Dangerously Deceived Page 8

Ashton dropped his hand.

  “That’s it?” Carla glanced from Ashton to Melody. “What the hell?”

  Melody tucked her notepad under her arm. “We began a dialogue.”

  “A dialogue that ends in, we aren’t going to pay?” Carla turned toward Ashton. “Please explain.”

  “I don’t have what they want.” Ashton paced the short distance from the windows to the kitchen and back.

  “I know that. But can’t we lie?” She glanced at Melody.

  The woman shook her head. “Trades like this don’t happen in cold, hard cash. These are digital transactions. This man would require a wire transfer before handing Jared over. There’s no lying. Ashton made all the right points. These people only have one customer and Ashton has given them his price. They’ll come around.”

  Carla opened and closed her mouth.

  This all sounded crazy to her.

  “Are we still not willing to consider that this isn’t about money?” She glanced from man to man.

  “Carla, enough,” Ashton snapped.

  “Okay.” She held up her hands, but the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach wasn’t going away.

  She had a real bad feeling about where this was going.

  Ashton turned toward Grant. “Do you know where they are? Is plan B still an option?”

  “Plan B?” Carla glanced at Vaughn, but his focus was on Grant.

  “Zain?” Grant lifted his phone to his ear.

  Carla crossed to Ashton and whispered, “What is plan B?”

  Ashton stared down at her. “They go in and get him.”

  Oh, boy.

  That sounded really dangerous.

  “We’ve got a location and a name.” Grant shoved his phone in his pocket. “Everyone suit up, we’re bringing Mr. Moss back.”

  Carla’s gaze flew to Vaughn, but he was already on the move.

  The wheels were turning. They wouldn’t stop now.

  She couldn’t shake the bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  SATURDAY. COFFEE SHOP, Beirut, Lebanon.

  Hani drummed his fingers on the table top.

  If he hadn’t been ordered to be here, he’d have left already.

  His cup was empty and whoever he was here to meet was half an hour late. The lump on the side of Hani’s head kept him in his place.

  He’d made the wrong decision and allowed his aunt to talk him into helping with this bullshit scheme. Now it was Hani’s ass on the line. His buddies had pointed at him when their boss wanted answers for where they all were. The full burden was on Hani now.

  None of this made sense.

  When he’d told his boss about the kidnapping plan and how poorly armed the old folks holding the hostage were, Hani had expected they’d make a trip over to take control of the situation. He didn’t know how much Farez was ransoming the American for, but Hani was willing to bet he could get a couple more bills.

  “Are you Hani?”

  Hani turned to stare up at the unfamiliar man in a suit standing behind him. Hani hadn’t seen the man enter the café, so where had he come from?

  “I am,” he replied after a beat.

  “Come with me.” The man nodded and turned toward the door.

  “Hey, wait one minute.” Hani stood and scrambled after the man. “What’s your deal? Do you know how to tell time?”

  The man exited the café, glanced left then right, before walking to the curb. A van idled on the street. The side door slid open, and he got in.

  Hani stared. Was he supposed to go with this guy? What the hell was going on?

  The man leaned out. “Don’t make me ask again.”

  Hani was fairly certain the man hadn’t asked him to do anything. He had a bad feeling about this van, but if he went back to his boss and said he’d refused to talk to the guy in the suit, what would happen to him?

  There was a guy last week who’d been short a couple bills. He’d been beaten so badly Hani hadn’t seen the guy again. And here he’d taken three guys with him to do a job for someone else that they might not get paid for.

  Hani had no choice.

  He climbed into the van.

  No sooner had his ass touched the seat than the driver took off.

  “This is the man you picked up?” The man in the suit passed a photograph to Hani.

  He took it and spent a moment examining the guy they’d kidnapped from the construction site. The hair was longer, and he was tanner in the image, but it was the same guy. “Yeah, that’s him.”

  “Have you seen this man?”

  Another photograph, this one of a clean cut man who would fit in with the guy sitting next to Hani.

  Hani didn’t even touch the picture. “No, never.”

  “Have you seen any of these men?”

  He took the five images, flipping through them.

  White. Blond hair.

  White. Brown hair.

  White. Black hair.

  Sort of brown guy with brown hair.

  Another white guy with dark hair.

  “No.” Hani passed the pictures back.

  “I see.” The man took the pictures back. “We need for you to stay close to the target, and if you see any of these people, if anyone comes to rescue this man, we want to know about it. Here’s a phone. Call the programmed number and whoever answers, tell them what you saw.”

  “What the hell is this?” It sounded like some spy weird shit.

  The suit wearing man stared at him. “This is the only reason you’re still alive, Hani.”

  7.

  Saturday. On the road, Beirut, Lebanon.

  Vaughn was far more comfortable in his tactical gear than he was in the stuffy suit. When he geared up, he knew what he was doing, the risks, what their objective was. Things made sense. They weren’t decked out in their uniform greens. Given that the asset was being held in the city and it was the middle of the afternoon, they were all in plain clothes with their Kevlar underneath.

  He gripped the door of the SUV, watching the streets fly by.

  If this went well, they’d be on their way back to the airstrip rather than stay the night at the condo. Just as well. The sooner they wrapped up this op the quicker Vaughn’s life could revert back to simple.

  Standing on that terrace watching Carla’s silent tears had him considering throwing himself over the railing. He’d rather rush into a firefight than stand there knowing he’d made her cry.

  What the fuck was he supposed to do?

  “How about that drone support?” Grant asked via the comm unit. He and Riley were in the lead vehicle while the other two were with Vaughn.

  “Not going to happen,” Zain replied. His voice was a little distorted, probably because he was half a world away. “I’m sending you to the coordinates where the phone is transmitting from. It’s still in use. Looks like it’s a residence of some kind.”

  “We’re getting awfully close to not have a plan,” Vaughn said.

  Silence.

  Zain cleared his throat. “We’ve got no on-the-ground intel and no way to get a bird's-eye view. Your options are to lie in wait, or go in hot. The area where the asset is being held is an older area north of downtown. It’s residential. Established families.”

  “Then we go in, see what we can see,” Grant replied. “I’m looking at the map now. Nolan, I want you three to go a block north of the target and spread out. I want us in a circle around that location.”

  Vaughn glanced over and studied the map. Brenden was a sniper. He’d do best with a high perch. Nolan was probably their fastest guy. He needed to be on the ground. Vaughn would be fine wherever.

  “Brenden, you want to see if you can find a spot here?” He gestured at the screen.

  Brenden leaned forward between the seats. “Broad daylight? People are going to notice a bunch of Americans.”

  “Don’t let yourself be seen,” Vaughn replied.

  “Vaughn?” Grant broke into their conversation. “I want you on the street. See if you ca
n blend in.”

  “Because I’m brown?” Vaughn snorted. “I don’t know, boss. My brown ain’t really their brown.”

  “Do what you can.”

  This was going to be a cluster fuck, but then again, when did an op ever go smoothly?

  Moments later they pulled into the area. Grant and Riley’s vehicle turned right, staying on the southern side of their target area. Nolan turned left, taking a path around the building.

  There was a distinct difference between the downtown buildings and here. The area around the condo was new, chrome, concrete and glass. Here the older buildings still had scorch marks and shell damage in places though it looked like most had tried to hide the battle wounds.

  Funny enough, it reminded Vaughn of visiting family in Mexico on his dad’s side. They’d only made the trek south a few times. It was clear Vaughn and his brother weren’t wanted. But those trips were stuck in his mind as he studied the shop fronts and the apartments stretching up overhead.

  Many of the businesses were shuttered, windows dark or boarded up.

  “You know who owns a lot of these places?” Nolan said in a low voice.

  Vaughn turned his head. He had a bad feeling about that question. “Who?”

  “Ashton Khoury.” Nolan glanced at him and grimaced.

  Shit.

  Did Carla’s theory hold water? Was she right and all of this was about more than a quick payday?

  It wasn’t Vaughn’s job to figure that out. He had to help get Jared Moss back to the states. That was it.

  “This is us.” Nolan found a spot and parked along a side street.

  “Don’t die.” Brenden opened the back door and was gone. For such a big guy, he moved like a ghost. One moment he was there, then he wasn’t.

  “Should be a fun afternoon,” Nolan muttered.

  “Yeah, well, I question your use of the word fun. Check you later.” Vaughn opened his door and stepped out onto the street.

  The salty tang on the air was soured by a rotting aroma he could almost taste.

  Trash.

  Yeah, he’d read about the garbage washing up along the Lebanon shores. It had been one of the first internet searches about the area, plus it was one of the things Ashton had mentioned he wanted to tackle when he began developing his property in the area. It was a lot of talk as far as Vaughn was concerned. What mattered was what Ashton decided to do. He seemed like a good guy, but he hadn’t made his millions playing nice.

  Vaughn shoved his hands in his pockets. He’d opted for boots, jeans and a T-shirt under an open button down to disguise his vest and dual mob holsters under his button down. Given that they weren’t going in with their rifles, he wanted a weapon in both hands.

  He strode down the street opposite of the building.

  “In position,” Brenden’s voice whispered into Vaughn’s right ear.

  “It’s a lot of run homes.” Vaughn glanced left, noting the decades of wear.

  Nolan chimed in. “I don’t see a single business open.”

  “We got your theory, thanks,” Riley replied, his tone dry.

  What were these people hoping to accomplish by trying to milk money Ashton didn’t have? Wouldn’t they be better served by taking the fifteen mil Ashton had offered? That money could go a long way even if it was divided up two dozen different ways. That was life changing money for people who had very little to begin with.

  Unless they were after something else. Something more.

  God damn Carla. He had a sinking suspicion she was right.

  Vaughn ducked into a tiny courtyard formed by a partial wall and the two buildings on either side of a house set back farther off the road. The space was overflowing with flower pots and green, growing things.

  “Zain?” He couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d made a mistake. “Can you check in with Melody?”

  Zain’s voice was softer, possibly because he was half a world away. “She’s checking in every fifteen minutes. I heard from her five minutes ago. Why? What’s up?”

  “I am in position across from the house.” Vaughn leaned a shoulder against the wall and shifted so he could peer past a flower pot. “I think Carla’s theory holds water. I don’t think this has anything to do with money.”

  Grant’s reply was a standard line. “Doesn’t matter so long as we retrieve our asset.”

  One of the downsides of the jobs they were hired to do was that they often didn’t get the luxury of doing everything right. They rescued their people, they got out. If they could do good along the way, great, but that was not always the case.

  Vaughn hoped Ashton kept his word to make the lives of people better, not worse.

  “I show four possible bodies.” Grant didn’t sound happy about that news. “One or two of those could be in neighboring houses.”

  “You using that new Range thing?” Vaughn asked.

  “Yeah. Two are moving around, two are still. It’s too hard to tell what we’re looking at.”

  The minutes ticked by turning into half an hour then an hour. They held their positions.

  Vaughn had the closest view of the house in question. He didn’t see any movement inside the home where the phone was transmitting. The windows were covered, no one came or went. Every so often Grant reported on the minimal movements of those four people in the target area, but nothing changed.

  “I’m moving,” Nolan muttered. “How long are we going to do this, guys?”

  “We need some kind of confirmation he’s in there or we lose our only lead.” Vaughn didn’t like that answer, but they all knew it.

  What worried him was that Ashton and Carla only had Melody there to protect them. If they were targets, there was very little standing in their way. Vaughn knew if he said anything Grant or Zain would point out the kidnappers low-tech, how easily they’d tracked the people and so forth. But Vaughn still couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

  A door creaked open behind him and an older woman stepped out, speaking in rapid fire to someone on the phone. Vaughn stepped over the neat lines of pots, but something caught on his foot. He pitched forward as pottery crashed to the floor.

  “Fuck,” he spat and shoved to his feet.

  The woman shrieked at him and waved a broom he hadn’t seen before.

  “Sorry. Sorry!” He held up his hands.

  He didn’t know the language, but he didn’t have to.

  “Get out of there,” Grant snarled.

  “I’m trying.” Vaughn threw up his arm to protect his face and darted out onto the street.

  Two pedestrians, a man and a woman, nearly ran into him in their rush toward the woman.

  “There’s movement inside,” Grant said.

  The man on the street made a grab for Vaughn. He side stepped the man, hands up.

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” Vaughn said.

  “No,” Grant snapped. “Go for the asset. Now.”

  “Copy that.”

  Vaughn whirled and sprinted full tilt at the house door across the street. He dropped his shoulder and rammed it.

  The thing didn’t budge. It was solid wood, old and thick.

  A splitting pain erupted in his back and neck.

  He might as well have run into a concrete wall.

  “Everyone move in now,” Grant ordered.

  Vaughn hauled back and kicked at the door. The hinges rattled.

  “This fucker isn’t going to budge,” he said.

  The man he’d almost run into strode toward him.

  “Guys, this was a bad idea,” Vaughn said as he backed away.

  “Targets are on the move out the back. Four of them,” Grant said.

  Vaughn whirled. The homes were built up against each other like row houses. There wasn’t a way inside unless he figured out how to take the indestructible door down. If the targets were leaving, they weren’t coming out the front.

  He sprinted down the street and cut between homes at the first chance.

  �
�Fuck!” Nolan cried out in the headset.

  “Nolan, are you down?” Zain asked.

  Voices clamored in the background.

  “Ow! No,” Nolan growled. “This grandma fucking clothes lined me. God damn it.”

  Brenden’s deep voice cut through the chatter. “I have eyes on the target moving east.”

  “Heading your way,” Vaughn said.

  He didn’t know exactly where Brenden had gone, but that didn’t stop Vaughn from making a straight line away from the coast.

  “Targets are out of range. I’m trying to get to you,” Grant said.

  Vaughn pumped his arms, sprinting for all he was worth.

  A heavy grunt followed by a sharp crack sounded through the headset. Vaughn rounded a corner and saw Brenden on the ground. A pair of older women brandished more brooms.

  What was with the brooms?

  Brenden rubbed his head and pushed to his feet.

  “Where’d they go?” Vaughn turned, looking down each street.

  “I don’t fucking know,” Brenden snarled.

  “What’s going on? Where are you?” Grant demanded.

  “About to get skewered by a couple grandmas.” Vaughn bent and hooked his arm under Brenden’s, hauling him to his feet. “They’re gone.”

  One of the old women took a swipe at Vaughn. He held up his arm and half dragged Brenden away.

  They’d been out-played by a bunch of old women.

  SATURDAY. BEIRUT, LEBANON.

  Farez’s hands shook, and the gun felt as though it weighed a ton.

  That was a close call. Far closer than he’d have liked. If it weren’t for the others looking out for him, those men would have gotten the only leverage Farez had to make this deal.

  The cellar smelled of earth and spices. The small lantern didn’t reach the far corners of the room.

  Maier straightened. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Your wife might have saved us,” Farez muttered.

  Maier chuckled. “She saves me every day.”

  Jared Moss sat down on the hard packed floor, speaking in English, “I am never going to complain about a hotel ever again.”

  Farez glanced at Maier. The other man didn’t speak English. Farez had learned it as a young man working on sail boats, doing tours on cruise ships when he was younger. It was a skill he’d used to land him decent jobs through the years before doing what he’d always wanted—opening up a spice shop with his wife. A shop he no longer owned, and that was on the brink of shutting down.