Hostage Zero

Jonathan liked that idea. “We’ll give it a shot.” He snorted a laugh. “What an honor it is to be the boss. She gets New Jersey, and I get the armpit of the world.” He shook his head at the irony. “Tell me about your Colombian contact.”

Irene hedged, “I can give you a name, but you need to understand that he’s an independent contractor.”

“Is he any good?”

“He’s done good work for me,” Irene said. “Problem is, his loyalties are not predictable. He likes chasing the highest bidder.”

“What’s his name?”

“Jose Calderon. He lives in Panama City now, but he-”

Jonathan’s face brightened. “Jammin’ Josie? Guerrilla fighter, used to work out of Cartagena?”

“You know him.”

Jonathan chuckled at the memory. “Sure, I know him. He led us to Pablo back when I was with the Unit. Twitchy little guy, but he knew his business. I thought he was PNG in Colombia now.” He knew that Irene would understand the acronym for persona non grata.

“Did I not mention that he runs to the highest bidder?”

“Has he worked for you guys recently?”

Irene shook her head. “Not for us. Not for years. He did some work with the DEA toward the end of the last administration, and I heard he was trolling for work with the Agency in Nicaragua, but all of that has dried up. This getting-along business is putting a lot of contractors out of business.”

“How do we know the other side hasn’t picked up where we left off?”

“We don’t. In fact we don’t know a lot anymore.”

Jonathan always did admire blunt honesty. He’d also had a lot of good fortune with Jammin’ Josie. The man knew everybody, was trusted by people who counted, and was able to raise a small army, complete with weapons, on relatively short notice.

“And you know where you can find him?” Jonathan asked.

Irene gave a coy smile as she reached into the pocket of her suit jacket and handed him a card, complete with name and number. “He’s waiting for you to call,” she said.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The jungle had grown progressively thicker during the four-hour ride from Evan’s first prison compound. Mile after mile, the foliage pressed ever closer to their SUV as the road disappeared to little more than a trail. All the jungle had to do was take a deep breath, and the road would disappear completely.

Evan rode in the backseat next to a white man who seemed nearly as out of place as Evan did. He didn’t say anything, but he kept casting glances to the boy and then returning his eyes to the front as soon as Evan caught him looking. Stare away, Evan thought. No harm in that. But if he even thought about touching him, he’d wish he hadn’t.

As Evan had told Father Dom in the past, there wasn’t much good to come out of a shitty childhood, but you learned how to take care of yourself. If those assholes back at the school had attacked when he was awake instead of sound asleep, he wouldn’t be here right now.

He might not be alive, but he sure as hell wouldn’t be here-wherever here was. And the people who took him would be blind and walking funny.

“I am Mitch,” his seatmate said, extending a friendly hand. “And you are Evan, no?” The English was fine, but he had a different kind of accent. Sort of a cross between Mel Gibson (when he was being Aussie) and Michael Caine being Alfred the butler.

Evan looked at the hand, but didn’t move to shake it.

“So, you are fourteen?” Mitch pressed.

“Don’t talk to me, you fuckin’ perv,” Evan spat. He turned away to look out the window. He’d seen guys like this before. If you let them believe for even a second that you were an easy mark, they’d think they could do whatever they wanted.

The hand remained outstretched, unmoving. “Believe it or not, Evan, I am your friend.”

Evan tried ignoring him, but when the words wouldn’t dissolve into the air, he turned back around to face the man. “My friend, huh? Well, Friend Mitch, how ’bout you take me home?”

Mitch rolled his hand closed and replaced it on his lap. “I know that is what you would like me to do,” he said, “but for the moment that is not possible.”

The SUV hit a huge rut, jarring all of them, and making Evan feel good about putting his seat belt on. He kind of hoped that the bump might have knocked the others out, but was disappointed that they’d been wearing their seat belts, too.

“If you wanted it, it would be possible,” Evan said.

“Actually, no,” Mitch corrected. “I’m sure it’s difficult for you to understand, but even I could not make that happen.”

“ Even I could not make that happen,” Evan parroted, mocking the accent. “It really sucks to be a victim, doesn’t it? Just you and me, sharing a jail cell.”

Mitch looked amused as he folded his arms and legs and nestled himself into the corner near the door. “Has anyone put you in a jail cell?” he asked.

The sudden change in demeanor made the boy uncomfortable. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but Mitch was projecting a new air of menace.

“It’s a real question, Evan. Have you seen the inside of a cell here?”

“I’ve seen my share,” Evan grumbled.

“I mean since you’ve been a guest with us. Have you seen a cell?”