Page 8

I an stood by the airport security check point, waiting for Amar and his men to get through customs—with their Interpol security clearances, one would think it would make things quicker, but that wasn’t always the case.

The paperwork could be a hassle depending on which country they were from and which one they were entering.

The Trident team had been on the ground for several hours, and, unfortunately, Ian didn’t have much to report to his friend, although his team was still looking for a potential lead.

Realizing they might be on the island for a few days, Ian had arranged for two large suites at a local hotel where they could set up a headquarters, in addition to rotating combat naps.

He had a feeling they were going to need it.

Using his Pentagon and NSA contacts, he’d gotten the necessary clearance for Jake and Nick to board the cruise ship Tahira and her cousins had been vacationing on.

They’d met with the head of security and gained entry to the princess’s luxury suite.

There were three bedrooms, one for each woman.

Farid and Diallo had taken a suite right next door.

Jake and Nick would comb through both to see if there was any clue as to how and why the women were kidnapped.

The local police had found two people who’d seen the women being forced into a van from across the parking lot, however, they hadn’t seen the kidnappers kill the two guards.

The witnesses had delayed contacting the police because they hadn’t wanted to get involved, but then their consciences had gotten the better of them.

Ian hadn’t needed to confirm the kidnappings had happened, but it was good to have the information.

If they had to go public about the missing women, the more evidence they had that a crime had been committed, the better.

That was a last resort though. They wanted to avoid an international media frenzy at all costs—it could force the kidnappers to kill their hostages.

While Jake and Nick were busy on the ship—they’d fly back, with Farid and Diallo, via a helicopter, when they were done since the cruise had set sail again—the rest of the team were doing what they could to find even the tiniest of clues.

Back in Tampa, Nathan had done a good job locating the van on surveillance and security cameras.

After leaving the park, it had been driven to a small private airstrip, where it had been abandoned.

Unfortunately, they hadn’t found anyone willing to admit they’d seen the kidnappers and the women board any planes and take off or change vehicles and drive away.

Nathan had hacked into the security system, but none of the few cameras at the airport had been pointing in the right direction or the kidnappers had known how to avoid them.

“Ian!” Amar called as he and his team hurried toward him, each carrying large duffel bags.

It was a safe bet they’d brought a small arsenal of weapons with them, just as the Trident men had.

The latter had an easier time of getting them into Jamaica though, after arriving in the company jet at one of the smaller airports that didn’t have a customs checkpoint.

After a quick shake of hands between the two friends, Amar introduced Ian to his team as they all walked toward the exit leading to the parking lot. “What have you found out?”

During the drive to the police station, Ian filled them in on what little they had to go on so far. It was 5:30 p.m. local time. No ransom demands had been made. They still had no idea why the princess and her cousins had been taken.

Twelve and a half hours later, they were no closer to finding the women.

That morning, Ian and Amar had paired up a Trident operative with a member of the royal guard.

Foster and his partner were sticking with Investigator Lewis.

The man was more than willing to accept their help.

He didn’t want the headache that went with an international incident any more than they did.

McCabe was with the crime scene investigators, who were processing the van for any evidence that may have been left behind.

Morrison was over at the morgue, waiting on the autopsies of the two royal guards.

Once the bullets were recovered from the bodies, he’d have the lab techs forward the images to Nathan, who would then run them through the NSA interface he still had access to after Trident had hired him away from the agency.

Without giving away any identities, the police had released a statement about the incident at the falls in time for the morning news, and Ian, Amar, and the guards had spent a few hours helping the detectives follow up on a few leads that had come in—unfortunately, none had panned out.

They still didn’t know if the women had definitely boarded a plane or if the van at the airstrip had been a red herring and they’d left by boat or hadn’t left the island at all.

They’d managed to track down and cross off their list four of the eight small planes that had allegedly taken off from the private airport in the two hours following the kidnapping.

None of the aircraft, their pilots, or passengers had been involved in the crime.

Ian wasn’t too hopeful that the remaining planes would pan out either.

All it would take was a little bribe money to let one take off without filing a flight plan—an advantage not found at regulated, public airports.

Back in Tampa, Brody had returned from his honeymoon late yesterday afternoon, and he and Nathan had spent the entire night and morning scouring the Dark Web for chatter about the missing royal.

They hadn’t found anything yet, but they were still at it.

People went missing without a trace all the time, but the more well-known they were, the more likely evidence of their location would show up at some point.

Arriving at the police station, where everyone would be checking in, Ian parked the rented minivan. As he and Amar strode toward the building, Ian’s phone rang. Retrieving it from his pocket, he eyed the screen. Romeo.

Connecting the call, he said, “Mancini, unless it’s important, it has to wait. I’m in the middle of—”

“We’ve got a cluster-fuck, Boss-man.”

Ian pulled up short, causing the other man to slow, then stop and stare at him. “Batman?”

“He’s fine, but the mission has gone FUBAR and the objective has changed. You’re not gonna believe this, but, apparently, Princess Tahira and her two cousins have become guests of Diaz, and it’s not by choice.”

Disbelief and horror coursed through him, his body stiffening. “What!”

“That was my reaction too. Don’t ask me how it happened because I don’t know. But it gets worse. The time frame for the sale has been moved up. We have fifty-two hours before the women disappear into the wind.”

“Fuck! Hang on.” His gaze shot to Amar. “We’re headed to Argentina.”

The man gaped at him in confusion. “Argentina? Why?”

“Because we have two days before Her Highness and the others are sold as sex slaves.”

Amar’s olive skin paled. “Oh my God.”

* * *

After playing the part of a faithful cartel associate and helping unload the shipment of guns and ammo that had arrived last night, Darius had returned to his room in a cottage on the estate property.

“Glenn Hamilton” was the playboy son of a wealthy businessman, portrayed by a Deimos operative.

His cover had been solidly cultivated over the past several years by the black-ops agency, and the computer geeks there had easily photoshopped Darius’s image into dozens of photos and flushed them out onto the internet.

In the meantime, Hamilton also had an extensive history on the Dark Web as being a wheeler and dealer in all sorts of dirty markets—drugs, guns, and human trafficking among them.

As far as Diaz and his men knew, Darius had become an “acquisition manager” for several very wealthy men with perverted appetites for women, after his father had cut his monthly allowance.

He’d contacted Diaz after his former supplier had been killed in a raid.

With his airtight background in place, it hadn’t taken Diaz long to welcome him into his organization.

While Secada had been warier than his boss, Darius had done what he could to ease the man’s suspicions. So far, it had worked.

There had been no chance to slip out of the compound unnoticed during the night, so he’d caught up on his sleep, thinking he had plenty of time before the auction to alert his teammates of Tahira’s presence.

A few hours wouldn’t hurt, and he couldn’t risk any actions that were out of the ordinary and would raise suspicions.

However, when he’d joined Diaz, Secada, and two cartel lieutenants for breakfast, he’d been advised that the sale date for the women had been moved up a week and all bidding parties would be made aware of the change throughout the day.

At Diaz’s directive, Darius called his two “clients,” two Deimos operatives posing as men in the market for sex slaves and letting them know about the change of plans.

Once that was accomplished, Darius’s main concern was letting his Trident bosses know about Tahira and her cousins.

The auction would take place at the compound with the bidders arriving an hour or two before things got started to look over the “merchandise.”

A raid was planned for when the auction started, and all parties were in place.

Not only did the FBI, DEA, ATF, NSA, CIA, and Deimos want to destroy the Diaz cartel, they also wanted to take down as many of their clients as possible, no matter what illegal business they were in.

The problem, until recently, was the higher ups believed there was a mole in more than one of the US alphabet agencies, which was why the Trident team had quietly been brought in.

With Diaz constantly moving between estates in several Central and South American countries, it had been hard to nail the guy down.

They’d almost had him about ten months ago, but he’d escaped, using his wife and two kids as shields as they boarded a helicopter amid the gunfire between his men and the Deimos agents and two black-ops teams.

After breakfast, Darius had volunteered to head into town with Guillermo Torres, one of the cartel members he’d befriended, to run a few errands.

One of the things they had to do was pick up the clothes Secada had ordered from a local dress shop for the women to wear the night of the auction.

As usual, it hadn’t taken much to convince Torres to stop for a beer or two at the cantina.

The man had the hots for the bartender and would be too busy to notice when Darius spent a few minutes in the restroom, leaving a message for Mancini, then activating the code yellow signal.

His two teammates would make sure the troops would arrive early for the raid.

It would be hairier than expected with Tahira thrown into the mix.

No matter what, there would be a chance the women would be harmed when all hell broke loose.

Darius hated the fact, but they needed as much evidence as possible to bring the cartel and its clients down for good.

Tomorrow night, he’d suggest to Torres and one or two others that they head into town for a drink after hours.

By that point, the black-ops teams would’ve covertly made their way into the area.

At the cantina, Costello would be waiting for him to hit on her after she’d gotten into a fight with her “boyfriend.” A trip to a local hostel up the street for a little nooky would be the cover for Darius to meet with the team and quickly go over the planned raid.

He just hoped like hell the op didn’t get any more fucked up, because it had already become a cluster-fuck and the clock was ticking.