Chapter 7

"Sir, you have a personal call on line three." The voice of Lennard Katz's secretary purred over the speaker on Len's office phone in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.

Personal call?Working his way through proposed legislative revisions, Len tore himself from the tome lying open on the desk in front of him. His heart gave a funny flip as he considered whether the call might have anything to do with Ruby Bonheur's disappearance—of course not. No one would have connected him to her abduction, and Cullum would have called his cell phone, as he'd done earlier to report the abduction successful.

Brushing off his prickle of concern, Len punched the correct line and picked up the receiver. "Katz speaking."

"Len, this is a blast from the past. James Monteague here. We worked together in Afghanistan, when I was with SEAL Team Two. You knew me as Monty, remember?"

However friendly sounding, the baritone voice of the golden-haired lieutenant who'd followed his orders in Operation Lights Out doused Len in uneasiness. "Monty." He searched for his usual glib tongue. "Of course. What a great surprise. How the heck are you?"

"Well, I've been better, Len. Don't know if you heard about it, but one of the guys in our old squad was murdered just down the road from you, in his old neighborhood in Philly—John Staskiewicz, went by Stasky. Remember him?"

Len's mouth went desert dry. "Sure, I remember Stasky. I hadn't heard that news. What happened?"

"Some thugs broke into his house and shot him in his sleep."

"Oh, wow, that's terrible."

"Yeah, I'm on my way to his funeral. It'll take place Sunday at eleven at Palmer Cemetery in Fishtown, where he's from. Now that you know about it, maybe I'll run into you there."

"Oh, well, I'd have to look at my calendar. Awfully nice of you to pay your respects, though. I take it you and Stasky have stayed in touch?" What if all the SEALs had collaborated against him and not just John? The phone went slippery in his sweating hand.

"No, not really."

Relief left Len weak.

"But, you know, we're a tight-knit community, which is probably why John left me this book he'd written. I'm not sure what to do with it."

The blood in Len's veins turned to ice as his fears became manifest. That exposé John Staskiewicz had threatened to write if he became lieutenant governor—it must have made it farther than Stasky's computer, stolen and destroyed the night he'd been killed. Len had acted too late.

"Oh?" His voice cracked.

"It's all about that op that went bad, Operation Lights Out."

Len cringed. This couldn't be happening.

"Stasky described you as a cold-blooded killer, Len. You know we SEALs take the code of silence seriously, but John didn't care much for your politics. It's pretty clear he intended for his book to halt your ascent up the political ladder."

Len drew a shaky breath. "What are you going to do with it?"

"Well, that depends. As it turns out, you've got something I need. Maybe we can strike a deal."

"What have I got?" Sweat made Len's shirt stick to his back. The man had the gall to blackmail him?

"The journalist, Ruby Bonheur. I'll give you the manuscript in exchange for her safe return."

The walls of Len's office seemed to shimmer like the sand in the desert. "I've never heard of her." His thoughts raced. How had Monty put two and two together so quickly? Perhaps the four-man firing squad had planned to betray him all along and they'd recruited the journalist to help them publicize their allegations.

"You know exactly who I'm talking about." Monty's voice hardened. "Unfortunately, what you didn't know when you arranged to make her disappear is that Ruby Bonheur is my sister-in-law."

Len swallowed hard. Right. He hadn't known that.

"And as much as I'd like to honor John's memory by seeing his book published and your career go up in smoke, my wife would throw me out if I didn't get her sister back safe and sound. So here's my offer, Len…"

With Monty's ultimatum sounding in his right ear, Len stared dazedly out the window.

"You show up at Palmer Cemetery on Sunday morning with Ruby Bonheur sitting safely in your car; I'll show up with the manuscript, and we'll do a trade. How's that? You get to salvage your career, and I get to salvage my marriage. Fair enough?"

Len gave one more stab at protesting his innocence. "I already told you this, Monty. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then you leave me no choice. I'll make copies of the manuscript right now and mail them to The Washington Post and The New York Times. You'll be a political pariah by Sunday morning. Good talking to you, Len."

"Wait!" Len blurted the word before he'd decided what to say. "How do I know you haven't made a copy of the book already, or that you won't expose me later?"

"Gee, I hadn't thought of that." Sarcasm dripped off Monty's words. "I guess you don't know, but my priority is my wife's happiness. Yours is your career. Return Ruby Bonheur at the funeral on Sunday, in pristine condition, and I'll let you finish your term as lieutenant governor. I won't finger you as Stasky's killer, provided you decline your candidacy for vice president."

Len could smell his political ambitions starting to smoke. "You can't pin Stasky's murder on me. I had nothing to do with it!" His voice climbed a full octave.

"Best to be on the safe side, Len. Come to Stasky's funeral. I'll give you the manuscript, and you'll release Ruby Bonheur. Then I'll leave you alone if you leave politics alone. You have my number," the man noted. "Call me if you wish to accept my offer."

Pride kept Len mute. He flinched as the phone clicked in his ear, signaling an end to the call. On autopilot, Len lowered his arm until the receiver clattered into the cradle.

Fury burned in him. He ejected from his chair and stalked toward the window. The gray, inhospitable sky spewed sleet down on the city of Harrisburg. What do I do?

His popularity might survive the rumor that he'd shot a child and his mother out of sheer frustration. Certainly, he wouldn't go to jail for that as he'd had license to kill whomever back in those days. But he didn't doubt for a second Monty would find a way to ruin him if he stayed in politics.

Resentment made Len's face burn. He'd worked too hard to get where he was just to give it up now. But neither did he wish to be constantly looking over his shoulder, dreading the appearance of three wrathful Navy SEALs. That left him with two choices: either he quit politics for good, or he only pretended to, while eliminating the obstacles in his way. It would cost him quite a bit of money to have all three SEALs killed.

Len ground his molars together, thinking. First, he would withdraw his name as a potential candidate. Then, he would double down on a couple of business ventures that had come his way and make enough money to pay off a mercenary like Yordan to pick off the remaining SEALs, first Monty, then Ben Harmony. Saul Wade, once America's top sniper would be the last and the hardest to kill. It might take a few years before Len could return to politics, but he'd be back.

And the journalist? Not long after he surrendered her in exchange for Stasky's book, she would be the first to die.

Len rubbed his palms together, mollified, before spinning toward his desk to stab the intercom button. "Michelle, get the last caller back on the phone with me, will you?"

"Of course. Just a minute, sir."

Brutally efficient, she got back to him in half that time. "Sir, I have Commander Monteague on line one for you."

Len hit line one, and with a smirk in his voice, said, "I'll see you at the funeral."

He slammed the phone into the receiver, then opened his desk drawer and withdrew his cell phone, putting a call through to his assistant.

"Yes, sir?"

"I've changed my mind. Call Yordan and tell him not to harm the package. He'll have his chance at her later. I need you to collect her from him tomorrow and keep her at the office for twenty-four hours. Nobody will be there on a weekend."

"Me, sir? I don't really want to?—"

"Shut up and listen. I'll pick her up early Sunday morning. Just keep her tranquilized. Yordan will show you how."

Len hung up on Cullum. He could care less whether his assistant felt squeamish about babysitting. Len had been far more inconvenienced than Collum. The jangling of his cell phone made him jump. Cullum was calling him back. "What?"

"Yordan wants to know if he'll get paid the same."

"Only if the package is unharmed."

He hung up on Cullum a second time, then hurled his cell phone across the room. By luck, it landed on an armchair, then bounced harmlessly onto the Turkish carpet.

If only he'd restrained himself back in Dishu when his temper got the better of him. Then none of this would be happening. He couldn't let them destroy everything he'd worked for. He wouldn't.

In a couple of years, he'd be back in politics. Who knew? Once the SEALs and the journalist were out of the picture, he might even run for president.

* * *

The sound of a rough male voice roused Ruby from a drug-induced sleep. Exerting every ounce of strength at her disposal, she managed to slit her heavy eyelids and glimpsed the salt-and-pepper head of her abductor in the driver's seat before her eyes slammed shut.

The man had been holding a cell phone to his ear. She could hear him speaking in a strong Eastern European accent. "He needs to pay me the same, regardless."

Pay me. Oh, help. He was discussing his fee for killing her! Regardless. Regardless of what?

A whimper escaped Ruby's unresponsive lips, and the car wobbled. Managing to peek through her lashes again, she saw the driver angle his rearview mirror to look back at her, and she snapped her eyes shut, playing possum.

How will he kill me?Quickly and painlessly, she hoped. Or would he torture her first to elicit the names of her sources? Of course, Katz already knew the names of the SEALs who had worked with him in Operation Lights Out, but he might wish to know if others knew.

No one yet. Ruby'd gotten her information by eavesdropping at her sister's Halloween party, where James and the bald chief petty officer, Ben Harmony, had been reminiscing about their service with Team Two, not knowing Ruby lurked just around the corner, her ears pricked in hopes of hearing a juicy story.

"As long as he doesn't name us in his book, Stasky can say whatever he wants to,"James had been saying to Ben. "What's Stasky got to lose now that he's retired?"

"True. And someone had better drag Katz off his mountain before he climbs any higher." Ben's voice roughened with disgust. "Man, I'll never forget the way he just turned and shot that kid and his mom like it was nothing. I never dreamed he'd go into politics."

"I hear he's on the short list for vice president."James's grim tone made it clear he didn't like that prospect.

"No way. Tell Stasky to go ahead and write his book. I'll hand-sell it for him. We thought Katz was dangerous working for the CIA? Wait until he's next in line to be our commander-in-chief."

Ruby had been in journalism long enough to know Stasky's murder was no coincidence. The coincidence was that Katz, Staskiewicz, James Monteague, Ben Harmony, and a SEAL named Saul Wade—if Ruby'd overheard the name correctly while eavesdropping on Tony's phone call—had all worked together to eliminate Gabir al Baldawi. Only their termination of the dangerous Taliban leader hadn't happened. Instead, some terrified kid and his mother had been shot dead by Katz for no good reason.

The SEALs must have been so reluctant to cover up the truth. Stasky, the first SEAL prodded by his conscience, had ended up dead. Which meant that Katz would stop at nothing to keep his faux pas out of the public eye.

I am so dead.

Terror gave rise to a wave of nausea. Battling the need to hang her head off the edge of the seat and vomit, she held as still as possible while drawing deep breaths. If she so much as moved, her abductor might pull over and hit her with another crippling injection. God only knew what was in that stuff and what it was doing to the fragile little life in her womb.

My baby!Oh no. I can't let my baby die with me.

As the car veered off the highway, banking onto a tight-turning exit ramp, Ruby adjusted her position surreptitiously. Their speed slowed, giving her hope that they would pull up to a gas station where she could draw attention to herself by kicking the window. But then she remembered—Tony had topped off her tank right before arriving at Mama Anna's on Wednesday evening. Her Rover wouldn't need fuel for several hundred miles.

It wasn't any wonder her assailant had stolen it. Only two years old, candy-apple red, loaded with features, and immaculate—except for the dent she'd made with Opal's mailbox—it was worth at least fifty thousand dollars. Her kidnapper hadn't been able to resist it.

Ruby realized she'd rolled against the seatback which meant they were headed uphill. As the car continued to climb, performing hairpin turns in the process, she consulted her inner map to determine where they were. The Pocono Mountains were about two hours northwest of Philly. Unless she'd been unconscious a lot longer than that, the Poconos was where they had to be.

And that made perfect sense. After all, her captor had a job to do, and the mountains provided him the privacy and space to do it.

I don't want to die. The feeling overpowered her fear.

She had way too much to live for, not the least of which was a lifetime with Tony. But, more than that, her death would mean their baby would never have a chance. That wasn't what God wanted for either of them.

I refuse to die!

All she had to do was escape before her captor killed her.