Bwana and Roger were in Hanoi when they got the message from Zeb.
They were working with the Vietnamese police forces, tracking down an international drug runner. They had finally captured the criminals and were interrogating one of them, when their cells buzzed.
They were in a holding room along with Hanoi Police Chief Cam Van Lanh. Just the three of them and the bearded man handcuffed to a table.
Phu Duc was the drug lord of Southeast Asia. He used women and children as couriers, transporting drugs in their stomachs.
He was vicious and ruthless, one of the most wanted men in the world.
Bwana and Roger had picked his scent up in Mexico and tracked it back to Vietnam.
In the steamy jungles of that country, they had destroyed several cook shops that Duc ran and put down several of his men.
Along with the Hanoi police, they had cornered the criminal in his mansion, deep in the remoteness of the country, and in a violent shootout, they had captured him.
They had just started interrogating him when Bwana took Zeb’s call. After hanging up, he whispered in Bear’s ear.
‘Problem?’ Van Lanh looked at Bwana and then Roger, sensing something behind their ominous expressions.
‘For him.’ Bwana jerked his head at Phu Duc, who sat insolently in his chair. ‘Sir, if you leave us alone with him, you’ll get all the intel you want.’
Van Lanh knew them well. He knew their methods. Time was critical since Phu Duc was holding back on a major shipment, one that involved fifteen girls, captured from Vietnamese villages.
‘We can’t—’ the police chief protested.
‘You can’t, sir. We can,’ Bwana told him.
‘He cannot be marked,’ Van Lanh whispered and left the cell.
‘You think this is Hollywood?’ Phu Duc sneered at them. ‘There are laws you have to follow. Rules.’
Bwana approached him, the expression on his face making the hardened criminal flinch.
Bwana grasped his hair and smashed his face brutally on the steel table. ‘In my world, laws are for those who obey them.’
They left two hours later, after Phu Duc had spilled the details of his entire operation.
It was raining. The sky was dark, just the way they felt. The air smelled fresh and the streets were alive with traffic and vendors and officegoers and homemakers, despite the downpour.
They sat in the cab silently, looking out as the rain splattered and ran down the windows, blurring the world outside.
‘If anything happens to them…’ Bwana rumbled and didn’t complete his sentence.
He didn’t have to. Roger knew. If the twins were harmed in any way, or much worse happened to them, blood would be shed.
London was five hours ahead of New York, and it was one am when Bear and Chloe got Zeb’s call.
They were geared up in armor, protective helmets and headpieces. They were with five elite cops and were driving to East London when Chloe took Zeb’s call.
She listened. Asked one question, gave an answer, and hung up.
‘Beth and Meg.’ She flexed her fingers, keeping her voice low and steady.
‘What about them?’ Bear asked.
‘They’ve been kidnapped.’
They drove up in two vehicles, a couple of streets away from their target house.
The house, a rowhouse in Forest Gate, was believed to be occupied by a terrorist cell. The Agency had heard of them when they had taken down a cell in Iraq.
Bear and Chloe had flown to London and had shared their intel with Sir Alex Thompson, head of MI6. Sir Alex had brought in MI5 and Scotland Yard, and a joint operation had been authorized.
Bear and Chloe had insisted on joining the takedown team, a request that the MI6 chief had readily agreed to.
Bear and Chloe brought up the rear of the second team, running silently in the dark night. Rows of white-doored red-brick houses. Trash cans in front of several them. Cars parked in driveways.
The unique smell of London in the air. The sky, orange from streetlights. Pools of water on the street from a recent shower.
The team leader signaled and the groups entered their target street.
The house they were seeking was in the middle of a long chain of residences. It had a dirty yard. Beer cans and bottles glinted in the light.
Another signal.
Bear and Chloe’s team, just the two of them and a counterterrorism officer, went to the rear, jumping across neighboring fences, ducking below windows, and entering the backyard. It was small. Paved. It had a door to the house, one curtained window.
They waited.
The officer raised his hand when the order came over his headpiece.
He kicked the door down and tossed a flash-bang, crouching, while Bear and Chloe covered him.
And then the night exploded.