Robert Crais - Taken

“On the U.S. side?”

“Most of these guys work south, but a few are beginning to work north. It’s easier to dodge the police up here than the cartels down there.”

“Does he live here? Have family?”

“Maybe Haddad can tell you.”

Stone checked the time. He wanted to call Pike.

“Good luck, Stendahl. I gotta go.”

“Ghazi al-Diri has Elvis Cole. He has my nephew. We both want someone he has, so we should work together on this.”

“Uh-uh. Won’t happen your way.”

“Jack is the closest thing I have to a child. He is my only living blood relative. You expect me to kick back, hoping someone else finds him?”

“Work your case. You might find him before us.”

She put herself directly in front of him, and jabbed Stone in the chest.

“He’s my blood. I promised my sister I’d find him. I swore at her grave I’d keep him safe.”

“You’re a sworn officer. It won’t happen your way.”

“Help me find him, goddamnit.”

She jabbed him harder, and Stone stepped away.

“Listen-”

Stone looked at the silver-blue moon, then shook his head.

“When we find these people, if Cole’s dead, they aren’t walking out. There will be no court of law. No judge and jury. You’re an Assistant Deputy Director of the ATF. This will not go down in any way you can live with.”

“You don’t have to do it like that.”

Stone checked his watch. Tempus fugit.

“Gotta go. Wherever Jack is, you want him somewhere else. I have to go.”

She looked like she was going to say something more, and she did, but only the one thing.

“Good luck.”

Jon watched her cross the lot to a midsize sedan, then climbed into the Jeep and started the engine. He booted the sat phone and GPS. It took a moment for the phone to load and lock on a good satellite, but a light flashed green, and Jon was in business.

A message instantly loaded.

Jon hit the playback, and heard Pike’s voice.

“Call.”

Pike answered on the first ring, and Jon reported his status.

“I’m clear. You good?”

“I have Ghazi al-Diri’s sister.”

Stone laughed. He laughed so hard his eyes burned. Pike was a riot. Absolutely the best.

“I love it. That is so perfect, bro. What are you thinking, a head-up trade, the sister for Cole?”

“No trade. We offer a trade, we’ll put al-Diri’s focus on Cole, and he’ll be harder to reach.”

“Does she know where they are?”

“A date farm outside Coachella. I’m looking at it.”

Pike described the farm and the intel he learned from the sister. Al-Diri had pulled three crews and three groups of pollos to a date farm when he learned Haddad and the two turds Stone and Pike dropped in the desert were missing. The farm amounted to a fortress crowded with the Syrian’s soldiers.

“Is Elvis there?”

“Won’t know until we get inside.”

Stone considered the farm as Pike had described it. Delta was all about hostage rescue and snatching bad guys. Jon knew this stuff inside out.

“Fifteen to eighteen gunned-up guards jammed up with a hundred fifty-plus friendlies is asking for collateral damage. It also ups our time on target.”

Time on target meant the time it would take to locate Cole and the kids once they entered the buildings, and get themselves out. The longer the time on target, the greater the risk. If you hung around long enough, you became part of the scenery.

Pike said, “How would you play it, no trade for Cole?”

“Trade for someone else. We have the sister, we use her. Give her to Sang Ki Park.”

“When?”

“Now. Drive the play. Push it so fast this prick doesn’t have time to think.”

“I’m listening.”

Jon Stone wheeled away, loving his plan so much he grinned from ear to ear. He was the best shit-hot troop at this stuff to ever grace the earth; none finer, none more deadly, ever! A man among men.

Nancie Stendahl

Stendahl sat in her rental until Jon Stone drove away, then walked briskly to the SRT van. She entered a world of muted red light through the rear door, and made her way past hanging gear to the electronics bay.

Mo Heedles said, “Hey, boss. Good work. We’re looking good.”

Mo was a large woman with short red hair, who hunched over a laptop computer. The computer was wired to the van’s onboard cell booster to ensure a strong signal.

Stendahl stood behind her to see the laptop’s screen, and watched a flashing black dot move away from the Sheriff’s Station on a street map.

“What’s our range on this?”

“Infinite? We bounce off cell towers. We can follow your boy no matter where he goes.”

Nancie Stendahl took out her cell, and phoned Tony Nakamura in Washington. Late there, but he was used to it.

“Tone, Nancie. I need two SRT teams and a helicopter staged by oh-seven-hundred tomorrow. Anywhere in the Palm Springs-Coachella area.”

“Got it.”

“I’ll advise when and where as I know.”

“Rog.”

Nancie put away her phone and watched the black dot. She didn’t care where it was going; only that she was present when it arrived.

Sang Ki Park

Wayward Palms Motel

Sang Ki Park followed the blond mercenary’s directions that morning, and found himself at a faded roadside motel between Indio and Coachella. The two-and-a-half-hour drive went quickly, and was ripe with the promise of salvation and vengeance. A successful recovery of their kidnapped workers would go far in restoring his uncle’s confidence. The recovery of the old man’s grandson would ensure his redemption.

The mercenary’s room was drab and dingy, but the surrounding desert was crisp with a lingering chill, and beautiful with a first kiss from the morning sun. Sang Ki Park felt honored to share in this moment. Especially with such a beautiful woman at his mercy.

“Are you comfortable?”

Megan Orlato said nothing until the blond man spoke Arabic.

“I’m fine, for Christ’s sake. Let’s get this the fuck over with.”

The mouth of a whore. She was sister, wife, and participant with the men who had stolen, tortured, and murdered Park’s workers.

Park, the woman, the crazy blond mercenary, and two Double Dragon soldiers were in the room. An additional twelve Double Dragon soldiers waited nearby in their cars. Park’s uncle, Young Min Park, who was Kwan Min Park’s grandfather, was driving out now, but would likely not arrive until after Kwan was recovered. This was as it should be. As the revered leader of Ssang Yong Pa, Young Min Park must be shielded from physical danger and legal prosecution. But the old man, like all old men, was weak in his feelings and hungry for the sight of his grandson.

The blond man with the spiky hair checked his watch.

“You good to go?”

Park kept his eyes on the woman, seated in a tattered chair with his men near at hand. The two mercenaries who worked with Mr. Cole had captured the bajadore ’s sister, and now wished to trade her for Park’s stolen workers. The blond mercenary had explained this plan earlier that morning.

“Yes. I am good.”

“You remember what to say, or you want to go over it again?”

“I am good.”

“No negotiations. No delays.”

“I am good.”

The blond man turned to the woman, and spoke Arabic until she interrupted.

“Speak English. Jesus.”

“I don’t care what you say, but you have to say something. If you clam up, I’ll make you.”

“Fuck you.”

The blond man dialed the phone. It was her cell taken from her home and delivered by Mr. Pike. It contained her brother’s direct number, stored in the memory under “Bobby.” Using this phone was important, for Ghazi al-Diri would only answer if he recognized her incoming number.