Seduction Game

They headed east through the city, leaving downtown. Someone turned on music—Katy Perry?—and Holly saw they were headed for the interstate.

  Well, to hell with this!

  She moved the laptop to the front seat so she could see it, fished the keys out of her jeans pocket, and started the minivan. She wasn’t going to get herself caught, but she wasn’t going to let them drag Nick off to some remote place and kill him.

  She grabbed a burner phone, dialed Javier’s number. “Javi, it’s Holly.”

  “Holly? Where are you? Are you safe?”

  “I’m outside Colorado Springs. I’m okay, but I really need your help. Can you track this phone, get a GPS reading on my position?”

  “Already working on it. Is Andris with you?”

  “No.” She fought back tears. “Dudaev’s men took him. They’ll kill him.”

  How was she going to explain the rest of it—the audio feed, the GPS transmitter?

  She took a deep breath. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “You’re CIA.”

  “I’m CI— Wait. You know?”

  “Yeah. Derek found out from some of his contacts. We’ve got a lot to talk about when you get back, but right now I just want to get you home safely.”

  Well, she hadn’t expected that.

  “I’m going after him, Javi. They’re going to torture him, and when they don’t get what they want, they’ll kill him. I can’t let them do that. I love him.”

  There. She’d said it. She’d told someone. “Will you help me?”

  “You know we will.”

  * * *

  Okay, now this was torture.

  Nick was hogtied in the trunk of a Cadillac listening to the asshole up front sing along to lyrics he didn’t know or likely even understand.

  “I got a eye of a tiger, fidduh, ants through a fire, cuz I mama champ on, you gonna see me row!”

  Nick lay on his right side, his arms and legs bound behind his back, cords biting into his wrists, duct tape over his mouth. His muscles were sore from the Taser blast, his shoulders aching, his fingers numb.

  Small holes near the tail lights told him this was the same Cadillac he’d fired at in Nederland. He tried to move closer, to look outside, but couldn’t move.

  Bastards.

  They’d shot Nguyen and left him for dead, then hidden down the hall in another room or perhaps near the vending machines to wait for Nick and Holly. God, he hoped medical help reached Nguyen in time. The man had been hanging on by sheer guts.

  “It wasn’t me.”

  Nick believed him. He didn’t think a man who’d been like a brother to him would lie to him with what might have been his last breath, no matter what he’d done. The fact that Dudaev’s men had shot Nguyen didn’t necessarily mean he hadn’t been involved in this in some way. He knew something, and they wanted to silence him.

  But if Bauer’s accomplice wasn’t Nguyen, who was it?

  The car accelerated. They must be on the highway now, on their way to God only knew where. The GPS transmitter had better be working, or today was going to suck.

  It seemed to him they’d been on the interstate for about twenty minutes when they veered to the left and decelerated, but then, it was hard to judge the passage of time lying here in the dark. Still, it was clear that they’d just exited the highway.

  He hoped to hell Holly wasn’t following them. She was probably scared to death and angry as hell at him, and he couldn’t blame her. So far, everything had gone according to her worst predictions. If he got out of this alive, she would glare at him and tell him that she’d told him so, and he would shut her up with a kiss.

  An image of her sweet face came into his mind. He held onto it, tucked it inside his heart. He would make it out of this. They both would.

  Stay strong, honey.

  They went over a bump, the tires now spitting gravel onto the car’s undercarriage, the washboard grade of the road shaking Nick’s teeth in his skull. This went on until he was certain he was going to puke. Then the car slowed and headed down a steep hill. It leveled out, drove onto a smooth surface, and stopped.

  Thankfully, so did the awful singing.

  The car’s doors opened, and he heard footsteps.

  A key slipped into the lock, and light flooded in.

  They’d taken his gun, and he didn’t have a knife. They had firearms, and they had the Taser. There were two of them, and he was hogtied.

  Yeah, he was going nowhere—not yet, anyway.

  Besides, now that he was here, he hoped he got the chance to talk face-to-face with Bauer—or whoever was running this shit show.

  They dragged him from the trunk and dropped him onto his gut on the concrete floor, knocking the breath from his lungs.

  “Where’s Beso? And where’s the woman?”

  Nick recognized the voice, felt his stomach sink, disappointment and anger washing through him.

  No!

  * * *

  Holly pulled to the side of the road, then checked to make sure the audio feed was still recording and transmitting to her CO. Someone was there with Nick, someone other than Dudaev’s men. Whoever he was, he’d just asked about her.

  She compared the image on her GPS screen with a satellite image of the area. She’d stayed a mile or so behind the Cadillac, certain that Dudaev’s men knew the make, model, and color of the minivan. If they saw her in their rearview mirror, they might kill Nick outright.

  It looked like they’d taken him to an old gravel mine. There was some kind of a building—an old warehouse or garage—and then a series of pits and berms. She changed the image to street view and saw that the building was at the bottom of a steep hill.

  She called Javier. “They’ve taken him to some kind of garage at what used to be a gravel mine. If we drive up, they’ll see us. We’re going to have to leave the vehicles some distance away from the place. They only way to approach is from the rear and on foot. If there are windows in the back of the building, we’re going to have to wait until dark. There are some berms that might make good positions for snipers if you’re bringing any. What’s your ETA?”

  “It took us forty minutes to get to the damned airport, so we’re a good hour out. We’ll be landing at the airport in about ten, and we’ll have to catch up with you from there.”

  “Do you have something I can wear—a vest, maybe some BDUs?”

  “We’ve got a vest, but BDUs in a women’s size four?” He chuckled. “Nah, sorry. And, Holly, you’re not going in there.”

  That’s what he thought.

  “I’m going to do a bit of recon, find a good staging point. I’ll call you back when I’m in position. You can meet me there.”

  She ended the call, kicked the van into drive, and headed down the gravel road.

  * * *

  “He killed Beso, shot him dead in the hotel.”

  Kramer bent down, looked Nick in the eyes. “Surprised to see me?”

  If Nick could have shouted in his face, he would have, but he couldn’t say a damned thing with the duct tape on his mouth.

  Go screw yourself.

  “You’re not stupid enough to take on all of us, are you? Yeah, you are.” Kramer stood upright again. “Did you guys search him?”

  “Yes. We found this.” The taller of the two men held up Nick’s SIG.

  “Nothing else? Better search him again. You wearing a wire, Andris?”

  They cut off his jacket, nicking his chest with the knife in the process, then yanked off his shoes and socks and felt beneath his shirt and his jeans, one of them even groping his balls—and not too gently.

  “We find nothing.”

  “Untie him and take him to the back.”

  They cut the cords and jerked him to his feet, Nick’s fingers and feet tingling as blood rushed back into them. They frog-marched him to the back wall of what looked like a garage for heavy equipment, walking past crates and boxes. He counted four other men along the way, sentries perhaps, each armed
with an AK.

  “String him up. And watch out, boys, because he’s deadly.”

  “Yeah?” said one of the goons. “So are we.”

  They dragged Nick toward the center of the back wall. Two ropes lay on the floor, each of them running to pulleys that were fixed into the ceiling. He didn’t need to ask what the ropes were for.

  He glanced around the room, saw that, apart from Kramer, there were only the two men nearby. He was pretty sure he could take out at least one of them before they got the drop on him. But then they’d take him down with the Taser, and he’d be right back where he was now. Still, he needed to make this believable. There’s no way he’d let them do this to him without one hell of a fight if his position weren’t being monitored.

  He broke free, whirled, his heel connecting with the tall one’s jaw. The man fell with a thud and lay unconscious on the floor.

  Nick backed away from Kramer and the other goon, ripped the duct tape off his mouth. “Kramer, you bastard. Why?”

  At least he’d said the son of a bitch’s name. Holly would have heard it, and it would have been recorded.

  Pop.

  The rattle of the stun gun.

  A flood of agony.

  And Nick was down again.

  Kramer knelt down, felt the goon’s neck for a pulse. “Why’d you do that? All you did was piss off Ilia here. Grigol is his brother.”

  The other goon, whose name was apparently Ilia, knelt down beside his brother, shouting expletives in Georgian.

  Kramer shouted for help, and two men appeared in the doorway, Dudaev’s army of thugs clearly answering to him now. “Help Ilia get Grigol out of here, then come back and help me with this son of a bitch. When I say he’s deadly, I mean it. Watch it, or you’ll be next.”

  The men approached Nick cautiously, tied the ropes around his wrists.

  “We make the knots tight,” said one of the new guys, grinning through gold teeth.

  “Cocksuckers,” Nick managed to say.

  When they’d bound him fast, they pulled the ropes through the pulleys, hoisting him upward until he hung by his wrists from the ceiling, the muscles in his legs not quite recovered enough yet to hold his weight. It wasn’t comfortable. But it wasn’t himself he thought of when the ropes pulled tight. It was Holly.

  He’d done something very much like this to her.

  God, Holly, forgive me.

  Kramer walked up to him, looked up into his face. “Here’s how this is going to go. I’m going to—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Nick got his feet beneath him, stood upright. “You’re going to ask me questions, and I’m going to answer, or you’re going to do bad things to me.”

  “You were always were a fast learner. If you tell me what I want to know with a minimum of bullshit, I’ll kill you myself with a double-tap to the head, just like you did Dudaev. If you don’t tell me what I want to know, this day is not only going to be the last day of your life, it’s going to be the worst. Got that?”

  Nick looked into the eyes of the man he’d once trusted. “Fuck you!”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “Where is she?”

  Nick raised his head, fighting to catch his breath, the pain in his right side excruciating. “Eat shit.”

  Kramer motioned for his thugs to hoist Nick up again. “Better soften him up some more, boys.”

  Nick staggered to his feet. It was less of a shock to the body if he was standing. The ropes bit into the raw, blistered skin on his wrists, his arms stretching tight over his head as he was slowly raised off the floor, his shoulders and ribs screaming in protest. He grabbed the ropes with his hands, tried to support himself with his strength, but was too exhausted to hold out for long.

  While Kramer watched from an old wooden chair set back against the wall, Ilia moved in on Nick again, driving blows against his torso as if he were a human punching bag. It was impossible to hang by his wrists, keep his abdominal muscles tense, and still breathe, so every blow struck deep, driving whatever breath he had from his lungs, his abdomen and chest undefended.

  An image of Holly wincing in pain as he’d pulled her arm over her head and chained her to the iron bar at the cabin flashed into his mind, the regret that washed through him more painful than the blows. He’d kept her that way for more than thirty-six hours, until she could no longer stand and her wrists were blistered and bleeding.

  I’m so sorry, Holly. If I’d only known . . .

  They lowered him to the ground again. He collapsed onto his back on the concrete, gasping for breath.

  “There are seven of them and one of you,” Kramer said. “You’ll break before they do. Who should I give you to next?”

  Nick inhaled as deeply as he could. “It’s ‘whom.’”

  “What?”

  “Whom should I give you to next.”

  Kramer’s face flushed an angry red. “You were really good at that SERE and R2I shit, weren’t you? I bet you think you’re some kind of hero.”

  “No. Not a hero.” Nick drew a breath, pain slicing through his ribcage, making him dizzy. “Just loyal to my friends . . . my country.”

  Kramer laughed. “What can I say? No one’s perfect.”

  Ask him questions. Get him to talk.

  Nick tried to focus, the pain in his ribs and belly unrelenting. “How much of the money Dudaev transferred . . . to that account in the Caymans was yours? Did you and Bauer split it evenly . . . or did he take more than his share?”

  Kramer looked startled. “What do you know about that?”

  “I cloned Dudaev’s hard drive . . . found the transfer receipts to that account . . . and the photos of the warehouse you took. Turned all of it over . . . to the Agency.”

  Fear flashed through Kramer’s eyes, but disappeared behind a sneer. “They won’t be looking for me. They think I’m dead. You’ve got to admit, I made it convincing. I spent six months getting my blood drawn every few weeks, saving it. Dump it on the sidewalk, toss out a few shell casings, throw my suitcase in a field, and I’m dead.”

  That’s why he’d looked so pale and tired when they’d met for lunch.

  And then it hit Nick. “You didn’t meet with me to warn me. You met with me just to set me up . . . to make me look guilty.”

  Kramer nodded. “That was Bauer’s idea.”

  As if that somehow made it less of a betrayal.

  “In the end, it won’t matter. Do you think Bauer . . . will take the fall alone? Investigators are onto him.” They certainly would be after Holly gave them the recording of this audio feed. “He’ll talk, work out a deal for himself . . . pin most of it on you.”

  Kramer’s nostrils flared. “He’d better not. He’s got family, too.”

  “Was this all his idea?”

  “It was his idea to take the guns, but I’m the one who figured out how to do it.” Kramer pointed at his own chest, grinned. “Hey, this is the land of opportunity, and I saw an opportunity.”

  Let him brag. Keep him talking.

  “So you brought Dudaev in on it. I have to say . . . that was pretty damned clever. Make it look like he stole them . . . then sell the weapons and split the jack.”

  Kramer nodded. “If only Dudaev hadn’t gotten greedy in the end. He tried to blackmail us—stupid bastard.”

  Another piece fell into place.

  “When you wouldn’t pay up, he went to the Agency . . . tried to broker a deal. That’s why Bauer sent me in to kill him.”

  Nick had wanted Dudaev in his sights so badly, and they’d known that. He’d been the perfect tool.

  “I always said you were smart.” Kramer motioned for the goons to raise Nick up again. “Not smart enough to tell me what I want, though.”

  Ilia moved in again, working Nick over with crippling blows that left him blinded by pain and unable to breathe. The world turned to spots, went black.

  He found himself on the concrete floor, gasping for breath, and staring up into Kramer’s face, pain splitting his sides.
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  “He just passed out. That’s all.” Kramer sounded relieved. He turned to Ilia. “You gotta give him time to breathe. If he dies before I say so, you’ll be hanging here.”

  “Why?” Nick coughed, tasted blood. “Why . . . did you do it?”

  “One problem with nice, honest boys like you is that everyone knows you’re a nice, honest boy, and no one trusts you.”

  Nick thought he must have been hit one too many times, because that made no fucking sense. “Wh-what?”

  “Bauer’s old man—back in his day, an officer could make a killing by selling secrets to the KGB. Oh, nothing big, just little shit.”

  “Bauer’s dad sold secrets . . . to the Soviets?”

  “You’re surprised?” Kramer laughed. “Why do you think he never got caught? He made a good living working both sides. You really think he could have gone into East Berlin that many times and gotten out alive if he didn’t have friends there?”

  The world really had turned upside down.

  “Bauer wanted to follow in his daddy’s footsteps, but the Cold War was over. The only way to make good side money these days is selling drugs or guns. Dealing with drug cartels is messy work, but running guns is even harder. Those old AKs were our chance to score big, and we took it.”

  A sense of sadness stole over Nick. So many good people dead, so many lives ruined, so much pain—all for money. “Was it worth . . . Dani’s life?”

  “Dani?” Kramer shrugged. “The stupid bitch was onto me, saw me open the door for some of Dudaev’s men. I had to take her out.”

  Cold fury sent adrenaline surging through Nick’s system, got him onto his feet. He took a step toward Kramer. “You had that bastard kill her?”

  “I couldn’t very well walk in and do it myself, now could I?” Kramer glared at him. “Where is she, Andris? Where is Bradshaw?”

  “Why do you want her?” God, it hurt to breathe. “What does she have to do . . . with any of this?”

  “The bitch was assigned to Dudaev for almost a month. Do you really think he could get in bed with her and not tell her anything? I hear she’s good. But then you probably found that out for yourself, didn’t you?”

  Nick fought back a surge of anger, knowing that Kramer was just doing this to provoke him. “She didn’t sleep with him . . . and she didn’t know anything.”