He threw his head back and laughed.
The spasmodic motion of his body jolted his arm a few inches more than was
comfortable and he scrunched his face in pain. After a few seconds he steadied
himself and said, “OK, you’re onto something with the guns and drugs. They pay
well. But the terrorists in and out, you’re way off.”
“What then?” Frank said. “And what
about the kids?”
“Is that all you got? You think
these people entered and exited the country alone?” The smile returned to
Pablo’s face.
“Stop fucking with us,” Frank said.
“What are you talking about the—”
“Frank,” I said. “He’s talking
about us being way off. This isn’t a terrorist cell.”
Pablo’s eyebrows arched up into his
forehead and his smile widened. He looked between me and Frank and nodded
vigorously.
I continued, “They’re child
smugglers. He was at the bus stop today because he was going to kidnap a
child.”
“You son of a bitch.” Frank charged
the man and punched him three times in the head, rendering him unconscious.
By the time I got across the table,
Frank had backed up. He looked down at the bloodied face of Pablo and shook his
hand, which was equally covered in blood. I couldn’t tell if it was all
Pablo’s, or if Frank had split a knuckle or two.
“Well, that was tactful,” I said.
“I got kids, Jack.”
“I know.”
“Christ,” Frank said as he stepped
around Pablo and made his way toward the door. “What now?”
I followed Frank out into the
lobby. The door slammed behind us, echoing through the room. The doctor looked
up and saw us and opened his door.
“Need me to do anything?” he asked.
“Smelling salts,” I said. “And
check his arm. Might need to be set again.”
The doctor reached for his bag.
“That’s why I went with the air cast,” he said with a smile.
Frank stood in the middle of the
room with his hands on his hips and his head leaned back.
“You need to get it together,” I
said. “I’ll have you pulled from this.”
“I’m good. I’m good.”
“OK,” I said. “We need to get some
more information out of him. Now, I don’t think he’s going to give up anyone
else. At least, not yet. But maybe we can get the location of where they are
keeping these kids.”
“You sure about this? What if he’s
jerking us around?” Frank said.
“That’s why we need the location.
We can verify it in person, then come back and hammer on him some more, and
then we’ll lead a raid on the place.”
Frank nodded as the doctor emerged
from the interrogation room.
“He’s ready for you guys again,”
the doctor said.
I grabbed Frank by his shoulders.
“Let me do the talking.” Then I pushed him toward the room. I wanted Frank to
enter first, figuring it would cause the man to feel a little more unsettled.
Pablo was conscious when we
entered, but he looked confused.
“Where are you keeping them?” I
said.
“Who?” Pablo said.
“The kids.”
“In a house.”
“Where?”
“Northern Virginia. Suburbs.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t know the name of the
neighborhood. Spring Street. Ninth house on the right.”
“Going which way?”
“You can only enter from the
north.”
I looked at Frank and he nodded.
“Good enough.” I stepped to the
door and pulled it open. Turned back and saw Frank stop in front of Pablo and
lean over and drive his fist into the side of the man’s face again.
“Was that necessary?” I said.
Frank looked at me, then at Pablo,
then back at me. “Yes.”
Lee "L.T." Ryan lives in the suburbs of Atlanta,
GA with his wife, three daughters, and one psychologically unbalanced but
lovable dog. He enjoys writing fast paced suspense thrillers. When not writing,
he enjoys reading, hiking, mountain biking, fishing, and spending time with the
ladies in his life.
Current projects include Noble Intentions: Season Three
(Episodes 11-15), two Jack Noble novels:
Never Go Home
and
When Dead
in Greece
, and a post-apocalyptic series penned under another name.
PUBLISHED BY:
Liquid Mind Media
Copyright © 2012
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any
format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the
copyright owner and publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and
events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.