“I guess.” Flame glanced down at the still unconscious man. “Do you think we can get the cops to share information with us?”

  “Forrest might be able to pull that off.” Dana made a note. “If not, I think we can grab any data they put into their computer system.” She nodded once. “Any idea where he might be?”

  “Not a clue. Packed a bag and said he’d be back no later than Saturday night.”

  “Well, it’s Saturday morning now. Maybe he’ll turn up in time to be helpful.” She smiled. “You did your job. You kept the girl from being kidnapped.”

  “Yeah, Kimberly is safe.” Flame snuck a look at the closed door of the master bedroom. “We did that much.”

  “Well, stay with it. You know the drill with the cops—just play it as straight as you can and if you need anything more from me, call.”

  “Will do.”

  “In the meantime, I’ll check on the crest and the weapon—both are pretty unusual, maybe something will turn up.”

  “I hope so.” Flame paused. “Sirens on the street.” He glanced at his watch. “Nearly fifteen minutes to travel about two miles.” He snorted. “I could have walked faster than that!”

  “It’s a small town, Flame. They probably had to wake up the local chief to deal with something like this.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Hang in there. We’ll talk later.”

  “Later.” Flame disconnected and headed down to the front door. There were people he still had to talk to—people inside the house. That would have to wait, though—right now, the police came first.

  He opened the door, his hands clearly visible to the approaching cars…

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “They’ve upped the ante!”

  “What?” Dana had expected the office to be empty. It’s five thirty in the morning! But Bivens was already there, working away at his console. “Eric, what are you doing here so early?” She hung her coat on the rack. “You’ve got to take time to rest!”

  “I got six hours sleep.” He shrugged. “That’s all I really need.”

  “Okay,” Dana accepted the inevitable and booted up her own desktop. “What do you have?”

  “Those five payments I showed you—two hundred grand each.” He punched a command into his console. “Same five accounts just paid another three hundred thousand!”

  “A half-million each,” Dana sighed. “Did all the money go to the same place?”

  “Yup,” Bivens nodded agreement. “Same Gulf State bank—but I’ll bet it won’t stay there.”

  “Look into that when you have time.” She pulled out her iPhone, and plugged it into the computer. “Right now, we have something more immediate to work with.” She transferred the images Flame had sent into the computer, passed a set to Bivens. “Flame sent these early this morning. These men tried to grab the girl he’s guarding.”

  “One of them looks dead.”

  “Flame does that.” She stared at her screen. “Dead or alive, you might be able to identify him. See the crest on the lighter? Flame thinks it’s an Army Unit Crest—see if he’s right.” She shook her head. “We need to find a way to unravel this thing and we’re sure as shit not going to get any help from anyone else…”

  ***

  Flame got lucky with the local cops. The chief of the Scarsdale Police Department was a vet—he’d served on fast attack subs and his boat had given a ride to a SEAL team at the tail end of Desert Storm.

  That meant that Flame ended up sharing coffee in his office rather than stewing in an interrogation room.

  “I still don’t get why you were watching the Forrest girl,” the chief questioned as he sipped his coffee. “I mean, was there some kind of threat?”

  “I can’t tell you too much, sir.” Flame looked into his cup—a real china coffee mug, not one of those paper things. “I can tell you that my partner and I are doing a confidential investigation for Mr. Forrest. As part of that investigation he asked us to keep an eye on his daughter—said he had a bad feeling about things.” Flame took a sip, smiled when he found the coffee hot and strong. “Good coffee.”

  The chief smiled. “I still like it Navy-style.” He shook his head. “Wife says I should quit. Says it’s not good for me.”

  “Hey,” Flame smiled and raised his mug. “Who wants to live forever?”

  “Amen, brother.” They both took a drink, then: “Now let’s get back to what happened this morning. You saw the black van…”

  “Which I had seen before,” Flame nodded. “At the prep school. It was sitting at the curb but didn’t pick anyone up—just pulled away as the kids came out.”

  “Rehearsal, you think?”

  “Maybe.” Flame shrugged. “Maybe just a reconnaissance to get a look at the target.”

  “Now, about your partner…”

  Flame made a face. “My temporary employee.” He looked the chief in the eye. “Very temporary!”

  “What was he doing when all this went down?” The chief raised an eyebrow. “From what you’ve told me, he was supposed to be watching the girl at night.”

  “Let’s just say he wasn’t doing what he was supposed to do.”

  “Are you sure he wasn’t involved?”

  “He was not involved in the kidnapping—I can give you my word on that.”

  “I see,” the chief’s face showed that he did, indeed, see Flame was carefully not saying. “Okay,” he finished his coffee. “I think I have all I need. Your licenses are all in order and Mrs. Forrest tells us that you were, indeed, hired to protect her daughter who, by the way, is fine.” He stood up, held out his hand. “You did what you were supposed to do, Flame.” He grinned. “About what I’d expect from a goddamned SEAL!”

  “Thank you sir.” Flame took the hand and shook warmly. “But I must ask you for a favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “When you interrogate the second man…” Flame’s eyes burned. “Let me sit in.”

  “That would be against procedure.” The chief smiled again. “But I think we might be able to manage something.”

  “You have my cell number.”

  “I do.” The chief walked Flame to the door. “You did, however, hit the little fucker kind of hard.” He smiled. “There’s a crack in the wall, you know.”

  “Guess I don’t know my own strength.”

  “Whatever. Just remember that he’s still out and the doctors tell me they’re not sure how long it’ll be until he’s fit to talk.”

  “Just let me know.”

  “I will.” The chief opened the door and nodded the big man out. “I most certainly will.”

  ***

  “You two are in the clear," Flame said to Gino and Mrs. Forrest as he walked into the big kitchen of the Forrest home. “With the police, at least.”

  “Flame, you know what it’s like, I just…”

  “We’ll talk about it later.” Flame’s look stopped Gino mid-sentence. “Later!”

  “Flame?” Mrs. Forrest voice was low, pleading. “Please don’t tell my husband what happened. He won’t…” She shook her head. “It’s more complicated than you know…”

  “Ma’am, I don’t really care about that.” Flame saw the tears in her eyes. “It should be none of my business.”

  “Please…”

  “How is Kimberly?” Flame turned away, filled a cup from the coffee pot on the table.

  “The doctor says she’ll be fine. She might have a bruise or two…”

  “I’d like to see her when she wakes up.”

  “Of course.” Mrs. Forrest nodded quickly. “I’ll see that you’re called immediately.”

  “Thank you.” Flame finished his coffee and stood. “Gino,” he gestured toward the door. “If you don’t mind.”

  Flame led Gino away from the house, toward the little stream that meandered across the back lawn. When he was sure he was out of earshot, he turned…

  And backhanded Gino hard enough that the other man’s feet actually left the ground for a moment.

  “Just what the fuck did you think you were doing?!” Flame glared at the man on the ground, eyes burning. “Screwing the client’s wife is one thing, disabling the damned alarm is another.”

  “It just happened.” Gino couldn’t meet Flame’s eyes. “She was lonely. Forrest travels a lot—she thinks he cheats while he’s on the road…”

  “And that’s a good reason to desert your post?”

  “I didn’t think it would do any harm. I mean…”

  “You were thinking with your dick.” Flame shook his head. “I can’t have a man like that watching my back.” He turned away. “Go pack your stuff and get the hell out of here.” He looked into the other man’s eyes. “Unless you want to argue with me about it?”

  “No.” Gino shook his head quickly. He knew what a man like Flame was capable of—and he didn’t think much of his chances against him in a fair fight.

  “All right.” Flame turned and walked toward the stream. “If you’re still here when I get back, you’ll regret ever being born.”

  Flame walked away, not bothering to watch as Gino scrambled to his feet and hurried back to the small apartment over the garage.

  ***

  Dana was starting to drag. Flame’s call had awakened her just as she was slipping into a deep, REM sleep—the first such sleep she’d managed for days. Now she was feeling out-of-sorts. She’d better make sure she got a proper night’s rest tonight or…

  “Bingo!” Bivens’ yell shook Dana out of her half-stupor. “I’ve got it!” He mirrored his screen on hers with a few keystrokes. “This is a bastardization of the crest of the 66th Armor Division.” He put the official crest on her screen. “This is the way it’s supposed to look.” The crest on the cigarette lighter went up next to it. “See how they’ve changed the dragon to a white mouse?” He turned to her. “That was a custom crest done by a company in San Francisco for a special order.”

  “Who ordered it?”

  “That’s what took the real time to track down.” Bivens grinned. “Company in question went out of business ten years ago. I had to hack into the records of the company that bought them out and find the previous company’s old billing records, then backtrack the order until…”

  “Eric.” Dana was tired and out of sorts. “Who ordered the crests?”

  “Oh.” He opened another file, putting an invoice on her laptop. “It seems twelve members of an MP unit originally attached to the sixty-sixth were hired, en masse, by Blackwater to handle motorized security in and around Baghdad. The men used these badges instead of challenge coins.”

  “Challenge coins?”

  “Yeah,” Eric nodded. “It’s one of those military things—one troop draws his, and slaps it onto the bar. Everyone being challenged must immediately produce their own organization’s coin—failure to do so means paying a round of drinks for everyone who has a coin.”

  “Stupid idea.” She grinned. “I wonder if Flame carries a coin of some kind—have to ask him.” She brought herself back to business. “So these people went to Blackwater? You’re sure of that?”

  “No question about the hire—or the purchase of the crests. When I worked that out I assumed I’d be able to match the photo of the dead man to DOD files from the Desert Storm period—but I keep getting re-routed.” He looked at Dana. “The files in question are classified.”

  “Use the NSA codes to get in.”

  “Tried that.” He shook his head. “No luck.”

  “There must be a way.”

  “I’ll keep trying,” Bivens said, and shook his head again. “But I’m not sure I can get through the firewall.”

  “Do it, Eric.” Dana smiled. “Do it whatever it takes.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Masayo eyed the other five girls in the room as the lights came on. Four days—perhaps five, it was difficult to keep track—had passed since each of the girls had taken a turn in front of the camera.

  Yet we are all still here. Masayo had, at first, expected her own father to pay the ransom quickly—then she rethought that position. We are of the Samurai, she thought. Ransom is for those of lower caste…

  He wouldn’t pay—it would be against everything he believed in.

  That might be hard on Masayo—something she had already come to grips with. It would be a shame if I were unable to take my revenge personally. Still,she thought, a small, dark, smile touching her lips, I will be avenged—of that I am sure.

  But revenge wasn’t in the forefront of Masayo’s mind right now—another question was. Why are all of the girls still in this vile place? One of their parents—perhaps several of them—would certainly have paid any ransom these men asked. Masayo scanned the fear and helplessness on each face. And yet they are still here.

  Masayo asked herself why none had been released.

  And began to think about ways she could talk to the others. Perhaps we can manage to fight back—some of us might escape. She looked around the stained walls of the dormitory. And even if we died trying, it would be more far more honorable than continuing to live as captured animals in this foul place.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Blackwater?” Flame was sitting in the living area of his apartment, cleaning his 1911 Colt. It was always best to clean a weapon after use, to ensure that it would stay dependable—something vital to the life of a SEAL (or an ex-SEAL) doing the kinds of things Flame was doing.

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “Bivens says the crest you found on the lighter matches a batch that a unit of vets from the 66th Armored had special-made after getting out of the army and moving into private security work—with Blackwater.”

  “Why in the hell would Blackwater be involved in this?” Flame finished polishing the slide on his pistol and began to carefully reassemble it. “I mean, kidnapping the daughter of a rich man might bring in some bucks—but for Blackwater?” He shook his head. “It would be chicken feed.”

  “We doubt they’re still working for Blackwater although we’ve been able to locate what we think are five ransom streams going through a series of banks here and abroad.”

  “Any idea who’s doing the paying?”

  “Businessmen—four in the States, one in France.” Dana’s voice was heavy with fatigue. “Bivens is working on full dossiers—should have them soon.”

  “Okay.” Flame slid the slide onto the frame of the 1911, and checked it to make sure it moved freely. “Should I tell the local police about this? I mean, if the chief keeps his words and lets me sit in on the interrogation…”

  “Use your judgment. If you need the leverage, go ahead.” Dana sighed. “Just don’t tell them where the intel came from.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it.” Flame hesitated a second, then: “One more thing. Cut a final check for Gonda—make sure it goes to his PO Box.”

  “Something happen with him?”

  “Yeah.” Flame frowned. “I’ll give you the whole story when we get together. For now, just put it down to a lack of responsibility.”

  “Understood.” There was a pause. “Are you going to be able to handle things there by yourself? I mean, there may be another attempt.”

  “I’m going to call a friend.” A flicker of a smile crossed Flame’s lips. “He’s retired but I think he’ll make an exception to help me out.” The smile widened. “He owes me one.”

  “It’s your department, Flame. Just be careful not to get yourself kakked—I don’t think I can do this without you.”

  “I don’t know.” Flame shook his head. “You and Eric seem to be doing a pretty good job.”

  “Only in the back office.”

  “Whatever.” He slid the magazine into the Colt, and jacked a round into the chamber. “Keep me posted.” He clicked on the safety.

  “Will do.”

  The line went dead.

  Okay. Flame looked out the window; saw the police car at the end of the drive. The chief had put extra security on for the moment—but it wouldn’t be there forever. I’ve put it off long enough. He opened the ‘Contacts’ menu on his phone, picked out a name, pushed ‘call’ and waited until an assured baritone answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Aesop?” Flame cleared his throat. “I need your help.”

  ***

  “What happened to you?” The admiral said as he slid into the spot opposite her in the corner booth. “You look as if you haven’t slept in a week!” He grinned. “Hell, even my bags are smaller than yours!”

  “Things have been happening,” Dana slid a memory stick across the table, and waited while the admiral loaded it into his iPad. “More money has moved into that Gulf State Bank—two and a half million as of this morning.”

  “You said there were five donors?”

  “Yes. They’re up to half a million each as of end-of-business yesterday.”

  “What else?”

  “Somebody made an attempt to grab the girl Flame has been watching.”

  “How many dead?” The admiral’s voice held a touch of sardonic humor.

  “Only one—the other one is in the hospital, still unconscious.”

  “Any idea who they are and what their connection is?”

  “No idea although the timing suggests the two—or should I say six—cases are connected somehow.”

  “Agreed.”

  “There’s more.” Dana held up her phone, displaying the cigarette lighter that Flame had photographed. “See this crest?”

  “Looks a little like the 66th Armored—but the colors are wrong and that thing on the top…”

  “It’s a bastardized version of the sixty-sixth’s crest—commissioned by a group of a dozen ex-members of an MP team attached to them back during Desert Storm. That dozen were then hired by—get this—Blackwater Security.”

  “You’re sure of this?”

  “Sure about the crest.” Dana returned the phone to her pocket. “We’re trying to match the faces of the two kidnappers to DOD records from the Gulf War—but we’re running into problems.”