Don Pendleton - Decision Point

Unfortunately she had no real idea where she was in relationship to anything else. She only knew that they’d been traveling southeast instead of northwest. But there were dozens, maybe even hundreds, of small islands along the coast of Malaysia and this could be any one of them. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t hear the man who was obviously the leader of this group until he cleared his throat.

“When we reach the dock in a few minutes, you will come with me,” he said. “I will present you to the commander.”

“What about them?” Daniels asked, pointing to the other hostages.

“Some will be ransomed, if there are those who can pay for them, or they will be ransomed as part of a larger arrangement. The others will find a different fate.”

“You will kill them, then,” she said, trying to contain her anger and despair. “How pointless.”

“You have come to a very dangerous part of the world, Miss Daniels,” he said. “Do not presume to know anything about us.”

He stood next to her as the boat reached the dock, then he motioned for her to precede him down the gangplank. She stopped and looked out over the island once more. The pier where the boat was moored was not suited for the large vessel, which dwarfed the other boats that were in port. Trucks were lined up, waiting for the stolen cargo to be unloaded, as soldiers moved some of the passengers along the dock including the other missionaries.

“Let’s go.” He pulled her farther down the dock.

Worried for the fate of the other missionaries, she said, “Shouldn’t I be near the other hostages?”

“You are different. They will be part of a larger negotiating package. You will be ransomed separately.”

“I don’t want to be treated any differently than anyone else,” she snapped.

He stopped and spun. His eyes bored into her, dark and fierce.

“Sometimes, it is necessary to kill a hostage or even several to make a point. If you are with them and this happens, you would be just as likely to be chosen for death as the others, as no one but myself knows your true identity. If you want to live, you come with me. If you want to take your chances…” He shrugged and released her hand. “Then go with them.” He pointed to where the other hostages huddled in a small group.

One man was yanked to his feet in front of a video camera. He attempted to flee, but the pirate was quick and efficient, slitting his throat with a large blade, as the other hostages screamed in horror. The crimson spray splattered all of them, adding to the terror of the scene. The man’s body dropped to the deck. Daniels looked at Rajan.

“This is not a game, Heather.” He pointed at a dark sedan rolling to a stop on the edge of the pier. “The man who is about to get out of that car is Kabilan Vengai, the leader of the Ocean Tigers. He is not a patient or kind man, so keep your answers short and direct.”

The combination of Rajan’s warning and the arrogant stride of Vengai as he moved down the pier had Daniels cringing inside. His arrival brought the activity on the pier to a near standstill. Everyone watched as he approached. He was about her height, just under six feet, and reminded her of a tiger stalking its prey. The military-style clothing didn’t hide the scars on his arms that looked as if someone had tried to fillet them and, failing that, had burned the skin.

Rajan didn’t wait for him, but closed the distance and started his report. Daniels caught only every few words, but what she did understand was the look of disdain that Vengai was sending her way. They finished speaking and Vengai strolled in front of her, looking her up and down as though she were a particularly interesting painting rather than a person.

“I did not believe it when Rajan first told me, but he is right. You are the daughter of President Jefferson Daniels of the United States.”

“He’s not the President anymore,” she said. “Just a man.”

Vengai chuckled under his breath. “If you believe that, you must think quite poorly of him. No man is ever an ex-President of your country, for he is still addressed as Mr. President, is this not so?”

She bit her lip and nodded her agreement.

“You are truly a treasure fished from the sea and were you my daughter, I would never allow you to travel in such a dangerous place as the Bay of Bengal. What will he pay, I wonder, for your safe return?”

Remembering her father’s time in office, Daniels shrugged. “I doubt he’ll pay you anything,” she said, trying to hold on to her courage. “President Jefferson Daniels does not negotiate with terrorists.”

Vengai chuckled once more. “He will for you,” he said. “You see, presidents and politicians like to say things like that, but they only mean that for other people. They never mean it when it will actually affect them. He will negotiate for you, of this I am very certain.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cell phone. From another pocket, he removed a small business-card-size piece of paper. He dialed a series of numbers, then handed the phone to her. “Call him. Now.”

She took the phone and saw that all the prefix numbers were entered. She added the area code and phone number for her father’s cell phone, then pressed Send. After several long seconds and a handful of clicks and beeps, the call connected.

Her father answered on the second ring. “Who’s this?” he said.

“Dad, thank God you answered, it’s me,” Daniels said. “Don’t hang up.”

“Heather, where are you calling from? I didn’t recognize the number.”

Before she could respond, Vengai snatched the phone from her hand, activating the speaker-phone function. “President Daniels, now you know that your daughter is alive, we can proceed with business. We are holding your daughter and if you want to see her alive again, you will follow my instructions exactly.”

“Who the hell are you?” her father snarled. “Where is she?”

“This will be the only call, Mr. President, so I suggest you write down what I’m about to tell you. Within ten days, you will transfer…twenty-five million dollars in U.S. funds into the following account.” He rattled off a string of numbers. “When the money is received, your daughter will be released. That is all.”

“Dad!” Daniels said. “I’m on an island somewhere near—” The slap that interrupted her came out of nowhere and she couldn’t stifle the yelp of pain as she went down. Rajan was standing over her.

“Ten days, Mr. President, or your daughter dies.”

He clicked the end button on the sound of her father’s nearly incoherent yelling.

“This is all so unnecessary,” she said. “We have nothing to do with your war or your money. We’re here trying to help the people of your country.”

“Miss Daniels, what you arrogant Americans seem to misunderstand is that we want no help from you. We don’t want your people in our country, but you refuse to go home and continue with these…useless efforts.”

Daniels held her tongue. She knew better than to argue with an extremist. But with her father there were two things she knew for certain. She’d never heard him sound so angry.

And he would never pay money to a terrorist, not even for her.

CHAPTER TWO

As a soldier, Mack Bolan, aka the Executioner, fundamentally believed that there would never come a time in his life when training was unnecessary. On the other hand, even an experienced soldier could find that he’d bitten off a bit more than he wanted to chew. While that wasn’t the case this time, Bolan felt that the Le Parkour training he’d been spending his time on was pushing him toward his limit.

The course he was facing today was the last challenge in this training run, and for all of his previous training—Special Forces, rappelling, high-altitude jumps and just about every kind of military work in the world—none of it could have prepared him for the intensity of Parkour. Bolan had become interested in the discipline that was sometimes called freerunning after watching some action film extras on a DVD. Realizing that not all of the stunts were special effects or done with wires, he’d listened to one of the film consultants talk about Parkour and the discipline of body manipulation, jumping, climbing and negotiating obstacles with the most speed and efficiency. As the stuntmen and -women were launching themselves up the sides of buildings, leaping over concrete barricades and moving with amazing swiftness, Bolan determined to explore Parkour for himself, adding it to his already formidable battlefield skills. For a man in his line of work, those kinds of skills might make the difference between life and death.