Kidnap and Ransom. Michelle Gagnon

you and Jagerson circle around. Fribush, see if you can get up high, find a nest to snipe from.”

      “This is nuts, Syd. There are at least a dozen of them,” Jake protested.

      The other men exchanged glances. Kane shrugged, then the three of them trotted toward the rear of the building.

      “They’ll kill Kelly and Maltz,” Jake said. “You’re setting us up for a bloodbath.”

      “We don’t have a lot of other options.”

      “We have one.” Jake dropped his gun. Before Syd could stop him, he stood and rounded the corner, hands held high.

      “No dispare!” he called out, hoping that was the polite way to ask them not to shoot.

      Two of them kept their guns trained on Maltz and Kelly, the rest swiveled, aiming for his chest. Jake stopped ten feet away. “Soy Jake Riley,” he said. “Americano.”

      A tall black man stepped forward. He lowered his gun slightly, but kept his finger on the trigger. “Good for you,” he said. “Now maybe you can explain what the hell you’re doing here.”

      “What about Cesar Calderon?” Decker raised the LMT, pointing it at Isabela’s chest.

      She looked back at him defiantly. “Everyone knows he was kidnapped. Los Zetas have him.”

      “Lady, we don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mark said. “Now why don’t you—”

      “They have my father, too,” she said. “That’s what the cocaine was for. I was trying to raise the ransom money.”

      “Sorry to hear about your dad,” Mark said. “But we’ve got to get back to our friend.”

      “They’ll kill him now, because of you.” Her chin quivered. “They’ll know I helped you. You’ve ruined everything.”

      “Tell you what,” Mark said. “I’m going to call my brother, and he might be able to help.”

      “The way you helped Calderon?” she spat.

      “That’s not very nice,” Decker commented.

      “I heard what you said…you don’t trust your own organization.”

      “Yeah, well, my brother’s part of a different one,” Mark said. “And him I trust. Tell us where we can reach you, and we’ll make sure someone helps your father.”

      “I know where they are keeping Calderon,” Isabela said. “Take me with you, and I will tell you.”

      “Lady—”

      “It’s not safe for me here now,” she argued. “I cannot go home, they will be waiting there.”

      “What about relatives?”

      “There’s no one besides my father. If you do not take me, I will be killed,” she said flatly.

      “Crap.” Mark rubbed his forehead with one hand. He’d done missions all over the globe, in places as far-flung as Panama and Bali. He’d thought nothing could get worse than the disaster that was Somalia. Yet none of his missions had ever gotten as messed up as this. What he’d give for a nice little underwater raid.

      “Fine,” he said, after processing it for a minute. Decker started to object, but Mark cut him off with a sharp look. “She’s right, we can’t leave her.”

      He moved in close, lowering his voice and filling it with menace. “But if it turns out you’re lying, and you don’t know where Calderon is, or if we find out you’re working for the Zetas, I’ll put a bullet in your head myself.”

      Isabela’s eyes widened and she nodded once, stiffly. Mark stepped back and dug the plastic bag out of his pocket. One of the morphine bottles had shattered, but everything else remained intact. He flipped open the phone and dialed. Stepping away from the two of them, he waited as it rang.

      “I need to talk to Jake Riley. Tell him it’s his brother.”

      Decker and Isabela watched him, standing in silence a few feet apart.

      “No, the other brother.” Mark’s brow furrowed at the response. “What the hell is he doing in Mexico City?”

      Nine

      Flores awoke with a throbbing headache. He groaned and shook his head to clear his vision.

      He was in the back compartment of a large truck. Wherever they were going, the road was bumpy as hell. He’d been stuffed between two rough burlap sacks, probably to keep him from flopping around while unconscious, which struck him as surprisingly courteous. His hands were bound again, this time behind his back.

      Shit, Flores thought with a sinking feeling.

      Two other men occupied the space with him, both dressed in military fatigues and bearing LMTs. One couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old. The other was the guy who tried to blow up the van that morning.