Rescuing Emma (Special Forces: Operation Alpha) Page 6

  Tex glanced down at his cell phone. The caller ID revealed a number he hadn’t seen in some time. Clicking the green button, he answered. “Why hello, you tall drink of hot chocolate. How the hell are you, Skyscraper?”

  A short, deep chuckle was heard on the other end. “I could be better, my friend.”

  Tex picked up on the serious tone in Marcus Dubose’s voice right away. “What is it? Something happen to Outlaw?”

  “Naw, man. His lady.”

  Tex stifled a snort. “Outlaw found himself a woman? No kidding? Well, it’s about damned time—”

  “We think she may have been abducted,” Skyscraper continued. “It’s been about four hours since anyone’s heard from her. That’s a four-hour head-start, man.”

  Tex leaned forward in his chair. “And why do you think she was taken? Where are you?”

  “We’re in London, at the Corinthia Hotel. The State Department put us up for the weekend after the PR ceremony for Ambassador Rand.”

  “I saw that on the news. So you guys were the team, eh? I kinda figured. Wolf and his crew were just by yesterday preparing to leave on a trans-Atlantic transport tomorrow.”

  Skyscraper didn’t confirm Tex’s question, but immediately returned to the subject. “Outlaw is checking security cameras with Eastwood now. We should have some information soon. In the meantime, he wants you to trace her cell phone. Her friends have been trying to call, but no answer even though it’s still on. It’s not going directly to voicemail yet. Her name is Emma Lewis and she’s from DC. This is her number.” He rattled off the number to Tex.

  “Okay. I’ll start there. Call me back as soon as you have more. And Sky?”

  “Yeah.”

  Tex swallowed. “Tell Outlaw…” His words trailed off. He knew the hell Nate had gone through with Jessica. He knew he was the only person Nate had confided in not long after the man’s life fell apart. It was in Tex’s house one winter evening after sharing a case of cold beer together when the painful story tumbled out of Outlaw’s mouth followed by a round of vomiting. The night ended with Tex helping Outlaw into the spare bedroom where he slept it off. “Tell him I’ll do everything I can to help him find Emma.”

  Chapter 8

  “There!” Nate pointed at the screen. The hotel manager, Giles Frobish, had been reluctant at first to cooperate with the rough-looking Americans, that is, until Nate made a call to Ambassador Rand’s office. A quick explanation transpired, and he handed off the phone to Mr. Frobish who swallowed hard, replied ‘Yes, sir,’ twice, and hung up. After that, he’d opened the door to the security office and invited Nate and Eastwood inside.

  A wall of monitors sat behind a desk with a series of computers attached. The manager typed in his password and pulled up the footage recorded overnight. The screen revealed Emma stepping off the elevator around 3:00 a.m. She walked to the lobby and sat down on the couch. A second camera aimed at the front desk showed the night clerk and beyond that, the elevators where a man entered the frame from a back hall. He stood near the elevators smoking a cigarette while alternately surveying the front desk and then Emma sitting in the lobby. Nate knew his face.

  “Goddammit, that’s al-Waleed! What the hell is he doing here?” Nate slammed his hand down on the table.

  “This can’t be a coincidence, Outlaw,” said Eastwood. He looked at his leader, jaw clenched. “There’s no way he just happens to be here in this hotel.”

  Mr. Frobish sped the reel up. Emma removed her contacts, put on her glasses, and after a bit, stood, walking to the elevator. Al-Waleed was not there initially while she waited for the elevator car to open. He’d moved out of frame when she was sliding the dark-rimmed glasses onto her face.

  Nate’s nostrils flared as he watched her step into the elevator and turn, facing out. The doors began sliding closed when al-Waleed rushed forth, sticking his hand through the open space to stop them. They re-opened and he stepped inside. Nate could see Emma smiling as she turned her face to the man. Her mouth was moving, but he couldn’t hear her words. The security cameras didn’t record sound. It looked like she was asking him which floor because she reached out to push a button. The doors slid closed.

  “Where’s the footage for her floor?” Eastwood asked the manager.

  “Hold on,” said Mr. Frobish. He tapped a few keys.

  The image for the seventh floor showed the elevators at the same time in which Emma had entered below in the lobby. The doors never opened on that floor, at least, not for another forty minutes when one of the seventh-floor residents left to go down.

  “Check all the floors, Frobish. She had to get out on one of them.” Nate barked the order, feeling sicker by the minute. He looked at Eastwood. “Something is wrong, Harry.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I’ve gotta get Tex on this. I need this bastard tracked. And we need to inform the General. Al-Waleed’s being here means something is going on. Goddammit, if he’s hurt Emma, I’m going to kill him.”

  Eastwood nodded. “I agree, but we don’t know yet if he’s got Emma.”

  Nate turned to him. “You’re the one who just said this can’t be a coincidence, Harry!”

  The man held up his hands in surrender. “I know, man. I’m just trying to remain open until we have concrete proof he has her. That’s all.”

  Mr. Frobish interrupted the quarreling men. “You might want to see this.”

  Nate and Eastwood both looked at the screen.

  “It’s the basement level, where we keep the laundry.” He pointed.

  On the screen, the elevator doors opened in the dark corridor. Al-Waleed stepped out backwards pulling an unconscious Emma by her arms, dragging her across the floor. When they cleared the doorway, al-Waleed looked around, grabbed a rolling laundry bin and wheeled it next to her. He bent down, lifted her up, and dropped her onto the dirty laundry. He covered her with a load of towels and sheets and pushed the bin down the darkened hallway out of the camera’s range.

  “Where does that hall go?” Nate asked, glaring at the screen.

  “Out to the loading dock behind the hotel.” Mr. Frobish answered, worry written all over his face. “Is this man a terrorist? Did one of my guests just get abducted by a terrorist?” He looked sick.

  Nate noticed the man’s increasing panic. “He’s the leader of Black Jihad, and that information doesn’t go beyond this room, Frobish. You are not to speak to anyone about this, not with any of the staff, no one. The Ambassador is on this already and he and Scotland Yard will be here shortly. You show them what you showed us.”

  “I understand,” said Frobish who straightened his tie. The man looked green around the gills. Nate felt the same.

  He hit the speed dial on his cell phone. It rang twice before Tex answered.

  “Outlaw, tell me you have more information.” Tex’s voice came over the speaker.

  “Al-Waleed has her.”

  “What? Are you sure?”

  Nate paced. “Security footage showed him getting into the elevator with Emma. He knocked her unconscious and secreted her out through the basement. Please tell me you’ve got something from her cell phone.”

  Tex heard the pain in his friend’s voice. “I do. Cell towers pinged her number at the port in Dover.”

  “Shit,” Nate barked. Thinking hard, he paced. “He’s taking her to France. Intelligence on Black Jihad shows they have a cell somewhere outside of Paris. He’d go there. I’m sure of it. And he’ll be traveling by car. He can’t risk public transportation with a hostage.” Nate looked at Eastwood. “Find out what Ferry runs there and where to.”

  “It’s the Calais Ferry,” said Mr. Frobish.

  Both men looked at him expectantly.

  “Well?” Eastwood prompted, his green eyes narrowing.

  Frobish cleared his throat. “The Calais Ferry runs several times a day between Dover and Calais. It’s about an hour and a half each trip and the trip from here to Dover proper is nearly two hours, give or take traffic.”

  “Damn
. That’s his head start right there. We’ll need help. Eastwood, inform the guys. We need to go.”

  Emma came to slowly. The first thing she noticed was that her mouth was dry. She tried to lick her lips, but something was in the way. She attempted to remove the barrier, but her hands would not cooperate. Full awareness sunk in as she realized there was tape over her mouth and her hands were tied behind her back. Confused, she opened her eyes, looking around at her surroundings.

  She was in the back of a small commercial truck lying on a tarp that smelled like fish. The truck was moving, rocking her back and forth. Emma struggled to sit up which wasn’t easy with her hands behind her back. She managed to use her head and shoulder against the side wall to scoot into an upright position. That’s when she noticed her ankles were also tied.

  Shaking her head to clear away the cobwebs, she searched her memory. The last thing she remembered was standing in the elevator. She was going up to her room. And there was a man in the lift with her, a man with dark hair wearing a dark suit. When he’d entered, he walked to the back of the car leaning against the rail. It wasn’t an ideal situation. Women everywhere know not to ride up an elevator with a strange man, but he’d jumped in at the last moment. There wasn’t anything she could do but hope he wasn’t one of those men for whom women should be afraid. She’d been wrong. A vague memory of a hand coming around from behind covering her mouth and nose teased her thoughts. She’d been drugged. Chloroformed, most likely. Dread filled her gut.

  Fuck!

  Now she was tied up inside the back of a truck—God knows where—all because she’d run from a man who’d been nothing but kind, sexy, and incredibly giving in bed. All because she didn’t know what to think about Nate. He wasn’t her usual type. He was a soldier, a beefcake by any woman’s standards, and not the collegiate type she was used to. She was a nerd and according to her own fucked up thinking, only another nerd would ever be attracted to her, not someone like Nate. But he had been, at least, for the night. And the things he’d done to her body, well, that was pure magic and not like anything she’d ever experienced before. And it scared her.

  Dammit, Emma! she chastised herself. You coward. Now look where you are! Nate wasn’t scary. This is scary!

  Glancing around for clues, she found none. All she saw was a tackle box. There might be something inside she could use as a weapon. A hook. A fishing knife maybe? Fighting back panic, she scooted closer to the tackle box, turning her body so she could open it. Fumbling with the latch was hell. Emma could unsnap it, but she needed to be able to lift the lid, and then turn her whole body to look inside. It took several attempts at pushing it up, but finally, she applied enough force to pop it open. Twisting around, she checked the contents.

  There were a few hooks with feathers attached. They were sharp enough but trying to pick away at her ties would take forever. Emma glanced at her ankles. They were tied with a thin rope. It stood to reason that was probably the same material that bound her wrists. She returned her focus to the tackle box. The first tray didn’t reveal anything more that could help, but there was more storage beneath that tray.

  Tears welled in Emma’s eyes as she realized she would need to remove the top tray quietly so as not to alert her abductor in the front of the truck. Fear and frustration took hold.

  Shake it off, Lewis!

  Scooting around again, Emma began the process of seeking out the seam between the tray and the box with her fingernail. After several unproductive attempts, she finally slid her nail in. Now she needed to lift the tray out. Pulling up with her nail, she reached with her second finger to lift. It was excruciatingly slow but the moment she was able to slide all four fingers beneath the tray felt like a victory. She was able to grip it and rotate out and away to set the tray down behind her. Now the internal storage of the box was exposed.

  Excitement filled her as her eyes landed on exactly what she needed. A small fishing knife. She maneuvered to grab it and immediately began moving the blade into position to cut through the ropes. It took forever, what with her hands feeling numb and having difficulty gripping the handle. After nearly fifteen to twenty minutes of sawing away, she freed her hands. The relief was instant as the circulation returned. Painful pinpricks suffused her hands as Emma rubbed them together, flexing her fingers. As good as it felt, she couldn’t waste any time and reached down, cutting through the ropes binding her ankles.

  She was free from her bindings, but still locked inside the back of a moving truck. However, now she had a weapon. This meant she had a chance. All she could do now is wait.

  Chapter 9

  The Merlin MK2 chopper flew across the Straight of Dover toward Calais. Nate, Eastwood, and Ghost sat in the back along with Skyscraper, Hollywood, and Doc. Thanks to Ambassador Rand, and cooperation between General Davidson, the French government, and the British Royal Navy, they were now closing the gap between them and al-Waleed. What they still didn’t know was where he was headed inside Paris. What they did know was what he was driving—a small white commercial truck with a faded sea bass painted on the side. An agent inside MI5 owed Tex a favor and that gentleman obtained the video feeds from the docks in Dover. As he sat in the queue waiting to drive onto the Ferry, al-Waleed had climbed out once to smoke a cigarette and then went around the back of the truck where he lifted the door a mere few inches peeking inside. It was suspicious behavior, but no one seemed to pay him any mind.

  Nate was frustrated. He could not see into the truck, could not see Emma. The only consolation he had was that the terrorist was checking on her which meant she was still alive.

  “We’ll get her back, Outlaw.” Doc patted Nate’s shoulder as they all watched the video footage from the link Tex had sent.

  As they boarded the chopper, Tex messaged Nate. ‘I’ve got the vehicle on satellite. They just landed in Calais and drove off the ferry. I’ll keep you informed, but you’ll probably catch up to them yourselves in about an hour. I’m sending you a link to the satellite feed. Coordinates are on the screen. ~ Tex’

  Now they were in French airspace about to fly over Calais. Nate’s eyes rarely left the screen of his phone. The orange pinging dot moving slowly towards Paris was his lifeline to Emma. It seemed strange that only five hours ago, she’d been in his bed, in his arms, panting his name. As sexy as she was, he’d been far more moved by the moments before and between the passionate highs. Emma was a revelation. She was complex. Shy one moment and then bold the next. Unsure, then confident, and then funny as she laughed at herself for being, in her own words, ‘such a dork.’ She didn’t talk about herself like a lot of people do. She asked personal questions and listened. And she could discuss global political issues like a seasoned pundit. The sexy librarian for sure. She’d made him smile, made him feel comfortable and yet excited as hell. Nate remembered dropping light kisses on her cheeks and her nose, and running his fingertip over the tiny indents from the glasses he still had not seen on her face, not until he’d viewed the hotel’s security camera footage. They made her look younger, smaller somehow, but also stronger.

  He liked it. He liked her, and now, because of him and the work he did, a murderous terrorist had her, and the clock was ticking. It was Emma’s thirtieth birthday, and because of him, it might be her last. Nate couldn’t accept that, didn’t want to be responsible yet again for the death of an innocent. He shook off that thought and focused.

  Ghost tapped his arm. Speaking into the mic in his helmet, he said, “There.”

  Nate glanced out the window. Ahead, the small truck bumped along A26 just a few miles shy of Saint Omer.

  He leaned over, tapping the pilot on his shoulder. The pilot glanced at him, saying, “Interpol is coordinating with local police. There’s a road block two miles up. We have the rear.”

  Nate nodded and relayed the message to his men. “Get ready. We’re coming in the backdoor. Ghost, you’re with me. Eastwood, Skyscraper, you take the driver’s side and Doc and Hollywood, you take the passenger side.
We still don’t know if he has anyone else up front or if the truck’s wired. We get him neutralized first.”

  “Got it, Outlaw,” said Hollywood.

  They pulled the bandanas tied around their necks up over their noses disguising their faces. Double checking their weapons, they moved nearer the door of the helicopter. Ahead, the traffic in front of al-Waleed began to slow. There were three vehicles in front of him. As each reached the road block they were waved through by a French traffic cop. It all looked routine. The vehicles on the ground could not see the SWAT-style Gendarmerie vehicles parked behind the tree line on the right.

  The pilot took the helicopter down as the car in front of al-Waleed’s truck was waved through. The policeman stopped the truck, stepping off the road as the Gendarmerie tactical vehicle pulled forward, blocking the road. The small truck slammed on its brakes. The gendarmes swarmed out of the back of the tactical vehicle. Al-Waleed threw the truck in reverse and stopped cold when he saw the chopper landing behind him.

  Nate and his men jumped out, running up from behind and shouting in Arabic, “Hands out of the window. Hands out now!” One pair of hands emerged from the passenger side.

  “There’s two of them! Doc, Hollywood, is it al-Waleed? Confirm.” Nate yelled.

  “Negative, Outlaw. We have another player.” Doc shouted as he and Hollywood closed in, rifles aimed.

  “Exit the vehicle slowly or I’ll send you to hell,” Hollywood commanded the passenger.

  A shot rang out from the driver’s side, and all hell broke loose. Rapid fire ensued as al-Waleed ran ducking into the woods.

  Eastwood and Skyscraper joined the chase as half the Gendarmes pursued. In the cover of the trees, bullets couldn’t find their target.

  Nate glanced around the other side of the truck. Doc and Hollywood stood over the second terrorist. He lay halfway out of the passenger seat, legs still caught in the truck, bleeding out. They were checking him for an explosive vest and found nothing alarming.