The Plantation

maghrib

), and night (

isha

)-to prove their unyielding faith and uncompromising devotion to Allah. Unfortunately, these sessions were not assigned to a specific hour, making prayer time a difficult thing to agree upon among modern-day Muslims. In order to rectify this problem, most Islamic communities utilized a muezzin to climb the minaret of the local mosque and announce the beginning of each prayer session. When his voice was heard, echoing loudly throughout the streets of the city, all Muslims were expected to stop what they were doing and drop to their knees in prayer.

These breaks were their holy time, moments of forgiveness and thanks. But in Payne’s mind, it was also their biggest weakness. It gave him five daily opportunities to catch the enemy with their guard down. Literally. And he planned to exploit it for all it was worth.

As nighttime crept over Nigeria, the MANIACs snuck along the outer perimeter of the eight-block Kotto Distribution Center, using the shadows as their cover while waiting for their signal to start the assault. Although Payne had showed them the advantages of this unconventional approach, the twelve soldiers didn’t like the lengthy exposure time that they would have in the field. They were used to invading, dominating, and leaving, but rarely waiting. But in this case, they agreed that the benefits of their master plan far outweighed the negatives. In fact, if all went well, they knew their battle with Kotto’s men would be over within seconds, making it the easiest mission they’d ever been on.

Unfortunately, it didn’t feel very easy while they waited.

Dressed in black and trying to blend in with the landscape, the soldiers were unable to relax. They were nervous and eager, excited and scared, but not relaxed. Too many things could go wrong for them to be relaxed, especially since the start signal was in the hands of a stranger they had never worked with before.

No, not Payne. All the MANIACs followed his advice like scripture.

In actuality, they were waiting for the muezzin, the Islamic crier. They would go on his call, during the Muslims’ moment of weakness-when the sun kissed the horizon and the guards least expected violence.

The voice rang out like a tormented wail, soaring from the largest mosque in the city to the smallest homes in the neighborhoods below. The muezzin’s impassioned plea, like a hypnotic command from Allah himself, sent people dropping to the ground, causing all Muslims to set aside their nightly activities in order to give thanks.

And the MANIACs took advantage of it.

“Gracias,”

said Payne, who was thankful for the opportunity to burst into the complex with a silenced Heckler amp; Koch MP5 K in his hands. He knew when he reached his assigned territory, a small section in the center where the hostages were supposedly kept, that all of Kotto’s guards would be on the floor, praying toward the distant land of Mecca. And once he found them, he would use them for target practice.

Payne was trailed by Jones, Shell, and Sanchez, and their path met no resistance along the way. No guards, no workers, no noise. The place was an industrial ghost town, and the lack of activity unnerved Payne. In confusion, he drew a large question mark in the air.

Responding in the silent language of the MANIACs, Shell touched his watch, made a counterclockwise motion with his finger, pointed to his eyes, then to the room straight ahead. That meant when he had come through earlier, he had seen the guards in the next room.

Payne nodded in understanding.

If Shell’s reconnaissance was accurate, the massacre was about to commence, and it would take place in the chamber they were facing. Their goal was to eliminate as many guards as possible-the plant workers were already out of the building, so they didn’t have to worry about innocent by standers getting hit-and rescue the slaves from captivity.

After taking a deep breath, Payne calmly pointed to his watch, his foot, and then his own backside before glancing back at his partners. The unexpected signal brought smiles to their faces. In MANIAC-speak, it meant it was time to kick some ass.

The four men moved forward, looking for the best possible opportunity to begin their assault. And as they’d hoped, that moment occurred the instant they walked in the door. Ten guards, all assembled in the tiny area, were spread across the floor in prayer. Each was kneeling on an individual straw mat while facing Mecca.

And unluckily for Kotto’s men, that direction was away from the door.

Wasting no time, Payne and Shell crept to the left while Jones and Sanchez slid to the right. Then, once everyone was in position, Payne looked at his friends and nodded. It was his signal to commence the assault.

Pfffft! Pfffft! Pfffft! Pfffft!

Fury rained upon the guards like a judgment from God, splattering their innards all over the room like a slaughterhouse floor. The tiny bursts of gunfire, muffled by the silencers, continued at a rapid pace until the MANIACs were confident that Kotto’s men were dead.

Then, just to be safe, Shell and Sanchez fired some more. No sense in taking any chances.

When target practice was over, Jones treaded through the carnage, inspecting bodies as he moved. Crouching near the door, he examined the spring lock and chose the proper pick. “The infrared that we used earlier showed that this room was full of people. From what we could tell, there was no sign of weapons. Hopefully, they’re who we’re looking for.”

Payne nodded anxiously, praying that Ariane was inside and unharmed.

It had been nearly a week since he had last kissed her, since he had held her in his arms and confessed his love to her. It was the first thing he was going to do when he saw her. He was going to grab her and tell her how much he cared, how much she meant to him, how lonely he had been without her. She was his world, and he was going to make damn sure she knew it.

“Got it,” Jones whispered.

The sound of his partner’s voice brought Payne back to reality. He moved to the left of the entrance, wrapped his finger around his trigger, and waited for Jones to turn the handle.

With a flick of his wrist, Jones swung the door open and calmly waited against the outside wall for an outburst of violence. Payne and the others waited, too, knowing that inexperienced guards often charged forward to investigate the unknown. But when the four men heard nothing-no footsteps, voices, or gunshots-they realized they were either facing an elite team or no one at all.

Payne did his best to raise his injured arm and slowly counted down for his men.

Three fingers. Two fingers. One finger. Showtime.

The MANIACs entered with precision. Jones slid in first, followed closely by Payne and the others. With guns in a firing position, the men scoured the room for potential danger, but none was present. The only thing they saw was a scared group of hostages, gagged and tied up in the center of the floor.

“Is there anyone in here?” Jones demanded. “Did they set any traps?”

The heads of the hostages swung from side to side.

Shell and Sanchez didn’t take their word for it, though. They carefully searched the corners, the walls, and the exposed pipes of the twenty-by-twenty-foot metallic room, which had the feel of a submarine mess hall, but found nothing that concerned them.

When Shell gave the word, Jones grabbed his radio and spoke rapidly, ordering the next wave of MANIACs to enter the facility.

But Payne ignored all of that. His mind was on one thing and one thing only: Ariane.

He moved into the group of hostages and instantly recognized their faces from the boat. He couldn’t wait to ask them how they managed to get caught-the last thing he knew they were motoring away from the island-but that would have to wait until after he found Ariane.

Shit! Where was she? Why couldn’t he find Ariane?

Out of nowhere, the face of Robert Edwards appeared in the crowd, and Payne rushed to his side. He removed his gag and asked, “Are you okay?” But before he got a response, he continued. “Have you seen Ariane?”

“No,” Edwards said. “Have you seen Tonya? Have you seen my Tonya?”

At that moment, Payne could’ve kicked himself. Here he was worrying about his own needs when he should’ve been more concerned with the needs of the slaves. They were the ones who had been through the bigger ordeal. Compared to them, he’d been through nothing.

“Tonya’s fine, just fine. And the baby’s still inside her, right where it should be.”

Relief flooded Edwards’s face. “Where

he

should be. We’re having a boy.”

Payne smiled at the information. “Right where

he

should be.”

“And Tonya? Where is she now?”

“Don’t worry. She’s safe. She’s in New Orleans at FBI headquarters, giving a statement. And before I left town, I got her an appointment with the best obstetrician in the state. He promised me that she’d be in good hands.”

“Thank God,” Edwards muttered.

Payne gave him a moment to collect his thoughts and count his blessings before he continued his questioning. “Robbie, I don’t mean to be rude, but . . .”

“You want to know about Ariane.”

“Have you seen her?”

Edwards nodded. “She was on the plane with the rest of us, but once we landed, the two big guys grabbed her and a male slave and took them somewhere else.”

“Two big guys? Was it Holmes and Greene?”

“Yeah. They grabbed her as soon as we landed.”

Payne couldn’t believe the news. Why did they single her out from all the others? Was it because of him? Were they planning on torturing her because of his interference? That would be a tough thing for him to handle.

“Do you have any idea where they took her?”

Unfortunately, Edwards stared at him blankly, unable to offer a single suggestion.

CHAPTER 59

Friday, July 9th

The Kotto Family Estate

Lagos, Nigeria

WITH

trepidation, Ariane moved toward the large man. They had shared a boat to Mexico, a plane to Nigeria, and a train to Lagos, but he had failed to utter a single word during the entire journey-not even when he was handcuffed, drugged, or beaten. It was like his body was there, but his mind wasn’t. She hoped to change that, though. She wanted to undo the damage that had been done to him. That is, if he would let her.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she whispered. “I promise I’m not going to hurt you like those other guys. I just want to know your name.” She studied his face, hoping to see a blink or a smile, but there was no sign of interaction on his part. “My name’s Ariane. What’s yours?”

Nothing.

“I heard some of the guards refer to you as Nathan. Is that your real name, or did they just make it up?”

Still nothing.

“I like the name Nathan,” she said. “So many people are named Mike or Scott that it gets monotonous. But not Nathan. That’s a name that people will remember, like you. You’re a big guy that people will remember, so you should have a memorable name.” She gazed into his eyes, but they remained unresponsive. “What about my name? Ariane? Do you like it? I do, for the same reason that I like yours. It’s different. In fact, I’ve never met another Ariane in my entire life. How about you? Have you ever met an Ariane before?”

For an instant, he shifted his eyes to hers, then looked away. It wasn’t much, but it was so unexpected she almost took a step back in surprise.

“Well, I guess that means you haven’t.” She grabbed his hand and shook it. “Now you can never say that again because we just officially met.”

A large smile crossed her dry lips as she tried to decide what she wanted to say next. “I’d ask for your last name, but I have a feeling that might take a little bit longer. Besides, we don’t want to get too personal. This is our first date after all.”

LEVON

Greene sat on the edge of his bed, trying to block out the events of the past few days, but too much had happened for him to forget. Jackson and Webster were dead, murdered by his own hand. The Plantation was history, blown to bits with the touch of a button. And worst of all, he was a fugitive on the run, unable to return to the only country where he’d ever wanted to live.

Greene tried to analyze things, tried to figure what went wrong with Webster’s full-proof scheme, and he kept coming up with the same answer: Payne and Jones. It was their fault. Everything could be traced back to them. If Greene had just shot them when they met at the Spanish Plaza or killed them while they slept at his house, none of this would have happened. The Plantation would still be in business, the second batch of slaves would be in Africa, and Greene would be enjoying a hot bowl of jambalaya in one of his favorite restaurants.

“Fuck,” he mumbled in disgust. “I can’t believe I let this happen.”

With a scowl on his face, he trudged from his bedroom, looking for something to alleviate his boredom. Kotto and all of his servants were already in bed, sleeping peacefully in their air-conditioned rooms, but Greene was still on New Orleans time, unable to rest because of the difference between the two continents.

Limping down the marble staircase, he heard the far-off mumble of an announcer’s voice. He followed the sound to Kotto’s living room.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Holmes asked while glancing up from the game on the plasma TV.

A smile returned to Greene’s lips. “It’s late afternoon in Louisiana. My body won’t be ready for bed for another ten hours.”

Holmes nodded in understanding. As a mercenary, he had been forced to work in several different countries, so he knew about the inconveniences of travel. “Don’t worry, Levon. Your internal clock will adjust to the sun. You should be fine by the end of the week.”

Greene sat on the couch across from Holmes. “What about the other stuff? When will I get used to that?”

“Like what?”

“Food, culture, language, girls . . .”

“Oh.” He laughed. “You mean all the stuff that makes life worth living. That will take a little bit longer, but if you’re flexible, you’ll learn to adapt. Every country has its advantages and disadvantages-if you know where to look.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Greene said while rubbing his knee.

Holmes instinctively glanced at Greene’s left leg, staring at the gruesome scars that covered it. “Does your knee still trouble you?”

Greene didn’t like talking about it, but he realized Holmes was the only American friend he had left. “The pain comes and goes, but the instability is constant. As I start to get older, my joint will deteriorate even more, meaning I’ll have to get knee replacement surgery . . . Something to look forward to in my old age, I guess.”

Holmes realized there was nothing he could say, so he decided to change the subject. “Levon, I’ve been meaning to ask you a question for a while now, and since this is the first time we’ve ever talked about your knee, I was wondering if I could ask it.”

Greene looked at Holmes, studying his face. He knew what Holmes was going to ask even before he asked it. “You want to know about Nathan.”

“If you don’t mind talking about it.”

“No problem. You brought him here for me.”

“True, but I don’t want to overstep-”

“It’s fine. What do you want to know?”

A thousand questions flooded Holmes’s mind. “Everything.”

Greene smiled as he thought about it. He’d waited nearly three years to get back at Nate Barker, the player who had ended his magnificent football career. Thirty-three months of pain, rehab, and nightmares. One thousand days of planning and plotting his personal revenge.

“I started thinking about Barker as soon as they wheeled me off the field. It was amazing. There I was, in unbelievable pain, listening to the gasps of horror from the crowd as they replayed the incident over and over on the scoreboard, but for some reason, a great calm settled over me. You could actually see it during the TV telecast. One minute I was writhing in agony, the next minute I was serene.”

Greene shook his head at the memory. To him, it felt like it had happened yesterday. “The team doctor assumed that I had gone into shock, but I’m telling you I didn’t. The truth is I started thinking about Nate Barker. The bastard who did this to me was responsible for getting me through my agony. I’m telling you, one thought, and one thought alone, allowed me to get through my pain. It was the thought of revenge.”

“So you knew right away that you wanted to get even?”

“Hell, yeah! He took away my livelihood. He took away my leg. You’re damn right I wanted to get even. And do you know what? I’ve never regretted it. From the moment we seized him to the moment I locked him in the cage downstairs, I’ve never looked back. In fact, I view his kidnapping as the crowning achievement of my life.”

A bittersweet smile appeared on Greene’s lips.

“Nate Barker ruined my life. Now I’m getting a chance to ruin his.”

THE

loud ringing startled Kotto, causing him to flinch under his purple comforter. Nightmares had gotten the best of him lately, so he’d been sleeping in a state of uneasiness.

The damn phone just about killed him.

After turning on a nearby light, he realized what was happening and grabbed the cell phone off his nightstand. Few people had his number, so he knew that the call had to be important.

“Kotto,” he mumbled, slightly out of breath.

“Hannibal?” Edwin Drake shrieked. “Thank God you’re alive! When I heard the news, I thought perhaps they had gotten you, too.”

“What in the hell are you talking about? Do you know what time it is?”

“Time! I can’t believe you’re worried about time! There are so many other things that we need to be concerned with.”

Kotto glanced at his clock. It was after midnight. He would much rather be sleeping. “Have you been drinking, Edwin? You’re not making any sense.”

“Sense?

I’m

not making sense? You’re the chap who isn’t making sense-especially since the incident happened in Ibadan!”

The fog of sleep lifted quickly. There was only one thing in Ibadan that Drake would be concerned with, and the thought of an incident sent shivers down Kotto’s spine.

“My God, what has happened?”

“You mean, you haven’t heard? It happened at your place, for God’s sake!”

“What did? What’s wrong?”

“The slaves . . . they’re gone!”

The four words hit Kotto like a lightning bolt, nearly stopping his heart in the process.

“Gone?” he croaked as his chest tightened. “How is that possible?”

“Don’t ask me! I sent one of my men to inspect the snow, and when he got there, there was no snow! They were gone!”

“But that’s not possible! If the slaves had escaped, I would’ve been told. My guards would’ve called me! These were my best men. They would’ve called me immediately.”

Drake remained silent as he thought about the ramifications. “If those were your best men, then we are in trouble. Very grave trouble.”

“Why?”

“Because your guards are dead.”

Lightning bolt number two hit, causing pain in his chest and left arm.

“Dead? My men are dead?”

Drake nodded gravely. “Quite.”

“And you’re sure of this?”

“Of course I’m sure! I wouldn’t be so panicked if I wasn’t sure!” Drake tried taking a breath, but his chest was tight as well.

“I’m sorry to doubt you, but it just seems so unlikely . . . What should we do?”

“That is why I’m calling. We need to figure out some kind of plan. I am on my plane, and I’ll be arriving there shortly. I was going to check the plant myself, but since you’re still alive, I shall tell my pilot to land in Lagos instead of Ibadan. It will be easier to talk if we’re face-to-face.”

“I’ll have my car and several guards meet you at the airport.”

“I appreciate the gesture,” Drake said, “but I doubt it will be necessary. Who in their right mind would plan a second attack so quickly after their first?”

***

JONES smirked as he continued to monitor Kotto’s conversation from a nearby car. “These guys don’t know us very well, do they?”

“No,” Payne growled. “We’ll have to make sure we introduce ourselves.”

CHAPTER 60

EDWIN

Drake opened the front door to Kotto’s home without knocking. He had no time to be polite at this hour of the evening. All of his hard work was crumbling, and he was determined to save it before irreparable damage had occurred.

“Hannibal,” he called, “where are you?”

The Nigerian rushed from the living room, where he’d been briefing Holmes and Greene on the slaves, and met Drake in the front parlor.

“Edwin,” he said as he shook the man’s hand. “I’m so sorry that this is necessary. I truly am. Obviously, I’m just as shocked about the incident as you are.”

“I somehow doubt that,” he replied coolly. “It seems that you have been keeping secrets.”

The comment caught Kotto off guard. “Secrets? I have no secrets from you.”

“No? I find that hard to believe, with the information I’ve just acquired. Who is Jonathon Payne, and why have you been keeping him from me?”

Octavian Holmes heard the name as he emerged from the other room and decided to answer for Kotto. “Payne’s our biggest problem. Now, before I respond to your other question, I’ve got an even better one for you. Who the fuck are you?”

Drake was ready to spout a nasty comeback until he saw Holmes’s size. When he saw an even larger figure behind Holmes, he decided it would be best to play nice. “I’m Edwin Drake, Hannibal’s financial partner. And you are?”

“Octavian Holmes, Hannibal’s main supplier of slaves.” He glanced over his shoulder and pointed to his large shadow. “This here is Levon Greene. He’s

my

financial partner.”

“Ah, the American footballer. I’ve heard about you.” Drake studied the two men and realized he wanted to stay on their good sides. “It’s certainly a pleasure to meet our U.S. connection. I’m glad to see that Hannibal wasn’t exaggerating when he told me that our snow was in some rather capable hands. Now that I see you two, I realize he was right.”

Kotto remained silent for a brief moment, waiting to see if Holmes responded to the obvious attempt at flattery. When he didn’t, Kotto decided to ease the tension. “Edwin has flown in from South Africa in order to discuss the Ibadan incident.”

“And to see how you’re doing,” Drake added. “I know that you’ve lost a lot of men. You must be in shock.”

Kotto was more stunned by Drake’s quick change in tone than by the incident itself. It had gone from accusatory to sympathetic in a matter of seconds. “I was shocked at first, but now that I’ve had some time to think about it, I’m fine. Saddened, but fine.”

“Good,” Drake stated. “I’m glad to-”

“Enough with the small talk,” Holmes ordered. “You said something about Hannibal keeping secrets from you. What did you mean by that?”

Drake’s complexion got whiter than normal. He wasn’t used to being bossed around. “As I was saying, I just received some information from the States, and it seems you failed to let me know everything about the Plantation. You told me that there was some trouble, but you never told me that it was blown up.”

All eyes shifted to Kotto, who squirmed under the sudden spotlight. “I wasn’t keeping it from you, Edwin. I was just waiting for the appropriate moment to tell you. I didn’t want to tell you on the phone. We’ve already discussed the danger of that. Besides, I wanted to design a backup plan and have it in place before I broke the news to you. I figured it would ease the shock of it all.”

“Actually, it did quite the opposite. Instead of having time to make preparations, I am now forced to deal with everything at once. The Plantation, the missing slaves, the murdered guards! That is a bloody lot to recover from.”

“I see that now. But obviously I couldn’t have foreseen the incident at Ibadan. There was no way of knowing that they would find us so quickly.”

Drake winced at the statement. “What do you mean by

they

? Who are

they

?”

“They,” Holmes answered, “would be Jonathon Payne and David Jones. They single-handedly wiped out the Plantation. Once I heard the details of Ibadan, I assumed that they were behind that as well.”

“I really doubt that,” Drake uttered. “Maybe they were behind things at the Plantation-you were there, so you would know-but I don’t see how they could’ve handled the Ibadan massacre. There was a variety of shell casings found, not just from one weapon but from several. And unless these are the type of men that would tote five weapons apiece, they couldn’t have done it alone. They needed plenty of help to pull that off.”

“Damn,” Holmes mumbled under his breath. “I hope . . .”

“What?” Kotto demanded. “What do you hope?”

Holmes glanced at Kotto, then at Greene, and both of them were surprised by the look in his eyes. The air of confidence that used to ooze from Holmes was gone. No longer did he carry himself like he was invincible. In fact, his face seemed to suggest fear.

“I hope I’m wrong about this, but this sounds like the MANIACs.”

THE semitropical landscape gave the soldiers many hiding places as they made their way across Kotto’s yard. They had already eliminated a few of his guards and several of his security cameras; now they were going for his power supply. Once the electricity was cut, they would storm the house under a cloak of darkness.

“What can you see?” Payne asked Sanchez through his headset.

The captain of the MANIACs was in the midst of an infrared scan of the house, trying to determine the current number of occupants. When he was through, he lowered the high-tech device and spoke into his radio.

“I can’t see anyone, sir. It’s like the place is empty.”

“No one?”

“That’s affirmative, sir.”

Payne and Jones winced, trying to figure out where everyone was. The house had been under surveillance for the last several hours, so they knew there should be people. A lot of people.

Jones whispered, “If you can’t see anyone upstairs, scan the basement. Maybe there’s someone down there.”

“I’ll try, but the moat around the house might interfere. It doesn’t see well through water.”

Payne crept closer to the house, trying to stay as low as possible. There was no sense risking his life before they knew if Ariane was inside. “Try closer to the drawbridge. The water might be shallower there.”

“You got it.”

Payne and Jones waited patiently while Sanchez attempted to get a better reading. After more than a minute of scanning, he gave them the bad news.

“He’s got something in the basement, but I can’t get a readout on this thing. It might be a vault or a bomb shelter of some kind, but whatever it is, it’s too thick for me to see through.”

“Keep us posted if anything changes.”

“I will.”

After switching channels on his radio, Payne tried to get an update from Shell, who was in charge of knocking out Kotto’s power lines with a small explosion. He remained silent until the device was set and he had repositioned himself in the nearby trees.

Once there, Shell turned his radio to an all-inclusive frequency and spoke to the entire squad, using the tone and mannerisms of a commercial airline pilot.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your lieutenant speaking. In exactly thirty seconds, we will be experiencing some violent turbulence, so I would advise you to prepare your night vision and put your firearms into their locked and loaded positions.” Shell smiled to himself before finishing. “And as always, thank you for choosing the MANIACs.”

Twenty … fifteen . . . ten . . . five . . . BOOM!

The earth shook as the explosion ripped through the power station, tearing the generator to shreds in one blinding burst of heat and light. Payne and Jones were tempted to glance at the display of sparks but realized it would ruin their night vision for the next several minutes. So they waited patiently, until the shower of orange light subsided and Kotto’s entire estate fell under the blanket of darkness.

When the moment felt right, Payne pushed the button on his transmitter and growled into the microphone. “Gentlemen, don’t let me down.”

With phenomenal quickness and stealth, the soldiers converged on the stone mansion and crawled across the structure’s moat in groups of two and three, using wooden boards that they carried with them. Windows, doors, and skylights were points of entry, and the MANIACs breached them effortlessly in a series of textbook military maneuvers.

“So far, so good,” Payne muttered as he watched the assault from Kotto’s yard. “I’d like to be inside, though, where all the action is.”

Jones nodded his head in agreement. “Yeah, but there’s no way you could’ve climbed over the moat with that arm of yours. And you know it.”

“Actually, I

don’t

know it. I think if I was given the chance, I could’ve-”

Jones squeezed his friend’s injured biceps in order to prove his point.

“Jesus!” he grunted in agony. “You didn’t have to do that!”

But Payne was thankful that Jones had, because it reminded him that he’d made the correct decision by sitting this one out. If he hadn’t, he would’ve slowed down the team, and that was something he wasn’t willing to risk. At this point the only thing that mattered to Payne was Ariane, and everything else-his soldierly pride, his lust for action, and his desire for revenge-paled in comparison.

“I hope you realize there’s no reason to feel guilty. We’ve accomplished more in the last week than anyone, including myself, could’ve ever imagined.”

Payne didn’t respond, choosing to keep his attention on the mission instead.

“Plus, you set a good example for the squad by letting them take over. A man has to know his limits, and when he reaches them, he shouldn’t be ashamed to ask for help.”

“I know that. In fact, I might ask for some more help right now.”

“Really?” The comment surprised Jones. “Why’s that?”

Payne took a moment to adjust his night vision, then calmly pointed over Jones’s left shoulder. “If I’m not mistaken, I think our targets might’ve found a way out of the house.”

Jones turned in the direction of Payne’s finger and had a hard time believing what he saw. Levon Greene was standing outside Kotto’s iron fence, helping Octavian Holmes climb out of a well-concealed passageway-a tunnel that wasn’t mentioned on the blueprints Jones had downloaded from a local database.

“Get on the comm,” Payne said, “and tell Sanchez to send half the team out to secure the periphery. Have the others continue their sweep for the slaves, but warn them about the tunnel. I don’t want Greene doubling back inside if we can help it.”

Jones nodded as he reached for the radio. “And while I do this, what are you going to do?”

Payne smiled as he grabbed his Glock. “I’m going to play hero.”

CHAPTER 61

USING

the darkness as his ally, Payne moved quietly toward the mouth of the tunnel, hoping to eliminate Holmes and Greene before they even knew what hit them. But as he approached the tall iron fence that surrounded the estate, he soon realized that there was more going on than a simple escape. Instead of slipping away from the house unnoticed, Holmes and Greene were trying to smuggle several slaves out of Kotto’s house as well.

“D.J.,” Payne whispered into his headset. “What’s your position? I need your input up here.”

A few seconds later Jones slipped into the bushes next to him. “You rang?”

“Take a look at them. Does this make any sense to you?”

Jones watched closely as the duo pulled two cloaked slaves from the tunnel and shoved them forcibly to the ground. Then, when Greene was satisfied with their positioning, he went back to the tunnel while Holmes hovered over the first pair with a handgun.

“No sense at all,” Jones answered. “They must have something up their sleeves, otherwise they’d be heading for the hills by now.”

“That’s what I figured, but what?”

Jones shrugged. “I don’t know, but it has to be something creative. They aren’t going to hold us off all by themselves.”

“Something creative, huh? See, that’s what I can’t figure out. What the hell could these guys come up with on such short notice? I mean, it’s not like they have a lot of experience with . . .”

Experience

. The word sent shivers down Payne’s spine, for he suddenly remembered what Holmes and Greene were experienced with. Of course! It made perfect sense. The reason they weren’t leaving was because they

needed

to stay nearby in order to complete their plans-just like when they blew up the Plantation.

Without delay, Payne hit the button on his radio and spoke directly to Sanchez. “Juan, get out of the house! Do you read me? Clear the area, now!”

“But, sir, we haven’t completed our objective. Do you understand? We haven’t-”

“Screw your objective, Juan! The house is hot. Get out at once!”

A few seconds passed before Sanchez replied. “But, sir, Ariane might still be in here.”

The notion hit Payne like a sucker punch. God, how could he have forgotten about her? How was that possible?

It took him a moment to shake off the guilt-for forgetting Ariane in her time of need

and

for the command that he was about to issue-but once he thought things through, he realized he couldn’t allow his personal feelings to interfere with his duties as squad leader. No matter how much he loved Ariane and how willing he was to give up his life for hers, he knew he didn’t have a choice. This wasn’t

Saving Private Ryan

. He couldn’t risk the lives of several men to save one person. That just wasn’t acceptable, especially since they were here as a personal favor.

After taking a deep breath to clear his mind, Payne turned his radio back on and said the most painful thing he’d ever had to say. “What is it about my order that you don’t understand? Get out of the house now!”

*

LEVON

Greene helped Hannibal Kotto to his feet before giving Edwin Drake a much-needed hand. Neither of the businessmen was thrilled with sneaking to freedom through the escape tunnel that started in the mansion’s basement, but once they were assured that it was the only way to get away from the MANIACs, Kotto and Drake relented.

“What now?” asked Drake as he dusted off his white cloak. “Do we make a run for it?”

Greene chuckled at the thought. “A run for it? Do you actually think we can outrun an entire platoon of soldiers? Fuck that! There will be no running from anything.”

Kotto heard the comment and moved forward. “Then how are we going to escape? Is someone coming to meet us?”

“No,” Greene assured him, “there’s no one coming to meet us. Octavian and I are going to take care of the MANIACs all by ourselves.”

“You’re what?” Kotto turned toward Holmes, looking for answers. “How are you going to do that?”

Greene answered cryptically. “Well,

we’re

not going to do anything. Your house is.”

“My house is? What kind of rubbish is that?”

Greene smiled as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small detonator. “Not rubbish,

rubble

– because that’s what your house is gonna be in a couple of seconds. With a touch of this button, your house and our problems are going bye-bye.”

PAYNE

was relieved when the first wave of MANIACs made it across the moat, but they weren’t the men that he was truly worried about. That group was team two, the soldiers who were looking for the secret tunnel. Since they were ordered deep within the bowels of the basement, Payne knew it would take them much longer to evacuate.

He just hoped it wouldn’t take too long.

“All out,” declared Shell, who was the leader of the first team. “Should we secure the periphery as ordered, or lag here to assist the others?”

“Your orders still hold.” Payne wanted everyone as far away from the house as quickly as possible. “Be advised that six people have been spotted outside the fence. Repeat, six outside the fence. And some of them could be friendly.”

“Half dozen on the run: some cowboys, some Indians.” Shell waved his men forward before continuing his transmission. “Don’t worry, sir. We won’t let you down.”

Payne nodded as he turned toward Jones. “What can you see?”

He answered while peering through his night-vision goggles. “The two people on the ground seem to be slaves. Greene just kicked the one on the right.”

“Can you make out their faces?”

Jones shook his head. “Their cloaks prevent it. But if I were a betting man, I’d say the one getting kicked is a man. He’s way too big to be a female.”

Payne cursed softly. That meant the odds of Ariane being inside the house just increased. “And what about the other?”

“No idea. It could be Ariane, but I really don’t know.”

“Keep me posted,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’m going forward to help Sanchez’s crew.”

“You’re what?”

“I’m going to give them a hand. I’d lend them two if I could, but all I’ve got is one.”

Before Jones could argue, Payne sprinted full speed toward the moat. He wasn’t sure what he’d be able to do once he got there, but there was no way in hell he was going to sit passively while some of his men were still in danger. His men were his responsibility, and he was going to do everything he could to guarantee their safety-even if it meant risking his own life.

Once Payne reached the edge of the moat, he cast his eyes downward and studied the fifteen-by-twelve-foot trench that extended for several hundred feet around the base of the entire mansion. The walls of the pit were made of seamless concrete and had been laid with a steep slope to impede the climb of possible intruders. To discourage unwanted visits even further, Kotto had filled the bottom of the chasm with a freshwater stream and a family of Nile crocodiles that hissed and snapped like a pack of hungry guard dogs anytime humans approached.

“Knock it off,” Payne growled, “or I’ll make shoes out of your ass.”

Captain Sanchez heard the comment as he emerged from the house. “I hope you weren’t talking to me.”

Payne instinctively raised his weapon but relaxed when he realized who it was. “Sorry to disappoint you, Juan, but I don’t want to do

anything

with your ass.”

Sanchez smiled as he traversed the narrow plank with the ease of a tightrope walker. He’d risked his life way too many times to be worried about heights or a bunch of hungry reptiles. After reaching Payne’s side, he said, “I don’t want to sound disrespectful, but what are you doing here? You should be back by the fence, where it’s safe.”

“And let you play with the crocs by yourself? Not a chance. Besides, you know how I am on missions. I’d rather do jumping jacks in a minefield than sit around, waiting.”

“But, sir, aren’t you just waiting up here, too?”

Payne was tempted to lecture him on the basic concept of leadership-never put anyone in a situation that you’re not willing to be in yourself-but before he could, a second MANIAC exited the house.

The soldier immediately said, “Four more behind me, but I don’t know where.”

Payne nodded as he got on his radio to find out. “Team two status check, team two status check. What’s your twenty?”

“I’m coming out now,” answered the first, and a moment later he stepped outside.

“Making my way up the stairs,” replied another. “About fifteen seconds ’til daylight.”

Payne waited until the second soldier arrived before he went back to the radio. “Team two status check . . . What are your positions?”

Unfortunately, the remaining members of team two didn’t reply.

Confused by their silence, Payne asked Chen, the soldier who had just emerged from the house, if he knew anything about their whereabouts.

“It’s tough to say, sir. That basement is a labyrinth of empty jail cells and twisting corridors. There’s no telling where they are or if they can even hear you. The walls are pretty thick.”

“Damn!” Payne growled. He knew if he didn’t get his men out of the house immediately, they were going to die. It was as simple as that. Out of sheer desperation, Payne used their real names over the airwaves. “Kokoska? Haney? Do you read me? Squawk if you can hear me.”

But the only noise that followed was the foreboding sound of silence.

CHAPTER 62

THE

sound of Payne’s radio disrupted the quiet of the Nigerian night, but the message didn’t come from the missing MANIACs. It came from Jones, and his words were ominous.

“The Posse’s taking cover. Prepare for detonation.”

Without delay, Payne ordered his men from the area while he dropped to his knees to secure the wooden plank with his good arm. After locking it in place, he yelled to Chen, the soldier on the other side of the moat. “Run for it!”

The young MANIAC did as he was told and started across the temporary bridge. Unfortunately, as he neared the halfway point, the first explosion erupted and its shock wave knocked him forward with the force of a hurricane. He instinctively tried to regain his balance using his arms as counterweights, but the jolt was way too powerful to overcome.

As Chen started to fall, Payne was tempted to lunge for him but knew it wouldn’t do either of them any good. Even if he’d managed to latch on, there was no way he would be able to maintain his own balance. So, instead of doing something impossible, Payne used his energy to yank the board off the far side of the moat while holding on to his end the best that he could. Agony gripped its claws into his injured biceps as the plank slammed into the water below, but he didn’t have time to suffer. If he didn’t get to the bottom of the chasm immediately, Chen was going to be the only human in a battle royal, and he wasn’t about to let that happen.

Grabbing his Glock, Payne sat on the smooth plank, which rested at a forty-five-degree angle, and started his descent on the kiddie slide from hell. He’d gotten a third of the way down the slope when he spotted Chen, who was injured and struggling to get out of the shallow water by the far bank, and the twelve-foot crocodile that was chasing him.

With the confidence of a big-game hunter, Payne aimed his weapon at the croc’s head and fired. The bullet struck his target directly below its eye, causing the reptile to roar in anguish and thrash its tail like a flag in a violent storm, but that wasn’t good enough for Payne. He realized that wounded animals were often the most dangerous, so the instant his feet touched liquid he finished the job by depositing two more rounds into the angry beast.

“Holy shit!” Chen gasped from the nearby shore. “That was unbelievable.”

“Not really. I practice that move in my swimming pool all the time.”

“Seriously, that was awesome!”

But Payne shrugged off the praise. After all, Chen was there to do him a favor. “Are you hurt? Can you make it back up the plank?”

“Doubtful, sir. I messed up my knee pretty bad when I landed.”

Payne nodded as he scouted the waist-deep water for more crocs. Thankfully, the others huddled lazily on the opposite shore. “But you’ll live, won’t you? I mean, I shouldn’t just leave you here as an entrée, right?”

Chen smiled through his pain. “No, sir. I don’t think I’d like that very much.”

“Good, then let’s figure a way to get you out of-”

Before he could finish, a second explosion ripped through the house, one that lit the surrounding sky with a massive ball of flame and hurled chunks of wood and metal high into the air. To escape the falling debris, Payne shoved Chen under the lip of the concrete ledge and sheltered him with his own body while waiting for things to calm down.

JONES

covered his head as another blast shook the earth but refused to take his eyes off the enemy. They had settled behind a rock formation near the escape tunnel, and he figured they’d stay there as long as there were more charges to detonate. At least he hoped that was the case, because while they sat on their asses watching the fireworks, his team was moving in to finish them off.

A static-filled message trickled over Jones’s radio, but he was unable to make out the voice.

“You’re breaking up,” Jones shouted into his mouthpiece. “Repeat.”

There was a slight delay. “This . . . Payne. Can . . . me?”

“Jon?” He cupped his hand over his earpiece so he could hear better. “Is that you?”

“Of course . . . me! I can’t . . . you’ve already forgotten . . . fucking voice!”

Jones was thrilled that Payne was bitching at him. That was his way of saying that he was fine. “Where are you, man? I was told you got caught up in the pyrotechnics.”

“I did. Thankfully, Chen and . . . were . . . the moat during . . . big blast. The concrete shielded . . . getting hurt.”

Jones did his best to make out the words, but the tumult and the static made it difficult. “Are you hurt? Do you need me to get you out?”

“. . . banged up, but I’m . . .” Dead air filled the line for a few seconds before Payne’s voice could be heard again. “. . . word on Ariane?”

“We’re still not sure where she is. Shell called in and claimed he could see a female with the Posse, but that report is unconfirmed. Repeat, that is unconfirmed.”

“. . . about . . . oska . . . Haney?”

“No word from Kokoska or Haney. But we aren’t giving up hope. Those two have been through worse.”

Several more seconds passed before Jones could hear him again, and when he could, Payne was in the middle of a long message. “. . . is a hole up . . . it might be . . . way into . . . I’m going to . . . Chen . . . it out.”

“Jon,” he shouted, “you’re breaking up. I can’t understand you. Please repeat.”

“. . . hole . . . moat . . . a way into the . . .”

Unfortunately, nothing but static came across the line.

PAYNE

wasn’t sure if his message had gotten through, but he realized he couldn’t waste any more time on the radio trying to find out. He and Chen were currently sitting ducks, and he knew if they stayed put, it was just a matter of time before something-an explosion, a crocodile, or an enemy soldier-took them out.

“I know you’re banged up, but how does a long walk sound to you?”

Chen looked at Payne in the flickering firelight and grimaced. “You tell me, sir. How does a long walk sound?”

“It’s just what the doctor ordered.” Payne slipped his good arm around Chen’s waist and helped him to his feet. “Don’t get any wrong ideas. This isn’t going to be a romantic stroll. That last blast opened a fissure in the wall, and I’m hoping it’ll lead somewhere safe.”

The duo trudged through the waist-deep stream for several yards while keeping a constant eye out for crocs. Luckily, the giant reptiles were just as uninterested in a skirmish as the MANIACs were, and they did their best to stay far out of the humans’ way.

“Okay,” Payne said once they had arrived at the crevice. “Let me check things out before we get you in there. Will you be all right for a few minutes on your own?”

Chen nodded as he slumped to the ground, exhausted.

“Just holler if something starts to eat you.”

“Don’t worry, I think that’s probably the natural reaction.”

Payne grinned as he checked his weapon then leaned inside the cavelike opening, which extended from water level to nearly three feet above his head. The darkness of the interior prevented him from seeing much, so he was forced to use one of the chemical torches that he carried in his belt. After breaking the cylinder’s inner seal, he gave the liquids a quick shake, and the phosphorescent mixture filled the man-made grotto with enough light to read a newspaper.

“I’ll be right back,” he told Chen. “Don’t go anywhere.”

By using the green glow of the high-tech lantern, Payne was able to figure out what he had stumbled upon. It was the tunnel that the Posse had used for their escape. The cylindrical shaft started somewhere to his right, deep within the bowels of Kotto’s basement, and continued to his left, ending somewhere outside the fence on the western flank of the estate. Or at least it used to. Due to all the recent explosions, Payne had no idea if the route was still passable. He hoped it was, since he and Chen were looking for a way out of the moat, but he realized he wouldn’t know for sure until he explored the mysteries that lay farther ahead.

CHAPTER 63

HOLMES

and Greene laughed with childlike enthusiasm as the first few explosions tore through the house. In their minds every blast meant a few less soldiers that they’d have to deal with, and if the second part of their plan was going to be successful, they had to keep the number of MANIACs to an absolute minimum.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Drake wondered from his position on the ground. “If these troops are as skilled as you claim, will they really be fooled by something so simple?”

The comment knocked the smile off Holmes’s face. He had known Edwin Drake for less than a few hours but had learned to despise the man. “I’ll tell you what, Eddie. If you don’t want to participate in phase two of my plan, you can take off your cloak and start walking. It won’t make a damn bit a difference to me.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he insisted. “But-”

“But what? You call my plan

foolish

, then claim you didn’t mean to offend me? Fuck that, and fuck you! If you keep it up, I’ll put a bullet in your ass myself.”

The smile on Greene’s face got even wider because he disliked Drake as well. “So what’s it gonna be? Are you in or out? We gotta know now.”

Drake glanced at Kotto for some moral support, but none was forthcoming. Kotto had just watched his house detonated for the sake of the plan, so he wasn’t about to give up on Holmes and Greene’s idea anytime soon.

“Fine,” Drake relented. “What would you like me to do?”

“Just lie there quietly until Levon and I change our clothes,” Holmes ordered. “When it’s time to do something else, we’ll let you know.”

AFTER helping Chen inside the tunnel, Payne headed west in hopes of finding the exit but found something more exciting.

Payne traveled less than twenty yards down the concrete shaft when he noticed the artificial light of his lantern start to burn brighter than it had just seconds before. At first he figured the chemical compound in his torch was simply heating up, but after a few more steps, he realized that the added radiance wasn’t coming from him. The extra burst of light was shining from somewhere up ahead.

Concerned by the possibilities, Payne hid his light in his pocket and inched silently toward the source of the phantom glow. With weapon in hand, he crept along the smooth edge of the wall until he came to a strange bend in the tunnel. For some reason the passageway turned sharply to the left, then seemed to snake back to the right almost instantly-perhaps to avoid a geological pitfall of some kind. Whatever the reason for the design, Payne concluded that the epicenter of the light was somewhere in that curve.

Pausing to collect his thoughts, Payne reached into the leather sheath that hung at his side and pulled out a nine-inch hunting knife that had once belonged to his grandfather. Even though it was nearly fifty years old, the single-edged bowie knife was sharp enough to cut through metal and sturdy enough to be used in hand-to-hand combat. In this case, though, it possessed a less obvious attribute that he hoped to take advantage of: a mirrorlike finish.

By extending the weapon forward, Payne hoped to see what was lurking around the corner without exposing himself to gunfire. Sure, he knew he wouldn’t be able to see much in a simple reflection, but if he was able to get a small glimpse of what was waiting for him, he’d be better prepared to face it.

“Show me something good,” he whispered to the knife.

And surprisingly, it did.

Payne couldn’t tell how many people were gathered up ahead-they were huddled too close together for him to get an accurate count-but he had a feeling he knew who they were. They were escaped slaves, part of the

original

Plantation shipment that had been sent to Nigeria several weeks before Ariane had even been abducted. People who-

Wait a second, he thought. If these were actually escaped slaves, what were they doing

sitting

in this tunnel? If they’d somehow gotten free from Kotto’s house, why weren’t they running down this passageway toward the outside world? Common sense told him that was what they should be doing. And what was keeping them so damn quiet? Were they afraid to speak, or was there an outside factor that was keeping them silent? Something, perhaps, like an armed guard? That would explain a lot, he reasoned. Plus, it would clarify the presence of their light. Payne figured if the slaves were hiding, then they wouldn’t be dumb enough to use a lantern. That would be an obvious giveaway in this deadly game of hide-and-seek.

No, the slaves’ silence, coupled with their ill-advised use of a light, suggested only one thing: Someone was trying to get these people noticed.

Thankfully, Payne was way too intelligent to fall for the ploy-especially since he’d taught the maneuver to many of his men during their initial training. And since he had taught the tactic, he knew exactly how to beat it.

“Yoo-hoo!” he called loudly. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

Several seconds passed before Payne heard the reply he was expecting.

“Captain Payne?” shouted Haney, one of the missing MANIACs. “Is that you?”

“It sure is, princess. I’ve come to rescue you from the evil dungeon. Are you alone?”

“No, Kokoska’s with me, but he’s unconscious. He took a bump on his head during the first blast. He’s been fading in and out ever since.”

Despite the conversation, Payne moved forward cautiously, just in case he was overlooking a foot snare or something more diabolical. “And the prisoners? Where’d you find them?”

“In a basement cage. Can you believe that shit? They’d be buried under tons of rubble right now if we hadn’t gotten to them. The assholes were just planning on leaving them in there with tiny bombs strapped to their legs.”

“Tiny bombs?” he asked. “Were they silver?”

“Yeah!” Haney showed his face and held up one of the devices to prove his point. “How’d you know their color, sir?”

Payne grabbed the explosive with disgust. “They used the same thing on the Plantation.”

After taking a few seconds to examine the mechanism, Payne smiled at the hostages, trying to reassure them that their lives were about to return to normalcy. None of them smiled back, which wasn’t surprising. As a group, they’d been through so much in such a short amount of time that Payne knew it would take more than a smile for any of them to start trusting the world again. He realized it would take love and friendship and a shitload of therapy to get them back on track, but he hoped that they’d be able to get over this eventually.

“Sir?” Haney blurted. “What’s the status topside? Did everyone make it out okay?”

Payne shook his head. “Chen’s resting in the tunnel behind me. He took a nasty fall into the moat, but he’ll live.”

“What about Ariane? Did she get out all right?”

Payne took a deep breath. “Unfortunately, that still remains to be seen.”

“Sir?” he asked, slightly confused.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m confident she made it out before the blast. But my guess is there are still some loose ends that need to be taken care of before she’ll be completely free.” Payne paused in thought. “Thankfully, loose ends are my specialty.”

JONES tried to reestablish contact with Payne but met with little success. With no more time to waste, Jones decided to change his priorities and forge ahead without him.

“Team one,” Jones uttered into his headset, “what’s your status?”

Shell answered. “We’ve got the Indians surrounded. We can move on your word.”

“What’s the risk to the cowboys?”

“Higher than it was a moment ago.”

The comment bothered Jones, who had lost visuals on Holmes and Greene a few minutes before. “Please explain.”

“Everyone’s dressed the same. Long white cloaks with hoods that cover their faces.”

“Give me the numbers, Lieutenant. How risky are the odds?”

“I wouldn’t bet my dog on ’em, sir.” Shell paused to speak to one of his men before he continued his transmission. “By our count we’re looking at three black and three white, and one of the whites is definitely a woman. And two of the blacks are supersized.”

“The big ones are probably Holmes and Greene. They’re the ones we want the most.”

“Maybe so, but there’s a problem. Their size doesn’t stand out anymore.”

“Why not?”

“The six have gathered in a tight cluster, so it’s tough to tell where one person ends and the next begins.”

“In a cluster? How badly do they blend?”

“They look like a giant marshmallow, sir.”

Jones cursed before he spoke again. “What are you telling me? No go on the snipers?”

“That’s affirmative, sir-unless you can put out the fire. It’s messing up our ability to see.”

“How so, Lieutenant? It didn’t bother my sightline.”

“That’s because it’s at your back, sir. The frontal glare prevents our night vision from working properly. Without ’em, our snipers don’t have enough light to shoot.”

Jones couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Each man was equipped with enough optical equipment to see a lightning bug fart from a half mile away, but they couldn’t see a 275-pound man in the light of a raging inferno. “Let me get this straight: You’re telling me it’s too bright and too dark for you at the

exact same time

?”

Shell grinned at the paradox. “Ain’t it a fucked-up world we live in?”

WHEN Payne reached the end of the passageway, he gazed through the thick wall of vines that had obscured the tunnel’s presence from the outside world and studied the scene before him. The six people who had escaped through the corridor were now dressed identically and standing in a compact huddle-their arms around each other’s shoulders and their heads tilted forward in order to obscure each other’s height.

“Damn!” he growled. Even from point-blank range, there was no way he could risk a shot.

“D.J.,” he whispered into his radio, “where are we positioned?”

Jones smiled at the sound of Payne’s voice. He knew his best friend would pop up eventually. It was just a matter of when. “We’re in a semicircle with a radius of twenty yards. We’d surround them completely, but the fence cuts off their route to the east, so there’s no need.”

“Have they attempted to make contact?”

“No, which is kind of puzzling. They obviously know we’re out here, but they haven’t come forward with any demands.”

“That is kind of strange,” Payne admitted. “Almost as strange as their formation. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“Me, neither . . . Out of curiosity, where are you right now?”

“Me? I’m about ten feet to their rear, watching them from the door to the escape tunnel.”

“Did you say you’re

in

the tunnel?” Jones shook his head in amazement, stunned at Payne’s ability to turn up in the damnedest of places. “How did you pull that off?”

“Long story. Oh, and just for the record, I stumbled upon our missing brethren. They’re a little banged up but very much alive.”

“Thank God! I was worried about them. Any need for emergency evac?”

“Nah, they’ll be fine until this crisis is over. By the way, how are you planning on ending it?”

Jones laughed at Payne’s choice of words. Both of them knew who was going to put an end to things, and it certainly wasn’t going to be Jones. “Thankfully, that’s not my decision, Jon. Now that you’re back as team leader, I can sit back, relax, and watch you work your magic.”

“It’s funny you should mention magic, because that’s exactly what I had in mind. With a little help from you, I think we can make the Posse disappear.”

CHAPTER 64

JONES

waited for Payne’s go-ahead before he walked toward the enemy. Jones continued forward while doing nothing to conceal himself. In fact, he so desperately wanted to be seen by Holmes and Greene that he fired his weapon into the air just to get their attention.

“You know,” he exclaimed, “you guys are pretty damn bad at taking hostages. For this tactic to work, you’re

supposed

to issue a crazy list of demands. I’ve been waiting for several minutes now, and I haven’t heard a peep.”

Greene’s bass-filled voice emerged from the center of the huddle. “That’s because we’ve been waiting for you. Now that you’re here, I guess we can start this shit.”

“Oh, goody!” Jones mocked. “But before we begin, I think it’s only fair if I introduced the rest of my negotiating team. Fellas, why don’t you come out and say hello?”

Like ghosts emerging from a sea of fog, the MANIACs simply materialized out of nothingness. One second they weren’t visible to the naked eye, and the next they were standing with weapons raised, like Spartans waiting for an approaching horde.

“As you can see,” Jones continued, “we outnumber you by a large margin.”

“What, is that supposed to scare us?” Holmes screamed, his head bobbing ever so slightly as he did. “You might outnumber us, but there’s no way you can shoot us without endangering the hostages. And trust me, if you guys come any closer, I’ll kill one of them myself.”

Jones smiled at the threat while taking another step forward. “I don’t believe that for a second. Why? Because if you hurt anyone, you’ll be killed. I know it, and you know it. Hell, everyone here knows it. So why even bother to threaten us? It’s just so clichéd.”

“Maybe so, but it’s the truth! I wonder how Payne would feel if I sliced up that tasty bitch of his? How do you think he’d like that?”

“That’s a good question. Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“I would, if he showed his face. Where’s that pussy hiding?”

Payne answered the question by tapping Holmes on the shoulder. “Right behind you.”

Like a well-orchestrated magic trick, Payne had used his assistant to lure everyone’s attention forward while the key maneuvering was being done in the background. Of course, now that the deception was over, Payne needed to finish the performance in grand style. He did so by sliding his knife across his enemy’s throat with assassinlike perfection. Crimson gushed from Holmes’s carotid artery, staining the front of his cloak like a wounded deer in the snow, but that wasn’t good enough for Payne. He immediately tossed Holmes over his shoulder and finished him off by falling backward and slamming his elbow into the bridge of his nose. The maneuver drove Holmes’s nasal bone into his brain with brutal efficiency.

Death was instantaneous.

With his first rival vanquished, Payne sprang to his feet and searched the huddle in front of him for his next target. Unfortunately, despite his speed, Payne was still too slow for Greene, who had latched onto Ariane’s throat at the first sign of trouble. He was currently shoving a .45-caliber pistol against the side of her head.

“Stay back!” Greene demanded as he dragged her toward the tunnel. “I swear to God, if you come any closer, I’ll kill her.”

“Calm down!” Payne pleaded. “Don’t do anything stupid. Just relax.”

But Payne knew that would be tough, because he was having a difficult time doing it himself.

He had been a rock-poised and relaxed-when he crept up on Holmes, but some of his composure disappeared when he got his first real glimpse of Ariane since this ordeal had started.

One look and his heart started racing.

“Are you all right?” Payne asked.

“Been better,” she mumbled with her swollen jaw. “And you?”

“Pretty damn good,” he lied. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for a while. You’re a difficult girl to track down.”

“Sorry about that. I’ve been doing some traveling.”

“Traveling?” Payne took a step closer, looking for an opening. “Come on, why don’t you just admit it? You’ll do anything to get out of an ass-kicking on the golf course.”

“Darn, you finally figured me out. All of this has been-”

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Greene yelled. “Your love-sick banter is driving me

crazy

.” To prove his point, he tightened his grip on Ariane’s neck, nearly cutting off her airway. “This is my time to talk, not yours! Do you got that, Payne? My time!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Go ahead and talk. I’m listening. I swear.”

Greene took a deep breath. “First of all, tell your men to get back. When I get anxious, my muscles start to contract, and if that happens, I’m liable to break her fuckin’ neck!”

“Not a problem, Levon. But first you gotta ease up just a little bit. Let her breathe, my man. Just let her breathe.”

“I’m serious, Jon. Get them back!”

“I will, I promise, but only if you stop hurting her.” Payne took another step forward, trying to get as close to Greene as possible. “Come on, Levon, why don’t you just put down your gun and walk away from this? If you do that, I promise we won’t kill you.”

“Great! So, what are you going to do? Cart me back to the U.S., where I’ll be viewed like Michael Vick times a million? Screw that! I get out of this free, or I get slaughtered right here! There’s no quit in me! You should know that. I don’t quit!”

Another step forward. “It’s not quitting, Levon. It’s simply doing the smart thing.”

“Stay where you are, or I’ll kill her! I mean it!”

Payne threw his hands up in acceptance. “I won’t move from here, okay? I just want to talk to you. Don’t do anything stupid. I just want to discuss things.”

“Then tell your men to back off! If all you wanna do is talk, there’s no reason to have them so close!” The tension in his voice proved that he was close to losing it. “What difference is it gonna make if they back up? They’ll still be close enough to kill me if I make a move, so get them to back up!”

Payne looked at Jones and reluctantly nodded. “Not too far, but ease the grip slightly.”

“You heard the captain,” Jones told the men. “Give them ten more feet of breathing space. But if Greene even sneezes, take him out with everything you’ve got.”

The men followed their orders, dropping back several steps but never taking their aim off Greene. When they reached their mark, Jones shouted for them to stop.

“Is that better?” Payne asked. “I did like you wanted, as a sign of good faith. I didn’t have to, but I did. Now, why don’t you do the same for me? Why don’t you give me something?”

“Like what? The only thing you want is the girl, and do you know what? I can see why she means so much to you. I had a chance to check her out in the shower, and let me tell you, she’s one tasty piece of ass.”

Normally, Payne would’ve gone after somebody who made a comment like that, but in this case he all but welcomed it. He realized it was an opportunity that he could use to his advantage.

“Jeez,” he said to Ariane, “you should consider yourself lucky! You’ve always wanted to hook up with an NFL player, and he sounds pretty interested. This might be your big chance.”

Calmly, as if she wasn’t in a life-or-death struggle, Ariane turned her attention to Greene. She wasn’t sure why, but she knew that she was supposed to distract him with conversation. “You played in the NFL? Oh, my God, that is so cool! What’s your name?”

But before Greene could speak, Payne answered for him. “That’s Levon Greene. I told you about him, remember? He’s the linebacker I met while playing basketball. You know, the one with the bad left knee.”

“You have a bad knee?” she groaned. “How horrible! That’s one thing I always hated about sports. The moment a player gets hurt, their opponents take advantage of it.”

And then she proved her point.

Slowly, she lifted her left foot until it was directly in front of Greene’s knee. Then, she thrust it backward with as much strength as she could, ramming it into his kneecap at a perfect angle. The pain from the blow caused Greene to howl in agony, but more importantly, it caused him to loosen his grip on her neck, which gave her the chance to get away.

The instant she dove to the ground Payne raised his weapon like a quick-draw artist and fired. Jones did the same from farther back, and the two of them filled Greene with enough bullets to take down a polar bear. Shot after shot entered his chest and neck, causing his body to dance to the rhythm of gunfire. It continued to do so until both of them had emptied their entire clips into the man they had once considered a friend.

When the firing stopped, the MANIACs charged forward to deal with Kotto and Drake and the slaves that remained in the tunnel, but Payne wasn’t worried about any of them. His only concern was Ariane, and he ran to her side to see if she was all right.

“I’m so happy to see you.”

“I love you so much,” she insisted, crying tears of joy on Payne’s shoulder as they sat on the ground. “I can’t believe that you found me.” She sobbed for an entire minute, clinging to him like a favorite stuffed animal. “But what took you so long? I thought you were supposed to be like Rambo or something.”

Payne laughed loudly, thankful for a girl who was able to keep her sense of humor despite all that she had been through. “Hey, you said you were looking forward to the long weekend, so I figured I should take my time in getting here.”

“A long weekend is one thing, Jonathon, but an entire week is quite another.”

He smiled, wiping away her tears with the cloth of her cloak. “Look on the bright side. It’s already Friday, so by the time we get back to America, it will actually be the weekend again.”

Ariane sighed as she pulled him against her chest.

She never wanted to let go of him.

Jones was hesitant to break up the tender moment, but he needed Payne to decide what they were going to do with Kotto and Drake. “If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’d like to borrow Jon for a minute before you two start shagging on the damn ground.”

Ariane glanced at Jones and gave him a warm smile. She knew that he’d risked his life on several occasions during the past week and wanted him to realize how much she appreciated it.

“He’s all yours, D.J. There’ll be no shaggin’ until I get cleaned up.” She stood from the ground and dusted herself off. “Besides, I wanted to check on someone.”

Payne raised his eyebrows. “Did you make a friend in prison? How cute!”

She smiled again, despite her sore jaw. “I think his name’s Nathan, but that’s all I really know. He doesn’t talk too much because of all the torture.”

“Big guy, lots of scars? He was in the Devil’s Box before me. Hakeem said he’d left him in the device for several weeks. Unfortunately, I have no idea who he is, though.”

“I do,” interjected Sanchez, who’d been listening to their reunion. “I’m from San Diego, so I should know who he is.”

All three turned toward him, looking for information.

“His name’s Nate Barker, and he plays for the Chargers. According to ESPN, he’s been missing for a few months now, simply disappeared from his house one night.”

“Are you sure?” Payne asked. It seemed risky for the Posse to kidnap someone who was famous. “Why would they grab a high-profile guy like that?”

Sanchez offered an explanation. “If I remember correctly, he’s the player that hurt Levon’s knee. Snapped it like a twig up in Buffalo.”

Payne glanced at Barker and studied his haggard appearance. He certainly had the height to be a football player, even though it was painfully obvious that he’d lost a lot of weight during the past several weeks. “This was all done for revenge? My God, what a sick bastard Levon turned out to be! I would’ve never guessed it before all of-”

“Sirs!” Shell shouted urgently. He was on his knees near Greene’s body, and the look on his face suggested that something was wrong. “Get over here, sirs!”

Payne, Jones, and Sanchez dashed forward while Ariane chose to stay behind.

“It’s Greene,” Shell said. “He’s still alive. He was wearing a vest under his cloak.”

“Are you serious?” Payne sank to the ground next to Shell and looked into Greene’s eyes. They were open and, considering his current condition, fairly active. “Levon, can you hear me?”

Greene nodded his head slightly, as blood gushed from the wounds in his neck and shoulders. “You got me, Payne. You got me good.”

“I didn’t get you, Levon. You got yourself. I can’t believe you did all this shit for revenge.”

Greene closed his eyes to escape the agony but managed to turn his lips into a large smile. “No regrets,” he groaned. “I got no regrets.”

Payne was ready to lecture him further when he suddenly sensed a large presence hovering behind him. Looking up, he was surprised to see the battered body of Nate Barker.

“Levon,” the lineman croaked. His throat was dry and cracked from severe dehydration.

Greene reopened his eyes and stared into the face of his enemy.

Barker leaned closer, letting Greene see his face. “That play,” he said. “That play where you got hurt? I didn’t try to hurt you. I swear, I didn’t.”

But Greene wouldn’t accept it. He closed his eyes and shook his head in denial.

It wasn’t something that he’d ever believe.

“Honestly,” Barker continued. “I’ve never hurt anyone on purpose in my entire life. I swear to God, I haven’t.” Then suddenly, without warning, he placed his foot on Greene’s left knee and anchored it with his body weight. “That is, until now!”

With all of his remaining strength, Barker grabbed Greene’s lower leg and pulled it upward, tugging and yanking on the limb until the weakened joint literally exploded from the excess stress. The loud popping of tendons and cartilage was quickly accented by Greene’s screams of pain, which sent shivers down the spines of everyone in the area.

But Barker was far from done. With a devious grin on his face, he lifted his foot off of Greene’s knee and slammed it into the middle of Greene’s throat. He’d been put through so much over the past several weeks that there was no way he was going to stop. No fucking way.

Not until

his

revenge was complete. Not until

he

felt vindicated for

his

pain.

And no one in the area had any desire to stop him.

EPILOGUE

Saturday, July 17th

Harper White Medical Center

New Orleans, Louisiana

THE

door was closed and the room was dark, but that didn’t stop Payne and Jones from entering. They’d broken so many laws in the past few weeks that they weren’t about to let visiting hours-or the heavyset nurse at the front desk-stand in their way.

Not with something as important as this to take care of.

“So,” Payne growled as he approached the bed, “did you actually think we were going to forget about your role in this?”

The injured man didn’t know what to say, so he simply shrugged his shoulders.

“You can’t be that stupid!” Jones said. “What, are you a buckwheat or something?”

The comment brought a smile to Bennie Blount’s heavily bandaged face. “I haven’t known what to think,” he whispered. “I haven’t seen you guys since my accident.”

Payne placed his hand on Blount’s elbow and gave it a simple squeeze. “We’re sorry about that. We would’ve been here

much

sooner, but we’ve been tied up in red tape. Of course, that tends to happen when you sneak into a foreign country and kill a bunch of people.”

Jones shook his head in mock disgust. “The Pentagon and all its stupid policies. Please!”

Blount laughed despite the pain it caused in his cheeks.

Payne said, “I hear the swelling around your spinal cord has gone down. How’s your movement?”

“Pretty good. I’m still a little wobbly when I walk, but the doctors think I’ll be fine.”

“That’s great news, Bennie! I’ve been worried sick about you.”

“Me, too,” added Jones.

“Now my biggest concern is my face. That crazy dog did a lot of damage.”

Payne gave Blount’s elbow another squeeze. “Well, stop worrying about it. I’m flying in the world’s best plastic surgeons to treat you. They’ll have you back to your old self in no time.”

Jones nodded. “Unless, of course, your old self isn’t good enough. They could make you look like Denzel, or Will Smith,

or

give you a nice set of D-cups. Whatever you want.”

Payne frowned. “Do you think his frame could support D-cups? I’d say no more than a C.”

“Really? I think he’d look good with-”

“Forget the tits.” Blount laughed. “My old self would be fine, just fine. But . . .”

“But what?” Payne demanded. “If you’re worried about the money, don’t be. All of your hospital bills have already been taken care of.”

“What?” he asked, stunned. “That’s not necessary.”

“Of course it is! After all you’ve sacrificed, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Listen to him, Bennie. Even with a truckload of insurance, you’d still have tons of out-of-pocket expenses.”

“Yeah, but-”

“But, nothing!” Payne insisted. “Furthermore, you’ll never see another tuition bill for the rest of your life. As soon as you’re feeling up to it, you can head back to school, compliments of the Payne Industries Scholarship Fund. We’ll take care of everything-including a monthly stipend for beer and hookers.”

Blount shook his head. “Jon, I couldn’t. Seriously.”

“Hey,” Jones added, “that’s not all. We have one more surprise for you, something that’s more valuable than money.”

“Guys, enough with the gifts.”

“Hang on,” Payne insisted. “You’ll really like this one. We saved the best for last.”

Then, with his typical flash of showmanship, Payne threw the door aside to reveal the most attractive woman Blount had ever seen.

Dark brown hair. Dark brown eyes. Unbelievable figure. Simply dazzling.

She stood there for several seconds, speechless, unsure of what to do next. Finally, with her composure regained, she grabbed Payne’s arm and glided across the room to meet the family member she’d never even known she had.

“Bennie,” Payne said with a lump in his throat, “I’d like to introduce you to someone who’s very special to me. This is your cousin Ariane.”

Author’s Note

While conducting my research for this novel, I read hundreds of journal entries that detailed the ungodly horrors that occurred on many nineteenth-century plantations. And

not

just the accounts of ex-slaves. In order to keep my research as balanced as possible, I studied just as many narratives from slave owners as I did from the slaves themselves. And do you know what? I’m glad I did, because it wasn’t until I read the firsthand accounts of these brutal men that I started to understand how malicious and sadistic some of them really were.

Sure, it was unsettling to read about the sting of a bullwhip from a slave’s point of view, but not nearly as disturbing as the words of one overseer who described the process of whipping his workers in near-orgasmic terms. “The delicious crack of leather on flesh fills my hand with delight and sends my body a shiver.”

Chilling, indeed.

It was those types of quotes that convinced me to include the graphic sequences that I did, scenes that are so full of carnage and torture (the Devil’s Box, the Listening Post, etc.) that some readers have complained to me about nightmares. Well, I’m sorry for your loss of sleep. But if I didn’t stress the gore and bloodshed of plantation life, then I would have been the one losing sleep. Because my story would have been less than accurate.

And now a special excerpt

from Chris Kuzneski’s

THE LOST THRONE

Coming soon in hardcover from

G. P. Putnam’s Sons!

PROLOGUE

Christmas Day 1890

Piazza della Santa Carità

Naples, Italy

THE greatest secret of ancient Greece was silenced by a death in Italy.

Not a shooting or a stabbing or a murder of any kind-although dozens of those would occur later-but a good old-fashioned death. One minute the man was strolling across the Piazza della Santa Carità, pondering the significance of his discovery; the next, he was sprawled on his stomach in the middle of the cold square. People rushed to his side, hoping to help him to his feet, but one look at his gaunt face told them that he needed medical attention.

Two policemen on horseback were flagged down, and they rushed him to the closest hospital, where he slipped in and out of consciousness for the next hour. They asked him his name, but he couldn’t answer. His condition had stolen his ability to speak.

The man wore a fancy suit and overcoat, both of which revealed his status. His hair was thin and gray, suggesting a man in his sixties. A bushy mustache covered his upper lip.

Doctors probed his clothes, searching for identification, but found nothing of value. No papers. No wallet. No money. If they had only looked closer, they might have noticed the secret pocket sewn into the lining of his coat, and the mystery would have ended there. But as hospital policy dictated, no identification meant no treatment. Not even on Christmas morning.

With few options, the police took him to the local station house, an ancient building made of brick and stone that would shelter him from the bitter winds of the Tyrrhenian Sea. They fed him broth and let him rest on a cot in an open cell, hoping he would regain his voice.

In time, he regained several.

Starting with a whisper that barely rose above the level of his breath, the sound slowly increased, building to a crescendo that could be heard by the two officers in the next room. They hurried down the corridor, expecting to find the stranger fully awake and willing to answer their questions. Instead they saw a man in a semicatatonic state who was babbling in his sleep.

His eyes were closed and his body was rigid, yet his lips were forming words.

One of the officers made the sign of the cross and said a short prayer while the other ran for a pencil and paper. When he returned, he pulled a chair up to the cot and tried to take notes in a small journal. Maybe they’d get an address. Or if they were really lucky, maybe even a name. But they got none of those things. In fact, all they got was more confused.

The first words spoken were German. Then French. Then Portuguese. Before long he was mixing several languages in the same sentence. Dutch followed by Spanish and Latin. English layered with Greek and Russian. Every once in a while he said something in Italian, but the words were so random and his accent so thick that they made little sense. Still, the officer transcribed everything he could and before long he noticed some repetition. One word seemed to be repeated over and over. Not only in Italian but in other languages as well.

Il trono. Le trône. El trono.

The throne.

This went on for several minutes. Language after language from one man’s mouth. Like the devil speaking in tongues. Then, just as quickly as it started, it stopped.

No more words. No more clues.

The man would never speak again.

Two days later, after he had been identified, newspapers around the globe reported his death. Yet there was no mention of his strange behavior. Nothing about his ramblings or the throne he kept describing. Instead, reporters focused on the colorful details of his life-his wealth, his accomplishments, his discoveries. All the things that made him famous.

Of course, if they had known the truth about his final days, what he had finally found after years of searching, they would have written a much different story.

One of fire, deception, and ancient gold.

One that wouldn’t have an ending for two more centuries.

CHAPTER 1

Present day

Saturday, May 17th

Metéora, Greece

THE monk felt the wind on his face as he plummeted to his death, a journey that started with a scream and ended with a thud.

Moments before, he had been standing near the railing of the Moni Agia Triada, the Monastery of the Holy Trinity. It was one of six monasteries perched on natural rock pillars near the Pindus Mountains in central Greece. Known for their breathtaking architecture, the monasteries had been built two thousand feet in the air with one purpose in mind: protection.

But on this night, their sanctity was breached.

The intruders had crossed the valley and climbed the hillside with silent precision. They carried no guns or artillery, preferring the weapons of their ancestors. Swords stored in scabbards were strapped to their backs. Daggers in leather sheaths hung from their hips. Bronze helmets covered their entire heads except for their eyes and mouths.

Centuries ago the final leg of their mission would have been far more treacherous, requiring chisels and ropes to scale the rock face. But that was no longer the case-not since 140 steps had been carved into the sandstone, leading to the entrance of Holy Trinity. Its front gate was ten feet high and made of thick wood, yet they breached it easily and slipped inside, spreading through the compound like a deadly plague.

The first to die was the lookout who, instead of doing his job, had been staring at the twinkling lights of Kalampáka, the small city that rested at the base of the plateau. Sadly, it was the last mistake he ever made. No questions were asked, no quarter was given. One minute he was pondering the meaning of life, the next his life was over.

No bullets. No blades. Just gravity and the rocks below.

One of the monks inside the church heard his scream and tried to warn the others, but before he could, the intruders burst through both doors. Brandishing their swords, they forced all the monks into the center of the room, where the holy men were frisked and their hands were tied.

Seven monks in total. A mixture of young and old.

Just as the intruders had expected.

For the next few minutes, the monks sat in silence on the hard wooden pews. Some of them closed their eyes and prayed to God for divine intervention. Others seemed reconciled to their fate. They knew the risks when they accepted this duty, what their brotherhood had endured and protected for centuries.

They were the keepers of the book. The chosen ones.

And soon they would be forced to die.

With the coldness of an executioner, the leader of the soldiers strode into the church. At first glance he looked like a moving work of art: muscle stacked upon muscle in statuesque perfection, a gleaming blade in his grasp. Unlike the others who had entered before him, his helmet was topped with a plume of red horsehair, a crest that signified his rank.

To the monks, he was the face of death.

Without saying a word, he nodded to his men. They sprang into action, grabbing one of the monks and dragging him toward the stone altar. Orthodox tradition prevented the brethren from trimming their facial hair after receiving tonsure-a symbolic shaving of their heads-so his beard was long and gray, draping the front of his black cassock like a hairy bib.

“What do you want from us?” cried the monk as he was shoved to his knees. “We have done nothing wrong!”

The leader stepped forward. “You know why I’m here. I want the book.”

“What book? I know nothing about a book!”

“Then you are no use to me.”

He punctuated his statement with a flick of his sword, separating the monk’s head from his body. For a split second the monk’s body didn’t move, somehow remaining upright as if no violence had occurred. Then suddenly it slumped forward, spilling its contents onto the floor.

Head on the left. Body on the right. Blood everywhere.

The monks gasped at the sight.

“Bring me another,” the leader ordered. “One who wants to live.”

CHAPTER 2

Sunday, May 18th

St. Petersburg, Florida

THE phone rang in the middle of the night, sometime between last call and breakfast. The time of night reserved for two things: emergencies and wrong numbers.

Jonathon Payne hoped it was the latter.

He rolled over in the hotel bed and reached for the nightstand, knocking something to the floor in his dark room. He had no idea what it was and wasn’t curious enough to find out. Still feeling the effects of his sleeping pill, he knew if he turned on a light he would be awake until dawn. Of that he was certain. He had always been a problem sleeper, an issue that had started long before his career in the military and had only gotten worse after.

Then again, years of combat can do that to a person.

And he had seen more than most.

Payne used to lead the MANIACs, an elite special forces unit composed of the top soldiers from the Marines, Army, Navy, Intelligence, Air Force, and Coast Guard. Whether it was personnel recovery, unconventional warfare, or counter-guerrilla sabotage, the MANIACs were the best of the best. The boogeymen that no one talked about. The government’s secret weapon.

Yet on this night, Payne wanted no part of his former life.

He just wanted to get some sleep.

“Hello?” he mumbled into the hotel phone, expecting the worst.

A dial tone greeted him. It was soft and steady like radio static.

“Hello?” he repeated.

But the buzzing continued. As if no one had even called. As if he had imagined everything.

Payne grunted and hung up the phone, glad he could roll over and go back to sleep without anything to worry about. Thrilled it wasn’t an emergency. He’d had too many of those when he was in the service. Hundreds of nights interrupted by news. Updates that were rarely positive.

So in his world, wrong numbers were a good thing. About the best thing possible.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case here.

SEVERAL hours later Payne opened the hotel curtains and stepped onto his private veranda at the Renaissance Vinoy in downtown St. Petersburg. Painted flamingo pink and recently restored to its former glory, the resort was a stunning example of 1920s Mediterranean Revival architecture. The type of grand hotel that used to be found all over Florida yet was quickly becoming extinct in the age of Disneyfication.

The bright sunlight warmed his face and the sea breeze filled his lungs as he stared at the tropical waters of Tampa Bay, less than ten miles from many of the best beaches in America. Where the sand was white and the water was turquoise. Where dolphins frolicked in the surf. Born and raised in Pittsburgh, Payne rarely got to see dolphins in his hometown-only when he went to the aquarium or when the Miami Dolphins played the Steelers at Heinz Field.

In many ways, Payne looked like an NFL player. He was 6’4”, weighed 240 pounds, and was in remarkable shape for a man in his late thirties. Light brown hair, hazel eyes, and a world-class smile. His only physical flaws were the bullet holes and scars that decorated his body. Although he didn’t view them as flaws. More like medals of honor because each one stood for something.

Of course, he couldn’t tell their stories to most people because the details were classified, but all of the scars meant something to him. Like secret tattoos that no one knew about.

The droning of a small aircraft caught Payne’s attention, and he watched it glide across the azure sky and touch down at Albert Whitted Airport, a two-runway facility on the scenic waterfront, a few blocks away. It was the type of airfield that handled banner towing and sightseeing tours. Not large commuter jets. And certainly not the tactical fighters that he had observed during the last forty-eight hours. They required a lot more asphalt and much better pilots.

Every few months Payne visited U.S. military installations around the globe with his best friend and former MANIAC, David Jones. They were briefed on the latest equipment, and they offered their opinions to top brass on everything from training to tactics. Even though both soldiers were retired from active duty, they were still considered valuable assets by the Pentagon.

Part expert, part legend.

Their latest trip had brought them to Florida, where Mac-Dill Air Force Base occupied a large peninsula in the middle of Tampa Bay-eight miles south of downtown Tampa and nine miles east of St. Petersburg. All things considered, it wasn’t a bad place to be stationed. Or to visit. Which is why Payne and Jones always looked forward to their next consulting trip.

They picked the destination and the military picked up the tab.

“Hey!” called a voice from below. “You finally awake?”

Payne glanced down and saw David Jones standing on the sidewalk, staring up at him. Jones was 5’9” and roughly forty pounds lighter than Payne. He had light brown skin, short black hair, and a thin nose that held his stylish sunglasses in place. Sadly, the rest of his outfit wasn’t nearly as fashionable: a green floral shirt, torn khaki cargo shorts, and a pair of flip-flops.

“I’m starving,” Jones said. “You want to get some chow?”

“With you? Not if you’re wearing

that

.”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“Honestly? It looks like Hawaiian camouflage.”

Jones frowned, trying to think of a retort. “Yeah, well . . .”

“Well, what?”

“Maybe I’m looking to get

leid

.”

Payne laughed. It wasn’t a bad comeback for a Sunday morning. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

TEN

minutes later the duo was walking along Bayshore Drive. The temperature was in the mid-seventies with low humidity. Gentle waves lapped against the stone wall that lined the harbor while palm trees swayed in the breeze. Payne wore a golf shirt and shorts, an outfit considered dressy in Florida, where many people wore T-shirts or no shirts at all.

As they turned onto Second Avenue NE toward the St. Petersburg Pier, Payne and Jones spotted a parked trolley-bus called the Looper. It was light blue and filled with tourists who were taking pictures of a tiny brick building with a red-tiled roof. A senior citizen tour guide, wearing a beige Panama hat and speaking with a Southern drawl, explained the building’s significance over the trolley’s loudspeaker system. They stopped to listen to his tale.

“You are looking at the fanciest public restroom in America, affectionately known as Little St. Mary’s. Built in 1927 by Henry Taylor, it is a scaled-down replica of St. Mary Our Lady of Grace, the gorgeous church he built on Fourth Street that we’ll be seeing soon. Both buildings are typical of the Romanesque Revival style, featuring several colors of brick, arched windows, and topped with a copper cupola. This one’s approximately twenty feet high and fifty feet wide.”

Cameras clicked as the tour guide continued.

“As the legend goes, the local diocese offered Taylor a large sum of money to build the octagonal church that he finished in 1925. However, for reasons unknown, they chose not to pay him the full amount. Realizing that he couldn’t win a fight with the church, he opted to get revenge instead. At that time the city was taking bids to build a comfort station, a fancy term for bathroom, somewhere near the waterfront. Taylor made a ridiculously low bid, guaranteeing that he would get the project. From there, he used leftover materials from the church site and built the replica that you see before you, filling it with toilets instead of pews.”

The tour guide smiled. “It was his way of saying that the Catholic Church was full of crap!”

Everyone laughed, including Payne and Jones, as the Looper pulled away from the curb and turned toward the Vinoy. Meanwhile the duo remained, marveling at the stone-carved columns and the elaborate tiled roof of Little St. Mary’s.

“Remind me to go in there later,” Jones said. “And I mean that literally.”