The Plantation

Food! Mouthwatering food! Payne couldn’t believe his luck. The image of a thick, juicy steak suddenly popped into his mind, causing his stomach to rumble like a subwoofer. “Thank you, Bennie. I’m starving.”

“First things first. I heard what Master Ndjai did to ya, and I thought ya could use a bath.” The dreadlocked servant held up a big pot of liquid, explaining what he had in mind. “Now, don’t ya be drinking this stuff while I pour it on ya. This ain’t normal water.”

“What the hell is it then?”

“Don’t ya be worrying none. I mixed up an old family recipe, one that we use to bathe babies when they be young. Not only will it makes ya clean, but it’ll make ya smell like an infant.”

“Thanks, but I already smell like piss.”

Blount smiled. “That’s not what I meant. You be smellin’ April fresh when I done with ya. I promise.” He carefully tipped the pot until the liquid flowed over Payne, surging through the grate like a great flood, washing away the stale scent of urine and the lingering stench of sweat.

“I’ll be damned!” Payne chuckled, suddenly feeling a lot better. He took a deep whiff, breathing in the fragrance. “You’re right. I smell like the goddamn Snuggle Bear. What’s in that stuff? It smells great!”

Blount’s smile quickly faded. “Trust me, Mr. Payne. You don’t wants to know. I know it made me sick the first time I found out. Yuck!”

Although he was curious about the secret ingredient, Payne quickly changed subjects. “Bennie, now that I’m clean, what do you have for me to eat?”

“I gots ya lots of stuff, but the most important stuff be the liquids. We gots to get ya full of fluid or you’s gonna melt away like lard in a skillet.”

Payne attacked his meal with zeal, smiling the entire time. Bennie Blount, the dreadlocked servant from the bayou, had saved his life-if only for the time being. Technically, Blount had only provided Payne with food, juice, and a much-needed shower, but in reality he had given Payne something even more important than sustenance. He had given him hope. “Bennie, I can’t thank you enough. I can’t even begin to explain how much I needed that.”

Blount grinned as he tidied the area around the box. He needed to make sure that there was no sign of his visit, or he’d get in serious trouble. “Well, I be feelin’ bad about the trick that we played on you and Mr. Jones. I figure it be the least I can do.”

“Speaking of D.J., how’s he doing?”

Blount took a deep breath, pausing ever so slightly. “I don’t mean to scare ya none, but I heard that Master Greene roughed him up somethin’ fierce.”

“What?”

“Before ya get too worried, I didn’t get a chance to find out if that be true or not, but I just thought it be best if I done told ya what I had heard.”

Payne considered the information. If it was true, it would make things doubly difficult.

“Where’s he being held? Is he in the main house?”

“No, sir. He be in a utility cabin near the slaves. It kinda stands out from the others, though, since it has plumbing and be much larger than the rest.”

“Is there any way you can visit him? You know, to bring him food and first aid?”

Blount shook his head. “Not without them knowing. The cabin is guarded, and it be locked from the outside. Since I ain’t got no key, I can’t get in with no permission. And I don’t think I be gettin’ any.”

“Is there any chance of him getting out? A window? A trapdoor? Anything?”

“You be watchin’ too much TV! There ain’t no such thing as trapdoors in the real world.”

Payne immediately thought of Levon Greene’s escape from the tattoo parlor, but he didn’t have time to explain it to Blount. “So, there’s no way in or out without the key, right? How about Ariane? Is she still in the same place as before?”

Blount wrinkled his face in discomfort. When he originally briefed Payne and Jones about the Plantation, he had given them bogus information. It was all a part of Greene’s master plan of deception. “I been wantin’ to talk to ya about that. You see, the stuff that I done told you before was a little off.”

Payne leaned his head against the Devil’s Box and groaned. “How off?”

“Kinda completely off.”

“Bennie,” he said.

“I be sorry, but Master Greene wasn’t about to let me tell ya the real stuff. He’s one of the bosses of this place, so I didn’t have no choice.”

“Yeah, but . . .” Payne stopped his complaint in midsen tence. He suddenly remembered that Blount had just saved his life, so there was no way he was going to make him feel worse about his earlier actions. “Okay, Bennie, you’re probably right. You didn’t have a choice. But I’d certainly appreciate it if you filled me in now.”

Blount nodded. “We gotta be quick, though. I don’t want to be gone too long from the kitchen. I might be missed.”

“Fair enough.”

“So, what do ya need to know?”

Payne grimaced. There were tons of things that he wanted to learn about the island, but before the opportunity passed, he needed Blount’s assistance on something else. “Bennie, I know you’ve done a lot of nice things for me, and I really appreciate them all. But there’s something I need that’s even more important than information.”

Blount brushed the braided hair from his face, gazing into the box. “Like what?”

“Well, I was wondering if you could scratch me.”

“Huh?”

“I was hoping you could scratch me. I’ve been in here for a pretty long time, and I got a number of itches all over my body that I can’t reach, so . . .”

“You’s being serious, ain’t ya?”

Payne nodded, trying to look as pathetic as possible.

“You’s crazy! I want to help ya and all, but I ain’t touchin’ no man. Besides, there ain’t no way my arms can fit in that thing. The holes on the top be too skinny.”

Payne sighed, making sure that Blount could hear his disappointment. “Come on, Bennie, there has to be something you can do. These itches are driving me crazy! Every time I move, it feels like something is crawling on me-especially down there. It’s horrible!”

Blount examined the grate of the box, but his suspicions were correct. There was no way for him to get his arm inside. “Why don’t ya do it yourself?”

“If I could, I would. But as you can see, my hands are bound to the floor. I can’t even crack my knuckles, let alone scratch myself.”

Blount peered closer, shining the light inside. “Yeah, your hands is bound good. Unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

“Unless I can do somethin’ with your hands.”

Payne tried not to smile, but it was tough. Blount had just suggested the one thing that Payne was hoping for. In fact, it was the only reason that Payne had bitched to begin with. “Jeez, Bennie, what do you think you can do?”

Blount examined the shackles from several angles. Then he peered at the outside of the box. “You be in handcuffs, right? And the handcuffs is bolted to the floor?”

“That’s right.”

“And if I release the bolt from the floor, you’ll still gonna be in cuffs, won’t ya?”

Payne pretended to contemplate things. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

“And you can scratch yourself with cuffs, can’t ya?”

“Definitely! And it wouldn’t be like you were freeing me. I’d still be locked in this thing.”

Blount mulled over the situation. He didn’t want to do anything that would give away his role in this. “All right. I think I can unscrew the bolt from the outside. Once you pull your cuffs from the hook, I be putting the bolt right back. That way it looks like you did it on your own.”

Payne lowered his head and smiled. The servant didn’t realize it, but he had given Payne much more than an opportunity to scratch.

He had given him a way to escape.

CHAPTER 41

DAVID

Jones had no idea where his best friend was being held or what was being done to him, but the racial overtones of the island suggested he was probably in bad shape.

Despite the pain in his ribs and back, Jones squirmed until his hands, which had been bound behind him, were stretched beyond his feet and repositioned near his stomach. Though his hands were still bound, he had a lot more freedom to move about the cabin and search for a way out. He quickly probed the floor, walls, and ceiling, but each of them proved to be solid. After several minutes, it became apparent that his only option was the heavily guarded front door. Made of oak and finished with a light lacquer, the door was thick, too thick to knock down. It sat in a matching oak frame and was sealed from the outside with a steel dead-bolt lock.

Frustrated, Jones lay on his mattress and pondered his situation. “What would MacGyver do?” he wondered aloud, referring to the TV character who had a penchant for creative solutions. “He’d probably make a grenade out of chocolate pudding and blow up the door.”

He chuckled as he said it, but as he stared at the door over his outstretched feet, two things became apparent. One, a doorway explosion was within the realm of possibility. And two, he wouldn’t have to build a device because the guards had actually given him one.

The idiots had strapped it to his leg.

Forgetting the pain in his back and ribs, Jones leaned forward to study his anklet. The mechanism, attached below his shin, was encased in a silver, metallic shell that was no thicker than his hand. The gadget was streamlined and carried little weight; that meant the technology was pretty advanced.

Unless this is a dummy,

he thought to himself.

Since the latest in incendiary gear was bound to be expensive, Jones wondered if the Posse had the finances to spend so much money on deterrents. If they didn’t, he figured they might be tempted to put dummy devices on the legs of their captives. To him, it made sense. The prisoners would undoubtedly accept the guards’ explanation of the anklets, and because of that they’d be too scared to run away or attempt to remove them.

To find out what he was dealing with, Jones looked for the safest way to penetrate the metal casing. He carefully explored the outside of the shell, realizing that there were only two practical choices. He could pick the lock on the front of the anklet, a difficult task without the proper tools, or he could pry the case open with some kind of wedge. The second option seemed the easier of two, but it also seemed much riskier. Even though there was a thin seam that ran along the top of the mechanism, one that could be pried apart with some effort, Jones figured it was bound to be booby-trapped. Most high-tech explosives were.

That meant he had to pick it.

The question was, how? If he had his lock-picking kit with him, Jones could open the clasp in less than a minute. Without it he had no idea how long the process would take-if he could do it at all. In order to try, he had to find something slender enough to fit in the lock but sturdy enough not to break. Jones scoured the walls for stray tacks or nails, but it was pretty obvious that there were none. Next, he examined his bed, hoping that there were iron springs on the inside, but the mattress was made of foam.

“Shit!” he grumbled. “What can I use?”

Jones glanced around the room for several seconds before his statement finally sank in.

He could use a part from the toilet.

With a burst of energy that masked his pain, he rushed to the porcelain throne and removed the back lid. Peering inside, he was glad to see the water in the tank was semiclear, tainted slightly with the orange residue of rust but better than he’d expected. Wasting no time, he plunged his shackled hands into the fluid, hastily searching for a tool that would fit into the lock of his anklet. After several seconds, Jones found the best possibility. The floater lever, which was shaped like an eight-inch-long barbecue skewer, was thin and made out of a hard plastic.

Dropping to his knees, Jones turned off the main water valve with a few rotations of his wet hands, then lowered the handle on the commode. With a quick flush, the murky liquid exited the tank, filling the white bowl like a wet tornado before dropping out of sight. Jones climbed to his feet, grunting slightly as he did, then removed the plastic rod with a twist.

Wasting no time, Jones closed the lid on the toilet seat and sat down. After taking a deep breath, he crossed his legs, bringing the anklet as close to his face as possible. Then, with his hands chained, he tried sliding the slender piece into the lock.

Thankfully, it fit.

With his limited view of the anklet, Jones couldn’t identify the type of lock he was dealing with. He knew it could be opened with a key, that much was certain, but he wasn’t sure about its internal safeguards. If it was a spring lock, he was confident he could pop it rather quickly. Spring locks have very few safeties, making them a criminal’s dream. They can often be picked with a credit card or another thin object in a matter of seconds. If, however, the lock was tubular, then Jones was out of luck. The multiple pins of the cylinder and the dead-bolt action of the cam would require something more sophisticated than a sharpened piece of plastic.

Working like a surgeon, Jones jiggled the floater lever back and forth until he got a feel for the internal mechanism of the lock. A smile crept over his face when he realized what he was dealing with. It was a spring lock, just as he had hoped. After wiping his hands on his shirt, he slowly manipulated the lock in a circular fashion until it popped open with a loud click.

“Damn!” he said to himself. “Why are women never around when I do something cool?”

After sliding the device off of his leg, Jones was able to study the casing of the anklet in greater detail. The shell was silver in color, shiny and quite reflective, yet possessed an abrasive texture that was rough to the touch. It carried very little weight-one or two pounds at the most-but was durable, holding up to the rigors of his probing. The alloy was unfamiliar to him, possibly a mixture of titanium and a lesser-quality metal, but definitely expensive.

Too expensive for it to be a hoax.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got ourselves a bomb.”

Now that he knew what he was dealing with, he had to decide the best way to use it. Sure, he could strap the explosive to the door and blow the sucker off its hinges, but what would that get him? Probably killed, that’s what. The moment he ran outside, the guards would be all over him.

No, in order to escape, Jones needed a way to take out the guards and the door at the same time. But how? Jones went to work on the device as he planned a scenario in his head.

CHAPTER 42

EVEN

though Payne was still trapped in the Devil’s Box, he felt good about his situation. His hunger was gone, his thirst had vanished, and he smelled kind of pretty. As soon as Bennie left the hill, Payne went to work on his shackles.

When his hands were bound to the floor, there was no way for him to remove his handcuffs. The thick bolt had prevented it. But as soon as it was disengaged, he was able to use the maneuver that he’d learned from Slippery Stan, an escape artist whom he befriended while at a magic exhibit. Unlike most magicians, escape artists rarely use optical illusions in their trade. Instead, they learn to manipulate their bodies to escape from straitjackets or multiple layers of chains. And in the case of handcuffs, Payne was taught to turn his hands and wrists at a very precise angle, which allowed him to slide from the restraints like a hand from a glove.

Of course, the cuffs were only half the battle. The next part of Payne’s escape would be more difficult, and he knew it. In order to get from the box itself, he had to rely on outside help. He wasn’t sure where that was going to come from-perhaps Bennie, or a guard, or even an escaped captive-but he knew he was stuck until someone showed up.

And it took nearly an hour before someone did.

The instant Payne heard movement outside he slid his hands under his chains, hoping to maintain the appearance of captivity.

“Are you still alive?” asked Ndjai with his thick African accent. “I bet you are bored up here all by yourself.” He lowered his face to the grate, smiling with his nasty teeth. “Do not worry. I have some company for you.”

The wheels in Payne’s head quickly started to spin. Was it Jones, Ariane, or maybe even Bennie? None of the possibilities pleased Payne, and the grimace on his face proved it. “Who is it?” he croaked, trying to pretend he was dehydrated. “Who’s out there with you?”

“The question should not be

who

. The question should be

what

.”

Payne scrunched his face in confusion. He couldn’t hear Tornado’s panting so he knew it wasn’t him. In fact, he didn’t hear anything except Ndjai’s laughter. “Okay,

what

is out there?”

“A couple of playmates to keep you company.”

Payne didn’t like the sound of that. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m actually all right. I’ve kind of enjoyed the solitude.”

“Is that so? You might get bored later, and I would hate for you to think of me as a bad host.” Ndjai lifted a large shoe box above the grate then shook it a few times. An angry squeal emerged from the cardboard structure. The creature, whatever it was, did not like to be jostled. “Hmmm, he sounds mad. I hope you will be able to calm him down.”

“I hope so, too.”

Ndjai rested the cardboard container on the top of the box. “Then again, that might be tough for you to do. My little friend tends to get upset around the other playmate that I brought for you.” Ndjai lifted a large duffel bag into the air, then set it down with a loud thump. “You see, this second guy is hungry, and when he is hungry, he has a nasty habit of wanting to eat the first guy, which makes the first guy nervous.”

“Wait,” Payne mumbled. “Am I the first guy or the second guy? You went so fast I got confused. Please say that again.”

The African was ready to explain when he realized that Payne was making another joke, a reaction he hadn’t expected. “I must admit, I admire your courage. Too bad it is a weak attempt to mask the fear underneath.”

“It wasn’t weak,” Payne argued. “I thought it was a pretty good effort on my part.”

Ndjai ignored the comment, moving to the business at hand. “So, Mr. Payne, I will now give you a choice. Which would you prefer first? The bag or the box?”

“Well, it’d be a lot easier if you told me what they contained.”

“But that would take away the mystery.”

“Who cares? Mysteries are overrated. I prefer comedies.”

Ndjai laughed. “In that case, let us do something fun. How about both at once?”

With a gloved hand, Ndjai reached inside the small box and tried to grab the animal.

Payne listened closely, trying to figure out what Ndjai had in store for him, but all he could hear was the scratching of sharp claws and tiny squeals of anguish from the trapped creature. “I would like to introduce you to the plantation rat, a breed that is indigenous to Louisiana.”

Holding it by its tail, Ndjai dangled the rodent above the Devil’s Box. Payne, who’d never heard of the species, mar veled at its size. It was sixteen inches in length, not including its tail, and must have weighed close to two pounds. It had a short snout, small ears, and was covered in coarse fur.

“Is that your son?” Payne asked.

“No, that is your new roommate.”

“Then I expect this and next month’s rent in cash, plus I’ll need him to sign a few waivers. Can the squirrel write?”

Ndjai smiled while lowering the rat to the box’s grate. As he did, the rodent squirmed, trying to free itself from the Ndjai’s grasp. To punish the rat for its escape attempt, Ndjai squeezed its tail quite hard, causing the creature to snap its teeth and brandish its claws in anger.

“You are going to have fun with him. He is not very happy.”

Payne shrugged. “That makes two of us.”

With his free hand, Ndjai reached into his pocket and removed a full set of keys. After choosing the correct one, Ndjai inserted the key into the lock and opened it with a soft click. He removed the padlock with his left hand while dangling the shrieking rat with his right. “Are you ready?” he asked as he threw open the lid of the Devil’s Box.

“Actually, I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Before Ndjai could react, Payne leapt from his crouched position and struck his captor on the bridge of his nose. The African stumbled backward, dropping the rat into the box as he staggered, but Payne couldn’t have cared less. Before the rodent could attack, Payne pounced from the wooden cage, landing next to Ndjai, who raised his hands in defense but could do little against Payne. With a quick burst, he pummeled Ndjai with several shots to his face, beating him repeatedly until blood gushed from his nose and mouth.

Once the African had submitted, Payne grabbed his legs and dragged him roughly toward the box. “Let’s see how you like this thing. Maybe you can get the rat to calm down.”

He pulled Ndjai to his feet and bent him over the edge of the box, dangling his upper body inside. The rat, still angry from before, reacted instantly, jumping and nipping at the crimson liquid that dripped from Ndjai’s face.

“Oh, isn’t that cute! I think he likes you.”

Payne punctuated his comment by dumping Ndjai upside down next to the appreciative rat and slamming the lid shut. As he reached for the lock, he suddenly noticed Ndjai’s duffel bag out of the corner of his eye.

“Well, well, well! What other toys did Santa bring for me?”

Payne tried lifting the bag with one hand but was caught off guard by its weight. “Wow, I can’t even imagine what’s in here. But that’s okay, since you’re such a fan of mysteries.”

After emptying the bag into the Devil’s Box, Payne closed the lid and broke the key in the lock. Then, as he pocketed Ndjai’s key ring, Payne took a moment to watch the terrified rat as it scurried over Ndjai, both of them trying to avoid the jaws of the angry python.

CHAPTER 43

MOVING

silently in the darkness, Payne glided across the open fields of the Plantation, constantly searching for guards. Since he was unaware of Ariane’s current location, he decided to head straight for Jones, hoping that his friend was in good enough health to assist him. If he wasn’t, Payne realized he would have to handle the Posse by himself. He had faced longer odds in the military, so he knew he was capable of doing it again, but all things considered, he’d love to have his former lieutenant by his side.

When the cabins finally came into view, rising out of the flat ground like wooden stalagmites, Payne dropped to his belly and scouted for patrol patterns and sniper placements. He watched for several minutes, studying the tree lines and roofs, the bushes and walkways, but he was unable to detect any movement.

His hazel eyes continued to scan the darkened landscape, probing every crevice and shadow of the compound, but the waning crescent moon and the lack of overhead lights made it difficult to see from his distance. Reluctantly, he moved closer.

Payne sprang from his stomach and charged forward at top speed, the breath barely escaping his mouth, his feet rarely creating a sound. It was as if he was moving on a cushion of air that silenced each of his strides, softening the impact of his steps as he hustled across the hard turf. After closing the gap to forty feet, Payne found cover behind a large rock, pausing for a moment to feed his hungry lungs. When his breath returned, he carefully peeked over the boulder and searched the immediate area for patrolmen.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he mumbled softly.

But no one did. The grounds were devoid of Posse members, leaving the front door of the nearest cabin without protection.

Taking a deep breath, Payne placed his hand in his pocket and removed Ndjai’s keys so they wouldn’t jingle when he ran. Next, after looking around one last time, he sprinted forward, heading straight toward the cabin that was closest to him. Upon reaching it, he crouched near the ground and made himself as small a target as possible while double-checking the terrain. When he was sure that no one was around, he shoved the first key in the lock, but it didn’t work. The same problem occurred with the next key, and the one after that, and the one after that. Finally, on his fifth attempt, with sweat dripping off his forehead from tension and physical exertion, he found the one that did the job.

With a sigh of relief, Payne opened the door as quietly as he could and slid into the cabin with nary a sound. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkened interior of the room, but when they finally focused, he realized his mission had just become a whole lot easier.

He had been hoping to find Ariane or Jones.

Instead, he had hit the mother lode.

STILL

in handcuffs, Jones opened the silver shell of the explosive and carefully probed the interior of the bomb for booby traps. He found several. If he had removed the anklet’s casing without care, the device would’ve exploded in his face, triggered in a millionth of a second by a series of trip wires that protected the outer core of the mechanism.

Thankfully, he noticed them in time.

After neutralizing the safeguards, Jones dug deeper, examining the high-tech circuitry that filled the unit. “I’ll be damned,” he said, impressed. He had never seen a portable explosive filled with so much modern technology: data microprocessors, external pressure sensors, satellite uplink antennae-which he broke off-and digital detonation switches. The kind of stuff that couldn’t be bought at Radio Shack. “This is some serious shit!”

Using the sharpened lever from the toilet, Jones continued to explore, searching under the electronic hardware for the actual explosive. In order to take out the door, Jones needed to understand how much force the device was capable of producing. He assumed that the component was filled with a relatively stable explosive, something that could handle sudden movements and exposure to body heat or static electricity, but he wasn’t sure what. C-4, a commonly used plastic explosive, was a possibility, so were RDX, TNT, and pentolite. Because of the high-tech craftsmanship of the anklet, Jones figured that the manufacturer would use something newer, sexier. Perhaps a synthetic hybrid.

When Jones finally discovered what he was dealing with, he gaped in fascination. The device was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Two vials, three inches in length, sat tucked underneath the circuitry. Each plastic cylinder was filled with a liquid-one red, the other clear. They were connected to a third vial, which was twice as wide as the others, through a series of slender plastic tubes. Each one was color-coded and approximately the width of a pencil.

The cylinders, the liquids, the tubes. All of them were new to Jones.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”

As the words left his mouth, his problems actually worsened because he heard the distinct sound of keys rattling directly outside. Someone was about to enter the cabin.

Jones hastily looked around for a hiding place but found nowhere to stash the equipment. The mattress was probably his best possibility, but Jones knew if he was forced to sit on the bed, there was a chance that his weight could detonate the device, and the thought of shrapnel being launched up his ass was a bit unsettling.

Finally, with no other options in mind, Jones scooped up as many parts as he could and ran toward his bed. After setting the explosive on the floor, he turned his mattress on its side and angled it across the back corner of the room like a child’s fort. He figured, if he timed things just right, he could throw the explosive at the guard the moment he entered the room, then duck behind the bed for protection.

The knob twisted with a squeak.

Jones knew the plan wasn’t perfect, but he also realized that this could be his only chance to escape. That was why he was willing to risk everything on this plan. His entire life on one moment.

The door swung open.

Making things tougher, Jones had to throw the explosive with his hands bound together, forcing him to use an overhead soccer toss. And on top of that, his ribs still ached from the beating that Greene had given him earlier.

A man wearing black fatigues entered the cabin.

Jones had no choice. This had to be done.

In one swift motion, he launched the explosive at the dark figure and dropped to the floor behind his protective foam shield. In anticipation of a powerful blast, he covered his face and ears, curling into the fetal position against the back corner of the room. He was lucky he did. The cylinders ruptured on contact, creating a bright ball of flame that tore across the cabin in a tidal wave of heat and light. Thunder ripped through the enclosed space with the ferocity of a jackhammer, stinging Jones’s ears despite the presence of his hands. Shards of metal sliced through the mattress, narrowly avoiding the exposed flesh of his back.

Slightly dazed from the jolt, Jones peeked over the tattered barrier to see how much damage had been done. Large streaks of red and orange danced from the far wall toward the unprotected surface of the beamed ceiling. Billowy puffs of smoke filled the enclosed space, making it tough for him to breathe. The door, shaken free from the concussion of the blast, sat unhinged and heavily dented, covered in debris and awash in flames. And the guard was . . .

Wait, where was the guard?

Jones knew he’d hit him-he

had

to have hit him, didn’t he?-so, despite the crackling flames that raged throughout the cabin, he climbed over the mattress and searched for a body. It didn’t matter that the fire was quickly becoming an inferno, shooting tiny embers into the air like bottle rockets. He

needed

to find the guard. He had to get the man’s gun and take his keys. He had to question the bastard about Payne and Ariane before it was too late.

Hell, he had to do something to even the odds.

Unfortunately, the blaze was making his mission impossible. The smoke grew thicker and blacker every second, limiting his vision to a scant few feet. And the heat was so intense that Jones felt like he was standing in the core of an active volcano, one that was getting angrier by the minute. But still he searched, heroically digging through scraps of plastic and wood, hunting for the guard until he could take no more, until the hair on his arms literally started to sear like ants under a magnifying glass.

At that point he decided to flee the firestorm before he fried in its wake.

Covering his eyes with both hands, Jones ran from the burning cabin, shielding his head from the flames as he burst through the smoldering doorway. The nighttime air brought him instant relief, but he wasn’t able to enjoy it. Jones realized that the Posse would be there any moment to investigate, and when they arrived he needed to be long gone. Using the orange glow of the cabin as his torch, he probed the area for cover, but his plans to flee were quickly altered. Before he found a hiding place, Jones noticed the guard sprawled on the nearby sod, a weapon sitting on the ground next to him.

No time to waste.

He rushed to the man’s side and grabbed his TEC-DC9 pistol. Then, in a moment of greed, he frisked him, looking for anything that could help, and as he did he made a startling discovery.

The injured man was Payne.

CHAPTER 44

BECAUSE

of the black fatigues and face paint that Payne had found in the first cabin, he looked like a Posse member in the darkness. It wasn’t until Jones stared at Payne’s face in the light of the fire that he recognized his best friend.

“Is there a reason you tried to blow me up?” Payne asked. He staggered to his feet, shaken from the powerful blast but injury free.

“I thought you were a guard,” Jones argued.

“If you don’t want to hang out anymore, that’s fine! But you don’t have to blow me up.”

Payne shook his head in mock anger, then jogged away from the cabin. He knew the Posse would be arriving shortly, and he didn’t want to be there when they did. Once they were far enough away from the scene, he turned back toward Jones and unlocked his handcuffs.

“What was that stuff anyway? It had some serious kick.”

“Some kind of high-tech chemical explosive. Some African guy with bad teeth strapped the sucker to my leg to prevent my escape.”

“Hakeem did that?” The thought of Ndjai in the Devil’s Box made him laugh. “Locking a soldier in a wooden cabin with a firebomb? Pretty good thinking on his part, huh?”

“That was more than just a firebomb. That was a first-rate piece of hardware. I’m not sure what we’ve stumbled onto, but the Posse isn’t hurting for cash. Not with that kind of technology lying around.”

“You don’t know the half of it. Let me show you what I found.”

Payne led Jones to the first cabin that he had explored. Instead of containing prisoners like he thought it would, it was filled with military accoutrements: rifles, pistols, ammunition, explosives, detonators, camouflage paint,

etc.

All labeled and packed in crates for shipping.

“Whoa!” Jones glanced at the gear, smiling. There was enough equipment to start a war. “This is some kind of collection.”

Payne corrected him. “This is more than a collection. This is a business.”

“They deal arms? Where’d they get this stuff?”

“Where do you think?” Payne pointed to one of the invoices on the wall. The initials

T.M.

were highlighted at the top. “Does that ring any bells?”

Jones glanced at the sheet. “Terrell Murray? Mr. Fishing Hole?”

“You got it.” Payne strolled through the stacks of weapons, looking to add to his personal stock. He needed as much firepower as possible if he was going to rescue Ariane and the others.

“What are you saying? The Posse sells Terrell all of his weapons?”

Payne shook his head. “From the looks of Murray’s office, he’s too established to be buying from a new group like the Posse. So I’m guessing it’s the other way around. The Posse gets their guns from Terrell.”

Jones furrowed his brow while glancing through the crates. “But why would they need to buy all of this stuff? I mean, this is like an armory.”

“Not

like

an armory. It

is

an armory. If my guess is correct, the Posse doesn’t own these weapons. They’re probably just holding them for Terrell as a favor. Remember what Levon said? Nothing goes on in New Orleans without Murray’s involvement.”

Jones pulled a Steyr AUG assault rifle from a crate. “Boy, this looks familiar, huh?” It was identical to the one that Greene had supposedly purchased from Murray. “So this is where Levon got his stuff? That son of a bitch! I can’t believe he played us like that! I can’t wait until I see him again. I really can’t.”

“Well, you’ll have to wait a while. The first thing we have to do is find Ariane. Once I know she’s all right, we can get as much revenge as we want.”

Jones nodded, thinking mainly of Greene. “Who do you have in mind?”

Payne walked toward the cabin door. “There are too many on my list to name.”

CHAPTER 45

OCTAVIAN

Holmes roared through the trees on his ATV while two truckloads of guards followed closely behind. Out of all the men on the Plantation, Holmes was the best equipped to handle military situations, since he was a professional soldier. He had worked for nearly two decades as a mercenary, renting out his services to a variety of causes, but this was the first time his skills would be used to protect something of his own.

The Plantation was a part of him. He would not let it be destroyed. Not if he could help it.

Holmes stopped his vehicle near the burning cabin and watched his men attack the blaze. There was little hope of saving the structure since fire equipment was very scarce on the island, but they needed to prevent the flames from spreading. The other cabins were nearby and susceptible to damage.

As Holmes watched their effort, he sensed a presence sneaking up behind him. He turned quickly, raising his gun as he did, but his effort was unnecessary. It was Jackson and Webster, checking out the damage.

“Any ideas?” Holmes asked calmly.

Webster nodded, slightly nervous. “It was the new guys. I was in my office and saw one enter the door with a key. Moments later it blew up.”

Holmes frowned. “Which of you lost your keys?”

Both men showed Holmes their personal sets, proving they weren’t to blame.

“Fine. Where’s Hakeem? He’s the other possibility.”

Webster shrugged. “I tried paging him on the radio, but he didn’t answer the call. I tried all of you the moment I saw the guy enter the cabin, but there was nothing else I could do from my office. I swear, I did my best.”

“Theo, don’t worry about it.” Holmes’s voice possessed a scary type of calm. His presence was almost stoic. “You aren’t here to do the dirty work. You’re here to handle our finances. We’ll handle the rest.”

Holmes moved closer to the blaze, still examining it. There was something about the flames that interested him. The way they moved. The way they danced. He had seen it before. “Theo? You saw the explosion, right? Tell me, what did it look like?”

“It was a big, mushroom-type blast. A big flash of light burst from inside. Flames spread quickly across the door and roof. An unbelievable amount of thick, black smoke.”

Holmes grinned at the description. Things finally made sense. “Well, if my guess is correct, we don’t have to worry about escapees. The blast you described sounds like one of the anklets was detonated.”

Webster disagreed. “Actually, I saw both of them survive. One of them went in, but two of them came out.”

Holmes’s grin grew wider. That meant the prisoners had discovered a way to remove the anklet without getting killed. The thought of two worthy adversaries piqued his interest. He’d take great pleasure in hunting them down. “What do you know about these men?”

Jackson answered. “Levon said they were ex-soldiers. They called themselves the Crazy Men or something weird like that. If you talk to him, I’m sure he can tell you more. He babysat the bastards for two days.”

“Crazy Men?” Holmes had never heard of a group that went by that name, and he considered himself an expert on the military. “Could it have been something else? Perhaps the MANIACs?”

“Yeah, that was it. Have you heard of them?”

“Yeah,” Holmes muttered as the smile on his face disappeared. “I’ve seen their work. They’re clean. Real clean. Some of the guys I worked with called them the Hyenas.”

“Hyenas? Why’s that?”

“They liked to ravage their victims. I mean, rip ’em to fucking shreds from very close range. Then they’d leave the scene in packs, laughing, like their job was the easiest thing in the world.” Holmes shivered at the thought, an equal mixture of fear and excitement surging through him. After all these years, he would finally get to see how good he was. “They’re the best-prepared soldiers in the world.”

“Come on, how tough can they be?” Jackson asked naively. “We’ve got dozens of armed men, and we’re fighting against these guys in a confined space, right?”

Holmes nodded gravely. The stories he had heard about the MANIACs bordered on legend. “True, but if these guys are who you claim, we might be outnumbered.”

AFTER stealing gear from the armory, Payne and Jones hustled into the nearby trees to establish their attack strategy. Unfortunately, their planning would be difficult since they still lacked one major piece of information: Ariane’s current location.

Payne updated his friend on everything he’d learned about the guards and the landscape. Then he filled him in on what he didn’t know. “I searched a few of the cabins before I reached you. All of them were empty.”

“Empty? Then where is everybody? Bennie said there were twenty to twenty-five captives.”

“I didn’t check all the cabins, but none of them are being guarded. Therefore, either the prisoners are being kept elsewhere, or they’ve been moved off the island.”

“Or,” Jones added, “there are several people in one cabin. In the old days, slaves used to sleep ten to a room, and I have a feeling the Posse isn’t trying to make their guests comfortable.”

Payne nodded in agreement. “So tell me, what should we do?”

Jones smiled at the question. “I thought you’d never ask.”

For as long as they’d known each other, this was how their partnership worked. Payne would name a place, and Jones would lead him there. It didn’t matter if it was a top-secret mission into Cuba or a beer-filled trip to a Steelers game, Jones was the navigator. He was the planner. A strategy prodigy. It was his specialty. He was the best there was.

Payne, on the other hand, was the finisher. The closer. The military’s equivalent of a baseball relief pitcher. He would come in when everything was on the line and finish the job. In truth, it was rarely pretty. Most of the time his work was bloody, even borderline savage. But things always worked out in the end. Always.

Give him a quest, and he’d make it a conquest. Guaranteed.

Together, they were an unstoppable duo.

Let the games begin.

CHAPTER 46

THERE

was no reason for the duo to wage battle in the open fields where a lucky shot could take them out. No, it was better to do their dirty work in the dark underbrush of the island, where they could control the game. The woods would be their playground. Search and kill, jungle style.

Without speaking, Payne and Jones communicated their ideas through hand signals. It wasn’t traditional sign language, but for them it was just as effective. They knew exactly what the other meant without saying a word, and that was critical. During night runs, sound was the biggest enemy.

On the other hand, sound could also be quite useful, the ultimate ally. By making a noise on purpose, a soldier could divert his enemy’s attention. The crash of a thrown rock could confuse a tracker. A snapping twig or a well-placed scream could quickly draw attention away from an endangered colleague. And occasionally, it could be used as a lure, a way to bring several people into an area at one time. It was a difficult thing to accomplish, but when done right, it was very effective.

Cows to the slaughterhouse, as Payne liked to say.

Eventually, this was the technique that Jones settled on. In order to make it work, they placed some charges near a small clearing that they found in the middle of a thick grove. A boulder, partially buried on a nearby plateau, would be used as the duo’s nest. The goal was to draw as many men as possible into the open area below the large stone before Payne and Jones used their elevated position to commence target practice.

After climbing the bluff, Jones settled into position next to Payne. Normally, they would’ve spread far apart, attempting to surround their victims in hopes of cutting off their escape routes, but in this case it was completely unnecessary. This assault would be child’s play, a complete blood-bath. Two experienced soldiers facing a team of untrained men was as lopsided as a battle could get. Besides, the landscape didn’t allow them to fan out over a wide range. The terrain dictated that both of them sit in the crow’s nest from the get-go.

When Payne was ready, he glanced at Jones and nodded. It was time to begin.

BOOM!!! An explosion shook the earth, and a flash of light brightened the nearby sky. Everyone near the burning cabin flinched and turned their heads toward the trees. The prisoners were apparently in the woods. Holmes gave orders to pursue them.

Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!!! Payne and Jones squeezed off a few rounds for additional attention, plus they wanted to make sure that their weapons were functional. The last time they’d used Terrell Murray’s guns they were very disappointed with the results.

BOOM!!! A second charge exploded. Payne and Jones tried to lure the guards to a specific spot in the woods. They couldn’t afford to have any strays sneaking up behind them. It would ruin their plans and cost them their lives. No, they needed everyone to appear in the open area below the boulder, right where the guards would be most vulnerable.

BOOM!!! The last of the small charges was detonated. Neither Payne nor Jones wanted the woods to be too bright when the guards arrived. They wanted a soft glow, just enough light to see their targets, but not enough light to give away their own location. Candlelight to kill by.

“Do you hear that?” Payne whispered as he screwed the silencer onto his MP5K. His weapon was capable of spitting out nine hundred rounds a minute, and now that its silencer was in place, it would make less noise than an iPod.

Jones smiled. He heard several footsteps approaching through the grove. “Here come the first contestants on

The Price Is Life

.”

Nodding, Payne focused on the area below, but he wouldn’t fire his submachine gun until the small pocket of space was completely filled with guards. He needed to make sure he could get everyone at once.

One by one, the black men emerged from the trees. Two, then five, then ten. Thirteen in total. Unlucky thirteen. They glanced around, looking for the source of the commotion, but found nothing. They stood there, confused, unable to choose their next move, for none of them had the experience or the authority to take control.

“Like cows to the slaughterhouse,” Jones mumbled, stealing Payne’s line.

Payne nodded again, his face devoid of emotion. “Moooooo!”

Pfffft! Pfffft! Pfffft! Pfffft! The guns hissed, spraying in silence.

Pfffft! Pfffft! Pfffft! Pfffft! Their venom flew, striking its mark.

There wasn’t any time for the guards to react or fire back. Hell, they never even knew what hit them. One minute they were standing, searching for the escaped prisoners. The next they were sprawled on the ground, marinating in each other’s blood.

There were no screams, no tears, and no pleas of mercy. Death had been silent and swift.

ANTICIPATING an easy victory, Jackson and Webster followed the guards at a leisurely pace. Thirteen men against two. With odds like that, they figured it would be a massacre, an absolute slaughter. And it was-just not in their favor. When they arrived at the scene, they found nothing but bodies. All of them black. All of them dead. Victims of gunfire. Head shots. Heart shots. Limbs tattered. Pistols still hol stered. Rifles unfired. The smell of war lingered in the air. Crimson poured from gaping wounds, flooding the forest’s floor. Death was everywhere.

And Webster couldn’t handle it.

When he realized what had happened, he dropped to his knees and vomited. It was the first time that he’d seen a corpse outside of a funeral home, so the sight of the baker’s dozen was too much for him to handle. He was the brains, not the brawn. He took no part in the actual torture and disposal of the bodies. All of that was outside of his realm.

“They killed them! They killed them all!” He staggered to his feet, wanting to confront Jackson, but was unwilling to walk among the gory remains of his fallen comrades. “Octavian was right! These guys are the best! Look what they did to your guards! Just look!!”

“Be quiet!” Jackson whispered sternly. “They might still be around.”

The thought hadn’t crossed Webster’s mind. The killers could be in the trees, watching him at that very moment. He gagged as more vomit rose from his belly.

Jackson rolled his eyes in disgust. He didn’t have time to babysit. He needed to focus all of his attention on the battle site. He needed to look for clues while the trail was still warm. “Don’t worry. I might not have their training, but I can be a warrior if I have to be.”

As Jackson finished speaking, his radio squawked, causing him to flinch in fear.

The incoming voice said, “This is Octavian. What’s going on out there?”

Jackson whispered. “Dead. Everyone’s dead. Payne and Jones killed them all. Theo and I showed up one minute behind the guards, and we found corpses. Thirteen fuckin’ corpses. Blood everywhere. No sign of the prisoners, but our guys are dead!”

“You’re sure.”

Jackson kicked one of the men in front of him. He didn’t move. “Yep.”

Holmes felt his pulse quicken and noticed the hairs on his arms stand at attention. Thirteen kills in less than ten minutes. My lord, these guys

were

good. “What did they use for weapons?”

“Guns,” Jackson answered. “I don’t know what kind, but they have rapid-fire capability. I don’t see any shells near the guards, so I guess they didn’t have time to fire back.”

“Where the hell did they get weapons like-”

Holmes stopped before he finished his statement. Nervously, he glanced at the cabin on the far end of the row. The door looked closed from a distance, but there was only one way to know for sure.

“Guards!” he shouted. Two men left the burning cabin and ran to his side. “Check the armory and tell me if anything’s missing!”

The men saluted crisply, then ran off.

As he watched them approach the storage shed, Holmes felt the tension rise in his body. If Payne and Jones had located the artillery, there was a good chance that they’d stolen enough equipment to wipe out the entire island. Instead of seizing the Plantation one guard at a time, they could do it one acre at a time.

Within seconds, the guards reached the cabin and studied the partially opened door. The armory had been violated. Drawing their weapons, the two men kicked the door aside and prepared to fire at the perpetrators. It was the last move they would ever make. Because of their inexperience, the men failed to notice the wire that had been tied to the base of the door. When they bumped the cord, it triggered a fragmentation grenade, which exploded in their faces. The fragger, designed to launch razorlike pieces of metal over an extended area of space without the impact of a large explosion, tattered the men with shrapnel, killing both men instantly.

Holmes grimaced as he heard the muffled blast, followed by the guards’ silence. The sounds proved what he already knew in his gut. The Plantation’s artillery had been compromised.

“Damn!” he muttered.

He wasn’t the least bit concerned about his men, but he was worried about the missing weapons. It was going to make his job much harder to accomplish.

He grabbed his radio once again. “Harris? Theo? Are you there?”

“What do you need?” Jackson whispered. He was walking through the trees with Webster, trying not to make a sound. “We’re on our way back now.”

“That’s probably a good idea. Not to alarm you, but Payne and Jones got into Terrell’s gear. There’s no telling what other surprises they have in store for us.”

“What do you mean by surprises?”

“I don’t know,” Holmes admitted. He still needed to get someone inside of the armory to check the inventory. “Land mines, flame throwers, grenades, rocket launchers. Shit, they could have anything.”

Without responding, Jackson and Webster increased their stride significantly.

CHAPTER 47

WHEN

Greene saw the site of the explosion, it hit him like a punch in the gut. It was Jones’s cabin, and there was nothing left of it. The wooden frame had collapsed, succumbing to the intense heat of the fire. Debris, spread from the power of the initial blast, littered the manicured yard. Clouds of smoke lingered in the air, making it tough to breathe or even see.

“Damn,” he muttered as he removed his mask and cloak. “This can’t be good.”

Holmes, Jackson, and Webster saw Greene’s approach and rushed to his side. Before they even said a word, Greene tried to assess the severity of the situation but was unable to do so because of their wide range of emotions. Holmes had the cold glare of a terrorist. Blank face, intense eyes, neither a frown nor a smile on his lips. He had seen this type of shit before and wasn’t fazed by it. Jackson, though not as polished as Holmes, was still under control. His eyes showed some concern, like a sick man waiting for test results in a hospital, but he did his best to mask it with a broad grin. This was his first combat, and overall, he was holding up well.

Then there was Webster. He was the complete opposite of the other two men. In fact, if he had been a horse, Elmer’s would’ve been negotiating for his glue rights. His face was pale and sweaty. His body trembled. And his eyes were as big as pancakes. If not for the tragic possibilities of the situation, Greene would’ve laughed at him.

Hell, he was tempted to do it anyway.

“Why are you here?” Webster asked. “Who’s watching the boat of prisoners?”

“Don’t worry about it. The passengers are chained and surrounded by water. They aren’t going anywhere.” Greene turned toward Holmes. He knew this was the man who would give him the facts he was looking for. “What happened?”

“Your friend blew up the cabin and managed to escape in the process.”

“Jones escaped? How is that possible? Where was Hakeem when this happened?” The three men looked at each other but didn’t respond. “Shit, where’s Hakeem now?”

Holmes shrugged. “We don’t know, but we’re assuming he’s dead. He’s been missing for quite some time, and Theo saw one of the prisoners with his set of keys. We figure that-”

“Prisoners?” Greene blurted. “Are we talking plural?”

Holmes nodded. “It seems your other friend, Payne, unlocked the cabin door before Jones blew it up. At least that’s what we’ve pieced together. Theo watched the escape from the house and thinks Jones made the bomb from his anklet.”

All eyes turned to Webster, who just stared at the flames in the distance.

Holmes shook his head at Webster’s high level of anxiety. “I’m still trying to figure out why they blew up the cabin. It just doesn’t make sense to me. I mean, why blow it up if you have a set of keys to get out quietly? Wouldn’t the explosion just draw attention to your escape?”

Greene considered the question. “Maybe that’s what they wanted. Maybe they blew the cabin up for attention. You know, draw us to this part of the Plantation for some reason.” He paused as he fleshed out the theory in his mind. “What were the other blasts I heard?”

“Actually,” Jackson answered, “you may be on to something there. Three charges were set off in the trees for just that purpose. Your friends lured thirteen of my guards to a spot in the woods, then waited for their arrival. When they showed up . . .” He finished his statement by running his thumb across the base of his throat in a slashing motion.

“They killed all thirteen?” Greene asked. “How the hell did they do that?”

Webster groaned, and Jackson cleared his throat. Neither of them wanted to tell Greene about the carnage they had witnessed. But Holmes didn’t mind talking. In fact, he wanted Greene to know what kind of trouble he’d brought to the island. “It seems our escapees aren’t your average, everyday army grunts. These are two very talented men, special forces plus.”

Greene furrowed his brow. “Special forces plus? What does that mean?”

“It means that they’re the best. They’re capable of doing anything they want.”

“Anything?” said a doubtful Greene. He’d fought Jones a few hours before, and his opponent barely put up a fight. He certainly didn’t think of him as a killer. “Come on, they’re just men! Two injured men! How tough can they be?”

“You don’t understand. I’ve known about the MANIACs for a very long time. These guys aren’t human. They’re machines. Military supermen.”

“Get real!” Greene laughed. “Don’t you think you’re exaggerating just a little bit?”

Holmes’s face finally showed some emotion-not much, just a slight flare-up in his eyes. “Exaggerating? They slipped out of bondage, located Terrell’s armory, stole a shitload of weapons, killed thirteen guards in the woods and two with a booby trap, then mysteriously disappeared into the night. Now you tell me, do these guys sound normal to you?”

Greene took a deep breath. He didn’t want to admit it, but from Holmes’s description it did seem like Payne and Jones were pretty talented. Hell, he’d underestimated them at Sam’s Tattoos and they had escaped. Maybe these guys

were

something to worry about.

“So, they’re still out there, huh?”

“Yeah,” Holmes answered. “They’re still on the loose, doing God knows what.”

“And what about Payne’s girlfriend? Where’s she? She’s our insurance policy, you know.”

Holmes turned toward Jackson. “Didn’t you have her in your possession?”

“She’s in the guest bedroom. I left her tied to the bed.”

“Jesus!” Greene growled. “You left her in the house this entire time by herself, and you didn’t say anything! She’s what they want!”

The thought of Ariane’s escape made Greene tense with fear. She was his best chance at safety, and he knew it. As long as he had her, he had lots of bargaining power.

“We better get the bitch before they find her. If we lose her, we’re in deep shit.”

Holmes nodded in agreement. “I’ll come with you, Levon. I think we should bring the young blonde out of the house as well. The less spread out we are, the better.”

WITH

a hollow reed in his mouth and a bag on his shoulder, Payne took a breath of fresh air and slipped into the warm water of the gulf. He wouldn’t have to swim far, but the distance he’d travel would be done underwater in complete darkness, so the reed would guarantee a supply of oxygen if he needed it.

Using his hands as his only guide, Payne swam blindly through the intricate web of wooden poles that supported the western dock, making his way toward the heavily guarded boat. After circumnavigating the bow, he breathed through his reed and continued forward, hugging the underbelly of the ship as he successfully wove through a series of ropes before he emerged along the edge of the stern.

The toughest part was over. He was where he needed to be.

WHILE peering through the scope of his Heckler amp; Koch PSG1 semiautomatic sniper rifle, Jones swung his gun from side to side, searching for targets. He found several. It was a good thing that his weapon offered a deadly combination of precision and speed, or he wouldn’t have a chance against so many men. And if he failed to complete his mission, Payne would probably die.

Thankfully, he had plenty of experience dealing with pressure.

The first blast echoed in the night as the bullet struck the guard. His skull exploded in a mixture of blood, brain, and bone. Before the victim’s partners could react, Jones lined up his second target and repeated his performance.

Another shot. Another corpse. Blood everywhere.

Shot three eliminated one more guard. Shot four did the same.

And for some reason, the guards weren’t hiding. They just stood there, scanning the trees for the source of the gunfire, hoping to see the discharge in the distant night. Jones couldn’t believe his luck and their stupidity, but he was going to take advantage of both while they lasted.

“Adios.”

Guard five, killed.

“Sayonara.”

Guard six, dead.

If he’d had the chance, Jones would’ve continued shooting all night, but a few of the guards finally wised up and dashed into the woods to find him. That was his cue to leave. Before he departed, though, Jones blasted a few shots into the water-his signal for Payne to begin-then slipped deeper into the trees for safety.

He had done his part. Now it was up to his partner.

AND

Payne was ready.

He’d been waiting for several seconds in the water, trying to remain completely silent near the stern, but now that Jones had signaled him, he knew he could spring into action. Using a rope that hung from the deck, Payne quickly scaled the back edge of the ship. He slipped his hand into his shoulder bag and grabbed his Glock. The powerful handgun, fitted with a silencer and a full clip of ammo, would allow him to kill with stealth. And that was crucial. He couldn’t risk drawing attention to himself before he had a chance to leave the area.

As water dripped off his damp clothes, Payne crept around the small boat, looking for the enemy. One stood by the instrument panel, his back facing the water. Another rested by the bow. And neither sensed the presence sneaking up behind them.

Pffft! the Glock whispered.

Pffft! Pffft! Both men were dead.

The prisoners saw the guards fall and immediately turned toward the sound of the muffled gunshots. Payne, covered in slime and water, raised his finger to his lips to silence them.

“I’m one of the good guys,” he whispered.

Ten mouths dropped in wonderment. They couldn’t believe that someone had found them.

“Are there any other guards on board?”

Ten people shook their heads in unison before a masculine voice rose from the back of the crowd. “Jon? Is that you?”

The sound of Payne’s name made his heart leap. He realized it wasn’t Ariane-the voice was too deep to be hers-but the question meant someone else on board knew him. But who? He frantically searched through the faces, looking for the source of the sound, but couldn’t figure it out until the man spoke again.

“Jon Payne?”

Payne nodded and moved closer to the man, desperately trying to recognize him, but the guy’s battered appearance made it difficult. Bruises covered his face and neck. Blood and dirt covered everything else. A makeshift splint was tied to his leg. “Do I know . . . Robbie?”

Robert Edwards, Ariane’s brother-in-law, nodded his head with joy. He tried to stand up, but his ankle prevented it. “Oh, my God! I can’t believe it’s you.”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he gasped. The reunion with Edwards was so unexpected that Payne didn’t know what else to say. “What are you doing here?”

“I was kidnapped. We were all kidnapped.” Edwards clutched Payne’s hand to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “And what about you? What are you doing here?”

“I heard the island served a nice buffet.” Joking was the only way he could reel his emotions back to where they needed to be. “Actually, I’m searching for Ariane. Is she here?”

Edwards nodded. “Not on the boat, but somewhere on the island. I haven’t seen her today, though.” He took a deep breath of air. “I haven’t seen Tonya, either. I hope to God she’s all right. The baby, too.”

Payne winced. He had no idea that Ariane’s entire family was on the Plantation. What kind of bastards would drag a family, one with a pregnant woman, into this type of situation?

“Do you have any idea where they are?”

“I don’t know,” he sobbed. “They might be in the cabins, but I don’t know.”

“No, they aren’t. I already checked there.” Payne glanced at the other nine slaves. “Does anyone know where the others are?”

All of the prisoners shook their heads.

“Damn!” He had hoped that someone would be able to direct him to Ariane, but it was obvious that the two groups had been kept apart. “One last question, can you tell me how many captives I should be looking for?”

Edwards shrugged. “Ten, maybe more. They rotated us around quite a bit.”

“Okay, I’ll take it from here. But before I leave, I’d like to make a small suggestion. Why don’t you guys go home? Does that sound all right to you?”

Ten sets of eyes got misty.

Payne continued, “Before you can leave, we need to get rid of those bombs on your legs.”

“But how?” shrieked one of the women. “The lead guard said they would explode if we tried to take them off. He said all of them would burst, one after another.”

“And he was right. They would’ve exploded if you pried them off.” Payne reached into his shoulder bag and retrieved Ndjai’s keys. “That’s why we’ll use this instead.”

The lady smiled in gratitude as he handed her the anklet key.

“Carefully remove the bombs, then place them gently in this bag when you’re done.”

While waiting for the bag to be filled, Payne walked over to the boat’s instrument panel, assuming that he’d have to hot-wire it. He was pleasantly surprised to see a key in the ignition. “Hey, Robbie, how are your navigational skills? Are you any good?”

“Not too bad. I’ve taken you water skiing a few times, remember?”

Payne should’ve remembered. He and Ariane had visited Edwards in Colorado on more than one occasion. “That’s right. Good, then I’m making you the captain.” He placed his arm around the injured man and helped him to the wheel. “I want you to pull out of here very slowly.”

“Slowly?” called out one of the kids. “Why slowly?”

Payne didn’t have time to explain, but he knew he’d better do it anyway. The last thing he needed was a mutiny on the escape vessel.

“The area around the island is surrounded by fallen trees. It’s a pretty thick swamp, clogged with all kinds of logs. If he goes too fast and hits one, the boat could sink.” He smiled for the child’s benefit. “And that would be bad.”

The kid nodded his head in agreement.

Payne turned back to Edwards. “When you steer, make sure you have some people looking out into the water. They can help you avoid some of the larger obstacles. Got it?”

“Jon, I want to help,” he assured him. “But Tonya is still here. I’m not going anywhere without her.”

“Trust me,” Payne said, “I’d feel the same way if I were you. But with your injury, you’re in no shape to fight. Hell, you’re not even in shape to walk. So I need you to stay on this boat and help all of these people get to safety. If you do that for me, I’ll do everything in my power to rescue your wife. . . . Okay?”

Edwards nodded reluctantly. “What should I do when we get to the sea? Do you have backup waiting for us?”

“No, there’s no backup. It’s just me and my partner on this mission, no one else.”

The looks on the prisoners’ faces said it all. They couldn’t believe that Payne and Jones had done so much-and risked so much-on their own.

“Once you hit the gulf, open it up to full speed and go north toward the closest set of lights. Don’t stop for anyone unless it’s the Coast Guard. When you hit land, call the police, NASA, anyone! The sooner I get some help around here the better.”

CHAPTER 48

THE

leaves and branches would have covered Jones completely, if not for the small gap near his eyes. It was the only spot that he risked showing, for it gave him his only view of the world. And if his mission was to be a success, Jones needed to know when someone was coming.

The shadow lurking in the distance told him that somebody was.

As he waited, Jones wrapped his fingers around the polymer handle of his gun, readying himself for action. If possible, he would eliminate the target from his current hiding place. If necessary, Jones was prepared to do it on the move. It was the first thing he learned with the MANIACs. Be ready for

anything

.

Jones watched as the shape moved closer, slipping past the tall trees with a graceful stride, using the darkness of the woods to his advantage. The lack of moonlight made things difficult, but in time Jones learned to distinguish his target from his surroundings. He wore black clothes, black leather boots, and a mask. A gun dangled from his right hand.

A grin appeared on Jones’s face.

The more guards he killed, the better. It would make things easier when they rescued Ariane and the other prisoners. So far, by his count, he had been a part of twenty deaths-thirteen in the ambush, six more on the boat, at least one at the armory-and the number would continue to grow. Hell, number twenty-one was currently approaching.

Without making a sound, Jones shifted his weight slightly, sticking the barrel of his gun through his thick bed of camouflage. He would fire when he had a clean shot and not a second before. No sense wasting a bullet on a maybe.

“Come to Papa,” Jones whispered. “Take another step. Come on. Come on!”

His target finally came into view, no more than fifteen feet in front of him.

But before Jones had a chance to squeeze the trigger, the man whistled softly-a sound that had a meaning only to Jones. This man wasn’t a guard. It was Payne.

“Jon,” he called softly.

Covered in dark mud from the swamp, Payne glanced around, hunting for the source of the sound. He was supposed to rendezvous with Jones in this part of the woods, but his friend’s concealment techniques made him undetectable. There was no way he would find Jones unless he accidentally stepped on him.

“Ollyollyoxenfree.”

A large chunk of the forest’s floor moved as Jones climbed to his knees. To Payne, it looked like an elevator rising from the Earth’s core.

“You’re lucky you whistled. I was going to try to kill you for the second time today.”

Payne shrugged. It seemed like everyone was trying to kill him. “Actually, you’re the lucky one. If you’d killed me, you’d have to fly coach on the way home.”

“Good point. How’d the boat mission go?”

“Just like you planned. I took out the remaining guards without any problems and got the boatload of slaves off the island.”

“That’s great, isn’t it?” Jones studied Payne’s face and could tell he wasn’t happy. “What’s wrong? We just saved several lives. You should be thrilled.”

“Not only did we save several lives, but we knew one of the survivors.”

Jones’s eyes widened with surprise. “Ariane was on the boat?”

Payne shook his head. “The Posse kidnapped her entire family. Her brother-in-law, Robbie, was one of the captives on board.”

“What?” He had met Ariane’s family on several occasions. “Was Tonya on the boat, too?”

“No. They still have her somewhere, and if you remember, she’s pregnant.” Payne paused as he thought about the situation. He knew Tonya was very close to her due date. “That is, if all this trauma hasn’t brought on childbirth.”

Jones could tell his buddy was hurting-it might be a future nephew or niece that he was talking about-so he tried to get Payne’s mind back on the mission. “What did you learn about the others?”

“Not much, but something strange is going on. That boat was filled with families. Moms, dads, kids. These weren’t strangers picked at random. These groups were chosen on purpose.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know.”

“And where were they taking them?”

“I don’t know that, either.”

Jones forced a chuckle. “Shit, you don’t know too much, do you?”

“I guess not,” Payne admitted. “But I do know this. If ten of the captives were on the verge of leaving this place, then there’s a good chance that the second group will be leaving shortly.”

“If that happens, our odds of finding them goes down significantly.”

“You got that right.” Payne checked the ammo in his Glock. “So tell me, Mr. Jones, you’re the brilliant military strategist. What do you recommend we do?”

“That’s easy. Let’s go save some people.”

HOLMES

and Greene were ready to enter Ariane’s room when Jackson’s voice emerged from Holmes’s radio. They had left Jackson five minutes before, and he was already calling.

“What the hell do you want now?” Holmes barked.

“Well, hello to you, too!” Jackson replied. “Sorry to disturb you, but we just heard a bunch of gunshots by the western dock.”

“Damn!” Greene cursed. “They’re going after the boat!” In the back of his mind, he was glad that he’d left his babysitting job when he did. He didn’t want to face Payne and Jones until the odds were more in his favor. “We have to stop these guys before they ruin everything.”

“How do we do that?” Holmes demanded. He had the most military experience of any of them, but he was clueless when it came to Payne and Jones. They were playing in a different league. “You know these guys better than I do. Do they have any flaws that we can exploit?”

Without speaking, Greene pointed to the door in front of him. As far as he knew, their only weakness lay inside the room.

Holmes considered the information, then pushed the button on his radio. “Harris, we’re coming out with the two girls. In the meantime, gather up all the guards and arm them with the best weapons we have. As soon as I get outside, we’re gonna storm the dock.”

“You got it!” Jackson’s voice was a mixture of excitement and concern. “I’ll see ya soon.”

Greene raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Do you think an all-out attack is gonna work on these guys? Won’t they see us coming a mile away?”

“Definitely, but that’s exactly what I want. I’ll have our guys make as much noise as possible, and I guarantee that Payne and Jones will try to slip through a crack and come to the house.” Holmes pointed to the door. “If she means as much to them as you say, they’re just killing time until we leave the home front open. As soon as we make a move, they’ll seize the opportunity.”

Greene nodded in agreement. The plan made perfect sense. “So, while the guards are in the weeds, what are we gonna do with her?”

Holmes grinned sadistically. “We’ll use her to set a trap of our own.”

CHAPTER 49

JUST

as Holmes had expected, Payne and Jones could hear the guards approaching, but it wasn’t because of their military training. All it took was a good set of ears, for the African guards did everything in their power to make as much noise as possible. They’d been told to drive Payne and Jones toward the dock site, where they’d eventually be trapped against the water. Their technique might’ve been successful if they were hunting a man-eater or some other type of game. But Payne and Jones were far more intelligent than a lion. Much more dangerous, too.

“Uh-oh,” Jones joked. “I think somebody’s coming.”

Using the night as their ally, the ex-MANIACs slipped past the squadron of guards without difficulty. They had the opportunity to kill a few men if they had wanted to, but they decided the risk wasn’t worth it. They figured it was probably better if the guards continued their search in the woods while they crept unnoticed toward the main house. No sense rattling their cage if they didn’t have to.

Once the duo reached the edge of the plantation house grounds, Jones asked Payne to stop. He had something on his mind, and he needed to voice it before it was too late.

“You realize, of course, that there’s a very good chance that this is a setup.”

“Yep.”

“And if Ariane is inside, she’s probably surrounded by armed guards.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And there’s a pretty good chance that we’ll get killed doing this.”

Payne frowned. “You think so?”

“No, but I wanted to make sure you were listening. You tend to block me out sometimes.”

“What was that?”

Jones laughed. “Okay, let’s do this.”

The two men hustled to the nearest cabin and used it as temporary shelter. Then, by repeating the process several times, they slowly made their way up the row of cabins until they found themselves crouching near the blackened remains of Jones’s blast site.

“Now what?” Payne asked.

From this point on, he knew their cover was limited. With the exception of a few oak trees covered in Spanish moss, there was nothing between their current position and the house.

“Front door or back?”

Jones studied the outside of the plantation house and shrugged. He’d never been inside the white-pillared mansion and had no idea what kind of security it had. Everything from here on out would be blind luck.

“It’s your girlfriend, you decide.”

Payne didn’t even bother to reply as he made his way toward the rear of the house. Jones stayed close behind, scouting for potential trouble as he did. When they reached the back of the structure, they noticed something that made their choice a good one. Bennie Blount was sticking his head out of a downstairs window, trying to get their attention.

“Pssst,” he called. “Over here!”

The duo raised their weapons in unison, then hustled over to Blount.

“What the hell are you doing?” Payne demanded.

“I was waiting for you. I watched your approach behind the cabins and saw you pause by the burned shed. That’s when I realized you were coming to the house.”

Payne and Jones looked at each other, puzzled. Something didn’t seem right about Blount, but they couldn’t figure out what it was.

“How’d you see us from that far away?” Jones wondered. “It’s pretty dark out here, and you’re in the back of the house.”

“Security cameras. The Plantation has them everywhere.”

“Cameras?” Payne’s interest was piqued. He realized that they could be quite useful if he used them properly. “Where are they?”

“All over. I can’t tell you where, though, because they’re very well concealed. I wouldn’t have even known about them if I didn’t break into the security office to hunt for you guys. That’s when I saw all of the monitors.”

Payne glanced at Jones and grimaced. Something was wrong, definitely wrong. He could sense it. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it was there, like a word on the tip of his tongue. Jones noticed it, too, and he showed his displeasure by frowning. Something was up.

“Gentlemen,” Blount said, grinning, “is something amiss? You seem strangely distressed by our conversation. Perhaps it was something I said?”

Finally, both men figured it out. Blount was no longer talking in the backwater language of a buckwheat. He was using the proper diction of a scholar instead.

“What the . . . ?” Payne couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You sneaky son of a bitch!”

“Now, don’t be goin’ on like that about my mama. She ain’t no bitch, I tell ya!”

Jones’s mouth fell wide open. He’d been completely fooled by Blount’s act. As he stood there staring at the dreadlocked servant, he couldn’t help but feel foolish. “The Academy Award for Best Actor in a Criminal Conspiracy goes to-”

Payne cut him off. They didn’t have time for humor at the moment.

“Bennie, or whatever the hell your name is, look me in the eyes and tell me which side of this war you’re on.” Payne raised his gun and put it under Blount’s chin. “I ain’t shittin’ you. Tell me right now, or you’ll die like the rest of the Posse.”

Jones laughed to himself. “You best tell him, Master Bennie. He ain’t bluffin’ none.”

Blount responded in perfect English. “I’m with you guys, I swear! I’m not part of the Posse. I’ve just been biding my time and gathering information. I swear to God!”

“Information for what?” Payne demanded, pressing the gun deeper into Blount’s throat.

“Tells him, Bennie! Master Payne gots himself a nasty temper and an itchy trigga finga. And that ain’t no good combination.”

Blount shuddered as Jones’s words sank in. “I’ve been gathering information for the authorities. I’m trying to get this place shut down, but I can’t do it in both continents without the proof to back it up. No one will listen to me until then.”

“What do you mean,

both continents

?”

“The Plantation isn’t just a torture site. It’s a lot more complicated than that.” Blount tried to swallow, but the gun pressed against his throat made it difficult. “This is business, big business! The Posse has ties all over the world, and if I want to shut everything down, I have to learn the names of the other people. That’s the only way to do it properly. Get everybody at once.”

Payne looked into Blount’s eyes, and he appeared to be sincere. But in this case,

appeared

was the operative word. For the longest time, Blount had appeared to be an uneducated country boy, and Payne had trusted him completely. Now Blount appeared to be telling the truth a second time, and he was asking Payne to believe him again. But how could he? Blount was such an incredible actor there was no way Payne could separate his bullshit from reality.

“I’m still not sold. You’re going to have to tell me something to convince me.”

“Like what?” he whimpered. “I’ll tell you anything, just don’t kill me!”

Jones stepped forward. “What kind of business is the Posse in?”

“You guys should know. You’re holding some of their products in your hands.”

“Guns?” Payne remarked. “But that doesn’t make sense. Why bring all of these innocent people to this island if you’re going to smuggle guns? There has to be more than that.”

“There is,” he grunted. “But you’re going to like that even less.”

Payne’s eyes flared with anger, causing the pressure on his gun to increase. “Why’s that, Bennie? Why am I not going to like it?”

“Because you’re white.”

“Okay, you racist bastard, what does that have to do with anything?”

“Hey, I’m not racist, but the Posse is.”

Payne smirked. “No shit! I kind of figured that out. What does racism have to do with the Posse’s business? Racism can’t be sold, you know.”

Blount stared Payne directly in the eyes. He wanted to make sure that Payne recognized the truth of his words. “That’s true, but slaves

can

be sold. White slaves.”

The concept made Payne shiver. If Blount was telling the truth, it meant that these people weren’t just being tortured. They were being broken-housebroken-for their new masters. “And how do you know this?”

“I just know! I’ve been walking around this place for several weeks and have heard stuff. Everybody treated me like an idiot, so they tried to talk over me. Nobody knew that I could put all of the pieces of the puzzle together. But I could. I’ve just been waiting for the right moment.” Blount took a breath. “And that moment is here. It’s finally here!”

“Why’s that?” Jones wondered.

“Because of you two. You’ve killed most of the Plantation guards, you have the masters running for their lives, and as far as I can tell, you got rid of the cargo ship. This is the time to finish them off! We can end the Posse right here, right now.”

“And why should we trust you?” Payne demanded. “You already dicked us once.”

“But I couldn’t help that! I couldn’t risk blowing my cover to help you out. I couldn’t! I tried to make it up to you, though. You know that! If it wasn’t for me, you would’ve died in the box.”

Payne shook his head. “You’re going to have to do better. I wouldn’t have been in that damn box if it wasn’t for you.”

“I know you don’t trust me, but without my help you won’t be able to save your girlfriend from a life of slavery. I can help you find her, and you know it. But we can’t wait much longer.”

The comment staggered Payne. With all of the fighting and arguing that was going on, Payne had forgotten about the one thing that mattered most: Ariane.

“How can you help?”

“I know the island much better than you. I can be your guide and an extra gun. Whether you know it or not, Ariane means an awful lot to me, too.”

Payne pressed the gun even harder into Bennie’s neck. He interpreted Blount’s comment as some kind of sexual insult.

“Why is that, you skinny bastard? And trust me, if your answer isn’t a good one, I’ll splatter your dreadlocks all over the wall!” Payne took a deep breath to control his fury, but it didn’t work. He was still fuming. “Why is Ariane important to you?”

“Why?” he stuttered. “Because she’s my cousin.”

CHAPTER 50

ARIANE

could hear heavy footsteps in the hall, but she had no idea who was out there until the door burst open. Two large figures entered the room.

“Well, well, well.” Greene laughed. “If it isn’t the trou blemaker’s bitch!”

Holmes followed him into the room. “All tied up and lookin’ good! If we had a little more time, I’d be tempted to play with her.”

Greene shook his head. “Unfortunately, we don’t. And all because of Payne.”

The sound of his name made her heart beat faster. “Is he here?” she tried to ask, but it came out mumbled.

“Wow, I think she’s trying to talk.” Holmes stared at her jaw, which had been broken by Harris Jackson. “A good-looking bitch who can’t talk. It’s like a dream come true.”

“Tease her later,” Greene suggested. “We gotta move before the two soldier boys find us.”

Two soldier boys? The sound was music to her ears. That meant Jones was probably with Payne, which only made sense. They did everything together, especially when it came to the military. But how in the world did they find her so quickly? Were they brought to the island the same time as her, or did they find her on their own?

Truthfully, it didn’t matter. As long as they knew where she was, she had a chance.

“Okay,” Holmes said. “I’m going to untie you from the bed now, but I expect you to be on your best behavior. Understood?”

Ariane nodded, even though it hurt her jaw to do so.

Holmes reached for the knot near her left wrist, but before he got ahold of it, a frantic voice came out of his radio. “Jesus! Is that Jackson? What does he want now?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Greene muttered. “You take care of the girl. I’ll take care of Harris.” Greene pushed the reply button on his own radio. “Harris? Is that you?”

“Levon,” Jackson answered, “we’ve got a major problem here!”

Greene frowned. “What’s going on?”

“I went down to the dock to check on the boat and . . . it’s gone!”

“What are you talking about?”

“All the guards are dead, and the boat is gone!”

“What about the slaves?” Greene demanded. “Where are the slaves?”

“They’re gone, too! I don’t know how, but the boat is gone!”

“Fuck!” Greene shouted. “I don’t believe this!”

Ariane watched Greene carefully, waiting to see what he was going to do next. She sensed that he might take his anger out on her. Thankfully, that never came to pass.

“What should we do?” he asked Holmes.

Holmes shrugged as he unfastened Ariane’s rope. “Your call.”

Greene gave it some thought before answering. “Just wait for us at the dock. We’ll be there shortly. And try to find Theo if you can. I think it would be best if we all stuck together.”

“Sounds good,” Jackson replied. “Make it quick. I’m in the open down here.”

Greene turned off his radio. “I can’t believe this shit! How can two guys cause this many problems?”

Holmes grinned at the comment. “You’d be surprised what two men can accomplish if they put their minds to it. . . . Like us, for instance.”

“What are you getting at?”

“I realize you’ve known Harris and Theo forever, but under the circumstances, we need someone to take the blame for all of this. If the feds get a couple of suspects in custody, they won’t be as likely to hunt for anyone else. At least not immediately.”

Greene’s interest was piqued. “What are you proposing?”

“How much would it bother you if we left them behind? Why don’t we get off this island while we still have a chance?”

“Interesting,” Greene muttered. However, after giving it some thought, he detected a flaw in the plan. “But we can’t leave them here.”

“Why not? We have the opportunity to flee, and you’re not willing to seize it because of them. My God! They’d leave your ass behind in a minute!”

“Wait a second!” he yelled back. “I don’t mind leaving them, but we can’t. They’ll name us, say we were the force behind everything, and preach their innocence. I guarantee they’ll frame their stories to suit their needs, and because of Harris’s knowledge of the law, they’ll come out sitting pretty. Hell, they might even be given immunity to testify against us.”

Holmes grimaced at the thought. “Damn, you’re right. So what do you recommend?”

Greene smiled at Ariane, then glanced at his new partner. “We should leave the island ASAP. But before we do, we need to silence Theo and Harris-permanently.”

BLOUNT’S

comment was absurd, completely asinine. Perhaps the most outrageous, preposterous, nonsensical thing that Payne had ever heard. But that was why he was tempted to believe it. It wasn’t the type of thing that someone would make up to save his own ass.

“Okay, Bennie, my interest is aroused. But I promise you, if I smell bullshit at any point of your explanation,

boom!

Understood?”

Blount nodded. “As you know, I’m not a dumb hick, but I

am

a local. My family has lived in these parts for generations. In fact, when this place was owned and operated by the Delacroix family, my ancestors worked the land as slaves.”

Payne signaled for him to speed it up.

“For the past few years I’ve been working on my master’s degree at LSU and recently started work on my thesis. I planned to show the effect that the abolition of slavery had on black families, using my family tree as an example.”

“And?”

“A few months ago, I came to this island to look around. This place had been abandoned for the longest time, and I thought a few photos would look good in my project.”

“What happened?”

“I bumped into a team of black men doing all kinds of work. I assumed that someone had bought the estate after Hurricane Katrina and was going to move in. So I went up to a brother to ask him a few questions about the new owner and discovered that he couldn’t speak English. Actually, none of them could. These guys were right off the boat from Africa.”

Jones asked, “Everyone?”

Blount nodded, then turned his attention back to Payne. “I didn’t want to get anybody into trouble, including myself, so I left quickly. It’s a good thing, too, because if one of the owners had seen me, I would’ve never been allowed to come back later.”

“Why’d you want to come back?”

“I wanted to see what they were going to do to the place, and I thought it could help my research. You see, during the course of my studies, I came across a family journal from the 1860s. It was like finding gold. It gave me a firsthand account of slave life on this plantation from a distant grandmother. Simply fascinating stuff.”

“I’m sure,” Payne said, “but I’m beginning to get impatient here.”

“You want me to get to Ariane, don’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

Blount nodded. “During the course of the journal, my distant grandmother admits to having an affair with Mr. Delacroix, her master. She said she did it for special treatment, but eventually, it turned into more than that. She fell in love with Delacroix and allowed him to impregnate her on several occasions. Shortly after that, the Civil War ended and the journal entries stopped.”

“That’s it?” Payne demanded. “What does any of that have to do with Ariane?”

“At the time, I didn’t know, but I was determined to talk with someone from the Delacroix family so I could get a look at their family tree. I figured if I was a direct descendant of Mr. Delacroix, then I would technically be related to all of his white offspring.”

Payne started to see where this was going, and his eyes filled with acceptance. He knew that Blount was telling the truth and couldn’t wait to see how Ariane fit in.

“I went to the local courthouse and tried to find his relatives, but every path I found ended in death. I swear, the Delacroix family must’ve been cursed because everyone in that family died so young. Anyway, when I came back here to look around again, I hoped the new owners had bought the property from a distant relative of mine and would be willing to give me an address.”

“Makes sense,” Payne added.

“But when I came back, I got the shock of my life. The old plantation was back in business. Not just as a farm, but as an

actual

plantation. Crops in the ground and slaves in the field, but this time, unlike the 1800s, the slaves were white.”

“What did you do?” Jones wondered as he watched for unwanted company.

“I tried to leave. I wanted to tell somebody what I saw out here, but before I could get my boat out of the swamps, a big man named Octavian Holmes blocked my passage and demanded information from me at gunpoint. I didn’t want to tell him the truth, obviously. If he knew that I had been digging around, he would’ve killed me. So I decided to play dumb. At that moment, I became a buckwheat by the name of Bennie Blount.”

“Go on,” Payne said.

“I convinced Master Holmes that I’d be useful around here. I could cook, clean, and show him around the local swamps. One thing led to another, and he decided to hire me. I figured it was perfect. I could roam around the Plantation while I got to the bottom of things.”

“Did you?”

Blount nodded. “Up until recently, the Posse was bringing random groups of people onto the island, mostly homeless people. They’d beat them, train them, then ship them overseas for big money. It’s a lucrative business. But all of that changed with this last group of slaves. The people that were selected were no longer random. These people were brought here for a reason. They were brought here for revenge.”

“What kind of revenge?”

“Revenge for the black race. Theo Webster, the brains behind the operation, traced the roots of the Plantation’s four founders and determined their family origins. Three of the men came from slave backgrounds, but Levon Greene didn’t. His family came to America after slavery had been abolished. Anyway, Webster determined the names of the slave owners that had once owned the ancestors of the other three men. Then, tracing their family trees to the present day, he located the modern-day relatives of those slave owners.”

“And the people that were kidnapped were the relatives?”

Blount nodded. “Ariane and her sister are distant relatives of Mr. Delacroix, my great-great-great-great-grandfather. That’s why they were brought here, and that’s why I’m related. I realize it doesn’t make her my first cousin, but she is my relative. I even have the data to back it up.”

Payne shook his head. “Don’t worry. I actually believe you.”

“Great,” muttered a relieved Jones. “Now that this Ebony and Ivory reunion is over, do you mind if we get out of here? We got some people to save and not much time to do it.”

Payne lowered his gun from Blount’s chin. He was finally convinced that Bennie was on his side to stay. “Mr. Blount, would you please show us the way inside the house?”

Bennie grinned. It was the first time in his life that a white man had ever called him mister.

CHAPTER 51

WHEN

the truck arrived at the western dock, Harris Jackson breathed a sigh of relief. Even though he realized he wasn’t safe until Payne and Jones were caught, he felt a lot better with Holmes and Greene by his side.

“Hey, Harris,” Holmes called, “where’s Theo? I thought he was supposed to meet us here.”

“He’ll be here any minute. He said he had to go to the house for something.”

Holmes nodded as he searched the dock for a trace of the missing boat. There were no clues except for a number of dead guards that littered the ground.

“These guys are good,” he admitted.

“So, what are we gonna do?” Jackson wondered. “The boat’s gone, half the slaves have escaped, and Payne and Jones are still running around killing our men. Is there any way we can salvage this?”

Greene gave Holmes a quick smile before speaking. “Sure we can. Remember, that’s the reason we wore our masks at all times. None of the slaves can identify our faces, so they won’t be able to give the cops our description. Once we leave this place, we’re home free.”

A flash of panic crossed Jackson’s mind. He had revealed his face to Ariane Walker and Susan Ross when he tied them up inside the house.

Holmes noticed the tension in Jackson’s eyes. “What’s wrong? You look upset.”

“I took my mask off in the bedrooms, and two of the whores saw my face.”

“You idiot!” Greene blurted. “Thinking with your wrong head again, huh?”

Annoyed, Jackson took a step toward Greene. Even though Greene outweighed him by sixty pounds, he wasn’t about to back down. He had to stand his ground now, or Greene would tease him forever. “What’s your problem, man? Why do you have to ride me so damn hard?”

“Because I feel like it.”

“And why’s that? What’s your problem with me?”

Greene stood his ground, reveling in the thought of a confrontation. “Here’s my problem. I’m fed up with all your perverted games, your groping and raping. That shit is wrong, and it’s gotta stop.”

“Oh, yeah? And who’s gonna stop me?”

“Who’s gonna stop you?” Greene smiled at Holmes. They had discussed this moment back at the house, and Greene had volunteered for the duty. “Me, my Glock, and I.”

Greene pulled his trigger and the thunderous blast echoed off the water and the surrounding trees. The bullet struck Jackson in his forehead and plowed into his brain with the finesse of a bulldozer. Then, as if in slow motion, Jackson slumped to the edge of the dock and hung there for just a second before he tumbled into the water with a loud splash.

“Nice shot,” Holmes remarked. His nonchalant tone suggested that Greene had just made a free throw in a game of HORSE. “Try to keep your elbow in more. It’ll improve your accuracy.”

“Thanks. I’ll have to remember that the next time I kill someone.”

Holmes glanced at his watch and realized time was running short. “That might be sooner than you think. We have to take care of Webster before we leave. Why don’t you give him a call and see what’s keeping him?”

Greene nodded. The adrenaline from killing Jackson surged through him, practically making him giddy. “Breaker, breaker, one nine,” he said, laughing. “Theo, do you read me?”

There was a slight delay before Webster answered. “I’m here, Levon.”

“Where’s here, Theo? We’ve been waiting for you at the dock.”

Another pause. “I’m up at the house. I figured we’d have to flee, and I wanted to pack a few things before we left.”

“No problem.” This would work out well for Holmes and Greene. They needed to stop by the house before they left the island anyway. “I’ll tell ya what, why don’t we swing by the mansion and help you out with your things?”

Relief filled Webster’s voice. “That would be great. I wasn’t looking forward to going down to the dock by myself. I’m not very good with guns.”

A wide grin returned to Greene’s face. “Don’t worry, Theo. I am.”

PAYNE

patted Webster on his head, then took the radio from his hands. “You did great. You sounded very natural.”

But he refused to speak. Instead, he slumped in his chair and pouted about getting caught.

“What now?” Jones asked as he chewed on his first food in what felt like days. “We got them coming here, but what are we going to do with them when they arrive?”

Payne flicked Webster on his ear. “I say we make a trade. I’ll gladly give up Theo here if they give us Ariane. As far as I’m concerned, anything we get after that will be icing.”

Jones swallowed a mouthful of apple and decided it was the best goddamned piece of fruit he had ever eaten. “Speaking of icing,” he said as he searched the pantry for anything that resembled cake. A box of Twinkies was the only thing he could find. “Once we get Ariane to safety, will we have time to hunt down Levon?”

“I don’t care what we do as long as you understand that she’s the number one priority here. After that, I’ll back you on anything that your heart desires.”

“Cool,” he mumbled as he stuffed half a Twinkie into his mouth.

While Jones chewed the yellow cake, Blount entered the kitchen from the security office. “They’ll be here any second. I just saw ’em pull their truck onto the road from the dock.”

Webster stared at Blount in disbelief. It was the first time he’d heard Bennie speak normally.

“What kind of truck?” Payne wondered.

“Flatbed. Both guys are in the front, but it appears they have some hostages in the back.”

Payne prayed one of them was Ariane. “Were they guys or girls?”

Blount shrugged. “Kind of looked like females, but don’t quote me on it.”

Jones continued eating Twinkies as he ran several different scenarios through his mind. Finally, he came across one that he liked. “Okay, fellas, this is how we’ll play it. Instead of picking these guys off from a distance-which I could do with my eyes closed-I think it’d be best if we dealt with them up close and personal.”

“Why’s that?” Payne demanded.

“First of all, if I kill these guys long-range, there’s no one to stop their speeding truck. I mean, the last thing we want is for Ariane to smash into a tree with a bomb strapped to her leg.”

“Good point.”

“Secondly, I get the feeling Holmes has been running things, and if that’s the case, it’d be foolish to kill him without interrogating him first. There’s no telling where he has slaves stored, and if we shoot him, there’s a chance we won’t be able to find them for a very long time.”

Payne groaned at the possibilities. “Isn’t a face-to-face confrontation kind of risky?”

“Definitely. And if you’d prefer, I’m still willing to pick these guys off with a scope. Of course, keep this in mind: Ariane

might

be one of those hidden slaves.”

THEY drove straight to the house, across the grass of the main yard. Once they had stopped, Holmes honked the horn, hoping Webster would come to the front door. It worked. He immediately swung the door open, sticking his head out of the narrow crack.

“Can you guys come inside and give me a hand? I’m not strong enough to carry this stuff.”

Greene looked at Holmes and frowned. He didn’t have a clean shot from his current position, and by the time he raised his weapon, Webster would be able to duck inside the house.

“Before we do,” Greene countered, “we want you to give us a hand with something.”

“Really? What do you need?”

Greene glanced at Holmes and shrugged. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.

Holmes jumped to his rescue with the first thing that popped into his head. “The guards have Payne and Jones cornered by the swamp, and we need help flushing ’em out. You’re the smartest guy here, so we figured you could come up with something.”

A grimace filled Webster’s face. He didn’t know what to make of Holmes’s comment, but he realized something strange was going on. “Guys, I’d hate to waste my time going all the way down to the swamp for nothing. Are you sure you have them cornered?”

“Oh, yeah,” Greene claimed. “We got ’em trapped all right. I made the identification myself. Now we just need some help flushing ’em out.”

Payne, who was hiding behind the door, sensed Webster’s desire to make a break for the truck, so he tightened his grip on him before he could move.

“Don’t even think about it,” he whispered. “Tell them you can’t leave until they come inside and give you a hand. Insist if you have to.”

Webster obeyed. “Guys, I can’t help you right now. I’ve got other things to worry about

inside

.” He tilted his head toward the door in an effort to signal Holmes and Greene, but they didn’t understand what he was pointing to. “I think it would be best if you gave me a hand.”

Greene growled softly as he watched Webster twitch his head. He couldn’t believe how swiftly he was becoming unglued. “I don’t know what your deal is, but we need you in the truck right now. Time is running out, so let’s go.”

“Come on!” Holmes shouted. “We need your help immediately!”

Webster tried to move toward the truck but wasn’t strong enough to tear away from Payne. In fact, the only thing that he managed to do was piss him off.

“Do that again and I’ll bite off your fucking ear.”

“Come on,” Holmes repeated. “Let’s go! Now!”

“I can’t come,” Webster assured him. “I’d like to, but I can’t. I really can’t.”

Greene had heard enough. The cops were probably on their way, and the only thing that stood between him and freedom was a 150-pound computer geek. Angrily, Greene threw his door open and climbed out. “I’m sick of this. Come out here now before you really piss me off.”

He accented his statement with a slam of the truck door.

And that was what Jones and Blount had been waiting for. They quietly opened their windows on the second floor of the plantation house and thrust their weapons outside. Once they had settled into comfortable positions, they aimed their guns at their targets. Jones focused on Greene. Blount pointed at Holmes, who remained inside the truck.

After counting to five, Payne threw the front door open while using Webster as a shield. “Show me your hands!” he shouted. “Show me your fucking hands!”

Greene stopped dead in his tracks and slowly raised his two closed fists into the air.

“Surprised to see us?” Jones teased from above. “You must be, since we’re currently trapped down by the swamps. That’s why you’re turning white, isn’t it?”

“Something like that.”

“Don’t turn too white,” Payne muttered, “or someone around here might make you a slave.”

Greene tried to take a breath, but his chest was too tight to inhale. “What do you guys want?”

“Revenge!” Jones shouted as he cracked his neck. “A shitload of revenge!”

Payne wrapped his arm around Webster’s neck and pulled him closer. “You know what I want. I want Ariane.”

“Then this is your lucky day,” Greene assured him. “She’s in the back of our truck with another girl. Why don’t you come over and see for yourself?”

Payne shook his head. “No, thanks. I kind of like it where I’m standing now. But my partner can take a look. Hey, D.J.?”

“Yeah, chief.”

“Can you see into the back of the truck?”

“Sure can. Looks like a couple of chicks to me. Not sure who they are, though. They’re tied up, and their heads are covered.”

“Do they look alive?”

“They sure do. I see lots of squirming.”

Payne returned his attention to Greene. “So, what’s next?”

“You’re obviously in control. You’ve got a gun pointed at my heart, and your arm wrapped around Theo’s neck. You tell me, how do you want to resolve this?”

“I say we shoot him,” Jones suggested. “Then we can just take the girls.”

Greene chuckled. “Oh, you could do that, but if you shoot me, Octavian is gonna speed off before you have a chance to grab them.”

“No, he won’t,” Blount yelled. “Before he travels ten feet, I’ll pump him like a porn star.”

Greene glanced at the other end of the house and saw Blount’s unobstructed view of Holmes. “That’s a pretty colorful image, especially from a hick like yourself. That English of yours sounds remarkably better.”

“Thanks. I borrowed your

Hooked on Phonics

tape.”

Greene smiled, trying to remain as calm as possible. He had played football in front of millions of fans on TV, so he was used to keeping his nerves during times of pressure. “Hey, Octavian! Do you have a clear shot at Ariane?”

Holmes thrust his muscular arm out the back of the cab and pointed his gun at the tied-up hostages. “Definitely! There’s not much that can stop a bullet from three feet away.”

“That’s true,” Payne remarked. “But the same can be said about my distance. And I promise you, I won’t miss.”

“I believe you,” Greene said. “But you know what? I’ve got a strange feeling that you’re not going to shoot me. You know why? ’Cause if you do, a lot of people are gonna die!”

“Really! And how do you expect to pull that off?”

“Oh, it’s not what I’m gonna

pull

. It’s what I’m gonna

push

!”

Greene lowered his left hand and revealed the tiny detonator that he’d been concealing in his palm. “One touch of this button, and every anklet on this island goes

boom!

”

He accented his statement by making the sound of a large explosion, then followed it with a defiant smile. “So, let me ask you again. How do you want to resolve this?”

Payne remained stoic, showing Greene the ultimate poker face. He didn’t laugh, grin, or frown. “It’s simple, as far as I’m concerned. I get my girl, and you get your bitch.” He tightened his grasp on Webster’s neck. “Simple swap.”

“What’s to prevent you from shooting us the minute you get her?”

“Nothing,” Payne admitted. “But what prevents you from doing the same? Remember, you’re the one with the history of reneging.”

“That’s right,” Jones cracked. “You’re a re-

nigger

.”

Greene allowed his eyes to float upward. He saw nothing but the barrel of Jones’s gun. “You know if you weren’t black, I’d kick your ass for that comment.”

“Yeah, but you’d put me in handcuffs before you even tried.”

Greene lowered his gaze back to Payne. “So, you want to make a trade, huh? Tell me how to do it, and I shall oblige.”

“First of all, I need to make sure that’s Ariane.”

Greene clicked his tongue a few times in thought. “That’s gonna be tough. She’s currently gagged, and I’m not about to let you near her.”

“Not a problem, Levon. Just let me see her face. If it’s her, we can continue. If it isn’t, D.J. is going to show you his Lee Harvey Oswald impersonation.”

“Don’t worry,” Greene assured him. “You can trust me on this one. I’ll remove her hood, and you’ll see that it’s her. Okay? Just don’t shoot me.”

As Greene strolled toward the rear of the truck, he studied the upstairs window out of the corner of his eye. He hoped that Jones would relax for just a moment, giving him enough time to make his move, but Jones was too good of a soldier to slip up. The barrel of his gun followed Greene wherever he went.

“That’s far enough,” Jones ordered. He was afraid that Greene would sneak to the far side of the truck, and if he did, he would no longer have a clean shot at him. “Climb into the bed from the back bumper. If you flinch, you die!”

“Bennie,” Payne called, “how’s your shot at the driver?”

“Clear.”

“Stay on him, Bennie. Never let him leave your sight.”

Greene stepped onto the back bumper as directed, then pulled himself up with a quick tug of his arm. After stepping over the hatch, he moved toward Ariane, keeping his eyes on Jones while looking for a chance to get free.

“D.J.,” Payne shouted, “you still got him?”

“No problem. In fact, I’m tempted to take him now, just for the hell of it.”

Despite the boast, Payne felt uneasy about the situation. There was something about the cocky look in Greene’s eyes that made him nervous. Payne wasn’t sure what was going on, but his gut told him that something bad was about to happen. As a precaution, he moved forward, keeping the hostage directly between himself and Greene.

“Do this nice and slow,” Payne ordered. “No mistakes.”

Greene nodded as he pulled Ariane into a sitting position. Next, he placed his right hand on the hood that was tied around her neck while crouching down behind her.

“D.J.?” Payne screamed.

“Don’t worry. On your command, I can put a hole in his brain.”

Payne felt temporarily better, but his anxiety returned when Greene started working on the rope around her throat. “Careful!”

“You gotta chill,” he growled. “If I hurt her, you’ll hurt Theo. And trust me, I don’t want you to do that. Why? Because I want to do it myself!”

Using Ariane as a shield, Greene pulled a gun from the back of his belt and fired two shots toward Payne. As he did, Holmes punched the gas pedal hard, sending Ariane and Greene tumbling backward in a tangle of body parts, an act that kept Jones from shooting. Sure, he could’ve fired, but the risk of hitting Ariane was simply too high for his taste. Instead, he figured he’d rely on his backup.

“Bennie,” Jones screamed, “get the driver!”

But Blount reacted too late. He fired a number of shots at the front windshield, yet the only thing that hit Holmes was shards of broken glass.

Jones cursed as the truck continued forward. He did his best to stop it by shooting at the back right tire, but the angle of the flatbed protected it like armor. He shifted his aim to the rear window, hoping to nail the driver in the back of the head, but Holmes made a sudden turn toward the side of the house.

“Son of a bitch!” Jones yelled. He couldn’t believe that so many unexpected things had happened. Greene’s hidden gun, his lack of compassion for Webster, the detonator, and Ariane’s unintentional interference. Jones abandoned his position and ran toward the front steps, where he came across Blount in the hallway. The two of them sprinted down the stairs together, hoping to hit the truck with a long-distance shot, but when they burst out the front door, they noticed something that changed their priorities.

Two bodies were sprawled on the columned porch.

One was Webster; the other was Payne.

Both were covered in blood, and neither was moving.

CHAPTER 52

WHILE

Blount ran for a first-aid kit, Jones tended to Payne, carefully probing his unconscious friend. Unfortunately, Payne’s black clothes made it tough to find his injuries.

“Bennie! Get out here! I need your help!”

Blount returned a moment later, medical supplies in hand.

“Help me get his shirt off. I need to figure out where he was hit.”

Expecting the worst, they carefully cut off the bloodied garment, exposing Payne’s chiseled but scarred torso. Thankfully, his chest and stomach were free of new wounds.

“The blood must’ve been Webster’s,” Blount said, relieved.

“Not all of it.” Jones pointed to a gaping hole in Payne’s arm. One of Greene’s bullets had torn through Webster’s body and embedded itself in Payne’s left biceps. “It’s not life threatening, but I have to patch him up before he bleeds too much.”

“What do you need me to do? Get you some towels? Boil some water?”

Jones frowned. “He’s not having a baby. He’s been shot.”

Blount nodded. “Does that mean I can’t do anything?”

“Actually, you can. I won’t leave Jon until I treat him, but the moment he wakes up he’ll want to find Ariane. Can you find us some transportation?”

“Consider it done.”

While waiting for Blount’s return, Jones tried to focus on Payne. Under these conditions, there wasn’t much he could do other than sterilize the wound and wrap it, but he realized that might be enough to save Payne’s life. Right now the two biggest concerns were blood loss and infection. A good field dressing would stop either from happening.

As Jones prepared the bandages, Payne opened his eyes. Still groggy, he blinked a few times, absorbing his surroundings. He studied Jones as he scoured through the first-aid kit.

“Excuse me, Miss Nightingale? I think you need to reap-ply your makeup.”

A smile crossed Jones’s lips. He didn’t care what Payne said as long as he was able to talk. “How are you feeling?”

“Not great.” He blinked a few times, trying to remember what happened. “I think my arm hurts.”

“That might have something to do with the bullet that’s in it. And when you fell, I think you hit your head on the steps. That’s why you blacked out.”

Payne winced as he touched the back of his head. A large bump was emerging from his scalp. “Where’s Ariane?”

Jones frowned. He didn’t want to upset his friend before his wound was treated, but he wasn’t willing to lie. “To be honest, Jon, I don’t know. They all got away.”

“What?” He immediately tried to sit up, but Jones restrained him. “How did that happen? I thought you had a shot at Levon.”

“I did, but Ariane blocked it. When the truck started to move, she tumbled on top of him. I couldn’t risk pulling the trigger.”

“What about the driver? Did he get hit?”

“Bennie hit the front windshield more than once, but Holmes kept driving.” He paused for a moment as he considered the events. “I don’t know if he hit him or not.”

Payne took a deep breath, trying to calm his rage. He wasn’t mad at Jones or Blount-considering the circumstances, they’d done their best-but he was upset at the unfortunate turn of events. Ariane was within reach, but he had blown his chance to retrieve her.

“We have to catch them before they leave the island. If they get away, there’s no telling where they’ll go.”

Jones saw the desperation on Payne’s face. It showed in the color of his cheeks and the glare in his eyes. But that wasn’t all he noticed. He could also see his pain. There was something about the tightness of his jaw and the grimace on his lips that revealed Payne’s physical agony.

“Let’s take care of you first. Then we’ll worry about them.”

“D.J., I’m fine.” He tried to sit up a second time, but Jones pushed him down again.

“Jon, we can’t chase them until we get a vehicle, and Bennie’s getting us one right now. So just calm down and let me patch you up while we wait for our limo.”

Jones cleaned and wrapped the wound in less than five minutes. Then, as he put the last layer of elastic tape around the sterile gauze, he heard the rumble of an approaching motor. He gazed across the field, trying to identify the motorist, but was unable to.

“We better take cover.”

Both men climbed to their feet and waited in the nearby bushes until they spotted Blount. They realized it was him when they saw his dreadlocks flapping in the breeze. As he pulled up on an ATV, Payne and Jones reemerged on the porch.

“Jon! You’re okay!”

“Yeah, I’m all right.” He glanced at the green and black Yamaha Grizzly and realized it was too small for three people. “Is this all you could find?”

“Actually, there are two more where I found this. If one of you comes with me, we can figure out a way to bring them both back.”

Jones looked at Payne. “Let me go. You should rest up.”

“No arguments from me.”

As Blount and Jones sped away, Payne scanned the immediate vicinity, making sure that no one was watching from the trees. When he was confident that he was alone, he walked toward Webster, staring at his face. In the aftermath of the shooting, he never thought to ask about Webster’s condition-he just assumed that he was dead-but one glance proved that he wasn’t. Even though his eyes were closed and his lips were blue, blood pulsated from the two wounds that were visible in his upper torso.

Blood flow meant that Webster’s heart was still beating.

Payne crouched next to him and examined his injuries, but Webster’s wounds were too severe to be fixed with a Band-Aid. There was nothing Payne could do except offer him comfort-something he was reluctant to do, considering his role in Ariane’s abduction.

“Theo,” he said in a soothing voice, “can you hear me?”

Unexpectedly, Webster opened his eyes.

“Hey,” Payne whispered, “how are you feeling?”

“P-p-p-” Webster was trying to say something, but his lack of strength made it difficult to pronounce the words. “Come . . . here.”

Before he moved closer, Payne checked Webster for weapons-the last thing he needed was a knife in his gut. But Webster was unarmed. “I’m here, Theo.”

“Paw . . . paw,” he stuttered. “Paw . . .”

He looked into Webster’s eyes. They were glassy and starting to droop. Payne knew he didn’t have much time left. “Theo, you have to repeat that. I can’t understand you.”

“Paw . . . paw . . . it,” he managed to mutter. “Paw . . . it.”

“

Paw it

? What does that mean? Theo? What’s

paw it

?”

But this time there was no reply.

The bastard died before he could finish his final message.

ON the eastern side of the island, far from the plantation house and the western dock, lay a small inlet, filled with warm water from the nearby gulf. At first glance, it seemed like an impassable marsh. Bald cypress trees clogged the waterway in sporadic groves. Jagged stumps and fallen timber, remnants of Hurricane Katrina, rose from the water like icebergs, waiting to shred any boat that dared to float by. But appearances were sometimes misleading. In this case, the water wasn’t impassable. It was actually a path to freedom.

“Where the hell are we going?” Greene screamed from the back of the truck. “There’s nothing back here but swamp-land.”

Holmes answered cryptically. “It seems that way, doesn’t it?”

“So why are we going here?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

Greene didn’t like the sound of that, but he realized he didn’t have much choice. Holmes was currently in control of the situation, and he was just along for the ride. “Fine, but keep something in mind. I’m armed.”

“I know that, Levon. And so do Theo and Harris.”

Greene grinned as he thought about his two fallen partners, but his smile turned to a grimace when he felt the truck slowing. “Why are we stopping?”

“I want to show you something,” he said through the back window. “But before I do, I think you and I need to reach some kind of an understanding.”

Greene instinctively raised his gun. “The ball’s in your court, huckleberry. Just make your move, and we can dance.”

“I’m not talking about violence. I’m talking about our partnership. If we’re going to stick together, we need to discuss what each of us is able to contribute.”

“Contribute? What exactly does that mean?”

Holmes got out of the truck to explain. “For this to work, each of us has to contribute something of value. I, for instance, am going to get us off of this island and out of the country. Once we get to Africa, I’ll be able to provide us with a wide network of contacts that will set us up with fake identities and a place to stay.” He paused for a few seconds to let Greene absorb all of the information. “What about you?”

“Me? What the hell

can

I contribute? All my money is tied up in my house and this place, and I’m gonna have to abandon both of them.”

“True, but you’ll be able to get some of your cash back.”

Greene grimaced. “How do you figure?”

“You never did anything illegal in your house, did you?”

“No.”

“Then the FBI won’t be able to take it. When Payne and Jones tell them that you were involved, they’ll be able to search your house, but they won’t be able to seize it. A year from now you’ll be able to sell it through a local Realtor and have all of the money wired overseas. Several million, if I’m not mistaken.”

Greene hadn’t thought of that, and the realization that he still had some assets made him happy. “But this investment is down the tubes, right?”

“Not necessarily. If you play your cards right, you might be able to collect insurance money.”

“Insurance money? For what? The burned log cabin? My deductible is more than that thing was worth.”

Holmes shook his head. He’d planned for this contingency from day one. “I’m not talking about the cabin. I’m talking about the entire house. You’ll be able to collect on that.”

Greene raised his eyebrows. “How do you figure? With the exception of a bullet hole or two, that place is in great shape.”

“If you want an explanation, just follow me.” Holmes walked into a grove of trees and removed a small metal box from underneath an azalea. “Take a look inside. It’ll answer most of your insurance questions.”

Greene held the box with childlike fascination. He couldn’t imagine what Holmes had stored so far away from the house in a tiny crate. “Actually, I’m not really in a trusting mood.” He laughed. “Why don’t you open it?”

Holmes grabbed the box and pulled out a small radio transmitter, one that was commonly used for mining detonations. “Think about it, Levon. We wore masks the entire time we were here, but we didn’t always wear gloves. Our fingerprints are all over that house. If we don’t do something about it, the FBI will be able to gather enough evidence to put us at the top of their hit list.” He shook his head decisively. “And there’s no way I’m gonna let that happen.”

“But won’t it happen anyway? With Payne, Jones, and Blount still alive, won’t they be able to tell the FBI everything?”

“Yeah, but without physical evidence, there’s no way they’ll be able to convince an African government to extradite us. At least that’s what Harris told me. He said the testimony of witnesses won’t mean dick in a situation like that. Plus, if you follow all of the safeguards that I’m going to teach you, the American government won’t even know where we are. We’ll disappear from their radar forever.”

Greene smiled. He liked the sound of that. “What about the money? Won’t they find me when I try to collect on my house?”

“Not a chance. Theo set up a number of offshore accounts using the names of bogus corporations. If you use them to filter all of the funds, the FBI won’t be able to touch you.”

“Are you sure? That sounds risky, especially without Theo to walk me through it.”

“Hey, it’s your money, not mine. But if I were in your shoes, I’d try to collect every cent that I could. If you don’t, you’re gonna be forced to work for the rest of your life.”

Greene grimaced at the thought. He was accustomed to a life of luxury and didn’t relish the thought of returning to the workforce-especially the one in Africa.

“Either way,” Holmes continued, “I’m blowing this joint up. The explosives are set, and I can do it with a touch of a button.”

“Bullshit,” Greene growled. “I paid for it, so

I

get to blow it up. At least I’ll get some enjoyment out of this place.”

Holmes smiled. He was glad Greene wasn’t going to fight him on this. “Good! You can do it in a minute, but before you do you still need to answer my earlier question. I need to know what you’re gonna contribute to this partnership.”

Greene rolled his eyes. “You’re obviously looking for something, so just tell me. What do you need from me? Money?”

Holmes nodded. “I was expecting us to make millions off the current batch of slaves.” He turned back toward the truck and pointed to Ariane and Susan. “Now we’re down to two. Granted, they’re exceptional and will get top dollar, but it won’t be enough to live on for the rest of my life. That’s why I want some guarantees from you, right here, right now.”

“Octavian, if you expect me to give you millions, you can fuck off. But if we’re talking about a reasonable settlement for getting me to safety, then there’s no problem. We’re good.”

Holmes extended his hand, and Greene shook it eagerly.

“There is one thing, though, that confuses me. As far as I can tell, we still have almost a dozen slaves left in storage. Why don’t we take them with us? It would net us a lot of cash.”

Holmes signaled for Greene to follow him again, and he did so willingly. The two men walked ten feet farther into the woods, where Greene saw their getaway vehicle buried under some brush. It was a hydroplane, capable of seating no more than four people at one time.

“If we had a way to transport them, I’d be all for it. But at this point, we’ll have to settle for what we have. My boat for escape and your money to live on.”

CHAPTER 53

SEVERAL

minutes passed before Blount and Jones returned to the house with three ATVs. Blount drove his unattached while Jones lagged behind, towing the third one.

“What took you guys so long?” Payne asked. “I thought maybe you ran into trouble.”

Jones shook his head. “It just took a while to figure out a towing system.”

“Well, while you were busy playing engineer, I was stuck here talking to Webster. You should’ve told me he was still alive before you left.”

Blount and Jones exchanged glances, then looked at the dead body near the porch. Webster was lying in the same position as before. “Jon, are you feeling all right? You took a blow to the head. I think you might be hallucinating.”

Payne denied the suggestion. “I’m fine, D.J. My arm hurts, but my head’s fine.”

“You talked to him?”

“Yes!”

“And he talked back?”

“Yes! He was alive, for God’s sake. I swear!”

“You know,” Blount admitted, “we never checked. I think both of us just assumed that he was dead.”

“He wasn’t dead,” Payne insisted. “I’m telling you, he was alive.”

Jones removed the towing cable while he considered Payne’s statement. “So, what did Lazarus have to say? Is the light as bright as they claim?”

Payne ignored the sarcasm and answered the first question. “That’s the strange part. He kept repeating the same thing over and over, but it didn’t make any sense.”

Intrigued, Blount spoke. “Maybe it will make sense to me. What did he say?”

Payne frowned as he thought back on the urgency of Webster’s statement. “

Paw it

. He kept repeating the phrase

paw it

. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Not off the top of my head, but give me a second.”

“Are you sure he didn’t say

Rosebud

?” Jones joked, recalling the mysterious word whispered in the famous death scene of the movie

Citizen Kane

. “Maybe

Paw It

was the name of his sled.”

“I doubt it,” Blount countered. “Louisiana isn’t known for its snow. Heck, I can’t even remember the last time I had to put my hands in my pockets, let alone a pair of gloves.”

Blount’s statement triggered a smile on Payne’s face. In a moment’s time, he had gone from confused to enlightened, and all because of Bennie. “I’ll be damned! I think I got it.”

“Got what?” Jones questioned.

“The point of the message! I bet Webster was trying to say

pocket

but couldn’t pronounce it! I bet he has something in his pocket that he wanted me to see!”

Blount was the closest to the body, so he reached into the dead man’s clothes, looking for anything of value. Even though it was soaked with blood and tattered with holes, he probed the garment for clues, trying to avoid the liquid that saturated it.

“Nope,” he said. “Nothing.”

“If you want to be completely thorough,” Payne added, “check to see if he’s wearing an undershirt with a pocket. He might’ve kept something there for safekeeping.”

Blount slowly unbuttoned Webster’s dress shirt, pulling back the blood-soaked garment like he was peeling a bright red apple. Once he exposed the undershirt, he placed his hand on the pocket and felt for anything of value. “I think there’s something in here!” With newfound excitement, Blount reached into the pocket’s inner lining and removed a portable hard drive, which was two inches long and a half inch wide. “I’ll be damned! You were right! He wanted you to go into his pocket.”

Jones, who’d just finished his work on Payne’s ATV, rushed over to Blount’s side. He was eager to see what had been found.

Blount stared at the object in the dim light. A look of absolute joy engulfed his face. “It’s his computer drive. One day I overheard him talking about it. I walked into his office while he was on the speakerphone. He said if anything ever happened to him, he wanted the guy on the phone to search through his belongings and look for his travel drive.” Blount showed it to Payne and Jones. “He said the drive would contain financial records that were crucial to their business.”

Blount stared at the drive for a few more seconds then handed it to Jones. “The other guy, whoever he was, asked him what type of records he was referring to, but Theo assured him that the information would only be important if he died.”

Jones studied it, making sure that the blood from Webster’s wounds hadn’t seeped inside. “Well, if Bennie’s right, then we hit the jackpot, because one of these drives can hold a couple gigabytes of information. There’s no telling what we might get from it.”

Payne smiled, finally understanding the significance of the find. If they were lucky, they had just acquired the evidence they needed to nail anyone who was associated with the Posse. Holmes, Greene, Jackson, Terrell Murray, and the slave buyers themselves.

All of them could be linked to the crimes of the Plantation through Webster’s data.

AS he drove the truck across the island, Octavian Holmes shook his head at his own stupidity. He couldn’t believe that Greene had convinced him to trade passengers for their journey to freedom. They already had enough money to live on for the rest of their lives. If they had left the Plantation immediately, they would have escaped from the island. So why take the chance of getting caught? To him, it just didn’t make any sense.

But Greene was passionate about it. In fact, he wouldn’t take no for an answer. “I’m not leaving this place without

my

prisoner,” he had said. “Without him, I’m not giving you a cent.”

And that had done it. Holmes’s greed had taken control of his common sense and convinced him to switch Susan for Nathan. He was threatening his own life, his freedom, everything, for some extra cash. Holmes shook his head repeatedly, thinking of the mistake he was making.

“You’re a greedy bastard!” he said to himself.

As he pulled his truck to a screeching halt, Holmes studied the concrete shed in front of him. It appeared to be in the same condition that he’d left it in. The door was still locked from the outside, the ground was unblemished with fresh footprints, and Ndjai’s dog could be heard patrolling inside. Just like it should be.

The sound of Susan’s whimpering and Holmes’s jingling keys caused the dog to erupt with even more ferocity than before. The barking, which had been relatively restrained, was replaced by bloodthirsty howls as the canine flung itself against the door in an attempt to strike. Time after time, the creature repeated the process, hoping to quench its cravings with a savage battle, trying to get at the intruder before he had a chance to step inside.

The dog’s effort made Holmes smile.

“Hey, Tornado, it’s your Uncle O. How are ya doing?” The Ibizan hound, which had been bred with a larger breed in order to increase its size and strength, responded quickly, going from a ferocious killer to a friendly pet in less than a second. “That’s a good boy. Your daddy trained you well, didn’t he?”

Holmes cracked the door slightly, allowing Tornado to smell his hand.

The inside of the structure was filled with darkness and the overwhelming stench of imprisonment, created by the bodily functions of eleven terrified prisoners. There weren’t windows, vents, or toilets, which meant the unsanitary conditions were bound to get worse as the hours passed. The majority of the room was enclosed by a large cage, made from thick barbed wire and massive wooden posts, that had been placed there for two reasons: to keep the slaves from the exit and to keep Tornado away from the slaves.

Before he stepped into the room, Holmes grabbed a flashlight from above the door and shined the light into the huddled group of prisoners. He moved the beam from slave to slave, studying the dirty faces until he saw the man he was looking for. The chosen one.

Nathan was standing in the back corner of the room, far from the others, his face covered in layers of coarse facial hair. If it wasn’t for the prisoner’s 6’5” frame, Holmes never would’ve recognized him. He was a shell of his former self. His body weight had dropped by at least fifty pounds in the preceding weeks, and his face was haggard. But his failing health was easily explained. He had arrived long before the current crop of slaves and had spent most of his time within the sadistic world of the Devil’s Box. It had taken longer than anyone had expected, but the harsh treatment had eventually broken him.

One look into his eyes revealed it. Nathan was no longer the same man.

The peculiar thing, though, was the reason that they had brought him to the Plantation. He wasn’t kidnapped because of his ancestry or his race. He was there to fulfill one man’s obsession with revenge, nothing more, and as long as the Plantation continued to flourish, his imprisonment would never end.

And thanks to Levon Greene’s orders, Nathan had never been told why.

CHAPTER 54

EVEN

though he had a hole in his left biceps the size of a quarter, Payne wasn’t about to give up. If he was going to rescue Ariane, he knew he had to endure whatever physical pain he was feeling. He simply had to, for he realized the agony in his arm could never approach the sorrow he would feel if he lost Ariane forever.

The body mends quickly. The mind and heart do not.

“Bennie,” Payne groaned over the roar of his motor, “where do you think they took her?”

Blount started his ATV, the lead vehicle in the pack, then answered. “One day when I was exploring the island, I found a boat hidden in the weeds. I’m not sure if the Posse put it there, but I think there’s a chance they did. It was in pretty good shape.”

Jones started the middle Yamaha, completing the thundering chorus of engines. “That sounds like a good place to start.”

With a twist of their accelerators, the three machines sprang into action, tearing up the soft ground in long strips and tossing it high into the air. After getting accustomed to his controls, Payne increased his speed until he was nearly even with Blount, choosing a position near Bennie’s right shoulder. Jones, on the other hand, swung wide and settled on the opposite side, hoping to protect Blount from any outside threats.

But there was nothing he could do to prevent the explosion.

Instantaneously, a loud blast overpowered the roar of the ATV motors as an invisible force slammed into the backs of the bewildered drivers. In a moment of confusion, the three men skidded to a stop then turned to locate the source of the shock wave. It was the plantation house, and it glowed like Mount Vesuvius.

As they stared at the destruction, a second explosion tore through the remnants of the eighteenth-century structure, sending antique meteorites in all directions. Fireballs sprang into the air like popcorn, spreading the inferno to the nearby trees and cabins, igniting them like they were made out of gasoline.

“The detonation was too precise to be an accident,” Payne screamed over the din of the blast. “That means either the house was on a timer or the explosion was set off by hand. And if it’s the latter, that means our friends are still on the island.”

Blount and Jones turned from the fireworks display and studied the surrounding terrain, using the glowing nighttime sky as a giant spotlight.

“Is that the truck over there?” Blount shouted.

Jones looked in the direction that Bennie was pointing and identified the object. “I don’t know if it’s the truck we want, but it’s definitely a truck.” Like a sheriff from the Wild West, he patted the weapon that hung from his hip. “Let’s saddle up, fellas, and teach them boys a lesson.”

DESPITE

Tornado’s barking and the loud rumble of the truck engine, Holmes heard the house’s detonation and stopped to investigate. Looking back, he saw the bright orange flames as they shot toward the sky and felt the concussion of the blast as its shock wave rolled across the island like an invisible stampede.

With a smile on his face, Holmes climbed from the vehicle and strolled toward the back of the truck. Tornado emerged from the front seat as well, and the two of them gazed at the light. “Did you like that, boy?”

The dog remained silent, staring at the horizon.

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

Tornado answered with a low, menacing growl. Then, after a few seconds of displeasure, it began pacing back and forth across the grass of the open field.

Holmes stared at Tornado with fascination. The only time he had seen the dog act this way was when Ndjai was preparing him for an attack. “Hey, fella, it’s gonna be all right. The fire isn’t gonna hurt you. It’s too far away to bother us.”

A guttural moan emanated from the dog’s throat as it continued its movement. Back and forth. Back and forth. Again and again.

“What’s spooking you, boy?”

As if answering the question, Tornado hopped onto the truck and growled at the nearby trees.

“What’s wrong, boy? Is there something . . . ?”

Then Holmes heard it. Softly, just below the whisper of the wind, there was a rumble. It wasn’t the sound of fire as it devoured the evidence of the plantation house. No, the sound was more man-made-like a machine. Like an engine that was headed his way.

Without delay, Holmes jumped behind the wheel of the truck and hit the accelerator. Driving as quickly as the terrain would allow, he glanced in his sideview mirror and searched the darkness for his enemies’ approach. He hoped that they wouldn’t be back there. He prayed that he was just being paranoid. But the mirror gave him indisputable proof.

The MANIACs were behind him, and they were gaining ground.

“Son of a bitch!” He turned back and looked at Tornado, who was still growling fiercely at the noise. “Hang on, boy. This could get messy.”

“DAMN!” Blount shouted from the lead ATV. “I think he saw us!”

Payne nodded, even though he had no idea what Blount had screamed. All of Payne’s concentration was focused on the driver of the truck. Not Blount, the explosion, nor the pain in his arm. Everything-every thought, every breath, every beat of his heart-was devoted to the man that threatened Ariane. Payne would make him pay for his transgressions.

But he had to catch him first.

Little by little, second by second, Payne gained ground on the vehicle. He wasn’t sure how it was possible-the pickup truck had more horsepower and quicker acceleration than his ATV-but he was getting closer.

“I’m gonna make my move,” Blount yelled. “I’m gonna cut him off.”

Jones nodded in understanding as Blount pulled ahead like a marathon runner using his final kick. Five feet, then ten. His lead lengthened while his dreadlocks flapped in the wind like a tattered flag. Jones stared in amazement as Blount inched closer and closer to the truck.

“He’s gonna catch him!” Jones shouted. “Holy shit, he’s gonna catch him!”

HOLMES looked in his sideview mirror with great displeasure. Even though he drove the fastest vehicle, the trio was still gaining on him. “Come on, truck! What’s wrong with you?”

He pressed the gas pedal even harder, but it was already on the floor. There was nothing else he could do to increase his speed.

“Tornado!” he called through the back window. “Attack those men!”

The dog, who’d been watching the approach of the four-wheelers, barked in response. After locking its gaze on the nearest target, Tornado obtained top speed in three quick strides, then launched itself from the back of the truck with as much force as its legs could generate. The dog flew through the air like a white missile, aiming its sleek and powerful body at the closest threat it could find: Bennie Blount.

Tornado crashed into his face with such force that it shattered Blount’s nose and cheekbones on contact, knocking him from his vehicle at a nasty angle. As he fell to the ground, his leg snagged on the underside of the handlebar, forcing his vehicle to turn sideways. The awkward movement was too extreme for his Yamaha to handle, causing the Grizzly to flip over in a series of exaggerated somersaults until the spiraling vehicle burst into a massive ball of flames.

Luckily for Blount, he was thrown free of the ATV before the explosion occurred, but his broken body skidded helplessly until it came to a stop in Jones’s path.

Reacting quickly, Jones leaned hard to the left, slipping past his ally by less than a foot. Unfortunately, as he surged around Blount, he found himself heading for a different catastrophe. Blount’s out-of-control vehicle, still tumbling in a pronounced spin, sprang sideways and landed squarely in front of him. The two ATVs smashed together with a metallic scream, launching Jones over the handlebars of the Grizzly and onto the hard ground beyond the fiery wreck.

Payne saw the accident out of the corner of his eye-the gruesome collision of the two vehicles and his best friend’s violent spill-but realized there was nothing he could do to help. As much as he wanted to return to the crash and offer his assistance, he knew he couldn’t afford to. It pained him to be so selfish, so uncaring toward Jones, but he realized if he turned around now, he might lose track of Ariane forever. And he just couldn’t risk that possibility.

***

DESPITE

the thick layer of fog that clouded his mind, Bennie Blount was able to recall many details of the accident. The truck, the ATV, the vicious impact of the dog.

God, he suddenly realized, it was a miracle that he was even alive.

While giving his body a moment to recuperate, Blount tried to clear the cobwebs in his brain but was unable to snap out of his accident-induced haze. His head throbbed with every beat of his pounding heart, and his vision came and went at unannounced intervals, making it all but impossible to concentrate. He tried to focus on something simple-the names of his family members, his childhood home, what he ate for dinner-but his concentration was distracted by the warm sensation that slowly engulfed his face.

The feeling, unlike anything he had ever experienced, started in his cheeks and gradually crawled toward his eyes at a slow rate. At first, Blount wasn’t sure what was causing it. A swarm of insects? The blowing wind? A hallucination? But in time, he realized what was happening. His entire face was filling with fluid.

As he lay there, twisted and grotesquely mangled, Blount could feel his cheeks as they swelled at a hideous rate. Blood flooded his taste buds as the copper-flavored liquid surged from his nose like a waterfall and drained into his open mouth below. It quickly filled with the warm fluid. As it did, he tried to purge it with a quick burst of air but realized that he was unable to. Unfortunately, he had bitten his tongue during his fall, and the severed tip floated in his mouth like a dead fish in a crimson pond.

Blount tried to roll onto his side by using his arms and hands, but nothing happened. His limbs didn’t respond, and he remained stationary. Next, he tried to pull his knees toward his chest, hoping to see or detect movement of any kind, but his legs remained planted on the ground. In a final test, Blount tried to wiggle his fingers and tap his feet, but they remained lifeless.

He wanted to prove that he was making a mistake, that he was simply overreacting and wasn’t paralyzed, but his body was unwilling to cooperate.

Sadly, it kept letting him down, over and over again.

CHAPTER 55

DESPITE

the agony in his arm, Payne managed to close the gap between himself and the surging truck to less than five feet. Once he matched the truck’s speed, Payne pulled his right leg from the ATV and placed his foot on the vehicle’s seat. After doing the same with his other leg, Payne found himself steering the Yamaha in a catcher’s stance, a position that would allow him to leap onto the back of the truck.

But Holmes wasn’t about to let that happen.

Using his passenger-side mirror, Holmes spotted Payne in pursuit. In an effort to thwart him, Holmes swerved the truck violently to the left, trying to shake free of the highspeed pest, but Payne adjusted quickly, gliding adjacent to the right edge of the pickup. Without delay, Holmes whipped the steering wheel to the right, trying to flatten Payne with the violent impact of the two vehicles, but the maneuver backfired.

Since Payne was anticipating Holmes’s move, he used the truck’s approach to his advantage, jumping from the Yamaha a split second before impact occurred. Holmes laughed when he heard the metallic crunch of the two vehicles and glanced in his mirror to examine the wreckage, but the darkness prevented him from grasping what had really happened. The only thing he could see was the spiraling glow of the ATV’s headlight as it turned over in a series of violent flips.

“It was nice bumping into you!” Holmes howled.

Little did he know that Payne was still along for the ride.

THE initial sound came from behind, and it made Blount’s heart leap with fear. It wasn’t a distinct noise like a bark or a howl, but Blount still knew what had produced it. It was Tornado, the hound from Hades. The bloodthirsty dog had paralyzed him and was coming back for more.

Blount knew if he remained stationary he wouldn’t stand a chance against the blood-crazed beast. The dog would pin him to the ground with its thick, muscular body and thrash him to death with its razor-sharp teeth. He had seen the animal in action during its training sessions with Ndjai, so he knew what it was capable of doing. If he was to survive, Blount needed to get to his feet and find some kind of weapon to defend himself. But how? He couldn’t run or even twitch. What chance did he stand against something like Tornado?

Realizing he couldn’t put up a fight, Blount tried to scream for help, hoping that Payne or Jones would hear him, but his severed tongue and mouthful of blood restricted his effort. Instead of a shout, all that he could produce was a muffled whimper. And no one was close enough to hear it except Tornado, who heard the plea and sprang forward to investigate.

IF he had wanted to, Payne could have killed Holmes immediately-all it would take was a bullet to the back of his head-but there was a slight problem with that approach: Who was going to stop the truck? The vehicle was going too fast to stop on its own, and since Payne was in the back of it, the thought of it ramming into a tree or plunging into a swamp wasn’t appealing.

No, if Payne was going to take out Holmes, he had to do it from close range with a great deal of finesse. It was the only way to guarantee his own safety.

Payne pulled the Glock from his belt and studied the back of the truck, hoping to find something useful. The bed was bare except for a tool chest, a tire, and a thick military blanket. Payne thought for a moment, trying to figure out how he could use any of these things to his advantage, when an idea hit him. He could use the blanket to obscure Holmes’s vision.

With a quick tug, Payne slid the blanket across the bed and readied it for use. All he needed to do was toss it over the front of the-

“Oh, my God!” Payne mumbled.

He stared at the object on the other side of the truck and couldn’t believe what he was seeing. How had he been so blind when he first climbed aboard? How could he have missed such a large lump under the blanket? It just didn’t seem possible.

But there it was. Or more accurately, there he was. The captive who’d been pulled from the Devil’s Box before Payne had been placed inside. The man was handcuffed, unconscious, and lying no more than five feet away.

Payne crawled across the truck bed and tried to examine him, hoping he was still clinging to life. His skin was red and blistered, not only from severe sunburn but also from insect bites. Even though his eyes were responsive, they were lethargic-possibly from dehydration or an illness of some kind.

“Hang in there,” Payne whispered.

He glanced at the open terrain of the surrounding field and realized that he needed to make his move immediately. He didn’t want to abandon the sick prisoner, but if he struck now, he knew there was no chance of the truck slamming into anything solid.

“Everything’s going to be fine.”

Stretching the blanket in his two hands, Payne crawled toward Holmes. Although pain ripped through his biceps as he worked, he realized that he had to use his left arm to complete the job. There was no other choice.

Taking a quick breath to ease his agony, Payne thrust his arms through the broken back window and arched the blanket over the face of the stunned driver. Holmes instantly released the steering wheel and used both of his hands to tear at the thick blanket, but Payne wasn’t about to give in. In fact, he felt like a rodeo champion clinging for life on the back of an angry bull.

“Stop the truck!” he demanded. “If you want to live, stop the truck now!”

Holmes responded by pushing on the gas pedal even harder while screaming, “Fuck you!” through the rough cloth of the blanket.

The vehicle’s speed continued to increase until Payne yanked on the blanket again, this time in a series of rapid bursts. “I . . . said . . . stop . . . the . . . truck . . .

now

!”

Realizing that he had to do something, Holmes finally gave in to the request, but not in the way that Payne had been hoping for. Instead of easing his foot from the gas pedal, Holmes slammed on the brakes as hard as he could, trying to free himself from his captor. The sudden shift in the truck’s momentum did the trick. Payne flipped over the top of the roof like a drunken gymnast, legs and arms flailing in every direction while trying to stop his slide. But nothing could prevent him from tumbling in front of the screeching truck.

WHILE shaking off the effects of the ATV crash, Jones pulled himself to a sitting position and studied his immediate surroundings. He saw two four-wheelers, both of them damaged and overturned, and the closest one to him was on fire. Using the light from the blaze, Jones checked himself for blood but was surprised to find very little. He had an assortment of scrapes and bruises, but he didn’t have any open gushers like he had feared.

After rubbing his eyes for several seconds, Jones climbed to his feet and looked for the other driver. He wasn’t quite sure who he was looking for-his head was still groggy from the accident-but reasoned if there were two vehicles, there should be two bodies.

At least, that seemed to make sense in his current state.

Jones wandered to his left and stared at the flaming wreckage, making sure that no one was on fire. “Hello? Can anybody hear me?”

There was no response.

Jones limped to the second ATV, the one that he’d been driving, and pushed it over onto its wheels. Although it was dented and scratched, Jones didn’t notice any major damage. There were no obvious leaks or stray parts lying on the ground, and despite the collision the wheels seemed to be intact.

“Takes a licking and keeps on-”

A deep growl broke Jones’s concentration. He immediately stared in the direction of the noise and searched for the source.

“Hello?” he shouted, but this time with a little more apprehension.

Once again, there was no response.

As he studied the darkness, Jones placed his hand on his belt and felt for the cold touch of his gun. He was thankful when his fingers curled around the rough texture of the handle. It gave him a burst of confidence.

“Who’s out there?” he demanded.

Another growl. Softer, angrier.

Jones took a few steps forward, holding his gun directly in front of him. He was in no mood for games and planned on punishing the first person he came across. “If you’re out there, I recommend you answer me. Otherwise, I have a bullet with your name on it.”

He took another step, moving closer to the source of the sound. The light of the fire helped show him the way. In fact, he relied on it.

“I’m telling you!” he warned. “You’re really pissing me-”

But Jones wasn’t able to finish his statement. In fact, he nearly choked on the words as he tried to say them.

Bennie Blount was sprawled on the ground, twisted and contorted in a puddle of his own blood. Hovering above him, like a monster from another world, was Tornado, its face and claws dripping with the liquid that surged from the open wounds it had created.

When the animal saw Jones, it lifted its head and growled in an effort to protect its dinner, and when it did, chunks of flesh dropped from its mouth and fell onto the red dirt below.

The bloody display made Jones nauseous, yet it only added to his determination.

He instantly raised his Glock and pointed it at the snarling beast.

Bang!

The first shot entered the animal midshank, knocking it away from Blount amidst a series of yelps. But Jones refused to stop. He wouldn’t be content until this creature had died.

Bang!

The next bullet ripped through Tornado’s hip, sending a spurt of blood into the air and onto the ground where the dog collapsed with a loud thud.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Tornado danced spasmodically as Jones pummeled its body with shot after well-aimed shot, making sure that this beast would never breathe again.

Jones sneered. “Tell Cujo I said hello.”

CHAPTER 56

WHEN

Payne opened his eyes, he was unable to see anything except two blazing orbs of light, one shining on either side of him. He tried leaning forward, using his good arm to lift him from the ground, but the front bumper of the truck restricted his movement.

“Wow!” he gasped, noticing that most of his body was underneath the frame of the vehicle. “Thank God for tall wheels.”

Using the grille for support, Payne scrambled backward, freeing himself from the undercarriage as quickly as possible. He realized he didn’t have time to plan anything elaborate-Holmes would be looking to strike hastily-so Payne decided to follow his gut. And it told him to attack.

With quiet confidence, Payne lowered his right hand to his hip and grabbed his Glock. As his finger curled around the trigger, Payne glanced under the motionless vehicle, looking for Holmes’s feet. If he had seen them, he would’ve blasted them immediately, but Payne’s search turned up empty.

That meant that Holmes was either inside the truck or on it.

Since the front windshield was missing, Payne knew he’d have an unobstructed shot if Holmes was in the front seat. He realized, though, that the windowless space would be far more beneficial to his opponent. The gap would give Holmes more room to maneuver inside the cab and an extra way to escape. But Payne wasn’t about to let

that

happen.

No, the only way that Holmes was going to get away was through Payne, not through a window. Unfortunately, that was what Holmes had in mind.

While recovering from the sneak attack, Holmes noticed Payne’s silhouette on the ground ahead, created by the headlights. The shadow gave Holmes all the information he was looking for: Payne was still alive and directly in front of the truck.

Without delay, Holmes slammed his foot on the gas, launching the truck forward at full speed. Payne, using his well-honed instincts, sensed what was about to happen before it actually did. With mongooselike quickness, Payne fell backward onto the hard ground. A split second later, the truck roared above him, its high undercarriage protecting Payne from injury.

The instant the truck had passed, Payne flipped onto his belly and burst forward like a sprinter at the start of a race, but he quickly realized that the vehicle was too far ahead for him to catch it. Stopping immediately, he aimed his Glock at the truck’s back tire and discharged three quick rounds in succession. The second and third bullets hit their mark, piercing the right wheel and causing Holmes to temporarily lose control of the truck. The vehicle fishtailed, skidding sideways on the dew-filled grass, but Holmes didn’t panic. He coolly compensated for the loss of air pressure, allowing the back end to straighten itself out, then continued forward as fast as the vehicle could carry him.

“WHERE the hell have you been?” Levon Greene growled. He had been standing by the boat for several minutes, impatiently waiting for Holmes’s return. “I was getting ready to leave you.”

With a look of annoyance on his face, Holmes stepped from the heavily damaged truck. “Where the hell have I been? I’ve been doing your dirty work, that’s where I’ve been!” He opened the back of the truck with a slam, then climbed onto the tailgate. “If it wasn’t for your selfishness, we’d already be far from this place, somewhere in the gulf by now. But no! You just had to have your pet slave, didn’t you?”

Greene moved forward, glancing into the back of the truck. He wanted to make sure that Holmes had returned with Nathan. “He’s gonna fetch you a lot of money, so I don’t know what you’re so pissed about.”

Holmes glanced down at the slave and gave him a swift kick in the midsection. He was completely fed up with Greene’s shit, and he needed to take it out on somebody.

“You don’t know what I’m pissed about? Well, let me tell you! You brought two MANIACs to my island, then when they got loose, you ran and hid while I was forced to deal with them!” Holmes pulled the slave toward the back of the truck and waited for Greene to take him. “I mean, this is

your

guest, not mine. So why did I have to risk my life to get him?”

Greene shook his head at Holmes’s ignorance. “Because I’m the one with money. If your name was on the bank account, then I’d be doing stuff for you. But I’m the one with the cash, so you’re the one with the job.”

PAYNE knew he had a lot of ground to make up-probably too much to do on foot-so he decided to take a chance. He wasn’t sure if his four-wheeler had survived the vicious jolt from Holmes’ truck, but he decided to run back to the crash site and find out. Thankfully, the gamble paid off. The Grizzly had overturned, but it worked just fine.

After putting it on its wheels, Payne jumped on the ATV and rocketed ahead with a touch of the accelerator. The green and black vehicle reached top speed as Payne urged the machine to catch Holmes. If Ariane was taken from the island, he knew the odds of finding her would go down significantly. It wouldn’t be an impossible task-hell, Payne would devote his entire life and all of his resources to finding her-but he knew it would be quite difficult.

“Come on!” he implored, digging his heels into the ATV. “Go faster!”

But the vehicle was going as fast as it could, vibrating rapidly from the strain. The darkened scenery of the Plantation whipped by in a blur. The trees, rocks, and animals were all a part of the landscape that Payne ignored. His full concentration, every thought in his throbbing head, was focused on the love of his life and the bastards that had taken her away.

Oh, they would pay. They would fucking pay!

But he had to catch them first.

IT wasn’t until the hydroplane eased into the warm water of the inlet that Holmes was finally able to relax. Until that moment, he was certain that Payne or Jones would appear at the last possible moment to foil his escape. But as he glided from the marsh’s rugged shoreline, his anxiety started to fade.

He had faced two MANIACs in battle and lived to brag about it.

As the boat moved farther into the swamp, passing groves of cypress trees and several curious alligators, Greene noticed the difference in Holmes’s appearance. His partner’s face no longer looked haggard, and his body no longer looked beaten. In fact, he actually seemed to lose years as the boat continued forward.

“What’s your deal?” he wondered. “You look like a new man.”

“Feel like one, too.” A full smile crossed his lips for the first time in hours. “My gut told me we weren’t gonna make it. I don’t know why, but something warned me about Payne and Jones.”

“What did it say?”

“It told me that they were gonna be our downfall.” Holmes took his eyes off the water and cast a paranoid glance back at the shore. “But I guess I was wrong, huh? We beat Mr. Payne-in-the-Ass once and for all.”

Greene stood from his seat and looked back as well, but the hydroplane had traveled so far he could barely see the shoreline through the trees. “What does your gut tell you now?”

Holmes pondered the question as he increased the boat’s speed. There was a faint glow in the water up ahead that he had a theory about. “Actually, it tells me that we’re gonna make it to Africa, and something good is going to happen along the way.”

“Along the way?” Greene questioned. “Why do you say that?”

Holmes extended his finger forward, causing Greene to glance in front of the hydroplane. When his eyes focused on the scene, he couldn’t believe their good fortune.

Paul and Donny Metz were standing on a fallen cypress tree, trying to push the boat into the center of the channel, but their effort was completely useless. The duo, weakened from days of labor in the field, didn’t have the strength to disengage the boat by themselves, and Robert Edwards didn’t have enough experience with the craft to assist them.

No, the slaves weren’t about to free themselves from the tree, and now that Holmes and Greene had stumbled upon them, they wouldn’t be getting free at all.

PAYNE

tried to follow the truck’s tire marks in the grass, but the rocky terrain near the eastern shore of the island limited his tracking ability.

Once he was on his own, forced to locate Holmes with nothing to guide him, he decided to scan the swamps in both directions, hoping to stumble upon a clue. With each passing minute, he knew the chances of finding Ariane on the island were getting smaller and smaller, but he refused to give up hope while there was still fuel in his gas tank and ground to cover.

It wasn’t until he saw Holmes’s truck, slowly sinking into the soft mud of the marsh, that he knew he was too late to make a difference.

The Posse had escaped from the Plantation.

“Son of a bitch!” he screamed while punching the leather seat in frustration. “I can’t believe I let them escape!” He took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but it didn’t work. The extra oxygen simply made him more agitated than before. “Fuck! Fuck!

Fuck!

”

After a moment of contemplation, Payne moved from his four-wheeler to the edge of the swamp. He was tempted to wade out to the sinking truck to search for clues, but the splashing of nearby gators quickly eliminated the thought.

“Think, goddamn it, think! What can I do?”

Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do except watch the vehicle-and his chances of finding Ariane-slowly disappear.

CHAPTER 57

Monday, July 5th

District Office for the FBI

New Orleans, Louisiana

JONATHON

Payne glared at the special agent across the table. He had already answered more questions in the past few hours than he had during his entire time at the Naval Academy, and it was starting to try his patience. He was more than willing to assist the FBI with their investigation, but enough was enough. It was time to speed up the process.

Payne stood from his chair and glanced at the large mirror that dominated the wall in front of him. If he was correct, the people in charge of the investigation were standing behind the glass, watching him give his testimony about the Plantation.

“That’s it,” he announced. “I’ve reached my limit. I’ve done nothing wrong, yet I’m being treated like a criminal. I’m not saying another word until one of you assholes comes into this room and answers a few questions for me. Do you understand? Not another word until I get some answers!”

Payne accented his request by slamming his hand against the two-way glass-his way of driving home the intensity of his message.

His point got through because less than a minute later the door to the conference room opened and the local director of operations walked in.

Chuck Dawson was a distinguished-looking man in his mid-fifties, and the power of his position showed in the confidence of his stride and the wisdom of his weathered face. He greeted Payne with a firm handshake and studied him for a moment before telling the other agent to leave the room. It would be easier to get things done alone.

“How’s the arm feeling, Mr. Payne? Can I get you something for it?”

Payne glanced at his injured biceps and shrugged. It wouldn’t get better without surgery, and he didn’t have time for a trip to the hospital. “A beer would be nice. You know, for the pain.”

Dawson smiled at the comment. “If I had some in my office, I’d offer you a cold one. But I was thinking more along the lines of bandages or a pillow.”

“Nah, your doctors patched me up pretty well when I first came in. I don’t think I’m ready for the golf course yet, but I’ll be okay for our chat.”

“If that changes, be sure to let me know. I don’t want anything to happen to a national hero while you’re under my care.”

Payne raised his eyebrows in surprise. The recent line of questioning suggested that he was more of a suspect than a hero. He had been drilled on everything from the murder of Jamaican Sam to his possible involvement with the Posse, and now he was being praised? “On second thought, I might need a hearing test. I could’ve sworn you just called me a hero.”

“I did,” Dawson asserted. He opened the folder that he had carried into the room and glanced at its information. “From what I can tell, you and David Jones saved the lives of eleven prisoners-actually twelve if you include Tonya Edwards’s baby-while killing more than twenty criminals in the process. At the same time, you managed to prevent the future abduction of countless others by shutting down an organization that we didn’t even know existed until yesterday.”

Dawson spotted Payne trying to read the FBI data and hastily closed the folder.

“That makes you a hero in my book.”

Payne leaned back in his chair. “Well, Chuck, that seems a bit surprising. I don’t feel like a hero. In fact, I feel like a second-class citizen around here. What’s up with all the questions and accusations?”

Dawson smiled, revealing a perfect set of teeth. “Come on, Jon. You’re ex-military. You know the way things work.”

“Yeah, you like to burn up a bunch of manpower by asking tons of worthless questions just so you have something to put in your files.”

The FBI director shrugged. “It’s the government’s way.”

Payne grinned at the comment. “Well, at least you’re willing to admit it’s worthless. That’s more than the last agent was willing to do.”

“Don’t be putting words into my mouth. I never said it was worthless. The questions weren’t worthless. . . . Okay, I admit some of them were a little far-fetched, but they weren’t without worth. We often gather more information from a person’s reaction to a question than we do from their actual answer.”

Payne rolled his eyes. He couldn’t believe his entire morning had been wasted on psychological games. There were so many other things he could have been doing with his time. “And that’s why you’ve been harassing me? To see if my answers and facial expressions were consistent during the baiting process?”

“Something like that. But it isn’t just self-consistency that we look for. We also check your claim against the claims of others.”

“Like D.J.?”

“And Bennie Blount, and the slaves, and anyone else we can dig up. We make sure that everything checks out before we’re willing to accept things at face value. It’s the only way to guarantee in-depth analysis.”

“Well, Chuck, now that I’ve passed your little test, would you please answer some questions for me? I’ve been trying to get some information all morning, but I keep getting shot down by your flunkies.”

Dawson nodded. His men had been instructed to keep Payne in the dark, but now that they were confident in Payne’s innocence, he was willing to open up. “As long as the questions don’t involve confidential data, I’d be happy to fill you in. Fire away!”

It was a poor choice of expressions, but Payne was willing to overlook the faux pas if it meant getting some answers. “You just mentioned Bennie Blount. How’s he doing?”

“Mr. Blount is in serious but stable condition. He lost a lot of blood from the crash and the animal attack, but your buddy did a great job keeping him alive until help arrived.”

“What about his legs? Is he going to be able to walk again?”

Dawson shrugged. “I’m not a doctor, so I don’t know all the facts. From what I was told, he did sustain a spinal cord injury. They don’t think it’s a devastating one, so, God willing, he’ll be as good as new after some rest and rehab.”

Payne closed his eyes in thought. For some reason, Payne was always more devastated by his partners’ injuries than his own. “And what about the twenty-plus prisoners we saved? Are they all right?”

“Maybe I should ask you the same question. Are

you

all right?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Twenty-plus prisoners? You must have double vision or something. Like I mentioned before, you helped save the lives of eleven captives.”

“Yeah, I heard you. There were eleven people on the island when you showed up and ten on the boat that I set free several hours before. If my math is correct, that would mean over twenty.”

“Shit,” Dawson mumbled. He suddenly realized that Payne hadn’t been informed about the missing vessel. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but we never found the slave boat that you and your partner talked about. The Coast Guard is currently conducting an all-out search of the gulf, but as of right now, we don’t know what happened to it.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me!”

“I wish I was. But it hasn’t turned up.”

Payne tried to process the new information as quickly as possible, but it threw him for a temporary loop. “So the slave boat could be on the bottom of the gulf? What about Robert Edwards? Did you find Robert Edwards anywhere?”

Dawson shook his head. “He’s one of the missing slaves. His wife and future baby are fine, but he’s still unaccounted for.”

Payne tried to make sense of the information. When he left the island, he thought he had rescued everyone except for Ariane and the unknown captive from the truck, but now he realized that he might have sent a boatload of inexperienced sailors to a watery grave.

“Jon?” Dawson whispered in a comforting voice. “Not to change the subject, but when you pounded on the mirror and called me an asshole, you implied you had a bunch of questions. Did you want me to answer anything else, or is that all for now?”

It took Payne a moment to gather himself. “With the new information that you just gave me, one suddenly leaps to mind.”

“Go ahead, fire away.”

Payne wished he’d stop using that expression. “How in the hell did you find us? I thought the people on the boat must’ve told you about the Plantation, but since they’re still missing I guess they couldn’t have been the ones.”

Dawson nodded. “A couple of planes noticed the house explosion from the air. They, in turn, notified the local authorities. Eventually, word filtered down to us.”

“And you’ve had no luck finding the missing slaves? What about Levon Greene and Octavian Holmes? Any luck with them?”

Dawson shook his head. “We put out an APB and flooded the airports and local islands with their pictures. Unfortunately, if they decided to head south, we’ll have little chance of finding them. Hell, a guy in a sailboat can fart and propel himself to Mexico from here. We’re that close to the border. It makes things kind of tough for us.”

ONCE Payne was excused from the conference room, he rode the elevator to the main lobby, where he met up with Jones. The two greeted each other with a firm handshake, then walked into the bright sunlight of the Crescent City.

“How’d the questioning go?”

Jones smirked like an uncaught shoplifter. “Just peachy, and you?”

“Not too bad. When things started to get sticky, I made a big fuss, and they immediately backed down.” Jones’s smirk must’ve been contagious because it quickly spread to Payne’s lips. “Did they ask you anything about the hard drive?”

Jones patted the pocket of his T-shirt and laughed. “Nope. And to be honest with you, I forgot to mention it.” He stopped on the sidewalk and pretended to turn around. “Do you think I should go back and tell them? Because I could-”

“Nah, I doubt it’s important. The damn thing is bound to be blank.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It probably won’t tell us where to look for Ariane, or Levon, or the other slave owners. And even if it did, it’s not like we’d care.”

“Not at all,” he growled. “Not one bit.”

THE property in Tampico, Mexico, had been in Edwin Drake’s family for four decades, but he never had any use for it until recently. After several years of dormancy, the land was now critical to Drake’s slave exportation business. It served as a makeshift airport in the middle of nowhere, a place where they could load people without interference.

The boat of slaves, piloted by Octavian Holmes, reached the Tampico coast just before dawn and was greeted by two trucks full of dark-skinned guards, all chosen from Kotto’s plantations in Nigeria. The Africans loaded six slaves into each truck, then drove them to Drake’s property, which sat ten miles northwest of the Mexican city. When they arrived at the camp, the slaves were quickly herded into a containment building. They were stripped, hosed, deloused, and clothed, before being fed their first meal in over a day.

The slaves were then examined by Kotto’s personal physician, who treated each of their injuries with urgency-these people were Kotto’s property, after all-making sure that every wound was cleaned and every infection was attended to. After certifying and documenting the health of each person, the doctor gave the slaves the immunization shots they would require for their trip to their new home, Africa.

Once the medical details were taken care of, the slaves were led to Drake’s homemade airfield. There the guards checked the names and ages of each.

Doubting the ability of the foreign guards, Levon Greene double-checked the list of passengers. He realized these twelve people would generate a huge payday and knew how far that money could go in Africa, so this wasn’t the time to make any mistakes.

“How do things look?” Holmes asked, no longer worried about Payne or Jones. “Are the dirty dozen ready for their trip to the motherland?”

Greene nodded. “As ready as they’re ever gonna be.”

Holmes smiled. “To help their transition, we’ve selected

Roots

for their in-flight movie.”

CHAPTER 58

Wednesday, July 7th

Ibadan National Railyards

Ibadan, Nigeria

(56 miles northeast of Lagos)

THE

dark-skinned American looked both directions, making sure that the busy rail station was free of incoming traffic. When he was satisfied, he continued his journey forward, lifting his white cotton robe away from the grease-covered tracks. After crossing the congested railyard, he turned left, walking parallel to the far rail while trying to conceal the limp in his gait. It was the only thing about him that was the least bit conspicuous. Other than that, he blended in perfectly, resembling the rest of the peasants as they rode the trains home after a hard day of work.

“May the peace, mercy, and blessings of God be upon you,” said a passing Muslim.

“And also with you,” he replied in Yoruba, one of the common languages in Ibadan.

With a watchful eye, the American continued forward, searching for the designated meeting spot. He had already completed his reconnaissance of the neighborhood-checking the security around the Kotto Distribution Center, studying the building blueprints, looking for weak spots in the perimeter of the industrial plant. Overall, he was happy with his findings, but his opinion mattered little in the greater scheme of things. He was simply a pawn in a very complex game, one that he knew very little about.

But that was about to change.

At the rendezvous point, he glanced in all directions, making sure that he wasn’t being followed. Everything looked clear to his well-trained eyes. Smiling confidently, he knocked on the railcar five times, the agreed-upon signal to gain access to the boxcar that had been commandeered for the current operation.

“Who is it?” called a high-pitched voice from inside.

This wasn’t a part of standard protocol, but the dark-skinned man was more than willing to play along. It helped to lessen the tension of the moment. “Domino’s Pizza.”

“Your delivery took more than thirty minutes. I expect a large refund.”

The American grabbed his crotch with both hands. “Open the door, lady. I’ve got your large refund, right here!”

The cargo door slid open, revealing a white soldier in full black camouflage. “Oooh,” he exclaimed in a feminine voice. “And what a big refund it is!”

Both men laughed as the black soldier climbed into the railcar.

“Any problems with your recon?” asked one of the soldiers inside.

“None, except for my damn gun.” He reached under his robe, removing the weapon that had been strapped to his leg. “I need to get a new leg holster or something. This thing cut off my circulation within ten minutes, and I’ve been limping ever since.”

“Bitch, bitch, bitch!” teased a familiar voice from the back of the car. His view was obstructed by a large stack of crates, but he knew exactly who he was listening to. “You were bitching when I first trained you, and you’re still bitching now. Haven’t you grown up yet?”

A grin appeared on Lieutenant Shell’s face. He removed his cap as a sign of respect and looked for his former commander. “I’ll be damned! What are you doing here?”

“Listening to you bitch! I thought I taught you to be tougher than that. Complaining about a cramp? Pathetic! Take two Midols and get back to work.”

The two men hugged briefly, a touching reunion between MANIACs past and present.

“It’s great to see you, sir. It really is. But I have to admit, ya look like shit! What happened?”

With scabs all over his face and body, Payne glanced at his left arm, dangling lifelessly in its sling. “This is what happens when you reach your mid-thirties. Your body starts to fall apart.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Jones interjected, moving from his hiding place on the other side of the boxcar. “He got into a disagreement with an exotic dancer, and she kicked his ass. Breast to the face . . . breast to the face . . . high heel to the nuts . . . knockout!”

Shell laughed like a little kid as he rushed to D.J.’s side. It had been a long time since they’d spoken, and the smiles on their faces revealed their love and admiration for one another. It was the type of bond that developed when two people had been through hell together-the type of stuff that the MANIACs were known for.

“How are you doing, Rocky?”

“Pretty damn good,” Shell declared. He hadn’t heard his nickname since Payne and Jones had left the squad. “But I’d like the right to change my opinion. I mean, if you guys are here, then something big is about to go down. Right?”

He looked at Jones, then Payne. He noticed anxiety in both sets of eyes, something that was atypical for them.

“Damn,” he groaned. “How big are we talking about?”

“Pretty big,” Payne admitted. He tried to smile to lessen the tension, but his effort was less than successful. “And quite personal.”

The comment piqued Shell’s interest. “Personal? As in, off-the-books personal? As in, the-government-doesn’t-know-we’re-here-but-who-gives-a-rat’s-ass-about-them-anyway personal?”

Payne nodded, looking forward to Shell’s response.

“Halle-fucking-lujah! Military missions are always so boring. It’s about time we got the old gang back together and had some fun!”

Jones nodded in agreement but wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic. “You’re right, it’s been way too long. But I don’t know if

fun

is the right word to describe this mission.”

“Oh, yeah?” Shell laughed, still not understanding the sensitive nature of the assignment. “Then what word would you use?”

Payne took a step forward, intensity returning to his face. It was a look that Shell had seen several times before. One that meant it was time for business. “The word I’d use is

desperate.

”

“Desperate?”

Payne nodded. “And once I tell you why I called you here, you’ll understand why.”

“You called us here?” Shell asked, dumbfounded. “How did you pull that off? Nobody’s supposed to know where we are, yet you somehow managed to track us down? Don’t get me wrong, it’s great to see ya, but that doesn’t make much sense to me.”

Captain Juan Sanchez, the MANIACs current leader, cleared his throat. “It doesn’t have to make sense to you, as long as it makes sense to me.”

Shell sprang to attention. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Sanchez winked at Payne, his former team leader. “But since you’ll bitch the rest of the night if I don’t tell you, I’ll be a nice guy and let you in on the secret.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m all ears, sir.”

“As luck would have it, I stay in touch with Captain Payne on a regular basis, which is apparently more than you. He gave me a call and briefed me on his current situation. Soon after, I offered to give up our much-needed R amp; R in order to help. That is, of course, if it’s all right with you.”

“Once a MANIAC, always a MANIAC!” Shell shouted passionately.

“You’re damn right!” Sanchez growled. He quickly turned his attention from his second in command to the man he had served under for several years. “Captain Payne, at this time I would like to offer you control of the finest, fiercest fighting force ever to walk the face of this fucking planet. We are the MANIACs, and we will follow you and fight with you until death-their death-so help me, God!”

Payne nodded in appreciation.

It had taken a while, but he finally realized that everything would be all right.

THE

Qur’an, the spiritual text of Islam, required all Muslim adults to pray five times a day-at dawn (

fajr

), noon (

zuhr

), midafternoon (

asr

), sunset (