The Pact (A Sarah Roberts Thriller Book 17) (12 page)

“So where is this guy now?”

“With Clara Olafson.”

“What?” Sarah tried to wrap her head around what he was telling her. “He blew up the dojo, then kidnapped a girl?” Bits and pieces of Vivian’s letter came back to her. Something about protecting the blonde Danish girl.

“As far as we can tell, that sums it up.”

“Why?” she asked, letting his hand go so she could raise hers to her neck to brush at an itch.

“That’s what we’re going to find out.”

“Did you learn anything else?”

“His name. He’s Ansgar Holm. From a small island in Denmark called Fanø.”

Denmark? How come everything’s pointing at Denmark?

Sarah lifted her right eyebrow and cocked her head to the side. “I’m at a loss for words.” She swallowed. “How did you get his name and where he’s from? I’m assuming he didn’t just come right out and say it.”

“He did.” Aaron’s face lit up. “Just like that.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. Since we were going to die anyway, he probably felt it safe to say whatever he pleased. Darwin Kostas helped us with the rest once he received the picture and the name.”

“What? Did Darwin get a letter from Vivian, too?”

Aaron shrugged. “Don’t know about that. But we learned a lot about the ex-Navy Seal sniper that wanted to kill me. He was nicknamed The Clock because of his precision in Afghanistan. His confirmed kills are classified, but some speculate he has the highest number of confirmed kills on record.”

“Great. A fucking war hero is out to kill you and he’s kidnapping girls, too. Who’s behind it all? Or is this Ansgar working on his own?”

“He’s a merc. A hired killer. Some call him a PMC, which stands for—”

“I know,” Sarah cut in. “Private military contractor. When we take this Clara Olafson from him, I’ll ask him who he works for. I want to be the one to ruin his day.”

“Be my guest. Just keep in mind, this guy has seen combat. He’s a hardened war hero. Confrontation and interrogation is what guys like this eat for breakfast. It’ll take a lot to break him, even if we can.”

“He’ll break. Everyone has something, some weakness. He’ll break.” She looked out the window as Daniel slowed the van and turned. “Where are we headed?”

“The Travel Inn Airport hotel.”

Sarah turned back to him. “Vivian had that much detail in her letter?”

“No, this is Darwin’s gem. He did a little friendly hacking and learned several aliases Ansgar travels under. Peter Ford has checked into the Travel Inn. He’s on the tenth floor in the room across from Clara’s.”

“What’s the plan?” Sarah asked without wasting a second. Ansgar tried to kill Aaron. His dojo was gone, something insurance would cover. But attempted murder? And now Ansgar was after a woman named Clara?

Aaron shrugged. “Don’t really have a plan.”

Dark clouds hovered over the hotel as Daniel pulled in, maneuvered around an airport shuttle van, and found a parking spot on the second floor of the parking garage. Aaron donned a baseball hat.

“I’ve got to remain dead until this is over so we can learn why Ansgar came after me. Also, when you’re talking to Vivian next, thank her for me. It’s incredible that she saw all this happening that long ago.”

Sarah cast her eyes downward, then watched as Daniel and Alex got out.

“I’m not talking to Vivian at the moment,” she whispered loud enough for only Aaron to hear her this time.

“What?” Aaron asked as his breath hitched in his throat. “Wait, you said something about that earlier. Why not?”

“She’s gone.” Sarah lifted her eyes and stared into Aaron’s. “Until this is over, I fear she’s gone forever. There’s not even a residual feeling of her presence in my head. The truth is Vivian saw our connection severed all those years ago. Hence the letters. Without the letters.” She choked back a sob. “I can’t bear the thought.”

“Yeah, I’d be dead right now.” Aaron swallowed. “I don’t like that thought either.”

Daniel stuck his head back in from the front. “You guys coming?”

Aaron waved him away.

“We good?” Aaron asked.

“Yeah. We’re good.” Sarah punched him in the arm. “Just don’t die on me or I’ll kill you.”

“Sarah?”

“Yeah?”

“I’d be dead if I died.”

“Don’t care. I’d kill you anyways. Now let’s go hurt this Ansgar guy.”

She moved for the door, but stopped when Aaron pulled her back.

“We can’t hurt Ansgar too bad,” Aaron said.

“Why not? That makes no sense to me.”

“He’s the only lead to whoever’s behind all this. We need him to tell us who’s pulling the strings.”

“We can hurt him first. Then talk.”

Aaron shook his head.

“I’m sure he’ll be more inclined to talk when his legs are broken.” She shrugged. “Don’t you think?”

Aaron crossed his arms.

“Then what are we doing here?” Sarah asked. “You said it yourself, this guy is ex-Navy Seal. Tough as they come. The only way to ask a guy like this a question is to hurt him. Bad.”

“We figure whoever he’s working for keeps in touch with him. Instead of hurting him, why not take Clara and then tail Ansgar?”

Now it was Sarah’s turn to shake her head. “Never work. If he’s half the professional I think he is, the only way to get answers is to hurt him.”

Daniel nodded when Aaron looked at him. Then Alex did. In the distance, a rumble sounded in the sky. A storm was coming and judging by the wind, it was coming in fast.

“You guys just gonna go up and knock on his door?” Sarah asked.

They looked at each other, then nodded.

“Once he opens his door,” Daniel said. “We’ll do our thing and get Clara out of there.”

“Okay, not good.” She wagged a finger back and forth. “Don’t do that. Keep in mind the kind of guy we’re dealing with. He’s armed. Locked in a hotel room with a victim. Also, extremely well trained. C’mon, I’ve got an idea.”

They climbed out of the van and Daniel locked it. Assembled in a huddle, Sarah gave them her thoughts on how to get Clara away from Ansgar Holm and how to hurt Holm in the process.

When she was done talking, the clouds opened up and released a torrent of heavy rain. The parking garage offered them cover, but they’d have to sprint through the downpour to get to the hotel.

The day only got darker.

Chapter 14

Ansgar Holm stood by the hotel room window and stared at the heavy rain as it fell in urgency. He loved the way the rain made him feel. After years as a sniper, Ansgar embraced the rain, let it cool him, cleanse him. Or maybe it was his Danish blood. Denmark received its fair share of rain every year. Regardless of the reason, he stared at it, mesmerized, as Clara slept at his feet.

She had been a good girl since he’d had her in the hotel room. Only a small amount of whimpering, accompanied by soft sobbing and sniffles. He could handle that. A woman crying didn’t bother him. Moaning loudly behind her ball gag, kicking things, or just plain making too much noise would bother him. Clara had forsaken that kind of attitude for rewards like food and drink and bathroom privileges. That was their deal. Only one week. Be good and live. Be good and enjoy her time with him. Be loud, act out, or try to escape and he wouldn’t be so nice. There were ways to change her as a woman for the rest of her short life. She would never get the horrors of the hotel room out of her head if she disobeyed him. And before he took her life, he would take her in a way a man should take a woman. But that could wait. Take her too early and she could become a fighter.

The Glock was in his waistband at the small of his back. The two leftover bombs he used on Aaron’s dojo were secure in the hotel room’s safe. Clara was at his feet, waiting for the order to kill her to be texted to him. Then what? He pondered his next move, the next city. When he was done with Clara, where would he go? The client had no other tasks in the near future. Ansgar had money. Maybe it was time to relax, travel for pleasure instead of traveling around the globe to kill.

Clara stirred in her sleep. He glanced her way and watched her facial expressions. Her ankles and wrists were bound with white plastic cuffs. A ball gag filled her mouth. Short of squirming around the room, there wasn’t much she could do to escape. The ball gag only came out to feed her. Every bathroom break was done together. It didn’t matter what she had to do in there, he joined her. The risk of her breaking glass and cutting herself loose or killing herself was too great. He would even bathe her when the time came each day.

Clara didn’t seem to mind the toilet arrangement, as long as he wasn’t too invasive. And he wasn’t. A true gentleman. But that wouldn’t last. It had to for now as Clara might be required to speak on the phone in a proof-of-life phone call. Violating a woman before a proof-of-life call didn’t always work out well.

Her eyes fluttered, then opened. She looked around furtively as if coming out of a dream and just then realized where she was.

“You’re awake?” Ansgar whispered. “Thirsty?”

She looked up at him and recoiled, then her face softened. Understanding dawned there, recognition of her situation. She nodded slightly.

He brought a water bottle over and leaned down beside her, the gun in the back of his pants digging into his flesh. He ignored the irritation and eased the ball gag out of Clara’s mouth. After letting it drop below her chin, he uncapped the water and placed it against her lower lip. She swallowed twice, then gagged, coughed, and pulled away.

“Take it easy,” he whispered. “There’s lots of water.”

Clara rested her head back on the carpet and watched him. He capped the bottle and tried to put the ball gag back in place.

“Wait,” she muttered.

He paused, the gag still in his hand, one eyebrow raised in a question.

“Were you the one I talked to online?” She swallowed. “Did you lure me here?”

He shook his head. “Not me. I was hired to keep you company for a week.”

He lifted up the gag. She turned her face away, an expression of fear filling her eyes as they widened.

“Wait,” she moaned. “Please.”

“What?”

“Can we talk?”

“We’re not here to talk.”

He grabbed the side of her face to force it back up to jam the gag in.

“Please,” she begged. “Just tell me what’s happening. Why are you doing this—?”

It was easy work gagging her again. She moaned under the gag, her bloodshot eyes watering.

“I do this for money.” He rose to his feet and stared down at her, the pressure from the weapon easing off the small of his back. “Nothing more. Just a paycheck.”

Back at the hotel window, he stared at the rain as it eased off a bit. “Just a paycheck,” he repeated.

Clara moaned and squirmed on the floor.

Ansgar’s cell phone dinged.

The screen lit up with the client’s message. He needed a picture. Something current. Something with her bound.

“That’ll be easy.”

Ansgar grabbed the newspaper that was left at his door that morning and held the date of the paper close to the camera with Clara squirming on the floor in the background. He took several pics, then sent them on his burner phone to the client.

Moments later the client thanked him.

“Pics sent. More money in the bank. Easy job.”

Clara squirmed when he went to stare out the window again. He could do this in his sleep. Sitting still for hundreds of hours as a sniper had prepared him for jobs like this. He had to be right in the mind to take this on. He had to be right with himself. The time spent alone was enormous, the time spent thinking, deducing the life of the target. What had they done to warrant a death sentence that someone else was willing to pay for? When it came to those fuckers in Afghanistan, he knew it was the religious fundamentalists who had ruined Islam for everyone because the Koran was quiet and peaceful as a rule. But when it came to non-religious hits, he always wondered why.

With Clara it was different somehow. Being young and pretty, with her whole life ahead of her, made him doubly curious why she had to be held for a week, then executed. What could she possibly have done to deserve this?

Ansgar headed over to the minibar and poured himself a glass of wine. The bottle was almost empty from earlier, so he topped his glass up to the rim. He would watch the rain and in the distance, the Toronto airport, then take a nap. It would be a long week. A time to offer reflection. A time to imagine and plan his next move, his next country.

Back at the window, the instant his wine glass touched his lips, someone knocked.

Then came a muffled female voice. “Housekeeping.”