Option to Kill (Nathan McBride 3)

  Ahead on the freeway, something caught Nathan’s attention: the Amber Alert sign at Clairemont Mesa Boulevard displayed three bright lines of text. Set against the cobalt sky, the message demanded to be seen:

  CHILD ABDUCTION

  BLACK SUV

  CA LICENSE UNKNOWN

  There were few times when Nathan experienced a chill, but this was one of them. He moved over a lane to the west and slowly inched forward. The girl was no longer visible. The driver must’ve seen the Amber Alert and ordered her to crouch down.

  The complexity and risk of his situation had just skyrocketed. Ironically, the Amber Alert hindered his efforts. Anything he did to interdict, even an “accidental” fender bender, would no longer be interpreted as a coincidence. The smallest act out of the ordinary would raise red flags with the kidnapper. On the flip side, the alert reaffirmed the immediate danger to the girl, and he now felt confident that any action he took would be justified.

  The Escalade changed lanes and slowed to sixty-five. Several car lengths back, Nathan matched its pace as it made an additional lane change. The SUV was now directly in front of him. Anticipating the driver’s next move, he eased into the slow lane, checked his rearview mirror, and dropped back farther.

  As predicted, the kidnapper signaled and moved into the exit-only lane. He obviously wanted off this freeway, probably because there weren’t any Amber Alert signs on surface streets. The center-divide sign indicated the Balboa Avenue exit lay one-quarter mile ahead. Nathan maintained his distance as the Escalade slowed to fifty-five. Would the driver go east or west on Balboa? Playing it safe, Nathan didn’t use his turn signal. The Escalade peeled right, heading for the westbound lanes.

  At the traffic light, Nathan ended up directly behind the Escalade, a mere ten feet away. Okay, he told himself, there’s a kidnapped girl named Lauren in the Escalade, and the Amber Alert system’s activated. The kidnapper’s edgy, wondering if anyone saw the girl and dropped a dime.

  If Nathan were driving that Escalade, he’d execute an SDR, but he doubted many people had his level of countersurveillance training. If the abductor planned to try one, it would probably happen within the next mile or so. At least Nathan had the speed and maneuverability advantage. If this turned into a high-speed chase, the Cadillac could never outrun his Mustang.

  At Genesee Avenue, the Escalade moved into the inside, left-turn-only lane and stopped at the red light. Nathan maintained a single-car buffer between himself and the target. Several vehicles had lined up in front of the SUV, also waiting for the light to change.

  What do most kidnappers want? Privacy. If this were a ransom, the abductor would want seclusion, at least initially. The same would apply to an abductor bent on committing a sex crime. But what if this involved something else altogether? Something related to the mother who knew Nathan’s former CIA call sign, who’d also taught her daughter operative code words? In that case, the kidnapper could be headed to a predetermined location to make a vehicle switch. He could have accomplices. Fellow professionals. But no professional would allow his victim to keep or use a cell phone.

  Assuming the kidnapper didn’t execute an SDR, he figured he could only keep this tail going for ten to fifteen minutes before being spotted.

  The left-turn arrow at Genesee turned green, and the dual column of cars started forward. From this inside lane, the SUV could make a U-turn. If it did that, there was a good chance the U-turn was one of many to come designed to expose a tail. Nathan felt some measure of relief when the Escalade settled into the right lane of Genesee.

  He pictured this area of San Diego in his mind. Assuming freeways were out of the equation, staying on major surface streets would be the fastest way to the kidnapper’s destination, but doing that also ran the highest risk of crossing paths with an SDPD cruiser. Nathan didn’t know for sure but believed Amber Alerts were broadcast to all law enforcement units within a certain radius of the abduction, which meant every cop in the area would now have the info. Unfortunately, in a city this size, there were literally hundreds, if not thousands, of black SUVs on the road at any given time. Would police start randomly pulling over black SUVs? He wasn’t sure.

  Genesee Avenue started down into a branch of Tecolote Canyon, where it would cross only a couple of roads before reaching Linda Vista. Nathan increased his separation to five hundred yards and accelerated to fifty miles per hour to stay with the Escalade. He decided to up the stakes. Since the kidnapper had been going south on 805 before seeing the Amber Alert, he believed that was the general direction the driver wanted to go. And the best way to do that was to make a right turn onto Linda Vista Road.

  He moved into the fast lane.

  At the bottom of the canyon, he passed the Escalade and returned to the right lane again. He didn’t use his signal because he didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention. He was just another early-evening commuter on his way home from work. Twilight was in full effect now. Every vehicle had its headlights on. He looked in his rearview mirror, calculating. If he guessed wrong about this, he’d likely lose all stealth.

  Linda Vista lay just ahead, and he slowed to make the turn. The light stayed green as he rounded the corner. The moment of truth arrived. If the kidnapper didn’t turn right, Nathan would have to make an illegal U-turn and possibly blow a tire jumping the median curb.

  He looked over his shoulder and saw the Escalade slowing for the right-hand turn. The kidnapper used his turn signal, probably to avoid making any kind of traffic violation. Nathan slowed to allow the SUV to catch up. In his side mirror, he saw the kidnapper signal and move into the left lane. He also watched for any sudden changes of speed.

  The right side of Linda Vista Road hosted several fast-food joints; the left side was mostly residential. Since the Escalade immediately changed lanes to the inside, Nathan believed its next move would be a left turn onto Ulric to head down to Friars Road. He needed to keep the Escalade in front of him for this leg of the pursuit. But how?

  An idea formed. Most drivers resented being cut off, and if Nathan timed his lane change just right, the kidnapper might feel a little irritation and the need to race ahead of him. It was a fine line. He didn’t want to create suspicion, only annoyance.

  Nathan slowed and waited until the Escalade was only twenty-five feet behind, and changed lanes without signaling. He saw its front end dip when the driver applied the brakes. Perfect. He moved into the left-turn-only lane and looked for a median curb on Ulric Street. Good — there wasn’t one. If he had to make a U-turn because the Escalade continued west on Linda Vista, it wouldn’t be an issue turning around. Come on, pull in behind ….

  Perfect. The kidnapper accelerated into Nathan’s lane, turned on his high beams, and stopped three feet back. A feeling of relief mixed with anxiety from the blinding headlights behind him. He didn’t think the driver would get out and offer a challenge, but if he did, that might create an ideal opportunity to “introduce” himself to the girl’s kidnapper. Nathan reached up and casually made the high-beam adjustment on his rearview mirror.

  Did the creep have a gun? He didn’t like the idea of being in front, but it seemed the best way to continue the tail without being detected. Nathan doubted he’d be able to anticipate the SUV’s move at Friars Road. At the bottom of Ulric, continuing south would be impossible without an east or west detour to cross the San Diego River and I-8.

  Unless the kidnapper was totally inept, Nathan felt he couldn’t continue this charade for more than two or three more turns, and he was beginning to feel the early signs of decision paralysis. The longer he waited to act, the more difficult acting became. At some point he’d have to force the issue. The question became, when?

  To reel the kidnapper in, Nathan crept through the intersection when the light turned green, purposely going slower than necessary. Once on Ulric, the kidnapper swerved into the left lane and accelerated. He didn’t look but felt the driver’s malignant glare as the Escalade sped past. Nathan allowed it to get sev
eral hundred yards ahead before matching its speed again. He didn’t believe his cover was blown, but one more stunt like that, and all bets were off.

  Ulric began a gradual descent through a narrow canyon. Nathan formulated a plan. He had no illusions it would be simple, but it was time to act. A girl’s life was at stake, and every passing minute represented increasing danger to her. He closed the distance to one hundred yards and knew the kidnapper would see the change in separation. Up ahead, the traffic light glowed red. The kidnapper slowed as several cars turned left at the light and started up Ulric toward them.

  Now was his chance. There wouldn’t be another like it. Nathan noticed multiple headlights in his rearview mirror but couldn’t worry about them. He reached into the emergency bag and retrieved his SIG. He turned the laser sight on and tucked the weapon into his right pocket. The suppressor, folded Predator knife, cell phone, and spare magazines went into his thigh pockets. Everything you need in life: A knife. A gun. And a cell phone.

  Nathan saw the light for the cross-traffic turn yellow and moved into the left lane.

  Up ahead, the light turned green.

  Nathan hit the gas.

  Chapter 3

  Even if the kidnapper had seen him coming, it was too late. Before the Escalade reached the intersection, Nathan pulled alongside and jerked the steering wheel to the right. Just before the impact, he exhaled, tightened his abs, and forced himself against the back of his seat.

  The Mustang’s airbag control unit did its job.

  For an instant, Nathan felt stunned and unable to move. He thought his heart might actually fail. Son of a bitch!

  He’d never experienced an airbag deployment and was damn sure he never wanted to again. Out his right window, he saw the Escalade jerk to a sudden stop. Nathan started a mental stopwatch, figuring he had fewer than sixty seconds to secure the girl and clear the area on foot.

  The airbag had already deflated. A noxious chemical smell — like burned electrical wiring — filled the compartment, and for an instant, he thought his Mustang had caught fire.

  Three seconds after impact, he had his seat belt unbuckled and his door open.

  Five seconds after the crash, he was out of his wrecked Mustang.

  His plan worked.

  The front end of the Escalade was wrapped around the signal pole, steam gushing from its grille. The headlights he’d seen earlier arrived, but not in the way he expected. The arriving vehicle didn’t slow down and gradually pull over to the side of the road. Instead, its front end dipped as the vehicle stopped with the unmistakable high-speed pulses of antilock brakes.

  Armed with compact machine guns, two men in business suits jumped out and ran directly toward him. One of them already had his gun lined up. Cops? No way. Cops would immediately identify themselves as such. These guys weren’t saying anything.

  Nathan cursed. He’d been so focused on the Escalade, he hadn’t detected a vehicle following him.

  Pulling his SIG, he circled his wrecked Mustang and sprinted toward the SUV, believing the new arrivals would be momentarily confused and hold their fire.

  All he needed was a second or two.

  Behind the gunmen’s car, he saw a second vehicle approach and its driver didn’t appear to be paying attention. The driver attempted to stop and nearly succeeded but the car smacked the rear end of the gunmen’s sedan with a loud, metallic bang. The impact wasn’t hard enough to trigger any airbags, but the two gunmen turned, giving Nathan the precious seconds he needed.

  He toggled the weapon’s laser, painted the red dot on the lead gunman’s chest, and fired two quick shots. Unsuppressed, the discharges hammered his ears. The gunman grunted and spun but didn’t go down. Body armor? Under a business suit? He lined up on the second gunman, adjusted his aim below the belt, and fired twice more. The machine gun clattered away as the wounded man tumbled onto the asphalt. Before the first guy could recover, Nathan sent two more bullets, also lower. Both slammed home. The gunman dropped his weapon and cupped his groin. The guy fell to his knees and keeled over, cursing in Spanish.

  Within four seconds, Nathan had popped off six shots and scored six hits. He considered finishing them but decided killing men while they were down wouldn’t sit right with his conscience. And there was still a remote possibility they could be police or feds working undercover. He hustled over to the wounded men, gave them a pat-down for additional weapons, and picked up their MP5s. Ignoring their obscene protests, he tossed the weapons into the landscaping behind a low stucco wall.

  Whoever plowed the gunmen’s vehicle was leaving. The driver backed up, made a screeching U-turn, and sped away up the hill — no doubt frightened by the gunfire.

  Nathan hurried to the passenger side of the Escalade and found the girl screaming incoherently, her shrieks muffled by the glass.

  Other than a steady stream of blood flowing from the driver’s nose, he seemed physically unharmed. Although clearly dazed from the impact, the man held on to the girl’s wrist tightly. Nathan didn’t see a weapon, but stayed alert as he tried the girl’s door. Locked.

  Nathan banged the window with his gun. “Let go of her!”

  No response. The driver was trying to free himself one-handed from his seat belt and the deflated airbags surrounding him.

  Nathan circled to the shattered driver’s-side window and swung his pistol through it like a club, clocking the kidnapper on the side of the head. That did the trick. The girl pulled free and cringed against her door. Nathan returned to the passenger side.

  In his best command tone, he yelled, “You’re okay, stop screaming.”

  The girl’s expression showed recognition. He saw her eyes then — unmistakably blue, and startling in combination with her Eurasian face and black hair.

  “We need to get out of here!”

  She stopped crying but didn’t move.

  “Fine, stay with him. I’m leaving,”

  She unbuckled her seat belt.

  “Unlock the door.”

  She fumbled with the armrest, looking for the button.

  He didn’t have time for this. “Get back.”

  She looked over at the driver and didn’t move.

  “I’m going to break the window. Get back!”

  She leaned toward the driver and turned her head away. He struck the tempered glass with his SIG and broke away the pieces clinging to the corners. He secured his gun in his pocket, grabbed the girl under her arms, and pulled her out. Wearing blue jeans, a lavender T-shirt, and white sneakers, she felt like eighty pounds of trouble.

  A car approached from the south, its headlights illuminating the canyon’s eastern slope.

  “Hey!”

  Nathan looked at the driver.

  The guy spat blood onto the airbag. “You stupid son of a bitch, you have no idea who you’re fucking with.”

  “Likewise.” He pulled his SIG and thrust it into the Escalade’s interior.

  The driver held his hands up in a useless gesture.

  Aiming at the driver’s thigh, Nathan pulled the trigger.

  Chapter 4

  Nathan’s Mustang wasn’t drivable. The collision had collapsed the entire right fender into the wheel well. He considered using the gunmen’s black sedan, but dismissed the thought. There were too many variables, including the possibility of a tracking bug. Instead, he took the girl across the street intersecting Ulric and began running up the sidewalk. He stole a look over his shoulder. The second gunman from the sedan had gained his feet and was limping toward the wrecked SUV, but he didn’t make it. Halfway there, his legs quit.

  Nathan noticed a stinging pain on the side of his hand and wondered what was causing it.

  “We need to clear the area. Take my hand and don’t look back.”

  “I won’t.” The girl’s voice was soft but laced with fear.

  He needed her functioning and coherent, not thinking about the violence she’d just witnessed. Distraction time.

  “Is your name really Lauren?
”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a beautiful name. I’m Nathan. How old are you?”

  “You aren’t supposed to ask girls that.”

  “Thirteen?”

  “Twelve and a half. What happened to your face?”

  “It happened a long time ago. Are you injured? Does anything hurt?”

  “My back.”

  Nathan hoped she didn’t have a spinal injury from the impact. “Your back hurts?”

  “The airbag felt really hot.”

  “You were leaning forward? With your chest on your legs? The airbag burned your back?”

  “Uh-huh. Are they supposed to be hot like that?”

  “I’m afraid so.” He realized that the stinging on his hand must also have been caused by the airbag’s heat. “Does your back hurt really badly?”

  Nathan sensed her hesitate, as if she were trying to compare it with something else. “Not really.”

  They continued running up the sidewalk.

  “Give me a number from one to ten, one being really mild pain and ten being the worst you could ever imagine.”

  “Maybe a three.”

  “Who’s your mom?”

  “I don’t know … she’s just my mom.”

  “I mean, what’s her name?”

  “Jin.”

  “Is that short for Jennifer?”

  “No, it’s just Jin. J-i-n.”

  “What’s her … your last name?”

  “Marchand.”

  “With a c?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Does she have a middle name?”