CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
Sitting at his desk and surrounded by super hero memorabilia, Joey Helgeson jabbed at the keys of his keyboard, typing in a flourish. He thought of the girl from the coffee shop. She was so beautiful and sexy with her blue hair, nose ring, and the Little Mermaid tattoo that ran up her forearm to her bicep. He read the letter back to himself, but halfway through, he stopped and clicked the delete icon.
He wondered what the hell he had been thinking. He couldn
’
t express his feelings in a letter. No one writes letters anymore.
He could track her down on Facebook. Everyone was on there. Hack her account, get her e-mail, phone number, credit card, bank account, learn more about her, get an edge…
He shook off the idea as he realized how quickly his status of secret admirer could be upgraded to full-blown stalker.
His phone vibrated against his leg, and he jumped out of his chair. Ever since that man had invaded his world, he had been on edge. Never feeling safe, not even in his own home. Inhaling a calming breath, he sat back down and answered the phone.
He immediately recognized the voice, and it caused fear to seize his body.
“Hello, Mr. Helgeson,” Almeida said. “I have another message, and so I figured that I would pass it along through my favorite courier.”
Joey
’
s voice cracked as he said, “Who
’
s that?”
“That
’
s you, Mr. Helgeson. Try to stay with me. I
’
ve kidnapped Munroe
’
s daughters from the FBI safe house, and as a bonus, I
’
ve also taken Jonas Black
’
s nephew, a boy named Will. Tell your friends that I
’
ll trade the lives of their loved ones for the flash drive and Sergeant Corrigan. Now, listen to the following instructions carefully. In fact, you may want to write this part down.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
Antonio de Almeida sat in the passenger seat of one of the black Mercedes GL550s traveling to the meeting point. One of his own men drove—Miguel, the same man who had captured Will Black. Pike occupied the backseat with Brendan Lennix. Almeida had insisted that the CEO take a more active role. The other GL550 contained four men from Pike
’
s team of professional mercenaries. Almeida chose a location in rural Virginia—a dead end road surrounded by thick foliage—for the exchange. Of course, he never intended to actually trade anything. As soon as they had Corrigan and the drive in hand, he would order the men to open fire. Munroe and Black had been given every opportunity to walk away, but he regretted that their innocent family members would also become some of the first casualties of this war. Collateral damage, however, was an inevitable fact of any conflict.
Almeida rolled down the window. The crisp air carried hints of the fires that had been burning recently in the Shenandoah National Park. They pulled down the long dirt lane to the spot he had outlined to Joey Helgeson. When they reached the proper location, only one man stood in the dirt cul-de-sac—Jonas Black.
The GL550 rolled to a stop, and Almeida stepped out. “Mr. Black, where are your friends?”
“They
’
re waiting at the real site of the exchange.”
Almeida laughed.
“I can just imagine the way this conversation went down. Either you or Munroe insisted that you establish dominance and change the location to a place where you had complete control of the surrounding environment.”
Black tried to maintain his stony composure, but Almeida could see a quick flash of fear and doubt in the big man
’
s eyes, indicating the discussion between the members of their group had gone extremely close to the way he had described. Almeida imagined that Munroe and Black also suspected that he planned to kill them all once he had the drive. But he wasn
’
t worried. The cards he held trumped any scheme or counterattack that they could have cooked up.
“Where are the kids?” Black said.
“They
’
re safe. Once I have what I need, I
’
ll share their exact location.”
Black stepped forward. His body shook, and his fists clenched into tight balls. A barely contained rage burned behind his eyes.
The mercenaries raised their guns and sighted in on Black, but Almeida held up a hand and said, “Let
’
s not be reckless. If you do as I say, Mr. Black, you will see your nephew again.”
“And what about my sister-in-law? She
’
s in the hospital in critical condition from a gunshot wound.”
“War has casualties. How much collateral damage is sustained is up to you. Make no mistake, I am in complete control. You and your friends can attempt all the theatrics you wish. Change the location. Threaten me. Try to outsmart me. None of it matters. The end result will be the same.”
Almeida raised a hand to the surrounding forest and gestured the mercenaries hidden among the trees to come forward. Two men, who had blended perfectly with the environment like a pair of chameleons, melted out of the trees and approached the clearing. Each had a long sniper rifle slung over a shoulder. They unloaded their gear and climbed into the GL550 with the other four mercenaries.
His gaze met Black
’
s. The hatred and rage burned so brightly within the former soldier
’
s eyes that they seemed to glow. Almeida gestured toward the SUVs, and with a smile, he said, “Shall we take a ride?”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
Black
’
s blood boiled and his skin crawled as he directed Almeida and his mercenaries to the new rendezvous point. He and Munroe selected the new location in order to do exactly as Almeida had said and control the circumstances of the meeting as much as possible. For this purpose, they chose an abandoned ready mix plant located down a dead end road. A place with no innocent bystanders.
He knew that once Almeida had the drive and Corrigan, the Colombian would not allow them or their families to live, not after all the grief they had caused the Castillo Cartel.
“Turn left here,” Black said.
The GL550 pulled down a long lane. Gravel had once covered the roadway, but the weeds had overtaken it now. An ineffective chain link fence surrounded the property but sagged over in several spots. A faded white sign read Scottdale Ready Mix - Over 300 Years Combined Experience. Apparently, all that experience hadn
’
t help keep the lights on. The massive gray silos and bins that had once held sand and gravel to mix into the cement stood out against the horizon. Rusty catwalks, metal ladders, and all manner of conveyors clung to the sides of the cement silos and storage tanks. Empty dumping areas for ornamental rock sectioned off by giant white blocks sat to the left, while the office and control room had fallen into disrepair on the right. In the center of the space between the dumping areas and the control room with the storage bins at their backs, Black
’
s three companions—Munroe, Katherine, and Annabelle—stood beside the Yukon, awaiting their arrival.
The GL550 came to a stop fifty feet from the Yukon. As the mercenaries piled from the vehicles, Almeida said, “You may join your friends.”
Black traversed the gap between the two groups, half expecting Almeida to shoot him in the back. The wind blew loose dirt and sand in his face and eyes, but he kept moving. Once he reached them, Katherine asked, “Are you okay?”
“Ask me in an hour,” he replied.
Almeida stepped into the gap and said, “I like the scenery. Very dramatic. I understand why you wanted to change the location, and honestly, it makes no difference to me. I
’
m sorry that it
’
s come to this, but you must admit that you really haven
’
t given me much choice. I truly hated to involve your families.”
Munroe said, “Where are they?”
“The drive first.”
“How do we even know that they
’
re still alive?”
Almeida held out an open palm to his side, and the wiry white man beside him placed a small device in the upturned hand. Almeida reared back and tossed the device across the gap. Black snatched it from the air. Almeida said, “Push play.”
Black held the large touchscreen cell phone up for all of them to see the video and for Munroe to hear it, and then he pushed the icon marked with a green triangle.
The camera pointed down into a large hole in the earth. A track hoe was visible in the background of the scene. A storage container rested within the massive hole. The container had been buried with only the front opening still exposed. Black couldn
’
t see anything else in the background. The camera was likely angled in such a way to obscure the rest of the area. Two men pulled open the doors of the shipping container.
Then the camera panned to show the three kids. Black hadn
’
t seen Will in years, but he recognized him immediately. The boy looked like Michael—dark hair, intense eyes, tan complexion—only with a stockier more muscular build. Munroe
’
s daughter Chloe looked scared beyond reason, and Black was glad that Munroe didn
’
t have to see the look on her face. The older girl, Makayla, maintained a hateful look of defiance.
Black knew what was coming next before it happened. Almeida
’
s men shoved the kids into the hole, forced them to enter the darkness of the shipping container, and then swung the doors shut. He heard the teenagers banging on the doors and screaming for help. The sound of the track hoe starting up masked the screams as the massive yellow piece of heavy machinery pushed dirt into the hole and smoothed out the mound.
Black
’
s heart broke. He thought of the kids out there buried alive, alone and afraid. Almeida had been right; he held all the cards.
When the video was over, Almeida spoke first. “I
’
ll take the phone back now.” Black angrily pitched it into the dirt and gravel in front of the Colombian. Almeida picked up the device, dusted it off, and continued. “That video was sent to me just a few moments ago. It displays a technique that we
’
ve often used in Mexico to help encourage cooperation. My colleagues have disposed of bodies at the location in the video many times. None of them have been found. Your family has somewhere between fifteen and twenty hours before they suffocate, if they stay calm. And so I
’
ll ask you again…where is the flash drive?”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
The darkness felt heavy around her. It pressed down and in like a living thing with substance and weight, choking the air from her lungs. But Makayla Munroe knew that was all in her head, just common claustrophobia. Still, all the rational thoughts in the world couldn
’
t hold back the rising tide of fear. The darkness was crushing her. She wondered if this was the way that her dad felt all the time.
After banging on the doors hysterically for a few seconds, they had all dropped to the floor of the container and sat in silence as they tried to come to grips with the impossible situation. Chloe sobbed in one corner. The cries sounded metallic and tinny as they bounced around the interior of the sealed metal box.
“You need to stop crying,” the boy said.
Makayla quickly jumped to her sister
’
s defense. “Leave her alone.”
“I
’
m not trying to be a jerk here. They
’
ve buried us. We only have so much oxygen. Crying is just going to use it up faster.”
Chloe screamed, “Why does it matter! We
’
re going to die in here!”
“Chloe!” Makayla said. “He
’
s right. You need to calm down. Think about it. If they wanted us dead, they could have just killed us.”
“So what do they want?”
“
I don’
t know, but I bet they
’
re the same people that attacked Dad. He has something that they want. They
’
re probably holding us for ransom.”
“What do we do?”
The boy said, “We need to lie down on the floor and stay calm and quiet, that way our bodies will use less oxygen.”
“How do you know that?” Makayla asked.
“I saw it on TV. One of those,
what would you do?
shows. I remember thinking that I would try to hold my breath. You know, the less breaths you take, the less oxygen you would use. But the show said that was wrong, that you actually die faster that way.”
Chloe started sobbing again.
“Let
’
s not talk about dying anymore. We
’
re not going to die,” Makayla said.
She groped her way blindly across the metal floor, using her sister
’
s cries as a guide. She found Chloe and wrapped her arms around her sister
’
s small frame. She cradled her and stroked Chloe
’
s hair as she said, “It
’
s going to be okay. Dad will get us out of this.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
They had little choice but to give in to Almeida
’
s demands, but Black knew that they still had a few tricks up their sleeves that could save their lives. After receiving the call from Joey, they had formulated a plan and collected some choice hardware from their local arms dealer, Tobi Savoy. Black reached into the Yukon and retrieved the remote control for one of the gadgets that Tobi had provided. As he worked the controls, a tiny motor came to life in the weeds, and a small helicopter drone lifted off. Military or law enforcement personnel could use the small drone, which was little more than a toy with a souped up engine and camera system, in order to survey a battlefield or other area from above without the need for expensive aerial surveillance.
Black piloted the drone to land directly in front of Almeida. When it touched the ground, he said, “The drive is taped to the bottom.”
Almeida
’
s eyes narrowed, but then he smiled and picked up the drone. “Very cute.” Almeida
’
s face didn
’
t change as he turned over the drone and saw the drive attached along with a block of C4 plastic explosive.
Black said, “Tell us where they
’
re buried, or I
’
ll detonate the bomb.”
“You wouldn
’
t risk killing me and losing your only chance to save your families. You would never find them in time, unless I tell you where to look. And none of my associates here know where they are. It was an entirely different group of men that buried the children. I
’
m the only one who knows.”
Almeida pulled the drive from the bottom of the drone and tossed the little helicopter and the explosive toward Black. It landed in the dirt a few feet away.
The Colombian handed the flash drive to one of his men, who plugged it into a laptop. Almeida rattled off a sixteen character string of letters and numbers that Black assumed to be the password. The man read the password back, and then hit another key on the keyboard. Then the other man smiled and gave Almeida a quick nod.
Munroe said, “We still have Corrigan, and we won
’
t turn him over until we know where you buried the kids.”
Almeida shrugged his shoulders and replied, “Keep him. It makes no difference to me.”
A white man in an expensive suit who Black recognized as Brendan Lennix stepped forward and said, “What are you saying? We need Corrigan!”
“Please be quiet, Mr. Lennix.”
Lennix stepped closer to Almeida, and his features curled into a snarl. “How dare you talk to me like that, you—”
“Brendan, you are a Catholic, is that correct?” Almeida didn
’
t seem to lose his composure for even a second. “When was your last confession?”
“What does that have to do with anything?“
“I
’
m sorry, but Vaquero informed me that once we had the flash drive in our possession, we would no longer be in need of your services. As a stock holder of Lennix Phamaceuticals, he
’
s lost faith in your leadership.” Almeida aimed his Glock pistol at Lennix
’
s chest.
“Consider this a hostile takeover. You may have a moment to prepare your soul.”
Lennix stood frozen in fear for a second and then ran toward a nearby patch of trees surrounded by tall grass. Almeida shot him twice in the back. Lennix looked down at the blood spreading outward from his wounds like he couldn
’
t believe this was really happening, and then he fell into the weeds, staining them with red.
With a nod toward Black and his friends, the Colombian said to his men, “You may kill them now.”
Upon the order of their commander, the six mercenaries raised their Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine guns and took aim.