Catherine Coulter - The Target

"You want to see some photos we just got from a military satellite?"

She smiled at him. "Do you know something of interest, sir?"

"A bit." He punched buttons on MAX, waited a moment, and then the two of them watched photos of Mason Lord's huge house come onto the screen. Dillon hit another button and the photo changed to another view, this one from east of the vast grounds. "These shots just came in. I counted six different men stationed around the grounds. Now on to the boss man himself." He hit a key and Mason Lord's lean, very handsome face appeared on the screen. "He ain't bad, is he?"

"No. Who's that? His daughter?"

"Nope, that's his new wife. She's younger than the daughter."

Sherlock made a rude noise. They looked at more photos. Finally, he hit a key and said, "This is Molly Santera and Emma, her daughter."

Sherlock was silent for several moments. Then she said, "We've got to do more, Dillon."

Special Agent Dillon Savich, chief of the Criminal Apprehension Unit at the FBI, tilted back his chair, looked up, and said, "What do you suggest, Sherlock?"

"For starters I'd go see that farmer in Loveland, Colorado. You know, the one who said he'd sold the truck that later turned up being driven by the guys chasing Ramsey."

He felt a tingling down his spine. He sat forward, his eyes never leaving her face. "You think this guy knows who they are."

"Yes, it makes sense. I think we should go there, talk to him, have a really serious talk. Besides, at the moment, there aren't any other leads."

"Agreed. I'm with you on this one-that farmer knows. One of the guys from the field office in Denver can take a ride up there and talk to the farmer."

She was shaking her head. "No, Agent Anchor is already involved. I'll bet he's also already verified to his own satisfaction that the farmer didn't have a clue that he'd sold his truck to the kidnappers. In other words, his mind is already made up and I doubt he'd change it unless something smashed him in the nose.

The word about Agent Anchor is that he's got an attitude problem. He brown-noses up the chain of command at the Bureau and tromps on local law enforcement. Nope, it's got to be one of us who goes.

We're not on the FBI's side. We're on the kid's side."

"And that makes a difference?"

"Maybe this time it does," she said thoughtfully, lightly stroking her fingers over two thick black strips that were MAX's speakers. She remembered hearing Dillon hoot when MAX had made his first statement, which was, if she remembered correctly, "Hooray for the Redskins."

She said, "If it were a simple kidnapping, that would be different. But this is big, Dillon, and no one has a clue who's behind it and what they want. Well, maybe Mason Lord does. You know, that's got to be one of the reasons Ramsey's there."

"All right. I'll phone the field office and let Agent Anchor know we're coming." Savich swiveled his chair back, pulled out his directory, and punched out some numbers on his telephone. The phone rang busy.

"Damned thing. I think e-mail should be mandatory for everybody in every department and in every field office in the FBI, maybe even everybody in the world."

She shook her head at him, picked up the phone, and punched in the same numbers. When it was answered, she asked to speak to Agent Anchor. She said to Dillon, "Phones hate you. It's time to face up to it. Just let me do the dialing from now on. Oh yes, hello, Agent Anchor. Agent Sherlock here from the CAU in Washington. I'm fine, you? Good. I wanted to ask you about the Santera kidnapping.

Un-huh. Now, about that farmer you interviewed who claimed he'd sold his truck after his wife had reported it stolen?" In an instant she was staring at the phone as if it had bitten her. "You're kidding me."

She waited some more, nodded, then said, "When? How? Any leads?"

She asked more questions, then listened for a couple of more minutes. Slowly, she hung up.

"What happened?" Savich's voice was tense, low.

"You won't believe this," she said. "The farmer's dead. He was found three days ago just after dawn by his teenage daughter. His head had been bashed in with a hammer. Whoever did it just dropped the hammer by the body. No clues, no leads as of yet. Of course no fingerprints. As for other forensic evidence, we've got to wait to see. Agent Anchor said he'd call us when he found out anything more. He said they just found out about it from the local cops.

"The locals said that no one saw anything or anyone. His wife said he always went to the barn just before dawn to milk the cows."

"And someone was waiting for him."

She stared out the window. "He had three other kids besides the teenage daughter who found him."

"Of course it has to be tied to the kidnapping, or whatever the hell it is."

"Agent Anchor thinks so, at least he now thinks there might be a connection. What do we do now, Dillon?"

Savich pressed one of MAX's buttons and said in a throaty FBI interview voice that imitated MAX's,

"We're going to kick butt, Sherlock."

"I'LL SAY IT again. No way are you going out there on your own. We're in this together."

He grinned down at her. "Before we get into it, let me compliment you first. You did really well with your dad. You hung in there, didn't lose your temper, and finally he caved. He's pretty smart himself. What I'm thinking now is that I should go to Denver, get personally involved, work with both the local cops and the FBI. As for you and Emma, you'll both stay here." He saw the fear draining the brilliance from her eyes.

"I can handle myself, Molly. I won't get killed. I promise."

The emptying fear left her eyes and anger moved right in. She took three deep breaths.

"Good. You're getting good at control. When my mom gets really mad at my dad, she throws something at him. My father can still move faster than any human I've ever seen."

"I'm trying hard not to kick you in the shin. Listen to me, Ramsey. I know you mean well, but there's no way I'm going to let you go out there alone and put yourself on the line." She smiled at him. "It's all for one and one for all. We're the Three Musketeers. Call me D'Artagnon."

"He was the fourth musketeer."

"His is the only name I know."

"I remember Aramis was one of them. Tell me, Molly, which one is Emma? Do we give her a sword or a gun, in this case, and let her fight right alongside us?"

She walked away from him, rubbing her hands over her arms. Then she hugged herself. "You and I have done a good job of protecting Emma. Besides, I can't begin to imagine what she'd do if you just up and left. Don't you understand? Emma needs us, both of us."

He cursed under his breath and ran his fingers through his dark hair. "Okay. So you're right. I agree. And I really don't want to leave Emma in any case. Now here's what we'll do first thing. You're going to call Louey in Germany and get him back here. It's very possible he's involved. How? I don't know, but it's possible. We need to talk to everyone."

"I can try," she said and walked to the phone. Three minutes later, the speaker on, they were listening to the phone ring at the Bristol Hotel Kempinski in Berlin.

Ramsey asked, "It's what? Six A.M. there?"

"Something like that." She asked for Louey Santera's room.

The phone rang three times, then, "Mr. Santera's suite. Rudy here. May I help you? It's just past dawn here, by the way."

"Good morning to you, too, Rudy. This is Mrs. Santera. I don't know if Louey happened to mention it, but his daughter was kidnapped. Please put him on the phone."

There was a miserable silence.

"Now, Rudy."

"Yes, ma'am."

After a three-minute wait, Louey Santera said, "Molly, that you? What the hell's going on? Is Emma all right? I heard she was safe."