“Stop right there, Nolan. Put down the gun, and then put your hands in the air,” a voice commanded.
The glow of a cell phone revealed three armed goons facing him, weapons drawn. Outnumbered and in the dark, Ben’s odds in a fight were slim.
“What do you want?” He lowered his gun but didn’t let go of the weapon.
“Put the gun on the floor and push it over to us.”
Ben didn’t recognize the speaker, but his heavy Jersey accent told him these were likely Newark Mob goons, not Russian Bratva.
He complied and straightened slowly with his hands in the air. “You’re making a big mistake.”
The speaker laughed. “Yeah, yeah. We know all about your boyfriend, the spy. If he gives us what we want, no one needs to get hurt.”
Ben didn’t believe that, but he wasn’t going to argue.
The leader dialed a number, and Ben heard Erik answer. “We have him. And if you want him back, follow my instructions exactly.”
Ben felt ice slither through his veins. He knew how the call would affect Erik, but with two guns trained on him, he didn’t dare interfere.
“You have the Wildwood window,” the leader said to Erik. “And we think you know where the big dome from that old hotel is. Give them to us, and your boyfriend walks away from here. I’ll text you the location of the meeting spot.”
The leader put his phone back in his pocket. Two men kept guns trained on Ben at close range while the leader pulled Ben’s arms behind him and zip-tied his wrists. Ben’s phone was in the pocket of his rain jacket, which hung near the front door.
“I hope Mitchell is a sensible fellow, and that he cares about you more than the stained glass,” the leader said. “And in case you’re wondering, the phone is a burner with location tracking spoofed. He’s going to have to play by our rules to save you.”
Ben didn’t doubt that Erik would put his safety first, not just over the haunted window but over the dome, assuming he knew where it was. He doubted the mobsters would believe that Erik didn’t have the dome and didn’t know where it was; that didn’t bode well.
Another clap of thunder and streak of lightning gave Ben a second look at his attackers. Three toughs, all in their late twenties, foot soldiers, not generals. They had been sent to fetch him and lay down the ultimatum, but they weren’t the ones in charge.
“Did Barone put you up to this?” Ben asked as the leader hustled him toward the door.
“What do you care?”
“I keep track of who kidnaps me,” Ben deadpanned.
Despite his earlier bravado, Ben knew Erik would be going insane with worry and felt certain he was already planning a rescue.
They went out the back door, Ben frog-marched between two of the goons. His captors cursed, scanning the area around them. A body lay sprawled in the yard, covered in blood, and Ben realized that the mobsters’ lookout had been murdered.
That meant a second threat. Ben dropped to the ground, trying to stay out of the way as gunfire sounded and the Newark goons exchanged fire with a new enemy who had taken cover outside the door.
They didn’t stand a chance. Within seconds, the Newark leader and his men sprawled dead on the concrete steps as a man in tactical gear with night vision goggles strode up and hauled Ben to his feet, giving him a quick once over.
Two others took Ben and held him up like a prize trophy as the new man in charge took a picture, then dialed a cell phone.
“Mitchell. Give us what we want, and no one dies.” The Russian’s accent didn’t leave any question about his affiliation.
Ben heard thezingof a photo being sent. He couldn’t make out Erik’s response and wondered what his partner thought about the switch in kidnappers.
“The window from the Wildwood collector, and the dome from the Commodore Wilson. You’ll find out where he is when we get what we want,” the Russian replied to whatever Erik had said. “Keep the cops out of it, or I shoot him.” He ended the call and spared Ben a disdainful glance. “Let’s go.”
The Jersey guys had taken Ben’s gun, and the Russians didn’t seem worried enough about what else he might be carrying to pat him down. They hurried him to a panel van parked behind the rental house and shoved him inside, driving away before the doors were closed.
Ben hoped the neighbors would report shots fired. Several of the nearby houses were occupied year-round. He hated to think of what the aftermath would look like for the cops to clean up. Moments later, he heard sirens and felt a flash of hope.
“You think Barone is going to accept killing his people and not come after you?” Ben asked from where he was sandwiched between two brawny men. “He wants the same windows.”
“Shut up,” the operative next to Ben growled and elbowed him hard in the ribs.
