Spanish accent, Tristan noted. “Tristan King. I’m expected.”
The man nodded and handed a pair of similar goggles to Tristan.
He shoved his phone in his pocket and stretched the straps over his head.
As Tristan brought the mask down over his eyes, the world revealed itself in tones of electric green. The sky blazed with the light of a thousand suns, casting gray light through the air and over the band of thirty or so men standing in clusters farther from the road.
A scorpion was lurking on the ground beside Tristan’s left foot. He stepped away.
“Come on,” the guy said and motioned toward the others.
Tristan followed him around bushes and rocks lit eerie green by the night-vision goggles.
As they approached, the others turned toward him, their proboscisesbobbing as they appraised him.
One of them walked forward, hand outstretched. “Tristan King, I’m Magnus Jensen.”
Yep, he still had the northern European lilt to his speech.
Tristan clasped his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“May I see your surveillance of the location’s interior?”
Tristan came up with his phone and opened the app.
The glare was like holding a star in the palm of his hand.
Everyone pulled back, arms over their eyes.
Tristan tapped the screen and reduced the screen’s brightness, but even the lowest level was too bright to look at with the night-vision scopes.
Magnus had already ripped his mask off his head, so Tristan handed the phone to him so he could take off his goggles and wipe his streaming eyes.
The commandos, for that is what they were, gathered around and stood shoulder to wide shoulder, watching the screen. Faint light glowed on their chins and cheekbones.
The view was swinging wildly again as Sergey walked through the suite.
Rough black cloth filled the screen. He was probably holding the phone at his side as he walked.
With a burst of light, Jian and Anjali came into view. They were lying on the bed, back to back, with their hands tied behind them and to each other.
Magnus sighed, “Okay.”
Sergey’s voice barked orders in Russian. Several of the guys standing in the circle around the phone, including Magnus, nodded.
Another man walked into view from behind Sergey, possibly having followed him into the bedroom. He walked over to the bed and yelled something unintelligible at Jian, who didn’t respond. The man grabbed Jian’s jaw and shook him around. Something dark stained the pillow where Jian had been lying.
Tristan was going to kill those guys. He was going to take them apart with his bare hands. That asshole should not touch Jian. Even though Jian had only worked for Tristan for a few months, Tristan was responsible for him and had gotten him into this shit. The responsibility for Jian’s kidnapping swamped him again, and he was going to dismember that guy who’d touched him.
A shiver crawled down the sweat on his back. Those assholes had broken into Colleen’s apartment at exactly the same time as they’d invaded the presidential suite at The Boulders, and it had just been stupid luck that she and Tristan had been breaking and entering at GameShack instead of sleeping in her bed. The thought that it might have been Colleen that the goon had hit, that it could have been Colleen’s blood on that pillow, devastated him.
Magnus asked Tristan, “What have you learned during your surveillance?”
He gritted his teeth. “Jian and Anjali are being held in the bedroom of the suite, tied up except for bathroom breaks. Do you have a floor plan?”
“Yes.”
Magnus handed the phone back to Tristan, and he clicked it off and shoved it in his pocket. Tristan shoved the night-vision goggles over his head again. The electric green and gray world settled into view. The other commandos were putting theirs on and adjusting their straps and knobs.
