Morgan's Wife (4 page)

Besides, the three of them had worked together for a long time, knew one another and how they thought. In a crisis like this, they'd be more useful in a behind-the-scenes overseeing role. "Somehow we'll find the teams," he muttered.

"Do you want me to contact Alyssa and Noah?" Marie asked.

"We'd better," Jake said ruefully. "If we don't, there will be hell to pay." Lieutenant Commander Alyssa Cantrell was Morgan's younger sister, a navy pilot. Jake had no idea where she and her husband, Clay, were stationed. He did know that Commander Noah
Trayhern
, Morgan's brother, was in the Coast Guard and, with his wife, Kit, lived in
Miami
,
Florida
. Noah and Morgan's parents, who lived nearby in
Clearwater
, would be easiest to reach. "Try to contact them through nonmilitary channels if you can, Marie."

She rose, nodding, but gave him a questioning look.

"Ramirez has enough money to buy state-of-the-art telecommunications equipment that rivals anything the military has," Jake explained. "If we send these messages via the military, he might pick up on them and get an idea of our movements. I don't want him to know a damn thing if we can help it."

"I see," Marie acknowledged. She tried to smile, but failed. "I'll have dinner brought into the War Room for all of you."

Jake nodded. "Thanks, Marie." After she left, he turned to his comrades. "This is a hell of a bind."

Wolf stopped pacing, his hands on his hips. "Ramirez will kill them. It's only a matter of time."

"Yes," Killian agreed quietly. "He likes long, slow deaths. You know that, Wolf."

Harding
nodded,
his mouth a tight line. "I'm more worried about Laura. She's the one really at risk."

"Ramirez won't be easy on her," Killian agreed. "When I was first captured in
Peru
, I was taken to a different cell block from you, Wolf. Ramirez and his goons raped women prisoners as part of their torture to get them to talk. No, you're right—Laura has problems."

"And what the hell will they do with the boy?"
Jake asked, his voice frustrated.
"I mean, the kid's innocent."

Killian gave him a flat look. "In our business, no one's innocent."

"Why didn't they take Katherine?" Wolf wondered aloud.

"Probably because women are considered worthless—second-class citizens—in
South America
," Jake muttered. "She wasn't worth taking. You know how South American men think the world of their sons. Boys carry on the family name and honor. I'm sure that's why they took Jason."

"Do you think he's at risk?" Wolf asked.

"I don't know," Jake hedged. "Knowing Ramirez and his twisted mind, he'll probably stash the boy away somewhere and raise him in the cocaine empire. That's the way Ramirez is, you know. He'd think that was the ultimate revenge on Morgan—turn his son into a cocaine trafficker—or worse, a coke addict."

Wolf cursed and began pacing again. "There's no question we've got to get to them.
The sooner, the better."

"First," Killian said, "we need a lucky break. Someone has to pick up communications between Ramirez and his worldwide cartel. We've got to get a clue to where they are."

"Our second problem is finding a team that can undertake the rescue once we do locate them," Jake reminded his friends.

"What do we have so far?" Jake demanded of his team. He was clean shaven, dressed in fresh clothes, and had even managed to snatch a little sleep. It was 2000 the next evening, and the three mercenaries were back in the War Room. Marie sat at the opposite end of the table from them, taking notes. A messy stack of papers still covered the shiny oval surface. On the wall, a map of the world had been pulled down for reference. Disposable cups littered the room, silent testimony to too many cups of coffee, and the burning stomachs and frayed nerves that went with them.

"The Pentagon is working double time on telecommunications," Killian reported. The Joint Chiefs of Staff have approved satellite telecommunication time for us. They've put a team of Intelligence people from the CIA on it, along with other military specialists. We're getting more help than I anticipated."

"Good," Jake grunted. "Wolf?"

"I'm getting help from the FBI and DEA. They're checking all flights from the East Coast to see if we can figure out how Morgan and his family were taken, and in what direction they went."

"Do you think there's a chance they're still in the
U.S.
?" Jake asked.

"No. The FBI thinks they're off
U.S.
soil."

Before Jake could speak, the door flew open. He reared back in surprise, automatically on guard. A Marine Corps officer, a lieutenant colonel, stood in the doorway, one hand on the knob, the other on the doorjamb. His face looked stormy; his eyes were narrowed in anger.

"Just what the hell has happened to Laura
Trayhern
?" he snapped, moving into the room and shutting the door behind him. "And what the hell are you doing about it?"

Jake stood. He'd been in the Marine Corps himself for many years before leaving to work for
Perseus
. The officer in front of him was in his middle thirties, lean as a cougar. Jake noted the gold parachute emblem above his dark green, wool shirt pocket and the full set of colorful ribbons denoting his time in service. The officer stood rigidly, his hands curled into fists at his sides, his eyes accusing as they swept the room, then settled on Jake.

"Who are you?" Jake demanded in a deep tone.

"I'm Colonel Jim Woodward, Intel, over at the Pentagon." He gave a disdainful look around the room again. "Where's Laura? What's happened to her?"

Jake held up his hand. "Calm down, Colonel Woodward. Are you part of the liaison the CIA put on telecommunications?"

"Yes," he said tightly, "I am. I've been pulled to oversee the operation. When I found out Laura was involved, I had to know a hell of a lot more than I was being told. That's why I'm here. I'm an old friend of hers, from before she married Morgan. Now will someone fill me in?"

Jake nodded. "Have a seat, Colonel."

Jim listened without interrupting. By the time Jake Randolph finished briefing him on the kidnapping, he couldn't seem to settle his rapid pulse or ignore the fact that his hands were sweating. Laura was in danger. His heart contracted at the thought. It was nearly impossible to keep his face carefully arranged. When Jake asked if they'd been able to intercept any likely communications yet, Jim stood.

Taking a piece of paper out of his breast pocket, he handed it to him. "I know where they've got Laura. We just picked up a sat-
tel
link off a small Caribbean island known as
Nevis
. It's a tiny spot in the Windward Islands, off the coast of
South America
. The message is cryptic, but we got a lead on the transmission."

Jake frowned as he studied the paper. "How do you figure this, Colonel?"

"I don't know who transmitted—yet. I've got the CIA working on that angle right now." Jim jabbed a finger toward the paper. "But it was transmitted from Nevis to someone in
Dresden
,
Germany
. It reads, ‘The Tiger is caged.'"

"Why would that be Laura
Trayhern
?" Wolf demanded.

Jim held on to his disintegrating anger. "Before Morgan came into Laura's life, we had a relationship. I used to call her Tiger." He felt heat creeping into his cheeks. "It was a nickname I gave her because she was the only civilian woman writer working at the Pentagon archives." He felt foolish divulging the intimacy, but he had no choice.

"I don't know…" Killian began. "Isn't that a bit of a stretch?"

Woodward glared at the narrow-faced man sitting to
Randolph
's right. "Not when the CIA has already confirmed that
Nevis
is home to a world-class drug dealer by the name of Guillermo Garcia."

"Garcia," Harding growled. "Damn, he and Ramirez have been in cahoots for twenty years."

Jim smiled grimly. "I'm right and I know it. ‘Tiger' is Laura."

"How would Garcia know that?" Jake demanded.

"He's probably drugged her and gotten a lot of personal info out of her," Killian interjected.

Just the thought of Laura being drugged, having her life bled out of her, made Jim sick to his stomach. "It's just a matter of time until I get more info pinpointing Garcia as her captor. I've already gotten permission to move one of our spy satellites to that part of the
Caribbean
. Right now—" he glanced at his watch "—a U-2 spy plane is in the air, on its way to take photo reconnaissance over the island. I guarantee you, with those
photos,
we can pick up a gnat's rear end at fifty yards. If my photo people see anything to suggest Laura being there, we'll have our proof."

Relieved, Jake nodded. "I'm damn glad you're heading up the Pentagon effort, Colonel Woodward. You obviously know what you're doing, and you've provided more information than any other source so far."

"Well," Jim rasped, "my association with Laura goes back a lot of years. She's a special woman…." He avoided Jake's probing gaze, cleared his throat,
then
looked back at him. "What plans do you have for infiltrating that compound on
Nevis
, Mr. Randolph?"

Jake smiled for the first time, just a little. "We might be short on the information files, Colonel, but one thing
Perseus
does do well is mercenary work of any kind. This type of mission is right down our alley."

"I doubt it," Jim challenged. He focused on the men one by one. "I thought this situation through on the way here. The dossier on Garcia I've got coming over to you from the CIA is substantial. They've got a blueprint of his estate, which is behind an iron fence ten feet high. He's got guards and Doberman pinschers posted around his ten-acre kingdom. Nobody comes and goes from
Nevis
without him or his people knowing about it.

"If you sent one of your men to the island, they'd find out instantly. They'd tail him, and chances are
,
they'd take him out at first opportunity. You don't know what's involved here." He went over to the map and tapped the
Caribbean
area. "You need a HAHO," Jim said, using the military acronym for a high-altitude, high-opening parachute drop, "onto that island in the dead of night. And you'll need a specialist with maximum military parachute experience. Do you know how small
Nevis
is? It's not much of a target. But if you tried to parachute from a lower altitude, Garcia would spot you, and you'd be dead before you landed.

"Then
if
you get your man on the ground, he'll need jungle experience.
Nevis
is heavily wooded and, because it's so small Garcia's people will certainly spot you, if the locals don't. That is, unless you utilize maximum stealth technology."

"Hold it, Colonel," Jake said heavily. "We have those
kind
of people on our payroll. Morgan rarely hires anyone who's not ex-military. We've got ex-Delta Force and former Marine Recons. The problem is
,
we're stretched too thin. We don't have a team we can pull to take this assignment."

"You what?"
Woodward's mouth fell open and he snapped it shut. "You don't have anyone assigned to fulfill this mission? It's a priority."

"Don't you think we're upset about it, too?"
Jake retorted, his voice irritated.
"Unfortunately, Colonel, this world of ours is full of trouble spots. Many of our teams are on dangerous missions. We can't just extricate them without jeopardizing their lives, or other people's lives, in the process. It doesn't make sense to lose two to six lives to save one." Jake tapped a bunch of computer printouts. "I've gone through our mission list twice. The teams with experience are in situations where they can't be pulled. The ones that can be pulled don't have the background you're talking about. I'm not about to put an inexperienced team into the type of situation you're painting for us. We don't throw our people's lives away like the military does."