It was Marcus. No question about it. Jack adjusted his field glasses. The man standing on the deck of the fishing trawler had a face altered by injury, but it was definitely Jack’s old friend. He was alive! If he had dared allow himself to feel, Jack might have wept tears of joy. But the next stage of the transfer was the crucial one and Jack had closed his mind to anything else.
The boat was idling a few yards out. In ten minutes it was to dock and a Land Rover was to drive onto the pier to pick up Marcus. He was to be brought to a parking lot that was under construction just to the left of the pier, where Jack awaited him. When Marcus was out of the vehicle and walking toward him, Jack would hit a button on his phone that would deposit the last of the ransom into the kidnappers’ account.
That was the plan.
All told, rescuing Marcus was costing Whit nine million dollars, plus the three million Jack had sent as a Christmas gift to Marcus’ wife. In Jack’s opinion, it was just a small down payment on what the traitor owed. Jack intended to make sure Whit paid in full.
Margo sat in a stiff brocade wingchair in Robert Whitbred’s small, sad living room. She had refused his offer to join him in a Christmas drink. He had been quite insistent but she was steadfast.
Even if she hadn’t been pregnant, she would not have had a cocktail with this man. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days and he reeked of liquor at ten in the morning. He was either on his way to being inebriated or had already arrived at that place. While he was managing a steely control, there was something disturbing in his eyes. He seemed deranged, Margo thought.
To be sure, Robert Whitbred was certainly nothing like the great man Kyle had led her to expect.
Whit returned with the water Margo had requested and sat down opposite her in an identical chair.
‘I’ll be frank,’ he said. ‘This tale you’ve told me about Jack seems hard to believe, Mrs McCarthy. I mean, disappearing from an airport, removing all traces of himself from your apartment …’ He stopped, shaking his head in disbelief.
‘I know it sounds crazy but that’s what happened. I was hoping Jack had been in contact with you, Mr Whitbred.’
‘Please, it’s Whit. And I’m sorry to disappoint you. I have no idea where he’s been, or even that he’d married. I haven’t seen or talked to Jack since the inquiry after his partner’s death.’
Lies were easy for Whit. It was what he was trained for.
‘What do you think happened to Marcus?’ Margo was watching him carefully, trying to gauge his veracity. ‘How was he killed?’
‘I’m afraid that’s classified,’ Whit said, not unkindly.
‘So you won’t help me?’
‘I’d like very much to help you. Jack meant the world to me. I just don’t know what it is you want me to do.’
‘I need to find Jack. No matter what he’s done or hasn’t done, I need to find him.’ Margo took a deep breath. ‘There’s something I need to tell him.’ Margo was almost brought to tears of joy at the very thought of the precious life growing inside her. ‘I think it would change everything.’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs McCarthy.’ Whit leaned forward and took her hands. ‘I have no idea where Jack is. But if you have a thought, please tell me. I will move heaven and earth to find him. You have my word on that.’
Margo studied Whit again. Kyle had sung the man’s praises. Maybe this is how CIA people behaved. He hadn’t expected her this morning, she reminded herself. So if he wanted to drink Christmas breakfast, she guessed it was his business.
Besides, she had no choice. He was her only link to Jack. He was the only person with the resources to mount a search for him and to help him rescue Marcus.
‘I want to show you something.’ Margo pulled out her mobile phone and scrolled down until she came to the photograph of Marcus holding the sign that read GET ME OUT.
She handed the phone to Whit.
The Land Rover carrying Marcus moved slowly down the pier toward the parking lot. Jack had watched as his friend was hustled into the back seat between two men. They appeared to be the ones from the photograph and he was sure they were armed, although no firearms were visible.
The usually crowded docks were quiet on this Christmas morning as the car began to slowly make its way down the pier.
The parking lot Jack had chosen for the handoff resembled a dinosaur graveyard, littered as it was with huge construction vehicles that had been abandoned for the holiday. Jack took up the position he had staked out earlier. He said a silent prayer that he had planned well. Marcus’ life, and his, depended on it.
At the stroke of noon, as church bells all over Charleston were proclaiming the joy of the season, the Land Rover entered the parking lot. Jack was nowhere to be seen.