15
Three days left…
Four Seasons Hotel, Palo Alto
28 February
Wednesday, 4:15 a.m. local time
Aidan sat up in a wing-backed chair in Simone’s hotel room. Dressed in the hotel’s bathrobe, he sipped his coffee and watched Simone sleep, her breathing even and relaxed.
He was anything but.
While their lovemaking had been a welcome diversion, it hadn’t come close to calming Aidan’s adrenaline rush enough to let him rest.
Last night had started out for him in Lake Tahoe with getting Susan Pennington’s meltdown under control followed by the arrival of his package and a closed-door computer lesson and prep time meeting with Vance—one Aidan had promised to drill home again at six a.m. this morning, just prior to Vance’s first—and obviously emotional—communication with Lauren.
That done, Aidan had jetted back to Palo Alto, given Simone the school ring, and jumped right into the lengthy videoconference between him, Simone, and Ryan.
Simone had listened intently and absorbed everything Ryan explained to her in painstaking detail. Their discussion had included Aidan cluing Ryan in on the tweaks they’d made to his plan. Since the ring had originally been designed for a man—with the idea that Vance would be handling this data transfer—a little improvising had been necessary. The new plan was that Simone would wear the ring around her neck on a silver chain Aidan had purchased. If anyone asked, she’d say it was her boyfriend’s pride and joy and that he’d given it to her to wear as a prelude to a future commitment. Since she’d already told Lawrence Blockman she had a boyfriend, this would be no great revelation. Aidan had made sure the chain had an easy-open clasp so Simone wouldn’t be slowed down in her efforts. If everything went as planned, the Chinese would have what they wanted and the necessary time would be bought.
But Aidan wasn’t a fan of ifs.
He saw that Simone was outwardly calm and prepared. But he also knew her too well. The task ahead would be pushing her way out of her comfort zone. She was a consultant, not a technology specialist or a thief. Plus, this involved a whole new heightened type of pressure. The security of a human life, not a corporate entity, was planted solely in her hands. How could she not be a bundle of nerves?
So on two separate fronts, today’s events would be not only challenging but critical to the assurance of Lauren’s well-being.
Aidan checked his watch. Time to shower and get dressed. Soon, he’d be hopping on the Gulfstream and heading back to Lake Tahoe. He’d be way earlier than six. But it was imperative that he make sure Vance was both mentally and psychologically ready. Everything hinged on how Vance handled this call and the information he extracted.
Once the call was complete, Aidan would be on high alert as he waited for Simone’s call, announcing that she’d successfully completed her mission, that she was now outside Nano’s impenetrable walls, and that she was ready to transmit the sample of the stolen technology, as promised.
It was going to be a hell of a morning.
As if sensing Aidan’s scrutiny, Simone stirred, blinked, and opened her eyes, her gaze finding Aidan’s shadowy form even in the darkened room.
“I’ll be fine, chéri,” she said without preamble. Pulling the sheet up around her, she propped her pillows against the headboard and hoisted herself into a half-sitting position. “Stop worrying.”
“Not going to happen,” Aidan replied, standing to pour Simone a cup of the steaming coffee he’d ordered from room service and adding both cream and sugar to the cup so she could enjoy her coffee just the way she liked it.
He handed her the cup and gave her a quick kiss.
“You’re getting ready early.” Simone glanced at the clock. “Whose performance are you obsessing over—Vance’s or mine?”
“Both.” Aidan was as honest with her as always. “Vance is a novice at using our specialized computer and a nervous wreck about the conversation he’s about to have with Lauren. Not a reassuring combo. As for you, I’m not doubting you can pull this off. I’m just concerned about the unknowns, the things Ryan can’t prep us for. You have to double-and triple-check to make sure that Lawrence Blockman and his PA are away from their desks. You have to play the part of a burglar and an escape artist. All this while executing a challenging and delicate task.”
“Only that?” Simone teased, sipping at her coffee. She set down the cup, a small smile curving her lips. “You forget that my father is a magician. I learned quite a bit from him.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” Aidan still had to grin at the thought that Simone, the consummate corporate professional, had a successful French magician for a father. Jacques Martin might not be a household name like Houdini, but he was well-established and constantly employed. And, yes, Simone occasionally showed off the tricks he’d taught her when she was growing up.
“Honestly,” Aidan added, “what you learned from your father, not to mention my faith in you, are probably the only things keeping me sane enough to let you do this.”
“Good. Then stay sane.” Simone waved him off. “You go handle Vance. As you Americans say, I’ve got this.”
Aidan hesitated for a brief second, then nodded. “Call me the minute you’re outside Nano and can get a signal.”
Simone snapped off a salute. “Sir, yes, sir.”
Farmhouse
Slavonia, Croatia
28 February
Wednesday, 3:15 p.m. local time
Lauren was burrowed under the covers of her bed, trembling with an internal chill that had nothing to do with the weather. This morning things had been different. Rather than staying scarce when she was around, her kidnappers had been having a heated conversation right out in the open—in the dining area, directly attached to the tiny kitchen, where she was forcing down breakfast. Their backs were to her, but their words were fast, furious, and urgent. The fact that she couldn’t understand a word of what they were saying made it even worse. In addition, Bashkim was visibly tense and watchful as he stood beside her while she ate her meal, his gaze boring through her. The whole scenario was panic-inducing. And it made her imagination go wild.
Something was happening. Something that involved her. Had a ransom arrangement been made with her father? Or had they reached an impasse and now planned to kill her?
Their voices had eventually quieted, and Lauren had choked down the rest of her food, escaping as quickly as she could to her bedroom. Bashkim didn’t say a word, just strode along beside her, waiting until she was inside before shutting the door and leaving her.
An eerie silence had ensued. No voices. No footsteps. Nothing.
Lauren’s fear had mounted steadily, until now, when she was strung so tight she was prepared to snap.
A firm knock sounded at the door—and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
Jolting upright, she gathered the blankets around her in some ridiculous show of self-protection. “Yes?” she managed. She sounded half-dead, even to her own ears.
“You’re awake?” Bashkim asked from the other side of the door. What he really wanted to know was if she was decent. Quite the paradox—a respectful killer.
“I’m fully dressed,” she replied. And about as far from sleep as one can get.
The door swung open. Bashkim entered, carrying a tray of food. “You didn’t come out for lunch. You must eat.”
Why? So I’ll be a plumper corpse?
“Thank you,” she said aloud. She slid farther up on the bed and accepted the tray of food. There was no point in antagonizing him. And maybe if she asked in a respectful but tearful way, he’d fill in a few blanks for her. Whether or not she wanted the answers she sought remained to be seen.
“Bread and soup,” Bashkim supplied, still wearing that sober expression. “And a plate of kulen. You seemed to like it yesterday.”
Yes, she had. The spicy slices of sausage were the first thing she’d eaten all week that wasn’t bland and that had a pleasant bite to it. It wasn’t a pepperoni pizza with her family, but it would suffice—normally. Not today. And not now. She didn’t want food. All she wanted was answers.
She opened her mouth to speak, and then, seeing the hard set of Bashkim’s jaw, changed her mind. Refusing to eat would only piss him off and she wanted him as amenable as possible when she questioned him.
She had a little bread and soup and then chewed and swallowed three slices of kulen. It was all she could hold down. And it seemed to be enough for Bashkim, because he nodded, although his posture remained rigid, his mouth set in a thin, tight line.
“Very good,” he said, his tone belying his praise. He remained at her bedside, clearing his throat before he next spoke. And suddenly Lauren realized she wasn’t going to have to ask anything. Bashkim was about to fill in the blanks on his own.
Her heart began hammering in her chest.
“I’m going to leave you now,” he said. “Take a shower. Get dressed. Be ready.”
“Ready?” Lauren croaked out the word. “I don’t understand.” “I’ll be back to get you in a half hour. You’ll come with me. And you’ll do as I say if you want to live.”
Lauren’s insides turned to ice. “Please, Bashkim, tell me what’s happening. Please.”
“You’re going to talk to your father. On the computer. You’ll see him. He’ll see you. For five minutes only.”
Lauren started, stunned by this development, which was the last thing she’d expected. A videoconference. Her father had somehow managed to arrange a videoconference with her. How, she had no idea. But the very thought of seeing his face and hearing his voice made tears well up in her eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Bashkim frowned. “Don’t thank me. This is not a reunion. It’s an arrangement we made—for our purposes. There are rules. You’ll follow them. I don’t want to kill you. But I will—right in front of your father’s eyes—if I have to.”
Lauren didn’t doubt his claim for a moment. “What are the rules?”
“I’ll tell you when it’s time. Your job is to convince your father that he should give us what we’re asking for.”
“I don’t know what you’re asking him for. So how can I…?” The question slipped out before Lauren could stop it—and, seeing the thunderclouds now gathering in Baskhim’s eyes, she wished to God that she had.
“You don’t need to know.” His tone was as ominous as his expression—a further reminder to Lauren of what he was capable of. “Your father knows. Don’t ask any questions—or I’ll slit your throat.”
Lauren squeezed her eyes shut at the horrifying image, tears seeping out from between her closed lids. “I’m so sorry. I won’t ask anything. I’ll do whatever you say. Please, Bashkim, you’ve been so kind to me. I wouldn’t have survived this long without your decency and compassion. Please don’t hurt me. I’ll follow your rules exactly. I promise.”
The thunderclouds abated. “Good.” Bashkim took her tray and turned toward the door. “Thirty minutes.”
Starbucks
Northstar Drive, Lake Tahoe
28 February
Wednesday, 6:33 a.m. local time
Vance arrived early in order to stake out the table at Starbucks with the best Wi-Fi connection. He was desperately trying to find a semblance of control over a situation where none existed. Control was what he did best. But this wasn’t a business transaction. Lauren’s life was in his hands. Against his nature, he had to rely on Aidan and his team to take the lead, and do exactly what he was told.
After careful inspection, he selected the table near the back room and closest to the Wi-Fi access point. The door was labeled: Employees Only. Which meant he’d have the fast Internet connection and the privacy he needed. During the morning rush, Starbucks would be all hands on deck. None of the employees would be going anywhere other than to their stations to meet the needs of their coffee-craving patrons.
Vance got himself settled, then took a deep breath and fired up the special laptop that Ryan had prepared for this situation. He didn’t know the technical details, other than the fact that it wasn’t the normal Windows machine it appeared to be. Something about special keylogging and screen capture software that would secretly stream all data that came across the laptop back to the server belonging to Aidan’s team so they could see and hear everything that was going on.
He plugged in his headphones and waited for 7:10 to arrive.
It seemed to take forever.
Farmhouse
Slavonia, Croatia
28 February
Wednesday, 4:05 p.m. local time
Lauren swallowed hard as she settled herself behind the simple wooden table that served as a desk.
She was in an empty bedroom that she’d never seen before. The entire room was bare—walls, floor, and ceiling. The only items present were the desk, a wooden chair for her to sit on, and a laptop computer.
Bashkim was standing just off to her left, positioned where he couldn’t be seen on camera but where he could reach her in two long strides. He gripped the handle of a frighteningly long knife—one that could slit her throat in a heartbeat, and the tightness of his grasp was a reminder that he would do just that if provoked.
Lauren had now been given the precise details of what she must say. She must assure her father that she was being well-cared for by informing him that she was provided with three meals a day, with her own bedroom, use of a bathroom, and with the freedom to move about as she pleased. Not a word about the dwelling she was in, how many people might be here, or what language they might be speaking. Just her care and comfort—and the most imperative part—a plea for her father to supply whatever he was being asked for. If he didn’t cooperate, she was to assure him that she’d be killed.
She interlaced her fingers tightly in front of her, chilled despite the royal blue turtleneck sweater she was wearing. She’d chosen it carefully, hoping she looked as much like her usual self as possible. Sweater and jeans, her customary winter attire.
But no sweater could alleviate this internal chill.
“Just a few more minutes,” Bashkim told her. “The computer is on. Now we wait.”
Starbucks
Northstar Drive, Lake Tahoe
28 February
Wednesday, 7:10 a.m. local time
Vance connected to the videoconference using the link he’d been provided.
The next few seconds felt like an eternity.
Abruptly, he could see himself in the large window in the center of his screen. Thirty endless seconds later, another window appeared, replacing his larger image and reducing his to a smaller one in the lower right-hand corner. As the new center screen image took form, he could make out Lauren’s face and the bright blue sweater she was wearing. The vibrant color did nothing to ease his pain or his worry. Because what he saw wasn’t the exuberant, vivacious daughter he loved. It was a shell of her—a terrified young woman with an ashen, haunted look on her face and an equally determined attempt to conceal her fear.
Vance’s throat clogged up. But he knew better than to make reference to her deteriorated condition. “Hi, honey,” he began, fighting to keep his voice steady as he mentally counted down the few precious minutes he had.
“Daddy?” Lauren’s voice was high and thin. She hadn’t called him Daddy in years.
“Yes, Lauren, it’s me. We only have five minutes. So tell me how you are. I need to know. I’m sick with worry.”
“I’m okay.” The words were forced, and she tightened the grip of her interlaced fingers as if to anchor herself for the façade of a conversation they were about to have.
“They haven’t hurt you?”
She shook her head. “Not at all.” She sounded like a parrot, reciting a memorized speech. “They’ve been very respectful. I have my own room, I’m offered three meals a day, and I’m allowed to walk around”—a brief pause as she searched for the acceptable phrase—“inside the place where I’m being held.”
Fully aware of what Aidan wanted him to do, Vance jumped on his opportunity. “Offered three meals a day?” he reiterated. “Or eaten three meals a day?”
Lauren’s gaze darted quickly to her left. Vance didn’t have to guess why. One of the kidnappers, no doubt armed, was monitoring her every word and providing her with instructions on what she could and could not say.
Evidently, her eating habits was a safe topic, because Lauren replied, “I eat all my meals.”
Vance leaned forward, knowing that his daughter’s claim was pure bullshit. “You know how much I worry about your eating—specifically your non-eating when you’re under stress. I have to be sure you’re not starving yourself. So tell me what you mean by ‘all your meals.’ What have you eaten today?”
Lauren drew in a sharp breath and then continued with her recitation. “A hot roll and coffee for breakfast, and bread, soup, and kulen for lunch. It’s not dinnertime here yet, but last night I ate pasta and tomato sauce.”
Abruptly, her shoulders began shaking with sobs, as if the burden of all the pretense was too much for her. “They haven’t hurt me, Daddy,” she wept. “Not yet. But they will if you don’t cooperate. They said so. Whatever they want, please just give it to them. Please.”
She broke down completely, lowering her head and twisting a knife in Vance’s heart as he saw the streams of tears falling onto her clasped hands. “I want to come home. I don’t want to die. Please, please, make this nightmare end. Do what they ask. Give them anything. Bring me home.”
Vance’s soul was splintering into nothingness and he could barely breathe. “I will, baby,” he vowed hoarsely. “I’m giving them exactly what they want. You’ll be home with us soon. I promise. It’ll be okay.” His voice broke. “I love you, Lauren.”
“I love you, too,” she wept. “But I’m so afraid. Please, Daddy—”
The screen went dark.