“With Raj and his charity in shreds, people will seek out established brands, like the ones my clients run. And then we’ll do a little reputation management by eliminating Raj. If not in the actual explosion, then by the same PR nightmare FIRE will be facing. When your shipment of donations kills the deserving children, there’ll be enquiries. Raj will be ruined, if not actually killed. Pity. FIRE will be under a microscope. Declan and Oliver and their little spy plans will have to be put on hold.”
I glare at him, speechless at the depravity of his plan. How does someone go from leading soldiers and being an exemplary officer to this? What could possibly justify this? Then I remember Raj being delayed en route to Kalispell. His medicine was stolen; his bags routed incorrectly. Was X.C. unsuccessfully sabotaging him before?
“We can’t have FIRE ruining our plans,” X.C. continues. “We’ll finalize payment for the arms deal in Rome when every world leader is present. While the world is cheering for their favorite sports, the explosion in Côte d’Ivoire will draw international outrage. We can’t have Raj helping to develop these nations without the Order’s resources and materials.”
I am without words. The scale of this plan, the seamless nature of it. It’s truly that evil form of genius.
X.C. keeps elaborating. “And once Oliver and Declan know that the only way to prevent your untimely demise is to sit tight and not say a word to the authorities in Italy or Côte d’Ivoire, we expect full cooperation.”
X.C. and the Order are discrediting FIRE and eliminating Raj. It’s cruel but well thought-out.
X.C. stops his pacing when I say the only words I can form. “Damn, that’s a good plan.”
45
DECLAN
We drive a few blocks before pulling over. Oliver parks and we hash out our theories. It’s been twelve minutes since Charlie called. “Let’s determine where we think he might take her before we head back to headquarters. I may send you back out on your bike to go find her,” he tells me.
We need to find her first, then we can address Ian’s deception and figure out just how long X.C. was working against us before he staged his death.
“We could message one of Ian’s team to ask if they could hack his computer for us . . .” I begin.
Ian may have secret messages from X.C. that could give us some clue, but I’m not sure I trust any of his team until we can re-evaluate anyone our head of IT hired in the last year. The look Oliver gives me confirms he has the same qualms.
My phone chimes, as does Oliver’s.
I check my device and it is a message from Charlie. I tap open the message at the same time Oliver murmurs “Jesus!” under his breath.
The message loads on my phone. It’s an image.
Charlie is tied to a chair. Her face is tight. She is wincing in pain, or perhaps at the harsh light on her.
Charlie Ross
Tampa shipyards. Now.
That’s all the text below the image reads.
“It’s X.C.,” I say aloud.
I want to scream. I want to rage and pound my fists against Oliver’s luxurious dashboard. I want to end X.C. for all he has done to hurt and betray me, and now he has Charlie! I wanted to punch Blaed and Castillo for being flirty with her. But this?! Kidnapping her? Tying her up? I will murder this man if I ever see him again. It is a fact.
Oliver starts the car and navigates to the other side of town. Each stoplight is a personal affront. Every slow driver is culpable, an accomplice to Charlie’s kidnapping.
This is a nightmare. This is the epitome of terror.
My greatest fear has been realized, and not even twelve hours have passed since I decided to break my steadfast rule. Since I let Charlie in and let myself love her, and now she has already been taken. My subconscious is playing out in real time. My anger subsides to let in a crushing wave of sadness and loss. Can we get there in time? Can we save her? What if we can’t?
Lock it up, Davidson, I chide myself. There will be time for emotions later. Not now. I need to focus and think. To use my specialized skills to save her.
My mind races with options. Can I trade myself for Charlie? Whatever fate X.C. has planned for her, I’ll step in and take it. The man wanted me dead before anyways.
Stress radiates from Oliver as well. “I’ll never forgive myself,” he mumbles as we sit at the longest red light known to man.
I feel the same exact way. I shouldn’t have left. To go on a training ride? Yes, it was to clear my head so I could think straight. But I shouldn’t have left her.
Our conversation from last night replays in my mind. “Do you sometimes think someone else could save the day?” she’d asked me. I’d reflexively answered no because all I’ve ever wanted to do was help, to save people. It’s who I am. And when it comes to Charlie, I’ll be damned if I don’t try to save her now. I get what she was after, though. Can someone else take all the risk? Can I let my life be dedicated to something else? For once in my life, the answer to letting someone else be the hero is both no and yes. I want to be the one to save the day, but I also don’t want the day to have to be saved at all.
