Chasing the Lost (17 page)

* * * * *

Sarah hit the off button on her phone. “Walter will do it,” she said, which Chase had picked up from hearing her end of the brief, and forceful on her part, conversation. “He’s calling Karralkov right now, telling him he’ll divert the funnel. He’s also going to demand proof of life.”

“All right.” Chase didn’t know what else to say, and the adrenaline from the action had worn off. He had the Zodiac resting in a small estuary of calm water off the north, and mostly-uninhabited side, of the Savannah River. They’d passed Fort Pulaski, but were still a couple of miles from the city of Savannah.

“What do we do now?” Sarah asked.

Dawn was still over an hour away. It was quiet, the only sound the lap of water against the rubber sides of the Zodiac.

“We wait,” Chase said. He knew that was the hardest part of any combat operation. Waiting, and letting things play out.

A chill breeze cut across the low country. Sarah moved closer to Chase, their backs against the rubber bulkhead of the Zodiac.

“Walter is going to fuck it up,” Sarah said, in such a low voice, Chase almost didn’t hear her.

“What?”

“Walter,” Sarah said in a resigned voice. “He’ll fuck it up. He’s fucked up everything in our life. The only good thing out of our years together was Cole, and now he’s screwed that up.”

She leaned into him and Chase put his arm around her. “We’ll get Cole back. We’ve got the heroin. That will make Karralkov think. He’s probably moving it in a major deal, and that brings other players in. It’s not as clear-cut as he wanted.”

“We have to,” Sarah said. Her head was pressed into Chase’s neck. “I’m never, ever getting back together with Walter, no matter what happens. I’ve got to get Cole away from him.”

“We will,” Chase said.

Sarah lifted her head up, and in the darkness he could see the glint of her eyes, a hint of moisture. “Horace?”

“Yes?”

“I—”

Sarah was interrupted as her phone buzzed. Sarah pulled back and hit receive. She listened, and Chase could see her shoulders slump in relief. She listened for over a minute, then all she said was, “All right.”

She turned the phone off and looked at Chase. “That was Walter. He texted the kidnappers, agreeing. They texted back and said they’d release Cole at kickoff, six-twenty Eastern time tonight.”

“Where?” Chase asked.

“They said they’d drop him off someplace near Hilton Head, and text him the exact location.”

“What about proof of life?”

Sarah smiled, joy pouring out of her. “They gave the correct answer. Mustang. Only Cole would know that. And me. Not even Walter.”

Chase was so tired, he couldn’t sort all the angles. In Delta and on the Boulder P.D., he’d done some training on kidnapping cases, but in Delta, it had been mostly on the door-kicking stage when negotiations had failed. In Boulder, it had been pretty basic stuff, since the FBI was always supposed to be called in for a kidnapping; the result of the Lindbergh baby and the passing of the Federal Kidnapping Act, aka the Lindbergh Law.

She continued. “Walter said he’s on his way back. He’s already left Antigua and will rendezvous with a ship. He’ll set his boat’s radio to the frequency Kono had us on.”

“When will he arrive?” Chase asked.

“Probably not in time.” Sarah shook her head. “As usual. We’ll have to get Cole.”

“We will,” Chase said.

Done, she put the phone back in her pocket. She threw her arms around Chase. “I don’t believe it. I’ll have Cole back.” She buried her head in his chest.

As long as Karralkov didn’t find out about his dead men and the missing heroin,
Chase thought, but didn’t say.

Sarah’s head lifted slightly and he felt her warm breath on his neck. Then her lips, touching his skin ever so slightly. Chase couldn’t move. His brain was a muddle of fading adrenaline, projecting forward to the possibilities of a showdown with Karralkov, concern over the rest of the team, and—

He stopped thinking as Sarah’s lips touched his. He pulled her in against his body, tight. Her hands were sure, reaching for him, while his fumbled with her zippers and buttons. Her hand was cool as it slid into his pants and she wrapped her fingers around him. He was distantly surprised he was hard, but there was nothing normal about any of this. Nothing normal at all.

She unbuttoned, unzipped, and slid her pants off. Then Sarah was on top of him, leaning forward, kissing him, while her hands shoved all obstacles away.

Chase gasped as she lowered herself onto him. The warmth was an exhilarating switch from the coolness of her hand.

Sarah’s lips slipped off his, and her head was buried in his neck. She was whispering something he couldn’t make out, and moaning. The latter began to overwhelm the former as she rocked back and forth, back and forth, the Zodiac beginning to move in rhythm with her, Chase immobile underneath her. Her hands slid down his arms and she entwined her fingers in his. She lifted his arms up, over their heads, pulling her head away, arching back, now moaning loudly.

Chase was losing control. “Sarah—” he began to say.

But she hissed, “No!” and then collapsed on top of him, just as Chase gave up any attempt to hold himself back. She let go of his hands and he wrapped his arms around her. She cradled his face in her hands.

They lay there, half-clothed, still connected, both breathing hard.

“I’m sorry,” Sarah whispered. “ I don’t understand what happened. I just—”

She paused as the radio crackled. “Chase, this is Riley. We’re five miles off of the entrance to the river. Status?”

Chase unwrapped his arms from around Sarah. He searched on the floor of the Zodiac in the dark for the radio, as Sarah collected her clothes and secured them.

Chase keyed the radio. “We got hold of Walter. He’s going to agree to the deal. Karralkov has agreed. He’ll return Cole at kickoff someplace near Hilton Head.”

There was a long silence, and Chase knew Riley was thinking through the implications.

“Roger,” Riley finally replied. “Let’s link up at your place.”

* * * * *

Onboard the
Fina
, Riley stared eastward at the subdued glow of pre-dawn Savannah. Gator was in the turret, doing something with the dual fifties. To his left, Kono was at the helm, a still, silent figure. Erin was behind both of them.

“Well?” Erin asked.

“Looks like there’s a deal,” Riley said. “Except Karralkov won’t return Cole until kickoff, which means he’s got twelve hours to find out about what we just did.”

“Then we hope he not find out,” Kono said. “Where to?”

“Back to Chase’s house,” Riley ordered.

“And if he does find out?” Erin asks.

“Then we’ve got a shit-storm on our hands,” Riley said. “It depends how valuable that heroin we’re carrying is to him. It’s not worth fifty million, but he might look at our actions as a deal-breaker.”

“You think?” Erin said.

The
Fina
accelerated, turning north toward Hilton Head.

Riley glanced at his watch. “We’ll find out in the next twelve hours.”

Coming up the Intracoastal, Chase and Sarah arrived at Brams Point just as dawn was breaking over the peninsula. Chase tied off the Zodiac on the landward side of the dock. As they got off the rubber boat, the
Fina
came roaring up the Intracoastal.

Chase and Sarah waited on the floating dock for their comrades to arrive. Kono pulled up, stopping his boat right at the dock, with just a few inches between it and the buffers. Chase grabbed the lines Riley tossed him, and tied the patrol boat off. The twin fifties were hidden away, along with the machine guns that had been on the side mounts, and the
Fina
was back in decrepit, deceptive mode.

Chase immediately noticed the sling Riley’s arm was ensconced in. “What happened?”

“Body armor took a hit during the raid,” Riley said. “Not a big deal.”

Chase looked at Erin. “Is he all right?”

She nodded. “Bruised and beat-up, but he’ll recover. He’s a tough old goat.”

“Not sure I like that, coming from a veterinarian,” Riley said. “I’ve eaten some tough old goat in some of the places I’ve been.”

“That explains why you’re tough,” Erin said.

“Not as tough as I used to be,” Riley said.

The boats tied off, the team trudged up the metal ramp onto the long, wooden dock. It creaked under their heavy tread, especially Gator’s.

“Need fixing,” Kono noted, slapping a hand on the wood railing.

“
I
need fixing,” Riley muttered.

“We need to kill the rest of the fucking Russians,” Gator said loudly, not caring who heard.

“We need to get Cole back,” Chase said over his shoulder.

They reached the end of the dock and walked up the short grass slope. Chase slid open the back glass door, realizing he hadn’t locked it, realizing further that he had no keys for the house, and the front door had been unlocked when he’d arrived. And the power and water had been on.

Who was paying the bills?

He was too tired to delve further into that line of thought. “We all need some sleep, but we have to post security.”

“Roger’s Rules of Ranging,” Gator said. “Half the party stays awake while the other half sleeps.”

“We don’t need fifty-percent security,” Chase said, “but we need at least one person. Gator, since you’re the Ranger, you take first watch. Our primary concern is from the road, but keep an eye on the boat, too.”

“Yes, sir,” Gator said. He hefted an M-203 and walked out the front door to begin his patrol.

“Neighbors are going to love that,” Riley said.

“Fuck them,” Chase replied. “It’s my land.”

“Okey-dokey,” Riley said as he walked over to the cooler Gator had brought the previous day, which now seemed an eternity ago. He lifted the lid and pulled out a pair of beers, dripping with water from the melted ice. “I’m going to take the edge off and crash.”

“Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?” Chase asked.

“Isn’t it a little late to be worrying about that?” Riley replied. His cell phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen. “Bets for the Super Bowl coming in. I’m out of the business.” He went to settings and shut down his text messaging alerts, and thus ended his bookie career.

Kono nodded toward his boat. “I will rest onboard.” He walked out and back down the dock.

They heard voices arguing in the front of the house. Riley and Chase went to the front door. Gator was staring down at Rollins, barring his way. The neighbor was wearing pajama bottoms and a half-buttoned shirt, and was barefoot. He had his big gun in his hand, but Gator’s M-203 was bigger.

“Where’s Mikey?” Rollins demanded, as much as one could demand when faced with Gator. “He wasn’t on the plane when it got back. What happened?”

Chase and Riley exchanged a tired glance. “We’ve got it, Gator.”

The Ranger shrugged and walked away.

“Did Mikey have family?” Chase asked.

“Oh, fuck,” Rollins said. “I told you not to mess with the Russians.”

“I don’t recall that,” Riley said. “Do you, Chase?”

“Nope,” Chase said. “You almost seem to have encouraged it. You did lend use of your plane. Did Mikey have anyone who would miss him?” he repeated. “Except you, of course.”

“Fuck you,” Rollins said. “Mikey had no family. Had some on-again, off-again piece of ass he used to hook up with. She won’t miss him.”

“Your concern is overwhelming,” Chase said.

“Fuck you.”

Riley pulled out the dogtags. “These are Mikey’s. You want them?”

“What the fuck for?”

Riley took a step toward the businessman. “Pay some fucking respect. You ever serve?”

Rollins took two steps back. “Hey, I gave the guy a place to sleep.”

“Yeah,” Riley said, slipping the tags back in his pocket. “He’s sleeping permanent now.”

The gun was just hanging in Rollins’s hand, and both Chase and Riley could almost see the wheels turning in his head. “Did you get Karralkov?” he asked without much optimism in his voice.

“No,” Riley answered.

“What
did
you do that got Mikey killed?” Rollins demanded.

“You’re not involved anymore,” Chase said. “And I’m sick of you waving that gun around.”

Before Rollins could react, Chase took two steps, covering the distance, and snatched the large revolver out of his hand. “And get the fuck off my property.” Chase’s hand drifted over the handle to his own pistol.

Rollins’ face flushed red, but he turned and stomped away.

“Getting a bit touchy,” Riley said to Chase.

“Ditto.”

They both headed back to the house. Sarah and Erin were waiting for them in the doorway.

“Show’s over,” Chase said. “Let’s get some rest. We’ve got a long afternoon ahead.” They entered the house, and Chase shut the door. “Sarah, why don’t you take the master bedroom, and Erin, take the guest room next to it?”

Sarah hesitated, staring at Chase as if trying to send him a message, but what had happened on the Zodiac was already in the past for him, his mind a jumble of the possibilities, most of them bad, that the day would bring.

Erin stared at Sarah, staring at Chase, and then, with a slight shake of her head, disappeared into the guest bedroom.

Riley picked his beers back up and disappeared down the other hallway.

A clusterfuck, was the conclusion Chase came to as he walked outside. This was a clusterfuck.

He walked out onto the walkway to the dock. The
Fina
was a dark shadow in the early-morning light. A stark contrast to the modern, sparkling cabin cruisers resting in their boat lifts on either side. As his house was a stark contrast to the homes on either side. Perhaps when something was so different, it didn’t belong, Chase surmised, another great leap he thought Sylvie would have been proud of, except Sylvie was a history that was growing fainter with each passing day.

He turned as he heard footsteps behind him.

Sarah came up and put an arm around his waist.

“Come to bed.”

“The others—” Chase began, but Sarah put a finger on his lips. “Come to bed with me.”

* * * * *

Riley was moaning slightly, a trait he was unaware of, not having slept in the same room with another human being in years. His legs were vibrating, both from whatever dark dreams and memories haunted his unconscious brain, and from the unaccustomed finning he’d done just hours ago. He was beginning to tighten up, muscles that hadn’t been exercised in years, tingling and twitching. He was in the middle of a deep sleep cycle when his cell phone buzzed irritably near his head, next to his pistol, both of which were unholstered and ready for action.

His hand shot to the grip of his pistol on instinct, fingers curling around it, thumb slipping to the safety and flipping it off. He sat up abruptly, the blood draining from his head, and he felt faint. Blinking through bleary eyes, he scanned the room.

No threat.

Then the phone buzzed again.

Riley reclined on his back, resting his head on the bunched-up jacket he’d used as a pillow. He put the pistol down and grabbed the phone. He hesitated before pushing the accept button, because his clients always texted, and he couldn’t remember the last time someone had called him, other than the people here in this house in the past twenty-four hours. The phone just said PRIVATE.

“Yeah?”

“Mister Riley, my friend from Dafooskie.”

“What can I do for you, Mister Farrelli?”

“I’m hearing you’ve been a bad boy.”

Riley sighed and closed his eyes. “What do you want?”

“If you’re going to go after someone,” Farrelli said, “you shouldn’t do a single body punch. You’ve got to chop the head off.”

Riley said nothing, waiting for Farrelli to cut to the chase.

“As I mentioned,” Farrelli continued, “Mister Karralkov and the Quad have business interests that tangentially intersect. I perhaps forgot to mention, as I reveled in the enjoyment of our enlightening and entertaining conversation, that I also have business interests that tangentially intersect with our Russian friend.”

“He ain’t my friend,” Riley said.

“Good point,” Farrelli agreed. “A wrong choice of words on my part. Our Russian, umm, hmm, give me a word to describe the relationship, Mister Riley?”

“Our enemy.”

“Ah, no, no,” Farrelli said. “You cannot make competitors into enemies if you are going to have business arrangements. That is where your friend, Mister Chase, it is Chase is it not, went wrong. He threatened. He went in belligerently to someone he wished to negotiate with. He had other options that would have been wiser.”

“Such as?”

“You came to see me,” Farrelli said. “But only for information. No man likes being used as a sponge. What was in it for me? You could have used me as a disinterested intermediary with Mister Karralkov, with the right enticement. Instead, you choose the direct approach, or should I say, Mister Chase did? You seemed brighter than that, although I am beginning to question that assumption.”

“Karralkov been in contact with you?” Riley asked, finally getting a glimpse through the fog of Farrelli’s words and his own sleep-muddled brain. He looked at his watch. It was 11:42. A little under seven hours until the deadline. Plenty of time for Karralkov to have learned there was a problem. Plenty of time for Karralkov to have killed Cole.

Riley got to his feet, holding the phone tight to one ear, sliding his pistol into its holster on his left thigh and picking up his HK. He went out of the bedroom, into the living room. Gator was seated in a chair, right in the middle of the open front doors, his M-203 across his knees. He glanced at Riley as he entered, and Riley nodded toward the street.

Gator got up and moved outside, taking up a covered position behind the downed tree. He was also talking on the radio and Riley assumed he was warning Kono to be alert on the boat.

“Mister Farrelli?” Riley said, the silence having gone on a bit too long.

Farrelli finally responded. “Mister Karralkov has been making inquiries in a number of directions about a certain incident last night, or more accurately, early this morning. He is quite irate. Perhaps past the point of being reasonable.”

“Is the situation past being resolved, the point of no return?” Riley hoped Farrelli would understand the real question: was the kid still alive?

“I wouldn’t imagine it has gone that far. Mister Karralkov is, first and foremost, a business person.”

“Can you speak to Karralkov?” Riley asked. He was searching for Chase, but he was nowhere to be found. Riley looked out back and saw Kono on the bridge of the
Fina
, on alert. Using his shoulder to hold the phone to his ear, Riley cracked open the door to the other guest bedroom. Erin was a tiny ball curled up in the bed. She stirred at the sound of the door. Riley went to the master and opened that door.

Chase and Sarah were in bed, their naked bodies half-covered by sweat-soaked sheets. Chase stirred, stretched, blinked, and then focused on Riley standing in the door. Riley jerked his thumb, indicating he needed to get out here, then shut the door a bit harder then he needed to.

“Something bothering you?” Even Farrelli could pick up Riley’s sudden mood change over the phone.

“Yeah. Named Karralkov,” Riley said. “Can you set up a meet? He has something we want, and we have something he wants.”

“Ah,” Farrelli drew that out. “And why should I do that?”

“Ten percent of what we’re putting on the table for Karralkov.”

“And what is that?”

“That ten percent is worth several million dollars,” Riley said.

“But if it’s Karralkov’s property, perhaps he won’t agree,” Farrelli pointed out.

“It isn’t his property if he doesn’t have it.” Riley paused. “And what business interests of yours coincide with Karralkov’s? Perhaps you aren’t a disinterested party in this matter, after all.”

Erin walked out, shaking off her sleep. Kono was coming down the dock, assault rifle in hand.

“Maybe you should have stayed on Dafooskie?” Farrelli replied, instead of answering.

“Maybe, but I ain’t there now,” Riley said.

“Some of your clients have already contacted acquaintances of mine, saying you aren’t responding to their, shall we say, business proposals, and they are going elsewhere.”

“I’m out of that business,” Riley said.

“My sense is that your heart was never in it,” Farrelli said. “Is your heart in what you’re doing now?”

Riley held back a sigh. “Yes.”

“I will get back to you.” The phone went dead.

The door to the master opened and Chase stepped out, ready for battle, in full gear. Erin stared at him, then past him, then back at him, then gave a slight shake of head and turned her attention to Riley. “What’s going on?”

“Wait until everyone is here,” Riley said. “Tell Gator to come back in,” he added.

Kono came in through the sliding door, Gator in the front. And then Sarah appeared, her clothes haphazardly thrown on.