Джеймс Паттерсон - Private Rogue

“The Bull, Elizabeth. We want the American Bull.”

Beth started crying then because the flames of hope were once again dying. They’d asked for something she couldn’t give them. Not because she refused to do so, but because she didn’t have the first idea what they were talking about.

“The Bull, Elizabeth,” he said. “Where is it?”

“Please,” she begged. “Please let us go. I don’t even know what that is. You’ve got the wrong person. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please! Please let my children go. Please...”

She wept as the gag was forced back into her mouth. A heavy fist punched her naked stomach, but no matter how much it hurt, she couldn’t double over, so she just hung there, taking the agony of further blows. Finally, when she felt as though something had ruptured, the punches stopped. More footsteps. Then the crack of light was replaced by total darkness. For a brief moment there was no sound other than her own muffled cries, then came the overwhelming noise of death metal and the screams of children.

She was back in hell.

Joshua Floyd slept while I read the report Justine had sent. Beth Singer and her children had been abducted from the house on Pine Island, and so far we had no leads. I felt a deep sense of grief when I read Justine’s account of the deaths of Jim Taft and Roni Alvarez. They had given their lives to protect others. I didn’t need any further incentive to fight back but their deaths fired in me an intense need to bring Andreyev and all those responsible to justice.

The G650 hit turbulence and the sudden shudder shook Floyd awake. He yawned, stretched and smiled.

“That felt good,” he said.

We’d used the jet’s bathroom to wash and change into the clothes Dinara had brought us. Floyd was in blue jeans and a green sweater, and I wore black trousers, a black jumper and boots. Not my usual style, but at least they were clean.

“What have you got there?” Floyd asked, indicating the report.

“Can you think of any reason these people would be after you and your family?” I said, to avoid answering his question.

He shook his head. “Apart from revenge. But I’m just a pilot. If anyone had vengeance on their mind, I’d probably be pretty low on their list.”

I grimaced. Having read the report, I didn’t feel comfortable deceiving him any longer. He tilted his head toward me and his smile faded.

“I don’t know how to break this to you,” I began.

“No,” he said.

“Beth, Maria and Danny were taken. Two of my team were killed in an attack on the safe house.”

“No!” He hit the table that separated us.

“We’ll get them back,” I assured him.

“I’m sorry.” His tone softened. “I’m sorry about the people you lost.”

I nodded. So was I. Alvarez and Taft were excellent operatives, and I could feel the horror of their deaths in Justine’s words. “I appreciate that.”

“Can I read the report?” Floyd asked.

“Of course.” I handed it to him.

I’d been mulling over an idea since Justine told me about the abduction, and having read the report, it seemed like our only option.

“Captain Floyd,” I said.

He looked up from the document, his distress evident.

“I think I know a way to get your wife and kids back, but you’ll need to—”

He cut me off. “Anything. I’ll do anything.”

I nodded and picked up the satellite phone. I checked the list of useful numbers Dinara had included in the flight case and dialed the one I was looking for.

The call took a while to connect and, from the tones and clicks, it sounded as though it was being rerouted.

“ Na provode ,” a voice said. I recognized the Russian phrase people used when they answered the phone.

“Mr. Singer?” I responded. “I didn’t catch that. Must be a bad line. This is Jack Morgan.”

“Hello, Mr. Morgan.” Andreyev’s tone was hostile, and he wasn’t making any effort to disguise his real Russian accent under the syrupy Southern one he’d invented for Donald Singer.

“I’m on my way back from Afghanistan. I’ve found Joshua Floyd,” I revealed. “Can we meet when I get back?”

“Have you spoken to your team, Mr. Morgan?”

“Not yet,” I lied.

There was a pause. I could hear Andreyev breathing.

“I don’t believe you, Mr. Morgan. I think you’ve spoken to your team. I think you know who I am and what I’ve done.”

“OK, Mr. Andreyev,” I replied. “What’s it going to take for you to release Beth and the children?”

“I don’t want anything from you or Captain Floyd. I have everything I need. It’s just a matter of time. If that changes, I will let you know.”

Andreyev hung up.

Floyd looked at me expectantly.

“He doesn’t want to negotiate. Which means Beth has whatever he wants.”

Floyd clenched his fist. “What? There’s nothing she has that could have provoked all this. And why go after me in Afghanistan? I don’t believe she has anything.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said. “It might help keep your family safe until we get them back. And we will get them back. I promise.”

I could see Justine standing beside a white Toyota Sequoia as we came in to land at Teterboro Airport, a small facility for executive jets located in New Jersey. Even at a distance, I sensed her anticipation, and shared it. I couldn’t wait to hold her in my arms. In contrast, Joshua Floyd was impatient and irascible, which was completely understandable in the circumstances. I was coming home to someone I loved while his family were in the clutches of evil.

The pilot of the G650 brought the aircraft down and there was the slightest bump when the wheels kissed the runway. We taxied to the stand where Justine waited, and after a quick check by an Immigration and Customs Enforcement officer, we were allowed off the aircraft. I thanked the pilot and co-pilot, and hurried down the airstairs.

“Jack!” Justine ran over.

She looked exhausted, but she was beaming. My own wide smile made my cheeks ache. She rushed into my arms and I held her close. She whispered my name over and over and we kissed again and again.

Joshua Floyd came down the airstairs slowly, a frown on his face. He shivered as he looked around the desolate snow-covered airport. This wasn’t much of a homecoming for a man who’d been through hell, and it was made worse by the absence of his family.

“Justine Smith, this is Joshua Floyd,” I said. “Captain Floyd saved my life.”

Justine shook his hand. “I don’t know how I can thank you.”

“Find my family,” he replied flatly.

She looked at me awkwardly.

“We will,” I assured him.

The back door of the Toyota opened and Mo-bot stepped out. She wore a thick ski jacket, hat and gloves. In contrast to Justine’s elegant trench coat, Mo-bot was dressed for substance over style. She barreled over and gave me a hug.

“It’s good to see you alive, Jack,” she said. “We’re set up at the New York office.”

“This is Joshua Floyd,” I told her.

She and Floyd shook hands.

“We’re going to get your family back, Mr. Floyd,” Mo-bot said.

“Mr. Morgan,” the pilot called.

I turned to see him holding out the flight case Dinara had given me, and ran back to take it.

“Thanks,” I said.

I joined Mo-bot, Justine and Floyd who were heading for the SUV.

“What have you got there?” Mo-bot indicated the case.

“Clothes mostly, some notes, but most importantly a satellite phone,” I replied. “I want you to take a look at it. It was on the aircraft that belonged to the men hunting Captain Floyd. There might be something useful on it.”