"Prince Yasin, I assume," Thorpe said to the colonel as the landing gear on the helicopter quickly deployed and the aircraft settled down fifty feet away, the blades blowing sand, forcing Thorpe to put his hand over his eyes. The chopper lifted, and by the time Thorpe was able to see again, a tall man wearing a well-cut business suit was striding toward him.
"What is your name?" Prince Yasin demanded. He had dark features with piercing black eyes. There was no gray in his hair and it was difficult to determine how old he was.
"My name is Thorpe."
"You have something to show me?"
"American citizens your sons kidnapped from Germany," Thorpe said.
"There are diplomatic ways this could have been resolved," Yasin said. "An assault by American forces on Saudi Arabian soil will bring the severest of consequences."
"I don't think so," Thorpe said. He turned toward the gate. "Bring them out," he called out to Major Dotson.
Master Sergeant Grant and another Delta trooper appeared at the gate, helping support Cathy and Leslie.
"What is this?" Yasin demanded.
"Look familiar?" Thorpe said.
Yasin's dark eyes were fixed on the girls. "I don't understand."
"Akil and Jawhar did not deliver the VZ nerve gas to the Serbs as was arranged. As you arranged. They killed the Serbs who were supposed to get it and brought it here."
"Did you also arrange for them to be killed by the CIA reaction force? Was that your plan? Or did you really want the Serbs to get the gas?" Thorpe shrugged. "I don't know what your plan was, but I know now what Jawhar and Akil's was."
He pointed at the two girls. "They look like Jawhar and Akil's mother, don't they?" Thorpe didn't wait for an answer. "Your mistress. They put nerve agent inside of them in a dispenser. With an explosive charge. They were going to send them to you. Probably as a gift. And then kill you and all those around you."
Thorpe knew Yasin was one of the richest men in the world and he held that position because of his intelligence and cunning. The prince didn't argue with what Thorpe had just said, but rather stood there regarding the girls for several more seconds. A small muscle jumped on the left side of his cheek, his only reaction. He nodded. "You may leave," he said to Thorpe.
Chapter Thirty-Three
"Thorpe is on the Blackhawks heading back." Dilken seemed surprised by the news.
"Do they have the VZ?” the director asked.
"Yes, sir."
"What about the girls?" Parker asked. "They recovered three hostages," Dilken said. He glanced down at his notepad. "Catherine Walker, Leslie Marker and Terri Dublowski."
Parker sank down into a seat, feeling the tension drain from her body for the first time in days. She picked up a phone and dialed the number for the Ranch to let Dublowski know the good news.
Thorpe sat next to Terri Dublowski, an arm around the young girl's shoulder, his fatigue jacket over the smock. He could feel her trembling.
She looked up. "You shouldn't have let them go. They killed the other girls. They'll do it again."
"I don't think they'll be killing anyone else," Thorpe said.
Prince Yasin stood in front of the vault door. He watched as welders sealed the seam. He had designed the room himself and knew this was the only way out. When the welders were done, he dismissed them.
He looked at the door one last time, then turned and left.
Epilogue
"Favors being owed are the oil that keeps the machinery of international relations working." Former National Security Adviser Hill poured himself a shot of bourbon, then raised the bottle with a questioning look toward former CIA Director of Operations Hancock.
Hancock declined. They were in a cabana on the west coast of Costa Rica with a magnificent view of the Pacific Ocean crashing on a pristine beach less than fifty feet from the double doors opening to the deck. Jungle surrounded them, and guards from the Costa Rican army, supplemented by mercenaries, patrolled the perimeter. The cabana was luxurious, with every modern comfort money could buy and import.
"They'll seek to extradite us," Hancock noted as Hill sat in a large wicker chair across from him.
"They have to find us first," Hill said. "That will take them a year or two. By then we'll move on. I have many people owing me favors — as do you."
"Prince Yasin is looking for us also," Hancock said.
"We did Yasin a favor by showing him the true nature of his bastard sons," Hill said.
Unnoticed by either man — and the security guards — a small, crablike object crept out of the ocean on metal legs. With a body less than four inches in size, it walked across the beach toward the open double doors.
"It was bad luck, really," Hill continued.
Hancock shook his head. "No. Jawhar and Akil had their own agenda and I should have foreseen that. It cost us everything."
"Not everything," Hill said. "Who knows? With a new administration coming into office — and there is no doubt the pendulum will swing the other way with the next election — we may very well be able to go back to Washington and reclaim our old jobs."
Hancock was listening to his mentor, but he was distracted by a very slight clicking noise. He looked about, then saw the mechanical creature stalking in through the doorway, the metal legs making the noise against the hardwood floor.
"What is that?" Hancock stood up.
Hill turned. A small optical wire on the top turned in their direction, like a crustacean's eye. It fixed on the two men.
Hill pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and was punching in for the head of security when a small canister about two inches long by one in diameter popped out of the top of the device. The canister rolled onto the floor with a hissing noise.
"What the hell—" Hancock leaned forward to look at the canister when he felt his throat seize up.
Dublowski watched the VZ kill Hill and Hancock. Certain they were dead, he hit the self-destruct on Freddie Two, and the image on the small TV screen in the cabin of the rented boat went black.
Dublowski climbed up the short ladder to the boat's bridge. He engaged the engine and headed north from his position three miles off the coast of Costa Rica. In two days he was meeting his wife and daughter in San Diego for a week of vacation and he wanted to make sure he made it in time. He knew Simpkins would be happy to know Freddie worked.
Parker knew the driver was checking her out, but more out of curiosity than male lust. That was a relief, given he was over sixty and looked like life had not been too kind to him.
"How much farther?" she asked as they turned onto another narrow street in Stuttgart.
"You sound like my grandkids," Morty Lorsen groused good-naturedly. He pulled the car into an alley and stopped. "We're here."
Parker got out of the car and looked around with some concern.
Lorsen saw her expression and laughed. "Yeah, this is it. Looked worse a month ago, if you can believe that. Our friend, he has…" Morty shook his head. "Well, you must see. Come on, come on."
They walked down the alley and then turned right through a narrow doorway. Morty opened the door and extended his right hand, inviting her in.
Parker walked through and blinked. Bright lights illuminated the center of the large room where several teenagers were gathered at a table while a tall, thin man was speaking in a low voice, pointing to a computer.
"That's Esdras," Lorsen said. "He's teaching them basic computer skills. And here…" — Lorsen led Parker around a thick concrete pillar to another section of the room—"is your friend Mr. Thorpe."
Thorpe had a roller in his hands and was perched precariously on a ladder. The ceiling above his head was half painted and Thorpe was covered with white spots. He saw Parker and smiled. "Hey." He climbed down.