Sandman (Unknown Identities #3) Read online

  A deaf and blind man would have picked up on the implications in that loaded statement and cocky body language. Instinct raised the hair on the back of Sandman’s neck. Prisoners said all kinds of things to rattle their captors. Rarely did those insinuations change anything.

  Recognizing the tactic, knowing he’d done it himself in the past, should have made it easy to ignore. The opposite was true. Something was off in that interrogation room, but Sandman couldn’t dwell on it. His job was to recover the hostage the moment they had a lead on the location.

  Borrowing trouble and working outside of mission parameters were not allowed in Messenger’s system. Hell, he hadn’t even been read in on the victim’s identity yet. Sandman’s stomach clutched. God, but he was fed up with the UI system, he just didn’t have the clout or bargaining power to break free. Yet.

  “Why hasn’t anyone reported this woman missing?”

  “Far as I can tell, her schedule is fluid,” Tisdale said. “Not sure how anyone would even know she’s missing until after the holidays.”

  Something Galloway had surely taken into account when he’d set this in motion.

  Behind him the tech whistled softly. “Whatever they were to each other, he didn’t bother to hide his real identity with her.”

  Terrific. This guy was a first class player and edging closer to predator, in Sandman’s estimation. If he didn’t care about hiding his identity, he considered the woman disposable.

  That kind of criminal just pissed Sandman off. Galloway looked far too relaxed on the other side of the glass. Take away the cramped room and the handcuffs, give the Irishman a change of clothes, put a couple of beers on the table, and this would look like two buddies catching up.

  “They were in Jordan together,” Tisdale continued. “Just for a couple of days about six months ago.”

  Sandman hated the desert and he said a prayer this case wouldn’t go that direction. “What the hell does a CIA-reformed Irish street thug need in Jordan?”

  “Sunscreen?”

  “You’re not as funny as you look, Tisdale.” He turned back to watch Messenger’s interrogation. If he couldn’t get information, maybe he could learn something useful from Messenger’s techniques. “Give me something,” he muttered.

  Messenger had told him the victim had checked in for her flight from New York, but she wasn’t on the passenger manifest at the connecting flight to her final destination. He’d explained how Galloway had used pictures of the woman to coerce a cousin here in the city into recovering what definitely was not his personal property. None of the pictures had revealed anything about location. Messenger’s team of technical experts hadn’t been able to pull any GPS data from the pictures either. Galloway would have thought of that, and taken the steps to make any recovery difficult.

  “She has to be here in the States.” Galloway had connections all over the globe, but what the man didn’t have was patience. He was the sort to snatch a victim and put her to good use immediately rather than drawing things out.

  Suddenly the prisoner laughed. “My God. That’s it. Renata Vaccaro is working for you too, isn’t she?”

  What the hell? A low buzz started in Sandman’s ears. Galloway did not just use that name.

  Messenger’s stoic expression didn’t waver.

  “Ah, come on then. Tell me I’m right. I’ve earned that much.” Galloway laughed again when Messenger refused to comment. “Nevermind. You would never have interrupted my deal if you didn’t already have your hooks in her.”

  Sandman smothered his reaction to the sound of her name. There was no room for weakness in UI, not even in this small observation room with a tech expert. Everything was noted and analyzed for the ultimate preservation of Messenger and UI.

  This was a coincidence, nothing more. Galloway wasn’t referring to the Renata that Sandman knew. No. He would not believe it. The Renata he knew was too wild, too pampered, and far too precious to have gotten tangled up with Messenger.

  He turned to Tisdale. “Pictures.” He forced the word past the dry lump in his throat.

  “Coming up now.”

  Sandman couldn’t breathe as candid shots of Renata – his Renata – popped up and filled the monitor. There were shots of her alone, with Galloway, with other men and women in both professional and casual settings.

  As much as he wanted it to be someone else, it was her. Could Galloway’s outlandish theory be true? He refused to believe it. This couldn’t be happening.

  This just got too personal and UI agents weren’t allowed to have personal lives. Connections from the past were never tolerated.

  “If you give me the location of your hostage,” Messenger said, his voice almost friendly, “I can give you options.”

  Galloway’s sneer faded to something closer to curiosity. “What kind of options?”

  No. It was eerily similar to his first meeting with Messenger years ago. His blood slogged through his ears as the memory rushed to the front of his mind.

  One day he’d been having a picnic with Renata, the next he was in a sniper’s nest providing cover for the team on the ground in a hot, dusty desert. Two days after that he was on the wrong side of what had suddenly become an unauthorized kill.

  Messenger had shown up at the base and methodically reviewed the mountain of evidence against him. From an unfavorable psych profile he’d never seen to statements from the ground team that they’d never been in danger. No one cared about his differing perspective from the nest. There was no mention of the original order and no one could find any mention of the go-order telling him to take the shot. The communications records had been corrupted beyond recovery. It had been clear a court martial would not go his way.

  Eventually the man in the gray suit had extended an offer to join a developmental team, a covert program that would use his sniper skills for the honorable cause of national security. He wouldn’t be a Marine, but his life wouldn’t be a waste. All he had to do was abandon everything he’d known, everything he’d been and volunteer to become someone else – someone better according to the propaganda.

  Galloway started talking, but it was only more bullshit. Sandman would not stand by quietly and watch Messenger bring a treacherous mercenary like Galloway into the UI system. He pulled out his phone and sent a text message to Messenger, then watched through the one-way glass as the head of UI reacted.

  “Wait here,” Messenger said, cutting short Galloway’s rambling.

  The prisoner made a smug sound that crawled under Sandman’s skin, exacerbating the pressure building inside him. “Send everything you have on Galloway and the hostage to my phone,” Sandman barked at Tisdale.

  “Sure thing.”

  Finally, Messenger left the interrogation room.

  Sandman waited another two seconds. “Turn off anything that’s recording in there,” he said.

  “But –”

  Sandman had one hand on the door handle. “Do it.” He jerked open the door, cleared the hall and ducked into the interrogation room.

  He didn’t much care if Tisdale did record what he was about to do. They’d tasked him with a hostage rescue and damn it, he was going to make sure the mission stayed a rescue.

  Galloway, the arrogant bastard, didn’t even turn around. “That was fast.”

  Sandman stepped up behind him and slammed the man’s head against the table. Blood spurted from the resulting gash in his forehead, dripped down his broken nose. Before Galloway could recover, Sandman grabbed him by the ear and forced him to the floor. Galloway’s cuffed wrists pulled the table over with him.

  “Where is the hostage?” Sandman demanded.

  Galloway grinned. “What hostage?”

  Sandman planted a knee in his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. “You don’t know where you are. Let me enlighten you. This place isn’t on any kind of map, which means the rules do not apply. If you cease to exist here, no one will care. No one will know.” He shifted the pressure of his knee, let Galloway accept th
at he was about to feel the desperate pain of a rib piercing his lung. Easing back he repeated the question.

  Galloway’s eyes went wide, rivulets of blood tracked across his face, pooling in his ears. Sandman gave him a shake. “Tell me now and I might let you survive.”

  “They won’t let you kill me. I’m too valuable.”

  Sandman shook his head. “The only thing of value you have is her location. Share it or die.”

  Still Galloway hesitated.

  “Ten.” Sandman dropped a hard fist onto the man’s battered nose.

  Galloway screamed.

  “Nine.” He boxed Galloway’s ears. “Eight.”

  “Stop! Please.” Tears mingled with the blood on his face, creating a macabre mask.

  “Location.”

  “I –I don’t know.”

  Sandman raised his hand like a blade, poised to strike.

  “It’s the truth.” Galloway cringed. “I don’t know. I hired a guy.”

  “Who?”

  Galloway shook his head. “Don’t know. It was an online contact. I gave him instructions and money and he delivered the pictures I needed. Gave him a bonus.”

  “When and where is she supposed to be released?”

  Galloway’s eyes shifted, his gaze darting away from Sandman’s face. Sandman suddenly knew the truth… Galloway hadn’t planned to release Renata at all.

  “Ah, damn. She was the bonus,” he said, pushing to his feet. He swore and kicked Galloway in the side just for the hell of it, hearing the satisfying crack of bone as the ribs gave way. “Give me something.”

  “She’s in the states,” he said through gritted teeth. “I think.”

  “Mighty big country. Or hadn’t you noticed?” Sandman pulled his pistol, aimed it at Galloway’s midsection. “Something useful, asshole.”

  Galloway rattled off an email address. “It’s all I know, I swear.”

  It would have to be enough. He plugged the information into his phone.

  “He might already have a buyer.”

  Livid at the mere idea, Sandman stomped hard on Galloway’s knee and walked out, nearly colliding with Messenger in the hallway.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, planting his hands on his hips.

  “My job,” Sandman replied, loosening his tie. “You want the hostage. I’m expediting the process.”

  “I’ve never known you to be so… impatient.” Messenger peered around him, taking in the scene inside the interrogation room. “It was my opinion that the program could use a man like that one.”

  Sandman disagreed one hundred percent, but his opinion would only fall on deaf ears.

  “So fix him up, train him. Adjust him,” Sandman said loud enough for Galloway’s ears. “But I sure as hell wouldn’t ever trust him.”

  “Of course not,” Messenger agreed in his typical unflappable tone. “Not at all like we trust you.”

  His blood still running hot from pounding on the prisoner, it took significant effort to withhold the reaction he knew Messenger expected. He managed not to rise to the bait, or puke on Messenger’s gleaming shoes as the image of putting down one of UI’s best operatives last week replayed in his mind.

  UI operatives were separated out at different stages of training. Once they entered the second and third echelons of the program, they rarely encountered their peers, Messenger was careful about that. Still, some names stood out even in a does-not-exist system. John Noble had been a legend among the few people who knew he existed.

  For Sandman, following the order, taking the kill shot made it clear just how fragile an operative’s position was around here. He’d never officially met Noble, but Sandman had been tasked to bat cleanup if necessary on one of Noble’s missions south of the border a few years back. It hadn’t been necessary.

  Sandman knew Messenger had put him on the trigger for two reasons: his aim was infallible and he knew what Noble looked like.

  “Can you find her or not? We need to keep a lid on this.”

  That didn’t make sense to Sandman. No one outside of the system even knew about UI business, no matter the criminal or political connections. Hell, most people inside the system didn’t know any details. But Messenger had perfected the art of cryptic phrasing and Sandman had other things on his mind. Specifically Renata. Every second he wasted here was another advantage for the kidnapper. “He gave me a lead,” he said. More like a blurry wisp of vapor.

  “I see.” Messenger’s eyebrows dipped low as he frowned at Galloway. “Looks like you were almost gentle with him.” He reached around and pulled the soundproof door closed.

  “He’s weak.” Sandman shrugged. Hopefully Messenger would rethink his offer to bring Galloway into the program.

  “Go on,” Messenger said, stepping out of the way.

  Sandman hurried down the hall.

  “One last thing, Sandman.”

  He paused, turning slowly to face his boss. “Sir?”

  “When you’ve found her, eliminate her and her captor. We can’t have any loose ends on this one.”

  “Yes, sir.” He hoped that meant an end to Galloway too.

  “Make sure the kidnapper takes the blame.”

  With a nod, Sandman walked away quickly, biting back the automatic questions. For the first time in his career – his life – he considered disobeying a direct order. Maybe he’d be too late and the kidnapper would have done the hard part already. The mere idea of killing Renata made him sick inside. The deed itself would blacken his soul beyond any reclamation.

  As Sandman raced for the staging area to collect a few supplies, he sent an email to the address Galloway provided. While he waited for a reply, his phone started chirping with incoming messages from Tisdale.

  There was a solution, a plan B that allowed Renata to keep breathing. And a man like him, a man who didn’t need sleep, had plenty of time to find it.

  Chapter Three

  Renata’s eyes wanted to open as she came awake. Even in this sleepy twilight, she said a prayer this was nothing more than a terrible nightmare. But the blindfold was still in place, quickly disabusing her of that faint hope.

  The skin of her face was pinched and her mouth was covered now. Someone clearly didn’t approve of her screaming for help. She could just picture herself with a stripe of silver duct tape across her mouth. Unbidden, her brother’s face came to mind. Growing up he must have threatened her a dozen times – in the way only big brothers are allowed – to tape her mouth shut.

  Would she ever see Brevo again?

  Why not just kill her and be done with it already?

  Other changes in her surroundings sank in as her brain started to function better. The chair was gone. She was on her side with some sort of rough fabric between her and a hard, lumpy surface. A wool blanket maybe? She raised her head and connected with another hard surface.

  She prayed to all the saints she could name that she hadn’t been buried alive.

  Struggling for calm, she forced herself to think. Wherever she’d been, they’d moved her. Were moving her, she amended as her body slid like a rag doll, bunching the fabric beneath her. The force nudged her blindfold and while her surroundings were dark, things started to make more sense.

  The drone under her ear was an engine along with the sound of tires on a paved road. She was in a trunk, sliding around as the driver swerved in and out of traffic, or around curves.

  Great.

  No, not great. Wonderful! Her training in the diplomatic corps covered moments like these, just in case someone did something stupid or gallant enough to garner a criminal’s attention.

  Clearly, she’d done that something stupid. Somehow she’d made a serious misstep in her inquiries at recent official events. It was the only thing she could think of that would bring the wrong kind of attention down on her.

  Modern trunks had release latches for safety. She and her peers had enjoyed an interesting day of training on how to escape this kind of situation. It had seemed
outrageous at the time. Now she felt immense gratitude for the security team who’d arranged it.

  First she had to get her hands free of whatever kept them pinned behind her back. In such tight quarters it proved a bigger challenge than she’d anticipated, compounded by the motion of the car.

  Pausing to catch her breath before making another attempt, she listened for clues about her location, another part of the escape protocol. Her captors must be out in the country somewhere. There weren’t enough stops or blaring horns for a city environment.

  Renata weighed the pros and cons of trying to get away while the car was moving. It went against the training, but her captor had drugs and she didn’t want another dose.

  Her stomach rumbled and she wondered again how many days had passed. How long had they kept her drugged and confined? Her clothing was twisted, she felt filthy and, even with the mechanical odors of the car, she knew she smelled worse.

  Wiggling her hands and feet, she realized the metal restraints were gone from her wrists and ankles, but the plastic ties binding her wrists weren’t much of an improvement. She tried everything to bring her bound hands in front of her, but there just wasn’t enough room.

  Damn.

  Rubbing her head against the fabric, she was able to move the blindfold a bit more. If she could spot the release, maybe there was a way to trip the lever with her foot.

  It would most likely be near the center latch, she remembered, squirming as much as possible in the confined space. Good grief, why couldn’t her captor have chosen a full size car?

  She found the plastic panel with her knee and nearly burst into tears. This would require fingers. The car took another turn and her body slipped helplessly away from the release.

  Giving up wasn’t in her nature, but she was beyond tired, and weak from whatever they’d given her. Even if she got out, there was no guarantee she would find a place to hide from whoever was in charge. Waiting felt too passive. Surely some compassionate soul would notice a woman leaping from a trunk and be moved to help her.