Kidnap & Ransom Read online

  Jake glanced at the papers on his desk, although he could cite their current cases off the top of his head. “Fribush just left Colombia, the tourists are all safe and sound. We’ve got Manchester handling that thing in Sardinia, and Jacobs is still in Croatia. Sumner called in from Pakistan, things aren’t going well over there.”

  “Really?” Syd perked up. “I love Pakistan this time of year.”

  “It’s January, no one loves Pakistan now. Besides, I thought we agreed you were on desk duty for a while.”

  “It’s been a while. If I stay much longer, I’ll lose my mind. Look, I’m even starting to get fat.” Syd pinched a fold of cashmere sweater over her taut stomach.

  Jake grinned. “You could use a little flesh on those bones.”

  She tossed a paper clip at him. “Go to hell, partner.”

  Jake’s phone buzzed, interrupting his retort. He pushed the speaker button. “Riley.”

  “Your brother is here to see you.”

  Jake raised an eyebrow. “Which one?”

  “Oh, I didn’t know you had more than one.” His new secretary sounded flustered. “I’ll ask.”

  “No, that’s okay. Send him in.”

  Syd let out a low whistle. “One of the infamous Riley brothers, huh? This is exciting.”

  Jake didn’t answer. His younger brother opened the door, a wrinkled overcoat draped over his arm. He was a younger, heavier version of Jake: same salt-and-pepper hair, same blue eyes. His face was flaming red, either from the cold or nerves. Jake walked around his desk to greet him. “Chris!” He embraced him. “What are you doing in town?”

  “I, uh…” Jake followed his eyes and sighed. Syd tended to have that effect on men.

  “Syd Clement.” She dropped her feet to the floor and extended a hand in one fluid motion. “I bet you’ve got some good Jake stories for me.”

  “I guess.” Chris looked completely bewildered.

  “Let me take that.” Jake peeled the jacket off his brother’s arm and hung it on the back of the door. “Have a seat.”

  Chris nervously perched on the chair beside Syd, sticking to the edge farthest away from her. As Jake sat back down, he took inventory. He’d missed the family Christmas celebration since Kelly wasn’t up for it, so it had been over a year since he and his brother had seen each other. About that long since they’d spoken, too. Chris was an accountant, married his high school sweetheart, still lived in the town they grew up in. Other than their blood, they had nothing in common.

  “So, Chris. What brings you to New York?” Syd asked, breaking the silence.

  “Well, it’s kind of…private.”

  “Really?” Syd arched an eyebrow and leaned forward in her chair. Chris shied away. “The plot thickens. I can’t wait to hear it.”

  “Syd, take a hike,” Jake said. “We’ll finish up later.”

  “I always miss the good stuff,” Syd huffed dramatically. She slipped on her heels one at a time, then pointed at Jake. “Remember, one more week and I’m on a plane to the Ukraine. You promised.”

  “Bye, Syd.”

  “Lovely meeting you, Chris.” She winked at him, then turned and left the room.

  “So that’s your, uh…”

  “Partner.”

  “Right.” Chris looked around the office appreciatively, taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of Central Park, plush carpeting, oil paintings on the walls. Jake could almost see the calculator in his head tallying it up. “Looks like you’re doing okay.”

  “It’s been going well. Better than I hoped, actually. How about you? Susie and the kids okay?”

  “Oh, they’re good.” Chris examined his hands, chapped and ruddy from the weather. “Sure is cold here this time of year.”

  “Sure is.” Jake fought the urge to grit his teeth. Chris always took forever to get to the point. He’d start with the weather, then move on to something equally innocuous, like sports. “So what’s this private thing?”

  He hoped Chris wasn’t going to announce that he’d left his family and needed a place to stay. He had one of the most stable marriages Jake had ever seen, and besides, Kelly wasn’t really prepared to handle company yet.

  “It’s Mark.”

  Jake went cold. His older brother had joined the military straight out of high school. He was a lifer, ended up a Navy SEAL. And with wars going on in multiple countries, this wasn’t the best time to be an enlisted man. “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure.” Chris plucked at the pleats in his corduroy pants.

  Jake’s heart clenched. “Did you get notification?”

  Chris shook his head. “Oh, no, nothing like that. He’s out of the service, anyway.”

  Relief swept over Jake. He’d been braced to hear that Mark had been killed by a suicide bomber or an IED. “When did he get discharged?”

  “About six months ago. He’s been working for this company.”

  Jake couldn’t picture his rugged older brother in a suit and tie. “What company?”

  “I have it here.” Chris dug around in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.

  Jake had to squint to read it. “A tire company?”

  “No, it’s Tyr Global.”

  “You’re kidding,” Jake said. Tyr Global was the world leader in K&R work. They’d been in business for almost four decades, and pretty much wrote the book on hostage negotiation. “Doing what?”

  “He didn’t say. But he showed up at our door a week ago, told me he was going out on an operation. If I didn’t hear back from him by the twenty-seventh, something went wrong. That was two days ago, Jake.” Worry furrowed his brow. “So I figured I’d better come see you. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  Jake leaned back in his chair, frowning. “So he left the service and went to work for one of my competitors. Typical.”

  Chris shrugged. “Probably reckoned you were still ticked off at him.”

  “He would have reckoned right.”

  “Would you have hired him?”

  Jake’s face flushed. “I don’t know. Probably not.”

  “Well, there you go, then.”

  “So what do you expect me from me?”

  Chris leaned forward in his chair and jabbed the desk with his index finger. “He’s our brother, Jake. And this is what your company does, right? You go in and save people.”

  “You could have just called to tell me what happened.”

  “I could’ve. But I wanted you to say no to my face. And if you won’t help, I leave for Mexico City tonight. End of story.” Chris crossed his arms and glared at him.

  Jake drummed his fingers on his desk. “Even after what happened, you’re willing to risk your life for him?”

  “Yup.”

  “You don’t even speak Spanish.”

  “Neither do you,” Chris retorted. “You know it’s what Mom would have wanted.”

  The words hung in the air between them. Jake deliberated. The thought of Chris navigating the underbelly of Mexico City, one of the most dangerous metropolitan areas in the world, was laughable. He’d wind up getting himself killed. Jake sighed. “Tell me everything he told you. Where he was going, what was supposed to happen.”

  “Yessir.” Chris looked relieved, and Jake felt a wave of pity. This had been a big burden for Chris to carry. He of all people knew that Mark would never want help from Jake. But whatever Mark had gotten himself into, it would take more than an accountant to get him back out.

  Ten minutes later Jake eased closed the door to his office. After relaying everything he could remember, Chris had passed out cold on his couch—chances were he hadn’t slept much the past few days, sitting there waiting for his phone to ring. Jake walked down the hall to Syd’s office, waving off a few employees who tried to approach him. He rapped twice on the door before letting himself in.

  Syd was lying on her couch, flipping through a magazine. “How’s the reunion going?” she asked without looking up.

  “Not good. Look
’s like my older brother has been kidnapped.”

  “What?” She sat up. “Where?”

  “He was running a snatch and grab for Tyr south of the border. Mexico City, Chris thinks, but he’s not a hundred percent sure. Something must have gone wrong. He was supposed to check in two days ago.”

  “Maybe he’s holed up in some Tijuana bar celebrating,” Syd said skeptically.

  “Not Mark.” Jake shook his head emphatically. “If he could call, he would have. You hear any chatter from Tyr?”

  “No, but I can put out some feelers. I’ve got a guy over there.” Syd crossed to her desk, all business now. “Wasn’t Calderon snatched in Mexico City?”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Jake said. Although it wasn’t public knowledge, the head of Tyr Global had been kidnapped six weeks earlier. Tyr had gone to great lengths to keep word from getting out—after all, having their frontman snatched wasn’t good for business.

  “They’d send their best to get him back,” Syd said thoughtfully as she tapped through screens on her computer. “Your brother that good?”

  “Maybe. He spent more than two decades as a SEAL, tours in Somalia, Afghanistan, Iraq.”

  “Sounds like my kind of guy,” Syd said approvingly.

  “I’m sure he’d love you,” Jake said.

  “Well, then, we’ll have to arrange a meeting. Give me ten minutes.”

  Jake let himself out. He fought the urge to pace the halls while he waited. A few people looked up from their desks quizzically. Switching direction suddenly, he headed to the front desk, grabbing his jacket from the closet on the way out.

  “Mr. Riley, are you—” his secretary called after him.

  He ignored her, marching into the outer hall. He hooked right by the elevators and threw open the door to the roof. It wasn’t supposed to be accessible, but one thing he and Syd learned early on was that this line of work attracted smokers, and providing a place to indulge went a long way toward keeping them happy. With that in mind they’d struck a deal with the building’s management company to construct a small, sheltered space on the roof. Ducking in, he was pleased to find it unoccupied. He eschewed the chairs, preferring to pace the few feet back and forth.

  Even in this weather, the view was striking. Central Park sprawled out below him, all stark branches and grass blanched gray. In the distance off to his left, he could see whitecaps on the reservoir, while to his right the Midtown skyline marched toward the glare of Times Square. Farther on, the tip of Manhattan merged with the horizon. Jake gnawed his lip, checking his watch. Jesus, Mark, he thought to himself. What the hell did you sign up for?

  The creak of a door behind him and Syd appeared. She held the collar of an enormous fur coat up to shield her ears.

  “Seriously, Jake, the roof? Make it a little harder on me, why don’t you.”

  “What is it?” He could tell by her eyes the news wasn’t good.

  Syd shook her head. “Tyr lost a team four days ago. They had good intel on where Calderon was being held and decided to move in quickly. Lost the whole team. Three found dead on site, the other five are missing.”

  “Mark?”

  “Not one of the DOAs. He was the team leader, so chances are they’d keep him alive.”

  “What are they asking for him?” Jake’s chest had gone tight. In spite of himself, he pictured Mark swinging from a rope above the river they used to swim in, letting go at the top, arms pinwheeling as he vaulted through the air.

  “That I couldn’t get—Tyr is going to great lengths to keep this quiet. You don’t want to know what I had to promise my guy for this intel.”

  “Do they know where they were taken?”

  Syd said, “Rumor has it they were all snatched by a Los Zetas offshoot. They pretty much own the eastern delegaciones, so Tyr is sending a team there.”

  “Crap. This just keeps getting better,” Jake said.

  Los Zetas were mercenaries who did the dirty work for Mexican drug cartels. They had kidnapping perfected to a science, executing the initial grab flawlessly, constantly moving their prisoners to thwart attempts to track them…They were the world’s best at what they did. None of which boded well for Mark and his unit.

  “What do you want to do?” Syd asked, studying him.

  Jake shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe we call Tyr, offer to do a joint operation?”

  “They won’t go for that.” Syd shook her head. “They’re still pissed off about the Lodi case. I doubt they’ll even take our call.”

  “Well, shit, Syd, Mark’s my brother.” Jake ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t just leave him down there to rot.”

  “So let’s go get him.”

  “That’s nuts. Tyr will go ballistic.”

  “If we run into them, we make it clear that if they want trouble, we’re more than willing to give it to them—one press release about what happened down there, and they can kiss all their major contracts goodbye. And that’s if we even run into them.” Syd snorted. “Doesn’t sound like they’re the best of the best anymore. No offense,” she added.

  Jake thought it over. The steady sleet tapered off, replaced by chunky white snowflakes. “All right,” he said finally. “But we’re not taking anyone off an active case. Who does that leave?”

  “Fribush is already in the air en route to Texas, we can have him dropped off in Mexico City instead. So we’ve got him, you, me—”

  “I need you to stay here and hold down the fort,” Jake protested. “We can’t both go.”

  “The hell we can’t.”

  “I mean it, Syd. One of us has to stay.” Jake didn’t add what they both knew he meant—if things went south, someone had to survive to keep running the firm.

  “This is your brother, Jake. You need the best we’ve got on it.” Syd stared him down. “That’s me, and you know it.”

  Jake started to argue, then thought better of it. Of all the trained operatives they had, Syd was the best by far. And she managed to inspire a blind loyalty in the men that no one else could duplicate. “Fine,” he finally agreed. “But I want Jagerson and Kane backing you up.”

  “Perfect, I was going to suggest them,” she said. “And Maltz.”

  “No way.” Jake shook his head. Michael Maltz had nearly been killed on their first case the previous July. Ever since he’d been undergoing extensive physical therapy. As far as Jake knew he hadn’t been cleared to go for a long walk, never mind conduct special operations.

  “He’s fine, I checked him out myself,” Syd insisted.

  “Checked him out how?”

  “Ran him through the course at Langley, plus a few others. Trust me, he’s ready to come back. And aside from him, everyone else is committed to other cases.”

  Jake mentally ran through their roster in his head: she was right, short of hiring a freelancer, all their other field operatives were assigned elsewhere. And freelancers were notoriously iffy. “That makes a team of six,” he said dubiously.

  “Lean and mean, just how I like it.” Syd grinned.

  Jake wished he shared her conviction. One thing about Tyr, they attracted top talent. If Mark had been ambushed, anyone could be. Considering the adversary they faced, he’d prefer going in with a small army.

  “It’ll be fine, Jake. Trust me.” Syd glanced at her watch. “Nearly six o’clock. I’ll handle the travel logistics, you contact the rest of the team and reroute Fribush’s plane.”

  “Okay.”

  “Great. We’ll be out of here by midnight.”

  Jake watched her head toward the stairwell. Unless he was mistaken, there was a distinct bounce in her step. Nothing cheered Syd up like the prospect of an armed confrontation.

  His cell phone buzzed and he glanced at the caller ID: Kelly. Jake groaned inwardly. He’d arrived home late last night from a business trip to California and had opted to sleep at the office instead of going home. Jake told himself he didn’t want to wake her, but deep down he knew it was more than that. He
gazed blankly out at the skyline. Kelly wasn’t going to like this. Since the accident it was almost overwhelming how needy she’d become. It was understandable, considering what she’d been through, but still. He barely recognized her anymore. Sometimes it felt like the Kelly he’d fallen in love with died in that explosion, and now he was living with her shadow.

  Jake ran a hand across his face, wiping away stray drops of water. Dodging the issue wasn’t going to make it go away, but he couldn’t deal with it now. He had to save Mark. When he came back, they could have that talk.

  He shook his head and went back inside.

  Four

  Mark Riley came to with a jolt, reflexively reaching for his weapon. His fingers fumbled, finding nothing. It always took him a few seconds to remember.

  He rolled his head from side to side as he took inventory. The surviving members of his team were in the same positions as when he’d fallen asleep. Kaplan, the spotter, lay on his back by the door, wheezing slightly thanks to his broken ribs. A bullet had grazed his shoulder, too, but so far there were no signs of infection. Flores and Wysocki were on their sides, foot to foot along adjoining walls. Decker, their driver, was the lucky bastard enjoying a turn on the cot. Aside from that, the room was bare: four walls and a filthy mat that might have been white once. The door to the bathroom had been removed, the only window was painted black. A radio in the corner blasted music nonstop. Hard to believe, but it barely registered. His hearing would probably never be the same again.

  Mark shook his hands, trying to increase circulation. So far they’d only removed the zip ties binding their hands to allow them to eat, and then only one at a time. The Zetas were nothing if not cautious. Tough to scarf down food with the barrel of an LMT aimed at your chest, but he’d gotten used to that pretty fast, too. The food wasn’t bad, surprisingly. He’d even swear the tortillas were homemade.

  This was the third dump they’d been stashed in. By the street noise he surmised they were still somewhere in Mexico City. Soon after being tossed in the first van they’d been drugged. He’d come to in a room much like this one, all of them stacked against the wall like cordwood. A few hours later they were moved again. No drugs that time, but the Zetas drove in circles for hours, obviously intent on disorienting them. They could have ended up in an apartment next door to the first and Mark wouldn’t have been able to tell.