Chapter 1: Fuck-up

"I could really use you on this job, Cap," Larry said. "You're military; I can rely on you."

"You're full of shit! You don't trust anybody," Henry smiled.

"Granted. Still, I'd feel better with you on board."

"Okay, let me get this straight – we are supposed to grab the woman and make a ransom demand. Then hubby will pay up. We free the woman who will then gratefully sink into his arms. Curtain. That about it?"

"Got it in one. The man loves his wife and wants her to stop the divorce. He's got to love her. He's springing a quarter million for this little charade."

"So, I and that Rico character get to split a hundred fifty grand?"

"Yep, seventy five grand for each of you. Not bad for two week's work."

"So what if hubby isn't going to pay?"

"Are you kidding me? You're one paranoid son of a bitch. The man loves her and wants her back. Why else would he start something like this?"

"So nobody gets hurt?"

"Nobody. Cap, my word on it..."

Cap was short for Captain. Cap was how Henry Ruiz-Costa was known in his world, the world of freelancers, mercenaries, or whatever you wanted to call them. Henry had been a captain in the Royal Marines before he went private. Nobody in the business knew his real name, and he intended to keep it that way.

"And we pick her up, how?"

"At her house. It's a quiet neighbourhood. Professional couples mostly. Nobody's at home during the mornings except Tuesdays, garbage collection day. Mailman does his round later. She brings her daughters to school and comes home again. Every morning. We snatch her and bring her to a hide out. I already found the ideal place. Listen, if you want to know more, you really have to commit yourself first."

This story just did not click, even if he did not know where to put his finger. So far he had never done anything illegal in the US. To start with a kidnapping, even a fake one, was starting with a bang.

Henry knew he shouldn't be skittish. In the last two years, he had gradually sunk lower. From freelance hostage retrieval, to mercenary assignments, and finally to paid hits. Ever since his team had been rubbed out by the Cartels, things had gone downhill.

Now this ex-CIA operative he had met ages ago – okay, four years – was offering him a job. They were to kidnap the wife of a millionaire. She wanted a divorce. He wanted her to realise how much he loved her, by paying the ransom and then coming to free her. It was a harebrained scheme from whatever side Henry looked at it. Still, seventy-five grand would help him along for a while. Hell, he might even be able to assemble a team and be back in business.

"Okay, I'm in," he agreed. "What's next?"

"We'll meet with my other team member, Rico," Larry said handing him a cell phone. "Take this. You know the drill. It's a prepaid account. Only you, me and Rico know the number. I'm on speed dial one, Rico's on two. We'll meet somewhere out of town. I'll call you."

With that, Larry emptied the glass and left leaving Henry to his thoughts.

He did not like Rico one bit. He was taller than Henry's 6'3" by two inches and 260 lb, to Henry's 180. Much of that weight was centred around his waist. The primitive tattoos on his forearms told the knowledgeable that Rico had done time in at least three federal and state pens. He had the personality to go with it. Having survived the prison system repeatedly, he regarded himself as a super gangster.

They were watching the street in front of the target's house. Josephine Maxwell, maiden name 'Butler'. Age 31, blonde, 5'11", 140 lb. A major babe from what they had seen. Not much in the way of chest size, no make up, no fancy clothes. With her divorce pending, she was living on savings and borrowed money. She had even hocked her jewellery. Henry could not find anything wrong with her so far. Her daughters, twins aged thirteen, were regular little angels.

Mrs. Maxwell had left in her minivan fifteen minutes ago, taking her daughters to school. They planned to grab her as soon as she returned. Most people were at work, and the residential street was empty. It was not a garbage collection day, and most houses had the blinds drawn over the windows. A perfect set up.

There she came, the minivan turning into the street one hundred fifty yards away. The men pulled the silicone rubber masks over their faces.

"Ready, Cap?" Larry asked, and Henry just nodded. The minivan turned into the driveway and Larry opened the sliding door. Both men emerged from the big van. On top of the rubber masks, they wore black overalls and baseball caps. Gliding up on both sides of the minivan, Henry yanked the left sliding door open while Larry opened the passenger door. Then the screaming started. Henry had just jumped on the back seat without looking. The girl he sat on screamed with pain and shock. Henry and Larry looked at each other. The damn girls were in the rear seats! Larry decided in a split second.

"You pick the brats, I'll bring the broad."

Though he didn't understand Larry's reasoning, Henry obeyed instantly. With deft movements, he unbuckled the girls. Then he wrapped his right arm around the girl sitting on the right side, lifting her over his legs. He jumped from the other girl's lap, pulling both of them from the car. With his arms around their waists, he carried the struggling girls to the waiting van. Larry had the mother in a secure grip, and marched her to the van, too.

"Freeze! Let the women go! Do it now!" The high-pitched voice pierced his eardrums. He turned toward the voice.

"Don't fucking move! Atlanta PD!"

The voice showed a slight uncertainty now, and Henry grinned with relief. By turning, he had brought one of the girls in his arms into the line of fire, and the cop had just realised the same thing. She could not fire at him. He inched toward the open door of the van.

"Stop it right there, or I'll shoot!"

He didn't bother to answer. She could not shoot because of the girls in his arms, and he didn't want to give her a voice to recognise him by later. Now he was almost at the sliding door when that moron, Rico, showed in the door opening up at the cop with a semi-automatic.

"Take that, Cop Bitch!" he roared while the policewoman was almost lifted off her feet by the impact of the bullets. What a fuck-up! There was Larry, knocking the automatic from Rico's hand.

"What'd you do that for, you idiot? Shooting a cop? Are you fucking crazy?"

Henry shoved the girls inside, and grabbed the First Aid kit that was next to the sliding door. It took him only a few seconds to run to the cop who lay on her back. Carefully, Henry kicked her gun away. Jesus, a six-shooter! Who had given the girl a six-shooter to play with, in a time when even the punk kids carried semis?

He surveyed the damage. She was lucky. She was wearing a vest. He counted at least six entries in her chest that had hopefully been stopped by the Kevlar, but she was bleeding profusely from a wound in the left leg. In fact, Henry could see the blood pumping where an artery had been hit.

Using the woman's belt and her nightstick, he quickly fashioned a tourniquet and the blood flow lessened to just a little seeping. Quickly, he taped the stick to her waist and jumped up. There was no time to lose. Sirens could be heard in the distance. He stepped on a cell phone and nearly fell. Obviously, Larry had searched the woman and the girls and discarded their cells. The van was already starting when Henry jumped through the still open sliding door.

"She alive?" Larry asked, the worry in his voice audible.

"Yup, she wore a vest. Can you believe this? She was packing a six-shooter!"

"Fuck, maybe we'll buy her a real gun when this is done," Larry said.

Meanwhile Rico was driving the van like the madman he was.

Chapter 2 »