Private Rogue

Chapter 71

Joshua Floyd slept while I read the report Justine had sent. Beth Singer and her children had been abducted from the house on Pine Island, and so far we had no leads. I felt a deep sense of grief when I read Justine’s account of the deaths of Jim Taft and Roni Alvarez. They had given their lives to protect others. I didn’t need any further incentive to fight back but their deaths fired in me an intense need to bring Andreyev and all those responsible to justice.

The G650 hit turbulence and the sudden shudder shook Floyd awake. He yawned, stretched and smiled.

“That felt good,” he said.

We’d used the jet’s bathroom to wash and change into the clothes Dinara had brought us. Floyd was in blue jeans and a green sweater, and I wore black trousers, a black jumper and boots. Not my usual style, but at least they were clean.

“What have you got there?” Floyd asked, indicating the report.

“Can you think of any reason these people would be after you and your family?” I said, to avoid answering his question.

He shook his head. “Apart from revenge. But I’m just a pilot. If anyone had vengeance on their mind, I’d probably be pretty low on their list.”

I grimaced. Having read the report, I didn’t feel comfortable deceiving him any longer. He tilted his head toward me and his smile faded.

“I don’t know how to break this to you,” I began.

“No,” he said.

“Beth, Maria and Danny were taken. Two of my team were killed in an attack on the safe house.”

“No!” He hit the table that separated us.

“We’ll get them back,” I assured him.

“I’m sorry.” His tone softened. “I’m sorry about the people you lost.”

I nodded. So was I. Alvarez and Taft were excellent operatives, and I could feel the horror of their deaths in Justine’s words. “I appreciate that.”

“Can I read the report?” Floyd asked.

“Of course.” I handed it to him.

I’d been mulling over an idea since Justine told me about the abduction, and having read the report, it seemed like our only option.

“Captain Floyd,” I said.

He looked up from the document, his distress evident.

“I think I know a way to get your wife and kids back, but you’ll need to—”

He cut me off. “Anything. I’ll do anything.”

I nodded and picked up the satellite phone. I checked the list of useful numbers Dinara had included in the flight case and dialed the one I was looking for.

The call took a while to connect and, from the tones and clicks, it sounded as though it was being rerouted.

“Na provode,” a voice said. I recognized the Russian phrase people used when they answered the phone.

“Mr. Singer?” I responded. “I didn’t catch that. Must be a bad line. This is Jack Morgan.”

“Hello, Mr. Morgan.” Andreyev’s tone was hostile, and he wasn’t making any effort to disguise his real Russian accent under the syrupy Southern one he’d invented for Donald Singer.

“I’m on my way back from Afghanistan. I’ve found Joshua Floyd,” I revealed. “Can we meet when I get back?”

“Have you spoken to your team, Mr. Morgan?”

“Not yet,” I lied.

There was a pause. I could hear Andreyev breathing.

“I don’t believe you, Mr. Morgan. I think you’ve spoken to your team. I think you know who I am and what I’ve done.”

“OK, Mr. Andreyev,” I replied. “What’s it going to take for you to release Beth and the children?”

“I don’t want anything from you or Captain Floyd. I have everything I need. It’s just a matter of time. If that changes, I will let you know.”

Andreyev hung up.

Floyd looked at me expectantly.

“He doesn’t want to negotiate. Which means Beth has whatever he wants.”

Floyd clenched his fist. “What? There’s nothing she has that could have provoked all this. And why go after me in Afghanistan? I don’t believe she has anything.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said. “It might help keep your family safe until we get them back. And we will get them back. I promise.”