“Yet she won’t give him up?”
“Take a look around,” Hawk said. “She’d also have to give all of this up, not to mention that she lives for Dallas’s high society. It’s why she made him move from Houston.”
“No comparison in the social scene?”
“That’s what Colton told me once, though I’m only taking his word for it. I’m not exactly up on the high society happenings in Texas and where each city ranks accordingly. I hate that stuff.”
“Me too.”
“Yeah, about that. You might want to keep your opinions to yourself on such things. Gayle can be a great ally for us, or she can become a pretty formidable foe.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Hawk parked in the drive that circled a water fountain depicting a ring of mermaids all spitting water through their mouths into the center of the pool. Alex glanced at the pool and then at the three-story, Tudor-style house before taking in the rest of the grounds.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Hawk asked.
Alex nodded. “I knew I should’ve been a weapons manufacturer.”
Hawk shook his head. “It’ll get you a nice head, but it’ll also get you kidnapped by maniacal terrorists. Sure you don’t want to retract that last statement?”
Alex shrugged. “I’ve been kidnapped by those same kidnappers, except I’m not getting any of the benefits.”
Hawk sighed. “Trust me, this life isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.”
“Neither is trying to stop terrorists, but I’m dealing with it.”
Hawk chuckled. “Alex, you love what you do. And I’m convinced this life would bore the hell out of you. Wearing high heels and sipping champagne while you talk about your latest show dog experience or trip to the Caribbean—that’s not you.”
“You’re probably right, but I wouldn’t mind giving it a try for a while.”
Hawk knocked on the front door and waited for Gayle. She opened it and welcomed them inside. She first hugged Hawk and held him tight.
Hawk looked at Alex, whose eyes widened.
“I don’t know what this is,” Hawk mouthed to her behind Gayle’s back.
Then Gayle turned and hugged Alex.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Gayle,” Alex said.
Gayle tried to hold back the stream of tears, but her attempts failed. The mascara streaked down her face as the waterworks flowed.
“They took him,” Gayle said as she dabbed her eyes. “The bastards took Thomas. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Did you speak with them?” Hawk asked.
She sniffled. “Let’s sit down in the parlor.”
Gayle led Hawk and Alex to a small sitting room and took a seat across from them. She paused a few moments to regain her composure before continuing.
“I wired them twenty million as Thomas instructed me this morning,” she said. “I know they were making him tell me to do it.”
Alex whistled. “Twenty million. My god.”
“Yeah, that’s about the same response I had,” Gayle said, “though I threw in a few choice words as well. But that’s not all.”
“They want more?” Hawk asked.
“Twenty million more,” she said.
“And you’re supposed to wire it to them when?” Hawk asked.
“Actually, I’m not supposed to wire this amount,” Gayle said. “They want this portion in cash.”
“Cash? How do they think you’re going to get it to them?”
“They don’t want me to give it to them—they want you to do it.”
Hawk withdrew and scowled. “Me? They expect me to do it?”
“Apparently you’re their delivery boy of choice, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going with you.”
“And where am I going?” Hawk asked.
“Morocco, I think.”
“I don’t like how this sounds.”
“But that’s not all the details,” Gayle said. “Aside from the twenty million in cash, you’re supposed to call a number they gave me once you reach Moroccan airspace, and they will tell you what airport to land at.”
“Sneaky bastards. They’re really intent on making sure I don’t bring the cavalry with me.”
“No way you’re going without me,” Gayle said.
“Or me either,” Alex added.
“Of course you are,” Hawk said. “I doubt I could stop either one of you, even if I tried.”
CHAPTER 5
Washington, D.C.
NOAH YOUNG WASN’T READY to make his move into the White House permanent just yet, but he felt like a man with the game in hand and his opponent was helpless to stop him. That was the kind of advantage he was happy to take after outing his opponent’s son as a conspirator in allowing a terrorist into the country to detonate a suitcase nuke in the middle of New York City. The election seemed to be all but a foregone conclusion. However, Young didn’t carry that confidence into public, preaching that the American people needed to go out and vote. He surprised himself with the amount of passion he was able to muster in hammering home that campaign message.
An aide dropped off a copy of the latest polling reports and lingered while Young read them.
“Looking good,” Young said. “I think this is what we were all hoping to see.”
“Yes, sir,” the aide replied. “Just over a week to go, and everything is pointing toward you being chosen by the American people.”
Young thanked the man and watched him slip out of the door. With lunch fast approaching, Young interlocked his fingers behind his head and leaned back, basking in the feeling of a looming triumph. There was still plenty of work to be done to secure the presidency, but he could almost taste it.
If I’m sitting in this chair in two weeks, it’ll be because I earned it, not because I hitched my horse to Conrad Daniels, God rest his soul.
In a moment of self-honesty, Young admitted a more brutal truth lurked beneath the surface of his brash statement. Reality was hidden beneath an avalanche of intangibles that served as a more-constant reminder of his good fortune rather than his shrewd political posturing. Losing to a candidate who had family connections to what would’ve been the deadliest terrorist attack on American soil, perhaps the deadliest
