No Return

“Yes, the crash stuff is true, but kidnapping? No way. Huge risk, no reward. I don’t even think it would have crossed the commander’s mind.”

A motorcycle pulled in to the parking lot. Lars felt relief that his friend was finally here, but when the rider hopped off the bike and removed his helmet, it wasn’t Wes. It was the other guy, Danny.

“Shouldn’t you be following Wes?” Alison asked.

Danny quickly glanced around the parking lot. “They didn’t come back here?”

“No,” Alison said. “Why would they do that?”

Danny looked puzzled. “I was following them, and I could see Wes in the backseat talking to that commander guy, but then all of a sudden Dori just took off. I got lost a few minutes later, so I thought they might have come back here.”

“She lost you on purpose?” Dione asked.

“Of course not,” Danny said. “I think she was trying to be cautious. I just couldn’t keep up.” He glanced down at the bike. “Only the second time I’ve ever driven one of these.”

“Who’s Dori?” Lars asked.

“Danny’s girlfriend,” Alison scoffed.

“I don’t remember meeting her. Is she part of the crew?”

“She’s a local,” Dione said. “Danny met her at a bar.”

Something in the back corner of Lars’s mind began poking at him.

“Dori who?” he asked.

Danny took a step back. “What business is it of yours?”

“Tell him, Danny,” Dione ordered.

“Fine, okay. It’s Dillman. What’s the big deal?”

Dori Dillman. Lars had heard the last name before, but it had been years ago. And it was a guy, wasn’t it? Mark or Mike or something like that.

“Do you know her?” Alison asked.

He started to shake his head, then …

He thrust his hand out at Danny. “Give me the bike keys.”

“What?”

“Give them to me. Now!”

Danny jumped. “Okay, sure.”

He’d barely got them out of his pocket when Lars grabbed them and jumped on the bike.

“What are you doing?” Danny asked.

Lars kicked the bike back to life, then looked at Alison. “Call the police,” he said. “Tell them …” What? “Tell them I know who has your missing friends, and that I’ll call them as soon as I know where they should go. Tell them they need to be ready to move.”

Without waiting for a response, Lars raced out of the parking lot and into the night.

78

At 7:25 P.M., as Lars was walking out of the building where he’d been held overnight, Lieutenants Jenks and Wasserman were climbing aboard the helicopter they’d commissioned and were strapping themselves in. Up front the pilot and copilot were going through a final check so that they’d be ready to lift off at 7:30 on the dot.

Wasserman was carrying the GPS tracker, already pre-tuned to the chip the commander was carrying in his shoe. According to the display, the commander had just arrived at the rendezvous point in town.

Both lieutenants watched the screen as the dot representing Commander Forman began to move at a much slower rate than it had been.

“He’s on foot,” Wasserman said.

Jenks checked his watch: 7:29 p.m. He touched a button and spoke to the pilot. “Let’s go.”

There was a momentary delay, then the engine began to ramp up. Jenks put a hand on the seat, anticipating the rise, but at the moment the engine reached the liftoff pitch, the rotors suddenly began to cycle down.

Jenks pushed the mic button again, “Why aren’t we in the air?”

“You’ll have to ask them,” the pilot said, pointing outside. “We were ordered by the control tower to power down.”

Three men were walking purposefully toward the helicopter.

“Who the hell are they?” Wasserman asked.

“I’ll check,” Jenks said.

He disconnected his restraint, opened the door, and hopped out.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” Jenks said, “but we have a mission that’s supposed to have us in the air right this very minute.”

“Are you Wasserman or Jenks?” one of the men said.

“I’m Lieutenant Jenks. What’s going on?”

The two other men moved past Jenks to the open door of the helicopter.

“Sir, you’ll come with me now,” the first man said to Jenks.

“The hell I will.”

“Sir, if you’d rather, I could place you under arrest right here.”

“Arrest? Who do you think you are …?” He was about to address the man by rank, but realized for the first time the man was not wearing a uniform.

“NCIS, Lieutenant. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

79

A large man dressed in black stepped out of the darkness and into the headlights. He had to be almost six foot five, and a good two hundred and thirty pounds.

“Who is that?” Wes asked.

Dori remained silent as the man walked up to the front passenger door, opened it, and climbed in.

“Evening, gentlemen,” he said.

“Who the hell are you?” Wes asked. “Dori, what’s going on?”

Forman didn’t give a damn who the man was. He grabbed the door handle and started to pull. But the door didn’t budge.

Wes grabbed at the handle next to him, but his door didn’t open, either.

Dori threw the car into drive, and the Lincoln pulled back onto the road, its speed increasing rapidly, pushing Wes and the commander back in their seats.

“Sorry about the child locks,” Dori said. “But can’t have you accidentally falling out while we’re moving, can we? That certainly wouldn’t be safe.”

Wes started to lean forward, but as he did, the new passenger twisted in his seat, then swung his hand up and rested the barrel of a large pistol next to the headrest.

“Just relax,” Dori said, glancing into the rearview mirror and catching Wes’s eye. “Won’t be long now.”

“Won’t be long for what?”

“What are you trying to pull here, Stewart?” Forman said.

“I’m not trying to pull anything,” Wes said.

Up front Dori laughed, then said something to the new passenger in a voice too low for Wes to hear. As soon as she finished, the man motioned at Wes and the commander with his gun. “Why don’t you two give it a rest,” he said. “We can talk more when we get there.”

“Get where?” Wes asked.