The blond guy spoke up this time. “Several SUVs came by, but other than that, just a laundry service that comes by every week on the same day. Pretty sure Dufort left the house right after you did. Images indicate he took off in one of those SUVs.”
Emily perked up at the last bit of information. “Laundry service?” she asked, ignoring the part about Dufort leaving the compound.
“Yeah,” the guy from Brooklyn said. “They come by every week on Wednesday.”
“So they were there yesterday?” Emily’s pulse started pounding, but she kept her cool in spite of the growing concern in her mind.
“Yeah. The truck came by yesterday.”
Emily stood up. “That’s our truck. That’s how they get the girls in and out of the mansion.”
She turned to one of the girls, a redhead with her hair pulled back tight into a ponytail, revealing the creamy skin on her neck. “I can run the plates if Joey can pull up the image. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes.”
“Do it.”
Five minutes later, four laptops were running on the dining table. “Got it,” the redhead informed the rest of the room.
“Who is it registered to, and where can we find it?” Emily stood over the rest of the agents with her hands on her hips.
“We’ll go you one better than that. I ran a simultaneous check to see if they had anything like an antitheft tracking system on there.”
“And?”
“They do. And we know exactly where to find it. I’m locking in on the coordinates now.”
Ten long seconds later, the girl spoke up again. “There you are.” The screen displayed an image from one of the many street cameras city officials had installed. They were helpful in monitoring traffic as well as potential crimes. While it made daily life seem a little more like a conspiracy novel with the government always watching, the cameras seemed to do more good than harm. The picture on the screen was of a warehouse on the outskirts of town where the river wound into the city.
“You’re sure the truck is in that building?” Emily asked.
“As sure as we can be. My guess is that whoever leased this truck didn’t bother to remove the antitheft system. A minor oversight.”
Emily stared at the screen with a determined gleam in her eyes. “And one that might just save the lives of those girls, and one of our own. Load up. We need to be on the road in five. Bring all the ammo you can. I have a feeling that warehouse isn’t as empty as it looks.”
“Ma’am,” the other female agent said, “you know the repercussions if the French authorities catch us doing something like this.” It sounded like a question, but it was more of a statement.
She was right, and Emily knew it. If something went awry and French agents showed up, there would be hell to pay. Career-ending hell. It was a risk she was willing to take.
“At Axis, we keep things small for several reasons,” she began, stepping over to a window and looking beyond the double doors and balcony, out into the city. “One is so that we can move quietly in the night. It allows us to be the shadows, in the darkness that evil people fear. But it also means that we are a family. There are only twelve of us, including myself. No one outside our agency even knows for sure who is with us.”
She spun around and peered into the eyes of each agent in the room before going on. “I would make this same decision for every single one of you. I would risk my career, my pension, everything to save your lives. Because that’s what family does.”
The four agents nodded with grim resolve written all over their faces.
“Now let’s go get our girl back.”
Chapter 34
The train slowly crept to a stop at the end of the line, nearly touching the bumpers on the wall. When it had reached a complete halt, Caron stood up and motioned with a nod for his man next to Sean to get him out of the seat.
He complied, as did Sean, albeit reluctantly. Sean stared at the man in the black trench coat with disdain. “End of the line, huh?” he said in an irritated tone.
Caron smirked. “Not for me, monsieur.” He ticked his head to the side, and the man behind Sean poked him in the kidneys with his gun.
“Move,” the man said in an American accent.
Sean didn’t think much of it. A lot of mercenaries were American these days. It seemed like everyone had a price.
When they stepped off the train and onto the stone gangway, Sean immediately noticed how the weather had changed. Dark clouds were lumbering in from the northwest, signaling a coming thunderstorm. A foreboding breeze zipped through the group, sending a fresh chill to their bones. It was already cold. If it started raining, the conditions would be downright miserable. Their nostrils filled with a heavy dose of sea air as the salty wind continued to gust.
The Helsingor train station was much smaller than the central station in Copenhagen, though the architecture mimicked the larger facility. It had the same sharply angled slate roofs and brick walls with white window frames built in. The building stretched out in two directions in an L-shape, about two hundred feet in the longest portion.
The men escorted Adriana and Sean down the platform toward one of the lesser-used exits and forced them inside. The group made their way casually through the narrow lobby and back out the doors on the other side.
Now, Sean could see the village. It was a quaint countryside town, with a rolling main street that went up a small rise and over the other side. Flags and banners hung across the central thoroughfare, much like he’d seen in Germany on his trips to similar villages. People roamed the cobblestone street, fetching various things they needed like cheese, beer, meat, and vegetables. Tourists posed in front of buildings they thought were interesting, but that the locals just called the butcher shop. A cafe waiter brought out a huge tray of food to a few patrons sitting at one of the restaurant’s street tables.
Off to the right, beyond the northern corner of the train station, the Kronborg Slot rose up from the earth like a giant stone monster standing by the sea. Standing atop the gigantic castle outline were three domes, greened with time, and a tall spire of similar color that stretched high above everything else. The red-and-white banner of Denmark whipped furiously in the wind’s onslaught, accompanied by three other proud medieval-style Danish flags, equally at full extension.
Two black Mercedes SUVs waited by the sidewalk on the edge of the street. It was nearly impossible to see through the darkly tinted windows. Sean suspected that was their ride.
“You,” Caron said to him, “you’re taking the car in back. Someone wants to meet you.”
“Let me guess. Monsieur Dufort?” Sean lathered the question with sarcasm, something his captor apparently understood. He reared back a fist but decided now wasn’t the time or the place; too many people milling around. Instead, he shoved Sean in the spine with his gun and forced him forward.
He watched, enraged, as they gave Adriana the same treatment. “I don’t appreciate you treating her that way. You’d better be careful.”
“You’re in no position to do anything about it,” Caron said as they neared the SUV convoy.
“I wasn’t talking about what I would do,” Sean said, full of warning.
It only caused his keeper to pause for a second.
The doors flung open, and both captives were shoved inside, followed by a guard. Having already seen the man’s dossier, Sean quickly assessed the thin, dark-haired man in the front to be Gerard Dufort.
“Sean Wyatt,” he said half turning around as one of the guards circled around the front of the vehicle and hopped into the driver’s seat. “You’ve been quite a bit of trouble for me.”