Hostage Zero

“Nowhere in Colombia, I can tell you that. I hated the desert, and that was a dry heat. You’re talking fuckin’ jungle.”

Jonathan laughed. “The issue remains that you don’t have a lot of options.”

Harvey gaped, trying to think of something-anything-to toss out as an alternative to exposing himself to gunfire again. “Were you not listening when I told you about my PTSD? I’m crazy.”

“Crazy’s a continuum,” Jonathan countered. “You’ve met my friend Boxers, so you know that. You handled yourself really well back there at the marina. That was good thinking. And young Jeremy is perfect evidence that your medic chops are still good. Add the fact that I could use an extra hand, and I think this is a good opportunity for you.”

“Opportunity.” Harvey tasted the word. Didn’t like it. “Is that what you call it? An opportunity to do what, other than dying?”

“To regain your self-respect,” Jonathan said.

Harvey blushed.

“I don’t mean to presume,” Jonathan continued, “but I’ve been watching you. You’re nowhere near as crazy as you pretend to be. You’ve had some hard breaks, and you’ve been aggressively screwed by the system, but I think that even you see the difference in yourself over the past couple of days.”

Harvey blushed redder. “Now you’re a psychiatrist in addition to all of your other superhuman skills? Can you see through walls, too?”

“Scoff if you want,” Jonathan pressed. “I’m just telling you that the way things have been for you doesn’t have to be the way it is from now on. What are you going to do? Go back to your tent? How do you expect to watch your back at night? How do you really ever sleep again?”

“Because you killed those guys! Thanks a lot.”

“No, no, no. Don’t you lay that all on me. I was there, remember? You were the point on that spear. You chose to help Jeremy Schuler. You chose to nurse him back to health.”

“What was I supposed to do? He was dying.”

Jonathan cocked his head. “Are you going to tell me that you weren’t tempted to just pull out and go the other way?”

Harvey looked at the floor.

“It shows that you made a choice,” Jonathan pressed. “You could have walked away, but you didn’t. You could have sold the boy out in the bar, but you didn’t, and by remaining quiet you almost got yourself killed. Like it or not, that’s heroic behavior. Somewhere out there, there’s a drill sergeant who’s damn proud.”

Harvey wanted to argue. You could see it right there on the front of his face. His mouth worked to form words, but none flowed.

“Come on, Harvey,” Jonathan said, moving to seal the deal. “When was the last time you got the opportunity to do something noble?”

He was close. So close. “Why me? There must be a hundred eager soldier wannabes who’d piss all over themselves for the opportunity to shoot up a jungle.”

“Because I don’t have time to recruit. And because once you walked into this thing, you got skin in the game. You’re a native Spanish speaker, right?”

Harvey shrugged.

Jonathan tapped a point in the air. “I thought so. Deep down inside, you’re thrilled to be involved.”

Harvey smiled. “I am, am I? How deep down inside?”

“Actually, not deep at all.”

They shook on it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Jersey City was nowhere near as terrible a place as Gail had thought it would be. Nestled up next to the Hudson River, with some of the best views possible of the Statue of Liberty, the rows of well-kept town houses and the forests of neat single-family bungalows reminded her of the working-class neighborhoods of Chicago that housed her youth.

Her GPS had taken her directly to Wilkinson Avenue-in fact right to the front door of the house she was looking for.

Gail climbed out of the rented Celica, closed the door, and scanned the neighborhood for trouble, just in case. Some habits were too ingrained ever to be broken. Outside the protection of her vehicle, the neighborhood looked less inviting. Perhaps it would have been a better idea to make this visit during the day. Tucking her purse under her arm, she walked over the curb and toward the rotting steps that led to Alice Navarro’s house.

She’d paid calls like this a thousand times over her career as a cop and an FBI agent, but it had only been since working with Security Solutions that she’d been paying them solo. A badge bought the luxury of backup. In the private sector, the best you could count on was your weapon and the skill to use it. In her case, she carried two: a Glock in her purse, and a backup. 38 snub nose strapped to her ankle. In New Jersey, the mere presence of either one could get her put away.

Better to be tried by twelve than carried by six. Cliches become cliches for a reason.

The Navarro house was every bit of seventy years old, its facade built of brick, including the pillars that supported the porch roof. The screen door was locked. She rapped with her middle knuckle on one of the glass panes that flanked the door.