J Saint - Collateral Damage

Weston snorted with disbelief. "Keeping Mrs. Collins under wraps I can understand, but keeping my man is overkill and reeks of bullshit. You've got no grounds on which to hold him."

Rashid shrugged. "Just following orders. Take your complaints up with the Deputy Director."

Jack expected that Weston would argue more, come out with a bigger stick and use the threat of his presidential connection, but he didn't. Instead Weston's phone vibrated again. He glanced at the screen then met Jack's gaze. "I'll call you shortly, DT-"

"You'll have to call either Director SOO's number or mine. We'll be taking his cell in case Menendez calls back." The man rattled off the numbers.

The tone of Lauren's interrogation had indicated that they'd likely detain her, but Jack hadn't mentioned it, not wanting to cross that bridge unless he had to. And now that it was here he didn't feel all that great about it. She'd be relatively safe from assassins in this cushy prison. Safer than he'd been able to keep her. Another chill ran down his spine from what almost happened at Gardner's. But Jack had news for Rash, his SOO, and the NCS; putting him into that same box wasn't going to wash. He'd be damned if he was going to sit here with Rico missing, no matter how many brass pipes the orders came down in. He'd be out of there tonight come hell or high water.

Lauren stepped forward to give Rashid a piece of her mind and Jack, blindly sent Beck a coded message from his cell in his pocket.

Blindfolded, gagged and tied like a sacrificial lamb, Conrad had been thrown into a trunk, driven for hours, then stuffed into a crate. Now he was being flown to only God knew where. The SOB who took him down had yet to say another word. Conrad didn't count it a good thing that he was still alive. It wasn't the burning fire in his shoulder that made him wish he was dead, it was the five million dollars he was sure he'd now lost. The man knew about Bill's letters, had confiscated them and would likely be buried up to his balls in greenbacks soon.

It made him sick. He'd done all of the hard work and this bloodsucker was going to reap the rewards?

Snapping wood and prying metal grabbed his attention. At least they weren't burying him alive or dumping him in the ocean. A rush of cool air met his skin, then rough hands were jerking him up. His every numbed muscle screamed in pain and his injured shoulder protested louder. The blindfold was snatched off. He blinked against the burning brightness of the light until his eyes adjusted. By then his mind separated the fact that while his muscles were in horrendous pain, the actual screaming he heard was from Bill Collins's brats clinging to a red haired woman he'd seen before. The boy's crying instantly became a heavenly choir singing Hallelujah in his ears. Another chance at getting the five million and maybe more just fell in his lap. Life was looking up.

He cradled his arm protectively and moved in to play hero. "Dear God! They got you too. Where's Lauren?"

They looked like Bill Collins, Andreas thought as he watched the video feed of his hostages being freed from their crates. Two miniature Bill Collins cowardly huddled against a red-headed woman who had his murder glaring in her eyes as she looked about. The new Fidel was proving to be a man of his word. He not only planned for the next step, but also was deviously resourceful. He'd been able to smuggle five hostages aboard the Airbus A380 via crates disguised as supplies. They'd refueled, filed a flight plan, and were on their way inside of an hour. His Santaurio, his fortified haven awaited them.

George jumped excitedly in the seat next to him.

"Patience, mi hijo. You will see the boys when we get home. Pero, you must be careful not to hurt them until I have what Collins stole from me." George loved to do things that made children laugh. Collins's monsters would laugh. Eventually cry again. Then they would scream.

Two men were also unloaded from the crates. One was completely unconscious or dead and had blood staining his blue shirt. Andreas dismissed him and focused on the other man, who was stretching and smiling at the boys as if he'd just found heaven itself. This man had been murdering others for Bill Collins's letters, of which Andreas now had most of on his desk in front of him. He'd been thoroughly shocked and pleased to find that Collins hadn't put convicting evidence in the letters but had alluded to Andreas as the man in the yellow hat. Lauren Collins held the key to the evidence of Andreas's crimes. Bill had promised each of his friends a million dollars if they worked together with Lauren to bring down the man in the yellow hat.

All Andreas had to do was get the formula for GXP back, make a few people permanently disappear, and then he could get back to assuring a future for George and his kind. International authorities, provided they would ever be able to collaborate again, couldn't touch him with anything more substantial than the man with the yellow hat.

So he'd proceed with the Latimoor Live CNN interview on GXP's facilities and the wildlife preserve tomorrow and pretend as if nothing was wrong other than he was an innocent man.

Once the oil facilities in Abu Dhabi, Dubai, Sharjah, Ajman, Umm al-Quwain, Ras al-Khaimah and Fujairah were burning, Sheikh Khalifa bin Zayed Al Nahyan would learn he couldn't steal from Andreas Miles. For now he'd let Lauren Collins stew until she was desperate to give him anything he wanted for her sons. Once he had GXP back he could then get back to the task of reshaping the world for global social justice.

Roger left the NCS hideaway with the feeling that he'd abandoned DT on the battlefield. He almost turned around to force Rashid McGuire's hand in a "my daddy's bigger than your daddy" pissing contest. One call to his cousin and Roger was sure word would reach Rashid with the speed of light directly from the Deputy Director.

The only reason Roger didn't make the call was to keep DT from carrying through with the determined rage in his eyes. Roger had no doubt DT would go after Menendez/Miles, which is why Rashid was detaining him.

So Roger had driven away and kept on driving no matter how he felt about the situation. Orders were orders. Miles/ Menendez and what Bill Collins had done were now out of his hands and out of DT's whether they liked it or not.

Putting aside the world-wide destruction the terrorist acts caused politically, economically and socially, Menendez was responsible for creating the crisis in Lebanon-an event which had resulted in tragedy. Something everyone involved would suffer from every day for the rest of their lives. No death would be slow enough or torturous enough to make up for the damage Menendez had done.

Roger clamped down on his anger and shoved his focus in a different direction. It wouldn't do him any good to dwell on the situation, but he could channel his fury elsewhere against a more than deserving bastard. Frank Dugar. The man who had attacked Mari.

Mari rested in his apartment on post in the care of Senior Airman Holly Gear from the 116th Air Control Wing division of the Air National Guard from Warner Robbins, Georgia. Holly was a top graduate of the National Guard's Sniper School and was teaching at Bragg in the unique position of informing men on how to think like a woman sniper. More and more women from hostile, radical factions around the world were being trained as snipers, leaving the US Troops and Special Forces vulnerable. Unless you were in her rifle sights, Holly was easy going and single, two reasons why Roger had called her to stay with Mari when he, Jack and Lauren had been diverted to the NCS hideaway.

Before returning to post, Roger went to Neil and Mari's house. He had a list of things she needed and he wanted to check if the windows had been boarded up and the cleaning crew had cleared away the debris. Until Dugar was caught, Roger wasn't going to replace them.