No Fortunate Son (28 page)

T
he reporter studied Kurt’s Department of Homeland Security badge, then asked, “Why is a Secret Service agent looking into a murder? I thought you did financial crimes?”

Kurt inwardly winced, realizing that the man in front of him probably knew much, much more about the mandates of the Secret Service than he did. If he wasn’t careful, he’d really raise the hair on the back of the old guy’s head.

He said, “Blame yourself. You guys report so many stories that we spend more time trying to stay ahead of them than on our real jobs. The administration just asked me to check, because the last guy Breedlove spoke with was my boss. The secretary of Homeland Security.”

The man looked at his badge again and said, “Kurt Hale, huh? Well, Agent Hale, I don’t know what you want me to say. The police have already been over here questioning everyone. Have you talked to them?”

“Yeah, I did. Look, I’m just building a two-slide update briefing. Nothing major. I just want to confirm a few things.”

What he didn’t say was that the police had given him nothing to help his quest. They had few leads and were actively focusing on gangland affiliations based on a recent unflattering story Breedlove had printed, which had apparently aggravated some serious gangbanger kingpins. That might well have been the case, but Kurt felt it was something more. Something he could use to find Kylie. Pike now had a team and was actively working the problem, but he’d come up with precious little from the safe house in Paris. An address in County Cork, Ireland, which might or might not be anything at all.

This fishing expedition might come to nothing as well, but it was worth the look.

The old reporter said, “What do you want to confirm?”

Another man wandered to the cubicle, standing behind Kurt.

Kurt asked, “The night he left here, he was going to meet a source, correct?”

The man behind him said, “Dwight, I’ll take this.”

Kurt turned and saw a twentysomething guy in chinos and a button-down, with the wispy three-day-beard look the younger generation now sported. Either a statement of his lumberjack qualities or a statement of his laziness. The man stuck out his hand, saying, “Kincaid Butler. I was here when Grant left.”

Dwight rolled his eyes and said, “Okay, Kincaid, he’s all yours. I need to get back to work.”

Without another word, Dwight turned to the computer in front of him and ignored them both.

Kincaid said, “Follow me. I’m the one that spoke with the police.”

They wandered to another cubicle, Kincaid talking as they went. “Yeah, Grant was here, and he was working on some bombshell story, but nobody outside of our editor knew what it was. Maybe not even him.”

Kurt said, “And he left here that night because of it?”

“I think so. He was pretty close-lipped about it, but it was getting big enough that he was going to ask for my help.”

“So you were working the story as well?”

They reached another cubicle, and Kincaid took a seat, putting his hands behind his head. “Not yet. Just background stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Emails, research, that sort of thing.”

“So what was the story?”

Kincaid said, “I’m not at liberty to discuss it with you.”

Kurt backed off, not wanting it to appear that he was interested in anything but Breedlove’s disappearance. He said, “Okay, I really don’t care about it. I just have to brief the administration that this had nothing to do with them. You know how it is. Twenty-four-hour news and all that. Trying to stay ahead of the game.”

Kincaid said, “Well, I’ll be picking up the ball, so if you want help, I’m your man. What do you know about it?”

The statement was aggravating. Kincaid was now pumping
him
for information, and it was getting Kurt nowhere.

There was one primary question Kurt wanted answered: If Breedlove was killed by a terrorist tied to the kidnappings, how did the killer learn that he was on the story? There had to be a leak that allowed the terrorist to specifically target Breedlove, and it meant the group had somehow penetrated
The Washington Post
, gleaning the information when even the people on the floor didn’t know what Breedlove was doing.

Kurt redirected the questioning, saying, “You mentioned the editor. Would he have more information about where Breedlove was going?”

“Brittle? Doubtful. He let Breedlove run because of his past history, but he was getting fed up with the waiting. Honestly, I’m not sure Breedlove even knew what he was hunting. Outside of talking to the secretary of Homeland Security, most of his work was with low-level insiders.”

“How did you know he spoke to the secretary? If it was all so hush-hush?”

Kincaid stood up, saying, “Come here. I’ll show you.”

They walked to an office, paned in by windows with a view onto the newsroom floor. The desk was littered with papers, stacks overflowing an inbox, but the chair was empty.

“That’s Brittle’s office. See the whiteboard behind him? He kept track of anyone who was meeting a whale.”

“Whale?”

“Just what we call big shots. Political figures, entertainment figures, anybody that could come back to bite us in the ass. If you were meeting them, you had to keep Brittle abreast of the time, place, and outcome.”

Kurt peered through the glass and saw a list of names, most he recognized. The undersecretary of defense for acquisition, a couple of senators, a music mogul. To the right were the reporters’ names, and next to it, the story. National Defense Authorization Act, Patriot Act, charity event for Africa, and other news items. He scanned down and saw the secretary of Homeland Security’s name. Next to it was Breedlove. The story was listed as “compartmented.”

“So you read this and knew that Breedlove was meeting the secretary of Homeland Security?”

“Well, yeah, but Breedlove was all set to give me the dump on what they discussed. I mean, before . . .”

“And this board stays up all the time? Where anyone can see it?”

Looking confused, Kincaid said, “Yeah. So what?”

Kurt felt the trickle of an idea. He said, “I might be able to get you that data dump firsthand. If you keep me out of it.”

Kincaid’s eyes lit up, then just as quickly returned to nonchalance. He said, “I’m all ears.”

“It’s not me. But the secretary
is
my boss. I’ll see what I can do. You’re the man for this? Should I talk to Brittle?”

“No, no. That’ll just clog up the gears. He’s still dealing with Breedlove’s death.”

“But won’t the whale get posted? Won’t it say ‘Breedlove’s story’ or something?”

Kincaid said, “Yeah, yeah, but Brittle won’t care if the interview is already locked. He’ll just want to know it’s going on. Here, let me give you a card.” He pulled one out and said, “That’s got all my contacts. Cell, office, email. Call anytime.”

Kurt studied it, pretending to make a decision, but in reality wondering how he was going to trick Kincaid into thinking he was meeting the secretary of Homeland Security. Wanting that on the board. Wanting to stake the young Kincaid in a field, bleating for the terrorist.

Beyond that, he was wondering how he was going to break every federal surveillance law in existence by tapping all of the phones on the card. After all, it wouldn’t be fair to make him the bait if Kurt didn’t have the means to capture his prey.

He said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Kincaid beamed, not understanding the meaning of his words.

C
olin heard Seamus slam the door and wondered if he’d been found out. He felt his cell phone burning a hole in his pocket like a traitorous beacon. He’d cleaned it of any evidence from his calls but wasn’t sure Kevin couldn’t find something if he was ordered to look. That technology was a mystery to him.

Maintaining a calm demeanor, he waited for the man to enter their hovel, a little aggravated that he and Kevin had to stay and babysit while Seamus slept in a hotel. Enjoying hot water and real food, while he continued to stink and eat microwave dinners.

Seamus came through the door, his jaw clamped shut, his veins throbbing in his neck. Kevin looked up from his computer and said, “Bitcoins are transferred. At today’s rate, we have about twenty-four million dollars. It’s all in the wallet.”

Brought up short, Seamus said, “We own the money?”

“Yeah. We have it. It’s in the wallet we made. The one you have.”

Seamus pulled out the paper construction they’d made before. “Are you saying this thing now has twenty-four million dollars in it?”

Kevin smiled. “Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”

Seamus shook his head in wonder. “Okay, I’ll believe you. That’s the only bit of good news.”

Colin said, “What’s the bad news? Where is the team in France? Where’s Braden? You need to give us more information instead of just coming and going.”

Seamus took a seat and said, “We’re under fire. I can’t contact
Braden, and I haven’t heard from Ratko again. He’s on the hunt, I’m pretty sure.”

“Then we need to get the hell out of here. Go somewhere else.”

Seamus said, “Where? Where the fuck do you want to go? There is nowhere else. We can’t get a hotel and shuttle in three hostages, and I’m out of safe houses.”

Colin said nothing, not wanting to antagonize Seamus. Not wanting to give him any reason to question.

Looking out the window, Seamus said, “Braden’s gone. I’m sure of it.”

“Why didn’t we get the Snapchat yesterday? Of the other hostages?”

Seamus said, “Because those fucking Serbs hit the apartment. During the planning for the jewel heist in Brussels, Braden probably told them where our safe house was in France, and they hit it. Expecting to find all of us, but they didn’t. They killed the Clute twins and our men. That’s what happened.”

“So what now? If we can’t go somewhere else?”

“They don’t know where we are. We still have the prize.”

Colin stood up, agitated. “Bullshit. Seamus, this thing is falling apart. We can’t continue blindly assuming everything is going swimmingly. It’s not. They had your cell phone number. How did they get that? What else do they know?”

Seamus stood, and Colin realized he’d pushed too far. “They know
nothing
. Nothing about our mission. They’re bank robbers. They care about nothing but themselves.”

Fists clenched, Seamus glared at Colin, and even given the disparity in size, Colin was afraid. He sat back down and said, “Okay, Seamus. Okay. I’m just asking. We have a lot on the line here as well.”

Seamus turned away and said, “We need to get more men here. Get some protection. Harden this place.”

Colin said, “Why? If we’re hidden?”

“I can’t promise that, and you’re right. They had my phone number. I don’t know how they got that. I mean, I have fourteen different SIM cards at any one time, and they had the one I would answer.”

“But nobody knows about this place. Right? You said that. Nobody but us.”

Seamus looked at him, a sick expression on his face. He said, “Nobody but Braden. He knew. I told him.”

Seamus ran his hands through his hair back and forth, pulling the scalp. Colin sat still, understanding the moment of his departure had arrived.

Seamus said, “I’m leaving again. I’m going to get some bodies for this place. Hard men. We don’t have to worry about the Yanks, but we do need to fear Ratko.”

Kevin said, “What’s that mean? Fuck, man, let’s call it quits. Get out while we still can. We’ve given it a good run.”

Seamus leaned back, staring at the ceiling. He said, “You have no idea of the sacrifice for this. None. Both of you came on late in the game. We quit now, and we lose everything Braden and I fought for.”

He looked both men in the eye, causing Colin to stare at the floor. He said, “You want to quit now, there’s the door. But you’d better remain quiet.” Neither Kevin nor Colin said a word. Seamus said, “Look at me. Both of you.” When he had their attention, he said, “You remember the old ways? What was done to informants?”

Kevin nodded, looking sick. Colin remained mute.

His voice calm, his expression tranquil, belying the gravity of his words, Seamus said, “You can leave with no repercussions, but if you say a word, I’ll fucking power drill both of your kneecaps. I’ll hunt your ass down and maim you for the short life you’ll have left.”

Kevin turned away, tapping the keyboard to his front as if he had something important to do, his fingers trembling. He said, “Hey, Seamus, no reason to start that. I’m with you. Really.”

Seamus said, “Fine. Colin?”

“Of course. I’m with the cause. Wherever it takes us.”

Seamus rubbed his eyes. He said, “I have to find Clynne. Get more drugs for transport and get some help. We’re close to the endgame. The Somalis have done their work, and we’re almost home. Tomorrow, we’ll take the hostages to them. After that, it’ll be a war.”

Kevin said, “And what if Ratko interferes again?” Meaning,
What if he comes here?

“He’ll find that we’re more than he wanted to mess with. Fuck his jewels,” Seamus said. “Keep an eye out. They may be close. They won’t attack in the daytime, but they might come looking. I’ll be back later with the reinforcements.”

He grabbed a set of keys off the wooden shelf and left, dialing a phone.

K
evin waited a bit, letting the car disappear, then said, “What do you think?”

Colin said, “I think Seamus is right. We keep doing what we’re doing. They might have interdicted Braden and the others, but they have no idea where we are.”

Kevin settled back, reassured at the words. He said, “We got a ton of money. We should just cash it in.”

Colin said, “Yeah. I hear you. We’ll talk about that later.”

He stood, pulling another set of keys off the board next to the window. He said, “I’m going into Macroom for some food. You want anything?”

“Huh? You can’t leave! What are you talking about?”

Colin snorted and said, “I’m sick of eating microwave crap. I’m going for some real bog. You want something?”

“You can’t drive to town. I can’t watch this place by myself.”

Colin moved close, letting his size speak for him. “Well, that’s what you’re going to do. Do you want any food or not?”

Kevin shrank back, saying, “No. No, I’m good.”

Colin exited the house, the fear from Seamus’s threats driving into his body like an electric current. Barely thinking, knowing if he did, he would change his mind, he went to the car and started the engine, backing it up to the small hatch in the ground.

He shut the engine down, considering what he was going to do. Reflecting on how he was going to escape the wrath of the Serbs, but in so doing fall into the wrath of Seamus. A dilemma with no good answers.
He went back and forth, then chose: Seamus was the lesser threat. Ratko would hunt him down anywhere in Europe. Seamus didn’t have that power.

The decision made, he focused on the next problem: He couldn’t take all the hostages. At most, he could control only one. But which one? Who should he take? Who would he bring to show Ratko he was on his side? The vice president’s son was the easy choice, as Ratko could leverage him immediately, but he was also a fighter. Someone who would cause trouble and possibly escape. The other man was a coward but was still a threat. If he chose to, he could put up a fight at an inopportune time. Colin couldn’t afford that risk.

He opened the ancient wooden doors, hearing the woman cough, sick and weak. And had his answer.

*   *   *

Lying on the cold earthen floor, Kylie heard the door open and knew it wasn’t feeding time. She pushed upright, seeing the light through her hood. She felt Nick rise as well, understanding something was happening.

He crawled over to her and took her hands in his, both still bound. He leaned in and said, “No worries. Maybe early chow.”

She heard the footsteps and felt the doom growing with each one. They stopped next to her. She heard, “We’re going to a different place. Just you. Do not fight me.”

The panic flooded through her, causing her to shake uncontrollably. In a halting voice, she said, “Why? Where?”

Nick, still hooded and still holding her hands, said, “Bullshit. She goes nowhere. Not without me.”

Kylie heard something like a mallet smacking a breast of chicken, then felt Nick’s hands torn away. She heard the man kicking and screamed, “Don’t hurt him! Jesus, please don’t. I’ll come. I’ll come.”

From across the room, Travis said, “Stop it! Stop it now!”

The man said, “You want a piece of the action?”

Travis said, “You will
not
take her from here. We are together. A package. You will not do this.”

Kylie scuttled back, clawing away from the man she couldn’t see. He let her be, walking to Travis. He said, “I’ll do whatever I want. You looking to be a hero now? After being the traitor?”

She heard a meaty thump, then heard a man shout, hitting the dirt of their floor. And it wasn’t Travis. She jerked her hood off, seeing both Nick and Travis on him, kicking and punching, doing what they could with their bound limbs.

The man—she saw it was Colin, the bearded one—escaped easily. He punched Travis in the gut so hard she heard the whoosh of air forced out of his lungs. Colin flung Nick to the side, then stood up, breathing heavily. He lined up his leg and kicked Nick full in the head, laying him out. Travis heard the damage and rolled into a ball.

She shouted, “Don’t!”

Huffing, Colin said, “Get the fuck up. Now.”

She did so.

He said, “I’m going to cut your leg bindings. You make any move, and I’ll kill both of them. Understand?”

She nodded.

He came over and bent down, using a large folding blade to slice through the plastic of her flex ties. He rose, saying, “Walk up the stairs. Slowly.”

She looked back at Nick, unconscious on the floor. Then at Travis, curled in the fetal position, arms over his skull. She said, “Travis.” She saw his head jerk to her voice.

Colin poked her in the shoulder, saying, “Get moving.”

She didn’t. She waited until Travis was looking her way, searching for her under the hood. She said, “Thank you. Don’t let them hurt Nick.”

Colin cuffed her again, and she exited the dank prison, seeing a white Toyota sedan, engine running. She said, “Where are we going?”

“Someplace where I won’t get killed.”