Randy White - Shark River

“You’d be a pretty fair poker player, Ford. You just did a good job of hiding the new little bounce that’s in your voice. And relief. You’re one of them, alright. The people in your team have become a very private and personal hobby of mine. Very impressive. They cross-trained you with every branch of Special Operations-the SEALs, Green Berets, Marine Recon, passing you off as members of Studies and Observations or the real NSA, but you belong to neither the military nor the Department of Defense. Ingenious, because who’s going to know? You guys certainly aren’t going to talk-there were fewer than, what? Two dozen of you?”

I had no idea how many of us there were. I’d met only the six men I trained with. But I said, “How do you come up with crazy ideas like this, Hal? Comic books? Late-night television?”

“About you? One thing that tipped me off is your profession, a marine biologist. But wait-the way I first made the connection was, I get a report that the guy who saved my daughter apparently has all kinds of surprising combat skills, but he refuses to take credit for what he did. I thought, That’s weird. He won’t admit he’s a hero?

“Then they tell me that even the FBI computers can’t find any information on you. Even weirder is, they tell me you clearly hate the idea of media attention. No interest at all in having your fifteen minutes of fame or doing the talk show circuit or signing a big book deal. These days, people will do anything to make money or get attention, but not you. It made no sense. So a little light went on in my head. Could you be one of The Negotiators? That’s where the marine biologist part comes in.

“What I did was, I went through all the bios. The FBI told me a local marine biologist had saved my girl, and I knew there was a biologist in The Negotiator files somewhere. I’d read them all, but I went back through them again last night. There you were. Assignments all over the world. Central America, Africa, Asia. Always under the guise of research. Extended stays and very deep cover.”

I said, “I didn’t realize I was so well-traveled,” giving it a facetious touch.

“Oh yes. All of you covered a lot of ground but traveled in very different circles. You’re part of an eclectic bunch for a reason-a doctorate and a real profession are great cover, and the President wanted his little group to drop real deep roots. There’re a couple of CPAs, a couple of attorneys, one journalist, three physicians, several computer experts, a politician, even an actor. Plus you, the marine biologist. You can go anywhere in the world to study fish, mix with the scientific community, do your real intelligence work on the sly, then come home. That’s how I made the connection, Ford. That’s how I knew you’re one of them. Something else you should be aware of?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“In your file, I also read about a mission that was assigned to you several years back. Something your anonymous superior called a ‘Blue Light’ mission. As in the last thing a person sees before he dies is a blue light, correct? It wasn’t your first, but”-He began to chuckle-“I find it ironic that the target is now, apparently, a friend of yours. He was with you during your interview with the FBI. I found it shocking, I have to admit, but amusing, too. Sighurdhr Tomlinson-did I pronounce his name correctly?”

I said, “You seem to be threatening me with events I know nothing about.”

“Really? I don’t need your name to prove it’s you in that file. There are all kinds of ways. What I haven’t told you yet is that I’ve discovered the identity of another one of your teammates. He’s become a very rich and powerful man. He’d be a real headline-grabber. It’s quite a fun hobby, your little group. Prove one of you exists, it’s an oddity. Prove there are two of you, the Attorney General’s Office might decide they’ve got a case. I’d hate to have to make those files public, then have to give them all the other information I’ve collected.”

I said, “Is this more of what you call diplomacy?”

“No. This is the way I ask favors.”

“Let me guess. The favor has something to do with you being an obsessive, overly protective father.”

He chuckled. “And revenge, too. Don’t forget revenge.”

It didn’t take Harrington long to detail what he wanted me to do and exactly how he expected me to do it.

He wanted to use me as bait, plain and simple. He wanted to use me to lure in the men who’d attacked his daughter. He couldn’t be certain they’d come after me, but there was a chance, and a chance was all he wanted. When I asked him, “Why not let law enforcement handle it?” he said, “Oh, I plan to. You think I’m suggesting vigilante justice?” He laughed. “That’s more your department, isn’t it? No, I just want to speed up the procedure, that’s all. Find the bastards and put them behind bars now.”

Why didn’t I believe him?

He went on. “I’m not certain who targeted Lindsey, but I’ve got a pretty good idea. If it’s the guy I think it is, he’s beyond dangerous. He’s a sociopath. Which is why I want to nail him as quick as I can.”

I said, “Whoever planned Lindsey’s kidnapping was no idiot. They did their homework; it was a very professional job.”

“I didn’t say he was stupid, I said he was a sociopath. I think it’s a guy by the name of Edgar Cordero. Edgar, in my estimation, is one of the most ruthless men in Colombia. You want an example? A few years ago, one of Edgar’s young lieutenants began to deal marijuana on the side. Not in any big-time way. Just to make a little extra cash and probably with his sights set on going into business for himself one day down the road. Edgar found out and went berserk. Literally.

“The young lieutenant returned one afternoon to find that his wife and daughter had been beaten to death with a baseball bat. Edgar did it all by himself. Went calling, found the two of them alone, and went to work. It was an aluminum bat and he left it there. His little warning to every other man who works for him. Since then, he hasn’t had any problems with his people selling product behind his back.”

I said, “His enemies, when someone crosses him, he goes after their children. That’s what you’re telling me.”

“Uh-huh, which is why I think it’s Cordero. Like his personal signature. Something else-I mentioned that I think he’s a sociopath? Listen to this. Edgar also has a fondness for cutting off the ears of adversaries. Before he kills them. They say he keeps them on a string behind the bar at his ranch up in the mountains. The ears, I mean. He shows them off to friends… or to people he wants to intimidate.”

“I can see why you don’t want a guy like that after Lindsey.”

He said, “If it is Cordero, I’ll know soon.”

We discussed details for a while longer before I asked him if he had any kind of timetable in mind. He said, “My hunch is, the next couple of days, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. They won’t be ready yet. Today’s Thursday? By Sunday, though, you better be on your toes. Sometime next week for sure. If they decide you’re worth the effort.”

I had a feeling Harrington would do his best to get them to think that I was. As I stood there listening, looking at the clear winter sky, looking at the guides drinking beer inside the Temptation, I felt a constricting sense of the inevitable that was nearly overwhelming. I had no options. As much as I despised what he was asking me to do, I had no choice. It was as if I had stepped onto a trapdoor and plummeted right back into the world I thought I’d left far, far in my past.

He had me, and he knew it. I couldn’t refuse, which made me furious. But I could negotiate. At least, I could try to negotiate.