Wild Child (41 page)

But it explained how he managed to find Brody. Harrison had all the right connections. The Montgomerys were a four-generation political family out of Georgia. The Kennedys without the president, the assassinations, or the sex scandals.

If Harrison wanted to find someone, he had enough money and power to see it done.

Interesting
, Brody thought.
But why me?

“What can I do for you, Harrison?”

Harrison sighed and braced his hands on his hips. “We … need a man of your talents.”

“I’m not all that special.” Brody was not in any hurry to get tangled with the Montgomerys again.

“Ashley’s been kidnapped.”

All of his internal organs recoiled at the mention of her name, and then again at the thought of her in danger.

“Or taken hostage, I’m not … I’m not sure what the proper term is.”

Quickly, his mind recovered for his heart’s shortcomings.

“By who?”

“Somali pirates. She’d been working at a refugee camp in Kenya, had gotten sick and a friend convinced her to take a vacation in Seychelles. They hired a boat for the day, and I don’t know if they got off course, or the guys on the boat were connected to the pirates—”

“They’ve held her for ransom?”

“Yes.” Harrison shook his head as if he realized he’d been rambling and he was grateful to be shoved back on track. “We’ve been negotiating—”

Of course the Montgomerys would negotiate.

“How long?”

“Three weeks.”

As a rule the Somali pirates didn’t hurt their hostages—it was bad for business. But three weeks was a very, very long time to be scared.

The thought of Ashley held at gunpoint and mistreated rearranged him. Reduced him to some instinctual, animal level. It wasn’t right and he needed to do something about it.

It had been ten years, but in his mind she was seventeen—a protected child, stepping into womanhood. Precocious and ludicrously optimistic. Her presence in a Somali village, surrounded by armed pirates, made about as much sense as that of a unicorn.

“We’ll pay of course. Whatever your fee—”

“What do you need?”

Harrison blinked at Brody’s implied agreement, but then Brody had to give the man credit. He sharpened. Focused. Maybe he’d outgrown that genetic asshole problem in his family.

“We’ve been working with a translator, Umar. Cell phone reception on their end has been a problem but Umar has a satellite phone. And I’ve got a pilot on the ground outside of Garoowe.”

“What do you need?” he repeated.

“We need someone to go get her at the drop-off coordinates. I’d go, but we’ve been advised that things could get ugly. And we need to keep this … quiet.”

Of course they did. Harrison’s father was up for reelection as governor of Georgia and, if the rumors were true, Harrison was going to make a shoe-in run for the senate.

Whatever emotional reaction thoughts of Ashley created in him, he managed to bury under logistics.

“What’s the timeline?”

“We’re supposed to get the coordinates in twelve hours. But they … the pirates haven’t exactly been reliable.”

“How will the money been exchanged?” He didn’t want to carry around a briefcase of money through the tribal lands of war-torn Somalia.

“We’ll transfer to an offshore account when we get the coordinates and proof that Ashley is alive and safe.”

Electronic banking. Offshore accounts. The pirates have come a long way.

“How much?”

“One point two million.”

Brody laughed, though none of this was funny. “Down from one and a half?”

Harrison stiffened, reading insult where there was plenty. “Brody, we need you, but you have no idea what this process has been like.”

Brody’s esteem for the man went up another notch.

He checked his watch. It was two a.m. Brody and the team were flying out of here with the senator at eight a.m. “You have a plane standing by?”

“The family jet. I can get you as far as Mogadishu, my pilot will pick you up there and fly you to Garoowe, where they’ve been keeping her. Umar will meet you and take you to Ashley.”

“I’ll need the satellite number Umar is using.”

Harrison, again proving his mettle, handed him a phone. “It’s programmed with all the numbers of people we’ve been in contact with. As well as a timeline, as complete as we could make it with the little bit of information we have.”

Brody took the phone and slipped it in his pocket. He had to finish the Rawlings job, as repugnant as it seemed.

“Have you talked to her?”

“Once briefly. They’d been sending photographs, but a week ago I said unless I could actually speak to her—”

“You negotiated.”

“Should I have let them shoot her?”

No
, he thought,
you should have come and got me three weeks ago
.

“She said she hasn’t been hurt,” Harrison said. “But was well-fed. Bored, mostly. Scared.”

Again, the thing with his lungs.

“We can leave in six hours,” Brody said.

Harrison sighed like he’d been holding his breath for days. “Thank you.”

Accepting Montgomery gratitude was heavily ironic and oddly difficult, like swallowing a golf ball. But he managed a nod.

“You can wait here in the guest house. Try to get some sleep.”

“We haven’t discussed any payment.”

“We will.”

Brody was about to knock on the front door to fill Clint in on some of the changes he was going to need to make to the itinerary. But he stopped at the edge of shadow and looked over his shoulder at the golden Montgomery child. Man now. It had been ten years.

Ashley would be a woman.

He pushed the thought, errant and useless, away. “Why me?”

Harrison’s eyes were older and they told a story about the last ten years, and it wasn’t a happy one. “We know you’ll keep it quiet.”

Brody nearly laughed. Yes, he’d proven he could keep the Montgomerys’ secrets.

He pushed open the door, but Harrison’s voice stopped him. “Brody. Get her and get her home and … keep her safe.”

So much easier said than done with Ashley Montgomery.

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