Into the Whirlwind (29 page)

Dirk nodded. “Sounds good.”

Ramos sauntered off toward the muddy Jeep—apparently they were everywhere—climbed in, fired the engine, and disappeared out of sight behind the pine trees lining the driveway.

“There's something besides our weapons we're going to need,” Flynn said, still standing on the wooden deck in front of the cabin.

“Yeah, what's that?” Dirk asked.

“A chopper. If you've got the money, Ramos has a helo lined up and ready to go.”

“Who's gonna fly it?”

“One phone call and I'll have the pilot on his way. Name's Brandon Elliott. Army Night Stalker. They don't get any better than that.”

“What's he doing down here?”

“Got in a beef with his commanding officer. Long story. Left the army and wound up down here working as a merc. You want me to make the call or not?”

Dirk had been hoping for this. It was the option he favored. They had to get Meg out of the mountains, and the harsh terrain would make it harder than hell to travel on foot. The chopper could have them back at the airport in a tenth of the time it would take to navigate the curvy mountain roads.

“Make it happen,” Dirk said.

Flynn just nodded. The guy was massive. At least six-five, solid muscle, and too damned good-looking. Dirk silently vowed to keep him far away from Meg.

Meg.
His chest clamped down. He couldn't think of Meg, not now, couldn't let his fear for her get in the way of the focus he needed to get her away from Gertsman and safely back home.

“Let's go inside,” he suggested. “See where we stand and figure our next move.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

The evening dragged on. Meg did her best to finish at least some of the lavish meal of European culinary delights Gertsman's staff served. Delicacies like oysters and Beluga caviar, a creamy chilled vichyssoise, a succulent local dish of sausage and peppers, fresh halibut in lobster sauce, and a magnificent chateaubriand, each course paired with a fine French wine.

Gertsman beamed as dessert was carried in on a silver tray by one of three tuxedo-clad waiters.

“
Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte,
” he said as the waiter set gold-rimmed porcelain dishes on the table in front of them. “Cherry Black Forest cake. One of my favorites.”

Meg thought of the mountains outside her bedroom window, thought of Gretchen and the once-blond, blue-eyed man next to her at the table. Maybe she was in Germany. She took a drink of Gewürztraminer, the sweet dessert wine the waiter had poured for this course, sucked up her courage, and very casually asked, “So your lovely home is in Germany?”

Gertsman merely smiled. “I'm afraid not, my dear. You are not in the homeland. You are in Argentina. You must recall your visit to Buenos Aires some years back. You mentioned in
La Nación
how much you were enjoying the country.”

Her head spun. The Buenos Aires newspaper had interviewed her during a modeling shoot for La Belle
.
Of all the places she could have imagined, South America had never entered her head.

Dear God, how would anyone ever find her? Beneath the table, she curled her fingers around the napkin in her lap and squeezed as hard as she could to control her skyrocketing fear.

“I remember,” she said, surprised to sound so calm when the voices in her head were screaming. “What little of the country I saw was beautiful. However, as we both know, I was quite unprepared for a second visit.”

“And yet you are here.”

She squeezed hard on the napkin. “I have a son, Mr. Gertsman. I have responsibilities. Surely a man of your intellect understands that I must return to Seattle.”

Gertsman's soft features hardened, the pale eyes gone as cold and as unwavering as a snake in pursuit of its prey.

“There are circumstances of which you are unaware. For the time being you will remain here.” Leaving his dessert untouched, he shoved up from his chair. “From now on you will address me as Herr Gertsman or Otto. Do you understand?”

She'd made him angry. She remembered Raymond Neville's cold-blooded murder of Mickey Degan. She could only imagine what a man of Gertsman's obvious power would do if she pushed him too far.

She reined herself in. “As you wish, Herr Gertsman.” She smiled. “Otto.” Setting her napkin aside, she lifted the skirt of her long, white silk gown out of the way and also rose from her chair. “Perhaps we could finish our dessert later, after you show me your magnificent home.”

Gertsman's thick shoulders relaxed. “It would be my great honor . . . Megan.”

Her mouth went dry. She could feel those chilling blue eyes sliding over her in a slimy caress. Clearly this man wanted her. How far would he go to have her? How far was she willing to go to appease him?

Meg blinked to hold back tears and pasted on a smile she prayed looked at least somewhat sincere. Taking Otto Gertsman's arm, she let him guide her out of the dining room.

* * *

The men sat around a low wooden table in front of the sofa in the little log cabin. The furniture was simple, a couch and chairs, all of it pine, handmade from the tall trees climbing the mountains behind the house. There was a bathroom, one small bedroom, a kitchen with an eating area, and a living room. An old wood-burning stove sat in the corner.

Dirk's gaze ran over the array of munitions on the table and lying on the floor: a short-barreled tactical shotgun, a Beretta 9 mil, an HK A1 carbine, flash grenades, and extra ammunition.

Nick, who was staying at the cabin with Emil, wore only his Glock .45, while Dirk, Luke, and Flynn wore their tactical gear, carried night vision goggles and binoculars. Their faces were blackened with greasepaint, each carried a radio, and Dirk also carried the satphone.

They'd run through tonight's surveillance mission at least three times. Everyone knew which position to take and what his job was.

Dirk checked the load in his Browning, the S&W .45 that was his backup weapon, then grabbed his AR-15 from where it leaned against the wall and slung it over his shoulder.

Dirk studied the men, all totally focused on the mission. “Okay, let's get this done.”

Dirk led them outside into the dim light of a quarter moon. Intermittent cloud cover drifted overhead, providing shadows that would help keep them from being spotted. Tonight they would recon the compound, bring the info back, and fine-tune the mission. Tomorrow night they'd go in and bring out Meg.

Dirk's jaw tightened as he climbed into the front passenger seat. He didn't want to wait till tomorrow. He wanted Meg out of there—now. But they couldn't just go in balls to the wall, not with so many unknowns and Meg's safety to consider.

Flynn slid in behind the wheel, driving the route he had traveled earlier that day. Luke sat in back. It was ten miles farther up the road to the turnoff south of Villa La Angostura. Another five miles to Estancia Adelina.

Flynn spotted the road up ahead and turned the vehicle sharply to the right. The man had done his homework, piling up a ton of info in the short time he had been in Bariloche. The SUV climbed a steep, winding lane into the mountains. Four miles in, Flynn pulled off the road and parked out of sight in a copse of trees.

On foot and traveling through the forest, it took awhile to reach the compound, or at least the high, white-stucco wall around it. Keeping well out of sight, they fanned out and took up positions on the hillsides around the enclosure, climbing until each man had a vantage point high enough to see inside.

The place looked surprisingly familiar, Dirk thought, recalling the photos he'd studied in Seattle and on the long plane ride to Bariloche. A massive colonial with gardens and fountains, swimming pool and cabana, all elegant and welcoming.

Unlike the two outbuildings, which, as they had feared, were barracks housing Gertsman's private army, men who patrolled the walls and guarded each of the four corner towers.

Beneath the moon sliding in and out of the clouds, foot soldiers patrolled outside the walls as well. Through his night vision goggles, Dirk tracked their movements.

His radio crackled to life. “Looks like plan B,” Luke's voice said calmly.

“Roger that,” Dirk said.

“Copy,” said Flynn.

Plan B wasn't good news. The place was even more heavily fortified than they had figured. Getting in would be nearly impossible.

Unless they took down a couple of guards and dressed in their uniforms. Gertsman's soldiers moved easily in and out through the gates in the walled fortress around the main house.

Watching from their positions on the hillsides, they counted the number of armed men, timed their movements, their shift changes, noted that only a single guard stood at the rear and front doors of the house itself.

Dirk smiled grimly. Gertsman figured he was safe inside his walled fortress. He wasn't worried about those walls being breached.

If luck was on their side, tomorrow night the man would be in for a big surprise.

* * *

Though Meg had pleaded a headache shortly after supper—which wasn't a lie—Gertsman insisted on showing her his opulent home and expansive grounds.

The formal gardens, with their perfectly manicured hedges and rows of blooming flowers, were magnificent. As they strolled beside a Roman fountain, Otto pointed out ancient Greek statues. Meg bit her tongue to keep from saying they belonged in a museum, not locked out of sight on some billionaire's secluded estate.

Instead she forced herself to concentrate on the conversation even as her gaze kept straying to the soldiers in the guard towers and those on top of the walls.

Dear God, even if Dirk figured out where she was, how would he get inside? How would they get back out? If he found out where she had been taken, he would surely come, and if he was caught, he would be killed.

Tears burned her eyes. She fought not to cry and shoved the emotion away. As the evening wore on, Gertsman showed her his collection of Fabergé eggs and his Stradivarius violin, showed her magnificent Flemish tapestries, and an ancient Qing dynasty vase worth millions.

“Tomorrow I will show you my art collection. I am sure you will recognize many of the artists. They are all quite renowned.”

Exhausted as she was, Meg managed to keep her smile in place.

It slipped away as Gertsman walked her upstairs to her extravagant suite. “It was a lovely evening, my dear. I look forward to many more. In time, if things go well between us, perhaps we'll find a way for your little boy to pay a visit now and then.”

A faint sound escaped her throat.
Oh, dear God!
Just the thought of Charlie being exposed to a man like Otto Gertsman made the bile rise in her throat. Before she could form any kind of reply, Gertsman leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss on her trembling lips.

“I realize we need a little time to get to know each other. Tomorrow we'll enjoy the day together, starting with breakfast on the terrace. There's a movie theater downstairs. I have quite a collection of films. We'll watch one after supper.”

She managed to nod.

Gertsman's smile slowly shifted and something hot slid into his eyes. “I'll expect to be invited into your bedroom tomorrow night, my dear Megan. You have tomorrow to prepare yourself.”

Fear coagulated into a hard ball in the pit of her stomach. Meg swayed a little on her feet.

Otto took her trembling hand and pressed the back against his thick lips. “Sleep well, my dear. I look forward to seeing you in the morning.”

Otto opened her door and Meg forced her frozen limbs to move, carry her inside. The door closed solidly behind her and the bolt slid into place.

Long seconds passed. Her eyes burned. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat. For the first time since she had been abducted, Meg gave in to the painful sobs she had locked away, and the flood of tears tracked hotly down her cheeks.

* * *

Their recon mission accomplished, Morgan Flynn drove up in front of the cabin just as the satphone started ringing. Dirk pulled the phone out of his pack.

“Reynolds.”

“Ron Nolan. I've been trying to reach you. Gertsman knows you're in Bariloche. He's put his men on alert and he's moving Meg in the morning. No idea where.”

“How the hell did you get this number? How did you even know we were in Argentina?”

“Until I got the call from Interpol, I didn't. Not for sure. I had a hunch you and that crazy bastard Brodie wouldn't listen to reason. I got your number from Ian.”

Working to hang on to his temper, Dirk put the satphone on speaker so the men could hear. “Go on,” he said.

“After I left your office, I gave Interpol a heads-up, told them you might get in the middle of things. I'm FBI, Dirk. I didn't have a choice. The good news is they decided to treat this as a black operation. As far as Interpol is concerned, they don't know anything about your beef with Gertsman. They don't know you from Adam and have no idea why you're in Argentina. The bad news is you get in any kind of trouble, there's no going to the American consulate or anybody else. You're on your own, start to finish.”

“Yeah, I got that the first time. So how did Gertsman find out?”

“He's got connections all over the region. Hell, all over the country. The G6 stirred somebody's interest. Whoever it was must have followed up, found out you flew in from Seattle, managed to get a look at your passport info. According to Interpol's inside man, Gertsman just got the tip twenty minutes ago.”

Dirk rubbed a hand over the bristles on his cheek. Exhaustion mixed with frustration added to his fear for Meg. “Anything else I should know?”

“I'm afraid there is. Turns out, according to Interpol, the women Gertsman brings to his most heavily guarded compound have a habit of disappearing.”

Dirk's whole body tightened.

“If you're going to move, it had better be soon. Good luck, my friend.” Nolan hung up the phone.

For several seconds Dirk didn't stir. They still sat in the car, Luke in the seat behind him.

“So Gertsman's moving Meg tomorrow,” Dirk finally said. “Or he's making her dead.”

Luke swore foully.

“We've got to go in tonight,” Dirk said.

Flynn shook his head. “We aren't ready. We need more time.”

“We don't have any more fucking time!” Dirk felt Luke's hand on his shoulder, steadying him. He took a calming breath. “Look, we worked things out on the way back down the mountain. We're as ready now as we will be tomorrow night. All we need is the chopper.” His gaze locked on Flynn. “Is there a chance you can get Elliott lined up to do an early extract?”

“I don't know. He was planning to do a flyover tomorrow, locate a satisfactory pickup site.”

“He can do it using satphotos and night vision gear,” Luke said. “If he's a Night Stalker, that won't be anything new to him.”

Flynn started nodding. “All right, let's see if we can get Elliott on board.” He opened his door and stepped out of the SUV. Dirk and Luke followed.

“Let's bring Nick and Emil up to speed,” Dirk said as they strode toward the cabin door.

Flynn pulled out his cell. “In the meantime I'll make that call.”