's going in with us,” Luke said. “We were deployed together. The guy was one of the best operators I've ever worked with. He'll recruit whatever men we need.”

“I can't just sit here and do nothing,” Nick grumbled. “If it was Samantha—”

“I know,” Dirk said softly. “Doesn't change the way things are.”

“What about ground operations?” Nick persisted. “I could fly down with you, set up a base camp, handle communications, help you coordinate from Bariloche.”

Dirk shot a glance at Luke, who ran it through his mind and started nodding. “Might not be a bad idea.”

Ethan weighed in, his gaze swinging from Luke to Dirk. “From what Sadie says, the town's a big-time tourist destination. Nick should be safe enough there.”