No Remorse Part 3

Struggling to her feet, she kicked her bare heel into his face. Again and again. Blood spurted from his broken nose and mouth, but he was far from done. He got a punch to her ribs, and as she staggered with the pain, he scrambled backwards into the kitchen. Cursing her, spitting blood.

She reached behind the dresser and pulled out the Glock she had taped there, just as he reappeared with a carving knife. If he saw the gun he ignored it in his rage.

"You are so f.u.c.king dead, b.i.t.c.h."

He charged forward, the knife raised.

She fired three times. Centre of chest. No taking chances.

He fell, still gripping the knife. The tip of the blade slammed down into a floorboard just in front of her. She scrambled away from the pooling blood and took a few minutes to get back her self-control, before finding her cell phone.

The voice was croaky, woken from a deep sleep. "Wisebaum."

She spoke in short breaths, trying to ignore the shooting pain in her side. "Austin's dead. You were right, Derek. He came after me with a knife. Blamed me for everything. I tried to.... He left me no choice."

"Drive over here if you can manage it. Leave your garage remote under the mat. I'll arrange a cleanup team."

"Thanks. Now can we forget about having a soldier on the team?"

"They're not all like Austin, Tal. We must have a soldier. The director has mandated it. And anyway, I've already recruited a replacement. Judging by his track record, this guy'll be perfect."

8.

The Princess Aliya was berthed four hundred metres out to avoid a coral reef. From the upper deck, Ziad inhaled from his cigarette as he watched the helicopter Khalid was flying turn towards the Yubani Resort. Ignoring the men moving supplies along the jetty to the maintenance compound, he switched his gaze to the movement on the deck below, where a photo shoot was underway. He was always intrigued by the ability of the models to smile with a seemingly genuine warmth. Because when Ziad smiled, he felt nothing.

Bill Fanning joined him on deck, adjusting his cap against the burning mid-morning sun. "Strange how Sheik Khalid loves the helicopter, but hates the submarine," he said as the machine pa.s.sed over the crater ridge out of sight.

"Not so, Bill, when you understand the bad experience that His Highness has had. I doubt he'd even have this ship, except that his father signed it over to him six years ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't aware. You wanted to see me, Ziad?"

"Yes, Bill. I thought you could use a distraction now that your hard work is finished. Marianne is magnificent, is she not?" he said, leaning over for a better view.

On the deck below, Marianne was on her hands and knees, wearing nothing but her smile. Her face, with its Snow White complexion and brilliant blue eyes, was turned back over her shoulder towards the camera.

"Oh, well, of course. I... I've never seen a redhead from this angle before," Fanning said. "But... she seems so...young."

"Ah, perhaps because she has been shaved, Bill. But surely, with a Thai wife who looks about twelve, you would understand that young meat is the most tender?" He ignored Fanning's horrified glance and sputtered protests. "That's why Sheik Khalid has half a million subscribers paying thirty dollars a month on his website. Anyway, all our girls sign a form that says they're eighteen. Keeps the American censors happy." He gestured at the other models lounging by the pool, where three a.s.sistants were busy brushing hair, applying makeup and touching up areas the photographer wanted smoothed of hair. "Which one would you like, Bill? Any except Marianne, of course. The one you choose will remain with you while His Highness is entertaining his guests. As with previous banquets, you are required to stay on board the Princess Aliya."

"You're very kind as always, Ziad, but I'll be seeing Mai soon enough."

"What, you didn't enjoy the model from the last photo shoot? As I recall, you were smiling for days..."

Fanning turned away but said nothing.

"That must have been two months ago, at least. Two months without a woman? I couldn't last two weeks. You know, Bill, I haven't been home to Karachi to see my two wives in almost a year..."

Fanning turned to face him. "Oh. You must miss them."

Ziad shrugged, then laughed. "It's no wonder they're still both without child. But now I'm more concerned about you, Bill. You must exercise all your muscles. I insist! These girls are just playthings to indulge our fantasies. What we do with them is of no consequence." The ship's cat, Fez, was rubbing itself against his leg, meowing for attention. Ziad picked it up and stroked it until it proved its independence by wriggling out of his arms. He liked cats. They never cowed to anyone, and were clever at manipulating people to get what they wanted. That was a characteristic worthy of respect.

"Once we do the final inspection and sign off, I'll be out of your hair," Fanning said, "I trust His Highness is looking forward to the handover?"

"He inspected the resort and the operating theatres with Dr. Xi yesterday. He's happy to sign off on the resort itself, which leaves only the fortress. You will lead the inspection." Ziad flicked the remains of the cigarette into the sea.

"Excellent!" Fanning looked pleased. "It's been almost six months since His Highness has been underground. And he has never entered the fortress through the sea tunnel in the submarine. I would recommend that His Highness be able to operate the sub in an emergency, just as you have done."

Ziad chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair. "His Highness prays for Allah's grace. Captain Jergah has trained him on the submarine. Do not concern yourself about that, Bill..."

"You were saying that he had a bad experience?" Fanning said.

Ziad leaned forward for a better view of Marianne. She ignored him as she demonstrated her creativity with a jewel-encrusted khanjar, the dagger's handle enveloped by the folds of her womanhood. "b.i.t.c.h. See how she pretends not to see me. She's a tease." He would give her a lesson in respect later. "The Americans waterboarded him, Bill. Years ago, when he was living in Qatar after he'd been exiled. A mistake. They were after someone else. But they did not even apologise. His Highness does not forget. In the eleven years I have worked for him, he does not forget anyone who has done wrong by him."

"Goodness. How awful." Fanning put his hands on the rail and stretched. Shook his head and was silent for a moment. "Certainly, I understand."

"So Bill, now you must choose a girl. I'm sure she will make a pleasurable confinement."

9.

Picketing strikers were blocking the way when McCloud drove through Fort-de-France, the capital of Martinique. From their placards it appeared they were protesting stringent economic cuts impacting on social services in Martinique and other French overseas departments. Mac detoured through narrow streets that were like the movie set of a ramshackle French village. The Creole influence was evident in the street vendors, the spicy food, the peeling gaudy paintwork, and mismatching architecture, all of which gave the place a sort of New Orleans feel. He parked the Peugeot in the hospital car park, below a sign advertising Biere Lorraine, the "Beer of the Caribbean." The girl holding a bottle to her mouth had a mischievous smile.

The hospital was long corridors of featureless concrete and white tiles with dozens of patients occupying gurneys parked end to end. A pretty orderly flirted with him in French as she showed him to a patient garden flourishing with lush ginger and colourful hibiscus, a sharp contrast to the concrete buildings surrounding it. Patients wandered about or sat in wheelchairs, and many seemed to have bad coughs. Six nurses were enjoying a smoke break behind a clump of bamboo.

He spotted Bob in a wheelchair, his left leg supported by a frame. It wasn't plastered, which was a good sign. Elena, sitting next to him, gave Mac a weary smile. The strain of the last two weeks showed on her face and in her bloodshot eyes. She was an attractive woman of Italian heritage, and Sophia had inherited her dark hair, almond-shaped hazel eyes, olive skin and full lips. Elena and Bob raised their three children as good Catholics, and whenever Mac was invited to dinner one of the kids would always say grace before the meal. El's cannelloni, made to her grandmother's recipe, was Mac's favourite. Sophia, Wade and Maddie were all respectful and faithful, but even though Mac was Sophia's G.o.dfather, his experience fighting terrorists had hardened his cynicism about religion. Sometimes he even wondered whether there could be a G.o.d at all, the things people did in the name of their faith.

Being a midwife, Elena would probably want to get Bob out of hospital and home as soon as possible, so she could give him her own brand of TLC. She was Bob's rock, and Mac had seen her maintain a calm demeanour in even the roughest weather. He removed his sungla.s.ses and leaned down to kiss her cheek.

"h.e.l.lo, Mac," she said softly, taking his hands. "Thanks for coming. This must be hard on you, too."

He almost lost it at that point. El was such a kind, loving human being that even with her daughter abducted, she was worried about how he felt. That was beyond anything he could comprehend. His voice cracked. "She's been like a baby sister to me. It's like losing Cynthia all over again." He shook his head, unable to meet her gaze. "Sorry... This is not about me."

Elena reached up and put her arms around him. They hugged for a long time. When they separated, both had tears in their eyes. Mac turned to Bob. "And how's the patient?"

"Fine. I'm fine, Mac," Bob muttered, waving his hand dismissively. "You sure got here fast. What happened at the hearing?"

"I've left the Army."

"Oh, Mac, I'm so sorry," said Elena. "Or is that what you wanted?"

Bob growled: "Course it's not, El. Did your lawyer cut a deal, Mac?"

"More or less. Look, don't worry about me. Let's focus on finding Sophia."

"You'll keep." Bob eyeballed him for a moment.

"How are Wade and Maddie coping?"

Elena gazed up at the sky and took a deep breath. "Not well. Nonna is staying with them. Maddie's taken a few days from college, but she needs to be busy. Wade's not coping at all well. He's the same age you were when Cynthia was taken, so you can understand how he's feeling." She ignored the tears rolling down her cheeks and put a hand on Bob's leg. "Mac, we need to get him home, where I can look after him. This place is full of dengue fever and flu. The staff are barely able to cope. Marvin thinks Bob should stop playing amateur detective, and I have to agree. You're a teacher, Bob. We have two other children... You want them to lose their papa, as well as their sister?"

"Jesus, you think I don't care about that?" Bob said, turning to face Mac. "The FBI's not moving fast enough. It's just not a priority for them. And Sophia could be..." He choked on his words. "Look, Mac, the guy is here," he said. "I'm sure of it. I've found the Frenchman. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d who took the girls."

Mac crouched down. "Just hold on a second, Bob. First up, how about you tell me what happened. Then we'll discuss what we do next. I have a few days before I start my new job."

"The Gendarmerie want us to leave," Elena said, taking Bob's hand. "It was a mugging gone wrong, they believe."

"Bulls.h.i.t!" Bob said, pulling his hand away. "Let me tell him. I was in Juarez following up leads, right, when a mechanic at the airport tells me about this incident, two days after those a.s.sholes grabbed Sophia and Danni. He was on night shift, but there was no work. He was just sitting around, reading. Some time after midnight, he sees an unmarked 737 fly in and taxi to the hangar next door. Next thing, he hears some screaming or crying or something. So, he decides he's getting out of there, right? Figures it's drugs or something. But as he's leaving, out of curiosity he peers through a crack and sees guys with guns hustling young kids onto the plane. I show him a photo of Sophia, and guess what. He crosses himself. Starts crying. He'll never forget her face, he says."

That sounded a little suspicious. "He must have been close to get such a good look."

"Apparently the lights in the hangars are very bright. Like daylight. Have to be."

"Figures. Okay, so..."

"So, I traced the flight and it led here. Asked around at the airport. There's a pilot who lives here, name of Jean-Baptiste Bernase. A freelancer. Lives over the other side of the island, overlooking the sea. The house is isolated, at the end of a long gravel track. Wire fence around the house. He refused to answer my questions, even after I explained I wasn't a cop. Why would he do that if he had nothing to hide? This guy's French. He's got to be The Frenchman."

"Maybe. What other evidence have you got?"

Bob gave a snort. "Anyway, the night after I spoke to him, as I was walking along the esplanade after dinner, I heard a crack and felt something slam into the back of my leg. First I thought someone had thrown a rock. Then I felt the blood."

Bob handed the slug to him. It was a .22. Mac figured the guy was just warning him off. Mac rolled it in his fingers.

"Did the Gendarmerie interview him?"

"Briefly. He admitted to piloting the charter, but said he was just ferrying an empty plane for the owners. He voluntarily showed them inside the house, apparently. They found nothing."

"Without a warrant, they probably didn't look too hard."

"There was something else. When I first drove up to his house, I saw three young girls playing outside. They ran inside when they saw my car."

"His kids?"

"There's no wife, according to the cops. And these girls looked like they could be Latinas. Sophia and Danni could well be locked up inside that house."

10.

Sophia was trying to forget their troubles by playing volleyball on the beach with seven of the other teenagers, supervised by the guards who demanded they all took regular exercise. About two weeks earlier, the Princess Aliya had berthed at this place their guards referred to as the Yubani Resort, on the island of Andaran, and the kids had been herded off the boat along the long jetty to this camp, a fenced compound of wooden cabins and maintenance buildings with a razor-wire-topped chain-link fence on two sides, sheer cliffs to the east, and the sea to the north. Armed guards who spoke very little English patrolled day and night. There was no escape. The guards provided food and ordered them to shower at the same time after breakfast every morning. Cleanliness was apparently important to these people, whoever they were.

After a few days, the captives had settled into the routine. But there was always the unknown, hanging over their heads like a sword. They were fed well and treated kindly enough by their dark-skinned guards, except for one occasion when one of the boys, Greg, had gone for a swim and the guards had apparently thought he'd been attempting to escape. They had beaten him with bamboo sticks, with the other children crying, pleading with them to stop, until he lay on the sand b.l.o.o.d.y and bruised.

n.o.body went swimming after that.

Greg spiked the ball over the net into the sand. Erika called out the score: twenty-eighteen. As Sophia stomped through the sand to fetch the ball, she glimpsed four guards striding through the gate that divided their prison from the maintenance buildings. She felt her skin go cold and called a warning to Danni, who was a little way down the beach making a sandcastle with Carmel. The little eight-year-old had adopted her and Danni as subst.i.tute mothers. Danni grabbed Carmel's hand and they hurried over towards the group.

Two of the guards were carrying some fresh robes. The leading guard waved at them, pointed at the shower hut. "Shower! Shower!"

Sophia heard another sound and turned towards the ocean. A launch had appeared around the headland and was headed towards the beach. She sensed that something was about to happen. And they were being cleaned and prepared for the occasion, like lambs to the slaughter.

Around at the resort itself, Khalid smiled at his sister as they watched from an observation room above the operating theatre. On one table, a metal retractor held the recipient's chest open like a clamsh.e.l.l, exposing the withered, blackened lungs of a sixty-two year old man who'd smoked every day for the last fifty years. On the other table, Dr. Xi was removing the lungs from the donor's exposed chest.

"...And so the risks are significantly reduced because we are using lungs from a live donor," Dr. Xi explained as he made delicate incisions inside the recipient's chest cavity. "More importantly, in this case the donor has the same blood type and a compatible serotype as the recipient. This reduces the risk of organ rejection and the need for immune-suppression drugs, which often have serious side effects, including cancer and infections. And it is much better not to use anaesthetic drugs, of course, so as not to weaken the transplant organ."

"Excellent. Please continue, Dr. Xi," said Khalid. He turned to Rubi. "This is the solution we have been seeking for our father."

Rubi took his hand and squeezed it, and nodded, without taking her eyes off the operation below.

Dr. Xi continued his description of the operation. "As you know, the donor we are using today is a healthy fourteen-year-old Australian boy. Since we severed the spinal cord, he can feel nothing below the neck, although he is still fully conscious. He is listening to music while the ventilator a.s.sists his breathing. Now that we have extracted his lungs, we simply switch off the ventilator. He will die peacefully within seconds."

11.

Bob hadn't mentioned the two Dobermans, each probably fifty kilos of muscle and teeth. And he hadn't mentioned that the fence was electrified. That was what confronted Mac after he had tramped the last soggy mile along the wheel-rut track in the dark, in drizzly rain, with a pack on his back, binoculars around his neck, and his camera under his rain jacket. Along the northeast boundary, a one-hundred-metre cliff dropped to the Caribbean Sea, and he decided to take the scrubby track inland from the house to prevent the dogs scenting him. The rain would also reduce the dogs' ability to detect his presence, and probably ensure they remained inside. But after Bob's visit, the pilot would be sure to be on guard.

The rain eased. Through his binoculars he could see Bernase sitting at the table while the three girls served dinner. They stood while he ate. Their slight bodies suggested the girls were closer to fourteen than twenty-four, and Bernase's groping suggested they probably weren't his daughters. There was no sign of any older woman who might be their mother. The two dogs loped around the room as if they were on guard duty.

These girls could easily be captives, confined by the electrified fence, guarded by dogs, and controlled by threats to them or their families. He'd witnessed subjugated and abused women in Afghanistan, and he reminded himself that he mustn't a.s.sume that these girls would help him, even if they were slaves. Girls the Taliban had kidnapped to rape for entertainment sometimes suffered from Stockholm syndrome and fought their rescuers.