5

Sean had not gone hunting in almost a year. The breakup and resulting upheaval had restricted a lot of his abilities. The same had happened to his brother. He and Dillon had not managed to communicate at thought level for over nine months. But there was nothing to be gained by worrying. Either he could manage this or he couldn’t. Sean’s hope was that the life-or-death situation Landon probably faced would be enough to punch Sean through his emotional barriers.

He shielded himself, then compressed his awareness into the core point just below his navel. He took a hard breath. Then he extended.

The separation carried the familiar instant of near-death terror, then he was out.

Hunting.

The bodiless pursuit had never come naturally to Sean. Watchers learned this as a vital component of their duties. Dillon was the first ever to have come up with this while still an initiate. Even so, Dillon’s current emotional crisis had cost him this ability as well. Another issue they did not discuss.

Sean turned his attention to the room below where his body lay and instantly sank through the bedroom floor.

The living room was filled with dense anxiety, an acrid stench Sean could almost smell with nostrils he no longer possessed. The only people seated now were the senator and the geek handling the tracking equipment. The senator’s wife stood by the empty fireplace, twisting a linen handkerchief in her hands. A man in a sweat-stained shirt held up a small whiteboard to the senator, who said into the phone, “We need a proof of life.”

The response played through speakers attached to the NSA geek’s laptop. The voice was coppery from some kind of electronic disguise. “No questions, no deals, no cops.”

The geek held up a whiteboard of his own that read, 50 seconds.

The man standing near the senator had a gold badge and gun clipped to his belt. He used his stained sleeve to clear his board and scribble again. The senator read out loud, “We understand your request. We acknowledge—”

“Twenty million dollars. Have it ready by five. Any later, the kid loses a finger. Any radio tags or dye packets in the cash, the kid loses a hand. We even smell the cops, the kid comes back in pieces.” The connection clicked off.

The geek peeled off his headphones and said, “Nothing. I got as far as a cutout in Vancouver.”

One of the cops muttered, “None of this makes sense. Why go after a senator’s nephew?”

“He’s got a point,” another said. “All this planning, why not a billionaire’s son?”

“Because it’s not about the money,” the agent with the whiteboard said. He stepped to one side so the senator’s wife could join her husband on the sofa. “The money is a test.”

“That’s good,” the senator said. “Because we don’t have twenty million dollars. Not even close.”

Sean could hear every conversation in the room. Including that of the pair of grey-suited agents tucked just beyond the open door leading to the kitchen. He heard one of them mutter softly, “The senator doesn’t have a clue.”

The other said, “We need to alert the director.”

“I already made the call. The director’s on his way back from Utah. He’s three and a half hours out. We’re ordered to wait for his arrival.”

“Three hours is too long,” the first said. “You know what the next step is. Body parts.”

His companion did not respond.

“You’re CIA. This is your call. Call the attorney general or the chief of homeland. Somebody with the chops to prep the senator and his wife.” He moved in closer and hissed, “The instant the kidnappers make a demand other than money, this becomes a threat to national security. The director won’t be in charge anymore. This will be kicked up to a whole new level. You’re just anticipating the inevitable.”

“I don’t know,” the second man fretted.

“You want the senator and his wife to get the first delivery without any warning?” He jabbed the other man in the chest. “Make the call.”

Sean knew he had stayed too long, but the next step frightened him. Even so, he knew there was nothing more to be gained here. He turned and took aim as best he could, naming his destination with all the intent of a man carving stone.

Tracking the call.

One moment Sean was in a Georgetown parlor. The next, he hovered in the front yard of a derelict farmhouse. Two of the four front windows had cardboard taped over broken glass. Grey flakes of old paint littered the weed-strewn yard. Far in the distance, beyond a strand of stumpy pine, trucks rumbled along a two-lane highway. Directly in front of him stood a man and a woman. The man was dressed in what Sean instantly classed as terrorist chic. Black knit mock turtleneck and black gabardines tucked into black lace-up boots. The black canvas belt held four holsters for his Taser, phone, knife, and gun. Black wraparound shades. Olive skin and thick black hair swept straight back. Tall, slender, aloof, dangerous.

The kidnapper unplugged his cell phone from a tablet the woman held. Her appearance was the exact opposite of the man’s—short, dumpy, multiple piercings, faded T-shirt, hiking sandals, orange socks, rust-colored hair cropped so short Sean could see her scalp.

She wound up the cable and stowed it in the pocket of her rumpled jeans. “We good?”

The kidnapper had a slight accent, but Sean could not place it. “You are certain my voice was not recognizable?”

“See for yourself.” She swiveled the tablet around. “The synthesizer worked perfectly. And the call was routed all over the globe.”

He continued to watch the distant traffic. “Go tell Bennie to prepare the first item.”

“Bennie can get squeamish over stuff like this.” She was already moving for the house. “I’ll make the cut myself.”

As soon as Sean opened his eyes, Carey spotted his alarm. “What’s the matter?”

He swung his feet to the floor and sat up. The world spun so violently he thought he was going to be sick.

“Sean, what’s—”

“No time.” He stood too fast, sank back onto the bed, and groaned against the roller coaster behind his eyes.

John gripped his arm. “Can you walk?”

Walking was not the problem. Sean asked the professor, “Will you come with me?”

“Of course.”

Sean used John’s hand as support to stand and stay standing. “Step forward on three. One, two . . .”

Normally Sean needed a half hour or so to fully recover from a hunt. During those thirty minutes, he felt slightly disjointed, like he was still not knitted back together. He had never before transited immediately after. Shifting to the senator’s backyard left him feeling awful.

Dillon, on the other hand, looked positively giddy with excitement, which was typical for him. Nothing got Dillon’s motor running like the prospect of battle. He asked Sean, “You found Landon?”

“Yes. We have to hurry. They’re going to cut Landon.”

“I’ll take it from here, John.” Dillon replaced John’s hand with his own. “Let’s move.”

Sean warned, “I’m going to hurl.”

“Not on the uniform. They’re a pain to clean. Okay, let’s go.”

Sean swallowed hard and said to John, “Stay here. I’ll bring—”

“He’s got it, Sean,” Dillon said. “Let’s go.”