Storm Front

“That’s enough.” Volkov cut them off. “Isn’t it fortunate for me that my men were able to grab her just before she hopped away like the little bunny she is. They tell me she almost made it out, too. Would you like to hear from your darling children, Mr. Cracker, or can you trust that if I’ve got your wife, I’ve got them as well?”

“What do you want, Volkov?” Cracker said, trying to sound brave. “You want money? I’ve got all the money you need. I’ll give you ten million for each of them, wired to any account anywhere in the world, no questions, no strings. Make it twenty million. Half now and half when—”

“Keep your money, Mr. Cracker. You must not have been listening to me this morning. Why would I want your money when I can have power? Ultimate power. For myself and my country. I assure you, there is not enough money in the world to make me give up that dream. Not even in your bank account.”

Storm looked at Cracker’s face. His expression was shocked and overwhelmed and utterly desperate. Without a single word spoken, it informed Storm that trying to talk sense into this man wouldn’t work. So, yes, Storm could tell him that there was no point in negotiating with terrorists. Storm could tell him that they needed to take control of this situation, to strike before being stricken, to trust that Volkov was ultimately a pragmatist who wouldn’t kill the Cracker family while he still needed them for leverage. Storm could tell Cracker if he acquiesced and did what Volkov wanted, he and his family would be dead the moment Volkov no longer found them useful.

But Storm knew Cracker was beyond listening. Cracker had clearly made his mistakes — his recent actions, in par tic u lar, made him anything but the tower of virtuousness the world took him to be. Still, at his core, he was a decent man who would do anything to save his wife and children.

Even if doing it would actually result in them all being killed.

“Okay,” Storm said. “So you’re holding the cards. How’s this going to go?”

“Mr. Cracker will present himself to me at the international departures entrance to Terminal B at Newark Airport in two hours,” Volkov said. “Since I know where your mind is going at this moment, let me start by saying that if we find Mr. Cracker suddenly placed on the No-Fly List or if there is anything else done to impede his progress out of the country, the consequences for his family will be severe.”

“I under—” Cracker started, but Volkov shouted him down.

“I’m not finished. Mr. Cracker will be carrying his passport, but he will have no other luggage. He will come alone. I have trained my men to know what your CIA agents look like and what their tricks are. If I or my men get even the slightest inkling Mr. Cracker is not alone or that you have organized some kind of resistance, trust that I will mail him back his family in pieces.”

“Okay, we got it,” Storm said before Cracker could respond. “But we can’t make that happen in two hours. Your men destroyed our car. His passport is at his house in Chappaqua. We can’t get a new car, get up to Chappaqua, and then get down to Newark Airport in two hours. Make it four hours.”

In four hours, Storm could prevail on Jedediah Jones to get a team in place. It would be a team that, whatever Volkov thought, no thugs would be able to sniff out, no matter what Volkov told them to look for.

But in two hours? It would be nearly impossible to coordinate all those moving parts and not have them looking like the Key-stone Cops. Someone would screw up.

And Volkov knew it.

“You’re a resourceful man, Storm. You can make it happen,” Volkov said. “I will see you in two hours, Mr. Cracker. Or I’ll enjoy raping your pretty wife while your children are hacked to bits.”

The next utterance out of Cracker’s mouth was a panicked what-will-we-do-now-how-are-we-going-to-handle-this-what-will-happen-to-us torrent that made even less sense as it went along. Storm waited it out.

When he was quite confident it was done, Storm said, “Give me your wallet.”

“Why do… why do you need my wallet?”

“Let’s have a return to the no-questions policy, please. Just hand me your wallet.”

Cracker reached into his back pocket and pulled out a slender, expensive-looking leather billfold. The only cash in it was a single hundred-dollar bill. Storm picked through the credit cards until he arrived at the black American Express card. He walked toward the used car portion of the gas station, entering a glass door that had a jagged crack running along its lower portion and bells tied to its handle.

Cracker tagged along but, in keeping with the recently reinstated policy, said nothing. The jangling of the door brought a tired-looking black man from a back room.

“Can I help you?”