Mitchell looked at the image on the screen. His blood instantly began to boil in his veins when he saw Jen, Sam, Yuri, and Cardinal in a cell sitting at a table. Mitchell took a deep breath to calm his brewing anger and handed back the phone. He had to play it smart; any foolishness on his behalf and the woman he loved and his friends would die.
“If you want to see them alive, you’ll come with us,” said the blond man.
“Yeah, do the smart thing, mister, and come with us,” said the other man.
Mitchell grinned at the men. “Lead on, then.”
The curly-haired man took Mitchell’s luggage and stepped behind him as the blond-haired man led them outside, to where a car was waiting for them.
On the third floor of the terminal, Jackson lowered his binoculars and quickly jotted down the tail identification number of the Learjet that Mitchell had just boarded, accompanied by two cagey-looking men. He dug out his disposable cellphone and dialed a number that Mitchell had given him. A moment later, a woman with an Asian accent answered the call. Quickly passing on the plane’s tail identification number and nothing else, he waited for the person on the other end to repeat the number just to ensure that she had it correctly. Jackson hung up and swore as he watched the plane taxi down the runway and take off into the cloud-covered sky. He hated leaving Mitchell on his own, but his plan made sense, and if there was going to be any chance of getting everyone out alive, he had to let his friend go on alone.
Jackson was about to take a swig from a can of Diet Coke when the phone in his pocket began to buzz. He answered the call and listened intently while the woman on the line gave her message twice before ending the call. Jackson packed his binoculars away and hurried downstairs until he came to the booth for Lufthansa Airlines.
The woman behind the counter was tanned, in her late thirties with shoulder-length blonde hair. She smiled at Jackson and said, “May I help you, sir?”
“You sure can,” replied Jackson. “I’d like to get on the next available flight for Frankfurt. Also, can you arrange a connecting flight for me to Tirana, Albania?”
“Certainly, sir,” answered the woman, with a flash of her pearl-white teeth. “Business or pleasure?” she asked, trying to make small talk with Jackson.
“Oh, it’s business, but it’s going to be quite pleasurable when I run into an old friend I haven’t seen for some time,” replied Jackson, thinking about choking the life out of McMasters.
33
The Learjet came down through the narrow mountain pass, lined itself up with the runway, and began its final approach towards the private airfield. The flight, which included a refueling stop in Spain, had taken almost twenty hours. Mitchell, drugged and shackled the whole trip, was brought out of a deep sleep when smelling salts were wafted under his nose.
Instantly awake, Mitchell sat up and took a deep breath through his nose to clear the foul smell. He tried to focus his eyes.
A blurry figure hovered over him.
“He’s awake,” called out the curly-haired thug.
“Cover him,” ordered his blond-haired partner as he dug out a key from his pocket and undid the cuffs on Mitchell’s hands and ankles.
After a few seconds, the men in front of Mitchell came into focus, as did the pistol aimed at his chest.
“Stand up and no funny business,” warned the curly-haired thug.
Mitchell glanced out the window and saw that they had landed on an airstrip surrounded by tall, tree-covered mountains. There was snow on the peaks of the highest mountains.
“I said get up,” growled the thug.
Mitchell stood and stretched out his sore muscles. “How long was I out?”
“About twenty hours,” replied the blond-haired man.
“No more questions,” said the curly-haired thug. “Now walk!”
Mitchell made his way off the plane and felt the warmth on his face from the sun hanging high overhead. We’re probably not in Russia, thought Mitchell. He turned and saw the wide-open, heavy steel doors leading into a mountain installation. Mitchell chuckled; he knew exactly where he was.
“Move,” insisted the thug behind Mitchell, who gave him a good push to get him moving.
They had barely gone twenty meters when an electric-powered cart pulled up and three armed guards jumped off.
“We’ll take him from here,” said a black man with a strong West African accent to the blond-haired man.
“He’s all yours,” replied the man.
“Cuff him,” said the black guard to one of his men.
Before Mitchell could object, a set of handcuffs was placed on his wrists. Manhandled into the back of the cart, Mitchell sat back and smiled at a black-bearded thug that sat beside him with his assault rifle jammed into Mitchell’s ribs.
Mitchell was surprised to see a row of jets parked outside of the installation. He counted no fewer than twelve of the expensive jets. An old Albanian military installation was hardly the place he would have expected to find some of the world’s richest people.
The cart stopped just inside the installation.
“Out,” ordered the black guard to Mitchell.
With a smile, Mitchell got down from the cart and took a quick look around. He was amazed at the size of the base. There were six brightly lit tunnels branching off from the main hangar floor. At least ten brand new luxury cars, including BMWs, Mercedes, and Ferraris were parked off to one side. Dozens of workers moved about the installation. What caught Mitchell’s eye were four black up-armored Hummers, a Mercedes SUV, an armored truck, and a sleek looking semi-trailer all in a line as if ready to leave in a moment’s notice. Armed guards seemed to be everywhere. It would take a battalion of marines to take this place, thought Mitchell.
The black guard motioned for Mitchell to follow. “This way.”
Taking in every detail, Mitchell followed the man across the hangar floor and then down a long corridor until they came to a closed door guarded by a couple of well-armed security personnel.
“He’s expecting us,” the guard said gruffly to the men at the door.
The guards stepped aside to let Mitchell and the black thug pass. The room was spacious and decorated with Southwestern American art.
“Afternoon, Ryan. I was wondering when you’d get here,” said Houston as he walked into the room from a side door.
Mitchell almost chuckled when he saw how Houston was dressed. He had on his usual outfit of blue jeans, cowboy boots, a white shirt, and a new, tan-colored cowboy hat on his head.
“Don’t you think that you’re a little overdressed for Albania, Mister Houston?” asked Mitchell.
“You’ve got a good eye, Ryan. Top marks for knowing where you are,” replied Houston jovially. “As for my outfit, I happen to like the way I look.”
Mitchell glanced over at a clock hanging on the wall and saw that it was mid-afternoon. His watch and his body were still on Colombian time.
“Where are my friends? I’d like to see them.”
“First things first, Ryan. If you give me your word that you’ll behave, I’ll have those cuffs removed.”
“And if I don’t give you my word?”
“Come on, Ryan; let’s not play games with one another. Give me your word that you’ll act in a civilized manner, and the cuffs will come off. If you don’t, I’ll have your friends killed one by one right in front of your eyes.”
“In that case, you have my word,” replied Mitchell with a forced smile.
“See, you can be reasonable when you want to. Release him,” said Houston to the black guard.
A couple of seconds later, Mitchell was free.
The guard stepped back out of arm’s reach and brought his weapon up to cover Mitchell.