Ransomed Dreams (11 page)

“Any other bits of information you’d care to share?” Steven held up the note. “Like yet another park switch?”

“N-no. On my life, I swear it’s Memorial Hill Park.”

“What time?”

His partner answered the phone. “Clint, alert the HRT Correct hunch.”

Sir Walter studied his black shoes.

Steven bent down toward the ambassador. “Exactly when?”

“Twenty past eleven.”

“It’s going down now, Clint. I’m on my way.” Steven stormed out of the study and ran to his vehicle. The Secret Service had seen and heard all they needed to know to stay out of his way.

Steven punched another speed dial as he slammed his foot on the gas. The south side of Alexandria was a formidable distance away “Michael, call the unit chief and put the ambassador under arrest. Give them the details you recorded.”

“Yes, sir.”

Michael’s unasked question drove Steven hard as he threw his phone onto the passenger seat.

He had to make it in time.

Hidden by a moonless night and thick trees, Gordon watched the drop site.

The two girls, in black hoods and bound wrists, remained silent nearby Duct tape helped squelch their godforsaken moaning. That and the rugged trek with his new Glock 17C prodding them onward. Over streams and logs ’til they had no directional sense left.

If ever they’d had some.

Memorial Hill Park. He chuckled to himself as he leaned against the rough tree. In mere minutes, this day would become immemorial to Sir Walter Kensington. Just like Harry’s funeral. And he’d have ten million of the old fool’s money. Blood money What Harry had died trying to find.

Gordon checked his timepiece. Drop-off time had passed.

Sir Kensington had never served in Her Majesty’s Special Forces, or he’d have shown and retreated by now.

Olivia fought against the silver bracelets securing her hands behind her. Jordan started her insufferable whines, just out of Olivia’s reach.

“It’s no use. Be still!” Gordon reacquainted her with his Glock, and she was silenced.

His eyes scoped the darkness, ready to kill two birds in seconds if necessary and leave them for the FBI to find. Then his night-vision goggles showed a single body fast approaching the drop-off mark three meters to his left. Good sport. Seems Sir Kensington had heeded the note he’d sent. Wise bloke. Got himself caught covering his tracks too.

Cheers to ’em. Gordon smiled.

The ransom bag now rested under a ramshackle picnic table near the edge of a slight clearing. He waited for the stupid wally transporting it to disappear into the night.

Within seconds, Gordon shoved the American girl forward, blind and bound, to find her way out of the forest. Take her all night, it would.

He pulled Sir Kensington’s eldest along as he reached the bag. This one he wouldn’t give up tonight.

An owl hooted overhead. The hair on his neck stood to attention. Looking up, he could see dots of heat nearing from the south. He muffled a curse.

No time to check the bag.

No matter.

He still had leverage.

And a grand escape ahead.

Steven maneuvered back road curves with every defensive driving technique at his disposal.

Pulling into Memorial Hill Park’s unchained entrance provided no comfort. Silence greeted him. The park’s nine hundred wooded acres yielded no clue to the rescue team’s whereabouts. Nor Olivia and Jordan’s.

No amount of experience could give him the right search coordinates. His gut said west central, as no west entrance existed beyond the natural boundaries of water, part of a road, and thinning woods. One team had started there, the other from the east.

Clint had known that Steven would approach through the southeast entrance, following the main stream that ran through the park’s dense center. He’d phoned to confirm his course seconds after his first call.

Steven killed the motor and quickly slipped into cover, adjusting his night-vision goggles. With as large a range as the present hostage teams had to cover, he hoped none of them felt trigger-happy tonight. Or the ones arriving from the alleged exchange site either. Because vests didn’t protect skulls.

Slipping down the hill near the entrance road, he soon waded across the first stream and navigated around fallen trees with silent speed. Within ten minutes, he felt more than saw bodies surrounding him. Then his goggles clued him in on the three men approaching.

Once hand signals were exchanged, Steven continued west while the team worked north. They’d found nothing from the south up.

His breath came in fast gulps as scenarios ricocheted through this mind. Best-case: Two girls wandered this park, searching for a way out. Money could be traced. A specialty of the Secret Service.

Worst-case: Two dead bodies would be found and no money.

Steven crossed the main stream and moved deeper into the forest’s interior.

No. Far more formidable was finding no bodies—alive or otherwise—and the money left at the drop-off, mocking them.

No clues. No rescue.

Steven stopped to listen. A slight wind rustled leaves all around him. From the wet ground, moss scents clung to the air currents. “God, a little direction right about now would be good.”

The thought of being too late plagued him still. Given the vastness of the dense forest surrounding him, their perp could have slipped through the two smaller teams’ search grid.

To a timed pickup.

If their guy escaped, Steven would expand the search for accomplices. Starting with consuls and embassy personnel, even though the staff had already been interviewed ad nauseam.

A twig snap froze his movements.

Then he moved right, circling a wide arc toward the sound.

Infrared sensors showed one body, slight build. No others in radius. Steven watched. A trap set on short notice was unlikely but rushing in could prove a fatal decision.

The body stumbled toward him and doubled back again.

“Olivia? Jordan?” He called into the greenish darkness.

Muffled wails answered him. She started in his direction and fell.

Steven ran to her side. As he removed the hood and duct tape, the seventeen-year-old screamed like a newborn. “He took Livvie! You have to find her!”

“What direction?”

Jordan looked all around. Tears spilled over her cheeks. “I don’t know. I’ve been walking forever. I …” Sobs replaced words.

“It’s okay, Jordan. You’re safe.” He held the shaking girl in his arms.

The teen’s sobs subsided to a slow sniffle. “I want to see my mom.”

His cell phone buzzed. Steven pulled it out and prayed Clint’s call would mean they had Olivia and her captor in hand.

“Where are you, Steven?” Behind Clint’s voice he heard cars.

“About two and a half miles northwest of the entrance. I have Jordan. She’s scraped and bruised and asking for her mom. Let them know.”

“Ambulance is on the way Can you manage the trek out?”

“Yes.” Steven would have to break Jordan’s handcuffs before starting out. He searched for the right-sized rock. If she’d be still, he would manage the middle link and deal with the rest later. “Tell me.”

“Nothing.”

Steven’s chest constricted in a vise.

Too late by half was still too late.

T
wo days and nothing.

Maria sat in the command center at the embassy and watched the surveillance tapes of Victoria’s father. Her security detail would begin ten minutes past eight, bright and early Friday morning.

Victoria had requested a park trip today.

Not a chance. Public places with unmanned escape routes were off-limits for the little blond whirlwind’s foreseeable future. Thankfully, school started in a month to provide much needed socialization and structure.

Maria returned to viewing the tapes.

Service scuttlebutt said Sir Walter Kensington’s deportation loomed over the embassy like a thunderhead. No one on his detail would miss him. Victoria had no inkling. At six, she didn’t need to. But it broke Maria’s heart that the bright little doll she’d fallen for would have her world turned topsy-turvy in a matter of days.

Agent David Adams entered the command center and slammed the door. “Diplomatic immunity my …”

“Whoa. No sailor-speak. Please.” Maria cocked her head to the side and smiled. “Can you start over and explain your outburst?”

Agents around her continued their surveillance. The clicking computer keys didn’t even miss a stroke.

David twisted his wedding band and then played like a statue until the red in his face faded. “Between the FBI and the president. Sir Walter will remain in the country in his official capacity indefinitely.”

“Why does that steam you?” All other conversation in the room stilled. She hated having an audience.

“Because.” David clenched his jaw. “It means the entire diplomatic community will feel empowered to do whatever they …” He took a deep breath. “It sends the message that our government is filled with bleeding hearts who look at a man’s circumstances to determine justice.”

Maria studied her supervisor’s profile. She didn’t want to debate, but she believed Steven Kessler had good reason to allow the ambassador to remain in the country. International politics notwithstanding. Therein lay a powder keg she wouldn’t broach. “Sir Walter’s still under investigation. He won’t escape the consequences.”

“You sticking up for Kessler? Stand in line behind all the rest of the female population.” Other agents snickered as David took a seat behind his makeshift desk—a thin, ornate table from one of the embassy’s storage rooms.

Maria ignored the insult and focused on her surroundings as agents returned to work. “Jealous, Agent Adams?” Michael Parker, the token FBI agent left to keep watch over Sir Walter, stood to stretch. He grinned in her direction.

Get real, rookie
. Not every woman had the hots for him. Someone should enlighten him about that soon.

Anyone but her.

Michael’s reputation preceded him. His loose lips had sunk any hopes of his being worth her time. Maybe Steven Kessler and his tall Texas partner would teach the new CACU agent a thing or two about manners and how to treat women.

“Why are you still here. Agent Parker?” David kept his eyes focused on the computer monitor in front of him. “Now that your boss has left our presence, this is Secret Service territory.”

“Cryptographic superiority maybe?” Michael stood at attention. “FBI ongoing investigation. Because I caught the ambassador’s e-mail deletions before you had your first cup of coffee. Take your pick.”

David glared.

Michael winked at her.

Her internal alarm said work duties called. With a sigh of relief, she exited the testosterone-filled room.

Victoria and her governess strolled through the embassy’s English gardens. High brick walls kept the public out of sight and Victoria safe.

Maria nodded to the other agent, John Reynolds, already posted. They shared this rotation with two other agents. Seniority gave Maria the plum assignment as the little girl’s shadow. And in the fall—the classroom with Victoria.

With the threat to Victoria’s life still at level red, four agents escorted Victoria outside of embassy grounds when necessary. Until then, two monitored the girl’s whereabouts from their office while Maria and John stood guard.

“Maria! You’re here!” Victoria yanked away from the stodgy old governess and ran into her arms. Maria laughed. Brit-speak continued to invade her thinking at times.

She returned Victoria’s firm hug. The policy of keeping a professional distance from protectees altered with children. In her mind, anyway. “Hello, Miss Victoria. How are you this fine summer day?”

“I’m very well, thank you.” Victoria crinkled her nose. “Can we play spies and escape my governess?” She whispered, “She’s a bore.”

Maria coughed back a chuckle.

“Or let’s go to the pool, Maria. You can swim with me.” Victoria grabbed her hands and danced in a circle.

“Affirmative.” David’s voice crackled over her body mic. Great. Now all the testosterone in the command center would focus on her. In a bathing suit.

Agent Reynolds smirked and shrugged. No help there.

“Victoria, I think you and Mrs. Byrd should see if your mum would like to join you in the pool. I’m on duty, remember?” Not a babysitter. Or a lifeguard.

The governess led the trio to Lady Kensington’s usual retreat—her drawing room.

Relief coursed through Maria. No tantrums from Victoria and no bathing suit in her near future. Three decades—even with continual physical conditioning—hadn’t altered her JLo rearview. The rest of her genetics were gifts from her mama and papa. Black hair she didn’t waste good money coloring like the rest of her friends did. Smooth, caramel-colored skin that needed no trips to those awful tanning beds.

Victoria took her hand as they passed Sir Walter’s study. “Maria, will you teach me Spanish?”

“Hush, child.” Mrs. Byrd’s little black eyes drilled into her charge. The little Brit with debutante manners ignored her governess.

Maria knelt to Victoria’s level. “I wish I could, honey. But my mother and father felt great pride in their American citizenship, so we only spoke English in my home.”