Target For Ransom Page 2

  Back then, he’d taken her into his arms, comforting her. But that wasn’t an option now.

  Even if this was Diana, he had no proof she wasn’t involved in this up to her pretty neck. There were women in the world who wouldn’t hesitate to sell their child for an easy buck. He wouldn’t have thought Diana was the type to do that, then again, he’d never expected her to betray him either.

  “I almost did call the police,” she said in a low voice full of uncertainty. “I was so afraid. When I was instructed to call you, I figured I’d wait. You’re obviously not with the FBI anymore, but what do you think? Should we call the authorities? Will the kidnappers somehow know if we do?”

  He let out a heavy breath, dragging his gaze from the pure anguish etched in her features. Her fear was so real he was having trouble remaining objective.

  Call the police? Of course they should call the authorities. And the locals would likely turn right around and call in the Feds and maybe even the CIA once he explained that the guy on the webcam had spoken Arabic. Jordan knew from his time with the Bureau that going to the police was always the best way to ensure getting the hostage back alive.

  But this kidnapping wasn’t some random, spur-of-the-moment decision. If this woman was Diana Phillips, and she happened to be innocent, this elaborate setup reeked of something big. A master plan. The way they’d taken the girl and sent Diana a precise set of instructions, bringing the child’s mother to him, tightened his gut in alarm.

  There was far more at stake here than money.

  “Jordan, please. I know you don’t believe me, but I’m begging you to listen to what I’m going to tell you.” She stopped, drew in a deep breath, and let it out again. “I’ve been in the witness protection program for the past twelve years. Bryn is our daughter. I couldn’t risk breaking my cover to find you, until now. Bryn’s life is at stake, and that trumps everything. You have to help me.”

  He didn’t say anything, his mind grappling with the possibilities.

  “Jordan!” Her dark eyes flashed with anger. “Don’t you care about her at all?”

  He flinched. “How can I care about a daughter I don’t have?”

  She stiffened, her chin jerking up defensively. “Bryn is your daughter. Remember the explosion that nearly killed you? Nearly killed us both?”

  He gave a small nod. How could he forget the worst night of his life?

  “They told me I was unconscious for two days. The FBI was at my bedside when I woke up, and Agent Balcome told me I had to go into witness protection if I wanted to stay alive. I’m sure if you need proof, the FBI can dig it up for you.”

  He stared at her in surprise. Would his previous employer have done something like this without telling him? Yeah, maybe. Although he didn’t understand why.

  “I didn’t know I was pregnant until I was in the hospital,” she continued, glancing away. Because she was lying? He couldn’t tell. Twelve years ago, he’d believed Diana’s claims about not knowing what her uncle was up to, only to be proven wrong. Ironic to find himself in the same situation again. “When I discovered I was going to have our child, I wanted to find you, but I couldn’t break the rules of witness protection.”

  “Forget the rules,” he interjected harshly. “The Diana I knew would have told me.”

  “And put my daughter’s life at risk? No.” She spoke the word with emphasis. “Bryn’s safety had to come first.” Her expression turned grim. “Besides, it was better for you if I stayed away.”

  Better for him? He fought the insane urge to laugh. Yeah, right. Who was she trying to convince?

  “What can I say that will make you believe me? I already mentioned our dinner in Paris. The night Bryn was conceived.” Diana’s gaze implored him to remember and believe. “My mother is buried in the Prospect Hill Cemetery, under the name of Anna Phillips. But you know her birth name was Zara Haram Shekau. Her brother was Omar Haram Shekau. Omar found and killed my mother, and you killed him.”

  He stared at her in surprise. Was it possible she was telling the truth? He was afraid to believe.

  But he wanted to.

  “Fine, whatever.” Her tone was curt. “None of that matters now. I’m here because of Bryn. You don’t trust me? Fine, I don’t care.” Her eyes flashed with anger, and her voice shook. “I swear on my mother’s grave Bryn is your daughter. And she’s in danger. The kidnappers sent me here for a reason. We have to find her, Jordan. Before it’s too late.”

  He didn’t know what to say or what to believe. The information Diana had provided was persuasive. Especially their night in Paris. There was no easy way for anyone to know about that, and crazily enough, he was beginning to believe her.

  Still, it wouldn’t hurt to check with his old boss at the FBI. Ray Pallone could set him up to talk to Agent Balcome. If Diana Phillips had really been placed in witness protection, someone had better give him some proof.

  “It may already be too late,” he warned, unwilling to sugarcoat the truth.

  “No!” She spun away, but not before he noticed the glimmer of tears. When she stumbled toward a chair, he took a step toward her as if to catch her, but then pulled himself up short. “I don’t believe it. I’d know in my heart if Bryn was dead. God wouldn’t take her from me. From us. She’s alive. We just need to find her.”

  A lump formed in the back of his throat. What if she was right? What if that girl in the video really was his daughter?

  He didn’t want to be so gullible, but the tiny seed of hope had been planted in the center of his heart just the same. He capitulated, because really, what choice did he have? “Okay, I’ll call my FBI contact. See what I can find out.”

  “Thank you.” Her dark eyes glistened with gratitude. For a moment, he was reminded of the first night they’d met all those years ago.

  The phone on his desk rang, jarringly loud. The screen indicated the number was blocked, but that wasn’t surprising. He hit the recording device attached to his phone, then punched the speaker button so Diana could hear the conversation. “Rashid.”

  “Jordan Rashid?” The voice was distorted by a mechanical device. “I have a very special request for your services. If you wish to see your daughter again, listen very closely to my instructions.”

  He’d been right all along—this wasn’t about money. “I’m listening.”

  “The Lebanese authorities have arrested a Syrian by the name of Ahmed Mustaf who is currently being held at Camp Bucca. There are plans to move him to a new location within the week. There is a flight to Lebanon leaving tonight. We demand you go directly to Lebanon to release Mustaf from prison prior to his transfer. Once he is safe in our hands, I will arrange for your daughter to be returned home.”

  A shiver of alarm rippled down his spine. Ahmed Mustaf was at the top of the terrorist most-wanted list; in fact, Mustaf was suspected of supporting a terrorist cell operating here in DC. The same terrorist cell Jordan’s FBI contact had recently asked him to infiltrate.

  He didn’t like the coincidence. Not one bit.

  “I want to speak to Bryn, to know she’s still alive.” He gripped the phone, praying they’d put Bryn on the line just for a moment.

  “I will call you back within the half hour with another webcam address where you will be able to see your daughter,” the mechanical voice intoned.

  “No! A webcam can be fixed. I want to talk to her while she’s on camera.” There was a long pause. “Do you hear me? I’m not doing anything for you until I know I’m speaking to my daughter and that she’s safe.”

  “A brief communication will be arranged.”

  “Good.” The tightness in his chest eased. His hostage negotiation skills were rusty, but he did his best to pull them from the depths of his memory. “I also want regular communication with Bryn moving forward.”

  “No. After this, all communication will cease until we know you’re in Lebanon.” The line went dead.

  Jordan looked at Diana’s pale face and knew that he’d do what
he was told if that meant saving the life of an eleven-year-old girl.

  A child who he was beginning to believe may very well be his daughter.

  Chapter Two

  September 9 – 2:23 p.m. – Baltimore, MD

  Bryn tried to control her involuntary shaking. Never in her life had she been so afraid. A blindfold covered her eyes, so she strained to listen. Silence. She sniffed and licked the corner of her mouth, tasting blood. Her cheek throbbed with pain.

  She’d been raised to believe in God. Had prayed since these men had taken her. But her faith was wavering.

  She’d tried to use the self-defense and Tae Kwon Do punches and kicks her mother had taught her to get away from the men who’d taken her, but they’d held her so tight she couldn’t move. Tears pricked her eyes.

  A door slammed and she jumped, a whimper escaping from her throat before she could stop it. She tried to relax so the bonds around her wrists wouldn’t hurt so much. Swallowing hard, she fought the urge to cry.

  She wanted her mom. She really, really wanted her mom.

  “He is gone. I untie you.”

  The woman, the one who identified herself Meira, spoke in a low, hushed tone. Since this nightmare had begun, the woman who took care of her, who kept those icky smelly men away from her, was the only one she wasn’t afraid of.

  At least, not yet.

  “Th-thank you.” Her arms fell loose, the muscles in her shoulders jerking painfully. Meira took one arm and then the other, gently massaging the soreness away. When she finished, Bryn sensed she had moved away.

  “I bring food.”

  Bryn nodded, wishing she dared to yank the blindfold from her eyes. But the first time she’d tried to do that, Meira had shouted at her to stop. Bryn was so afraid the horrible men would come back that she decided it was better to leave the blindfold in place.

  At least her wrists were no longer tied to the back of the chair. Sitting in the dark could have been worse. From what she could tell, Meira shared the room with her. If she was hungry, thirsty, or had to go to the bathroom, Meira was there to help, reassuring despite her broken English.

  This nightmare would be so much worse without Meira.

  “Eat.” Meira gently pushed a bowl into her hands.

  Bryn had no idea what was in the bowl, but the contents tasted similar to the oatmeal her mother sometimes made. It was blah, but not awful. Carefully using the plastic spoon, she took a bite.

  At first Bryn had been afraid to eat, fearing they’d poison her. She and her mom had poisoned some mouse food and left it in the garage to keep the little buggers from building nests in her mom’s car engine. She’d mentioned the idea of poison to Meira, but the woman hadn’t seemed to understand. Eventually, Bryn had gotten so hungry her stomach had ached, so she’d caved in, eating what they’d given her.

  It wasn’t Mickey D’s, but the thick gloppy stuff hadn’t made her sick either.

  How long would they keep her? As she ate, questions zipped through her mind. The men wanted something from the guy named Jordan Rashid. They’d claimed he was her father, which only proved they were total wackos. Her mom explained that her dad had died before she was born.

  Had they confused her with someone else? She’d only heard one of the men speaking English, the other didn’t seem to, so she wouldn’t be surprised if they’d messed up and grabbed the wrong kid. Maybe they’d picked her house by mistake. After all, speaking English is different from reading it. Seriously, how smart could they be?

  Idiots.

  She heard a rustling sound. “Meira?”

  “Yes?” The woman came close enough that Bryn could smell the hint of some spice on her skin.

  Bryn hesitated, trying to figure out what she could say to convince her captor to help her. She wasn’t stupid, she’d read lots of mystery books. There was one by Lois Duncan where these bad guys kidnapped a girl, keeping her in some dark scary basement, promising to let her go when in reality they had planned on killing her.

  This was worse than a stupid story. Or a movie on TV. This was real.

  Bryn didn’t want to die.

  “What you need?” Meira asked.

  “Do you believe in God?”

  There was nothing but silence for a long moment. “Yes, I believe in Allah.”

  Bryn wasn’t sure if Allah was exactly the same as God, the way she’d been taught, but she found some comfort in the woman’s answer.

  “Why?” Meira pressed.

  “Are you going to let them kill me?” Bryn asked bluntly. Meira didn’t answer, and Bryn blindly reached out, groping and swiping at air. “Well? Are you?”

  “You will not die.” Meira’s voice was so quiet Bryn could barely hear her. Was she afraid the men would overhear? “Soon, they will let you go.”

  Bryn couldn’t believe what Meira was saying. Panic twisted her stomach, and she thought she might throw up the gloppy food. Meira seemed nice enough, but she also did whatever those men told her to do. If they said tie Bryn up, she did. When they hit her, Meira didn’t stop them.

  What else would Meira do?

  “Meira, listen to me. We can get out of here,” Bryn whispered. “If you and I work together, we can escape. We’re still in the United States, right?” Meira didn’t answer, so she continued, “Do you know what it’s like to live here? You would be free to do whatever you wanted. You wouldn’t have to do what those men tell you to do. I promise I can help you.”

  Silence. Bryn held her breath, wondering what it would take to convince Meira to help her escape. As much as she wanted her mom to come, she didn’t think the police would be able to find her. She’d been taken from her house, put in a car, and had driven for what seemed like forever. Who knew what state she was in now? Probably not North Carolina, that’s for sure.

  Meira was her best chance of getting out of here. She just had to help. Bryn was afraid they didn’t have much time.

  She needed to escape before the icky men did something worse than slapping her.

  * * *

  September 9 – 2:49 p.m. – Washington, DC

  Too anxious to sit, Diana paced the small confines of Jordan’s office, the seconds passing by with infinite slowness as he made the phone call to some guy named Ray Pallone who was fairly high up the chain of command, reporting to the director himself, Clarence Yates. When forced to leave a message with some lackey, Jordan made a second call, demanding to speak to Agent Tony Balcome.

  “Unavailable? For how long?” Jordan’s gaze locked with hers, the call on speaker so they could both hear.

  “That’s classified information.”

  “Put me through to Clarence Yates,” Jordan said firmly.

  “I’ll leave a message with him to call you.” The guy on the other end of the phone sounded as if he wouldn’t budge.

  “Thanks.” Jordan disconnected from the call. “That was a dead end.”

  “Once you get a chance to talk to Tony Balcome, you’ll know I’m telling the truth.”

  Jordan’s dark gaze held hers for a long moment, then he made another call, again putting it on speaker. “Hey, Sloan. You know that latest case Yates dropped in my lap? Well, it’s already gotten significantly more complicated. I’m going to need some help on this.”

  “You may want to call Sun Yin, she’s a better linguist than I am,” Sloan pointed out. “Unfortunately, I’m still tied up with our other case.”

  Diana didn’t care about any other case, all she wanted was to find Bryn. She was about to interrupt when Jordan held up his hand in warning.

  “Fine, ask Sun to call me, ASAP. We don’t have any time to waste.”

  “This isn’t helping,” she pointed out the moment he disconnected from the line. “We can’t keep wasting time.”

  “We need a decent plan,” Jordan pointed out in a maddeningly reasonable tone. “Before I fly off to Lebanon, I need to confirm Mustaf is really being held at Camp Bucca.”

  “Why would they lie?” she demanded harshly. “The
more time we waste, the less likely they’ll keep Bryn alive.”

  Jordan scowled, then dropped into the chair behind his desk, his fingers flying over the keyboard. She edged closer, trying to see what he was doing. When he pulled out his passport, she had the insane urge to pluck it from his fingers, dreading the idea of him leaving her.

  “There, happy?” He gestured to the screen. “I’m booked on the next flight out of DC to Lebanon just as the kidnappers demanded. Although what I’ll be able to accomplish from that point onward is anyone’s guess. It’s not exactly like I can walk up to the prison and demand they release Mustaf.”

  “I know.” She forced the words past her tight throat. Even if Jordan tried to meet the kidnappers’ ransom, there wasn’t any guarantee that he’d succeed. In fact, she knew very well the odds were weighted toward a dismal failure.

  Her knees went weak, and she staggered around the corner of his desk to drop into the nearest chair. Dear heaven, what would happen if Jordan couldn’t free Mustaf? Were they crazy to even try? Maybe they should focus on finding out where the hooded men were holding Bryn.

  Jordan’s phone rang, and he hit the speaker button again. “Rashid.”

  “Jordan?” a female’s voice shimmered over the line. “I understand you need linguistic assistance?”

  “How quickly can you get here?”

  “I’m on my way, but traffic is nuts, may take upwards of thirty minutes.”

  Diana didn’t know who Sun Yin was but hoped the woman could help them find Bryn. She wondered if Jordan was involved with someone these days. She’d never come close to marrying, but surely Jordan had moved on. What did it matter? Nothing mattered except her daughter.

  I’m coming, Bryn. Be strong, baby, I’m coming.

  There was a faint beep indicating a new mail message. She jettisoned out of her seat and scrambled around to see Jordan’s computer screen.