LITMIR.BIZ

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      Hogan took a deep breath, rolled his eyes and spoke into the radio. “Continue after Cooper. Don’t let him get away. I don’t need him popping up on my six when we burn the Yakuza and get the girl.”

      “We’re in hot pursuit, sir. Unless this guy is Tarzan, there’s no way he can outrace us,” Frye replied.

      “So why is he still alive and heading back this way when you were between him and the road?”

      There was silence on the other end.

      “Just as I thought,” Hogan said. “I’ll make sure our people are ready for him to come over the mountaintop. If you do catch him, consider your cut raised.”

      “Thank you, sir,” Frye said.

      Hogan let the radio mouthpiece rest back on his shoulder. He knew that there were more advanced designs, but the old radio was a thing of comfort, firm, solid and dependable. Just like the HK MP-5 and the Colt he had with him. Strong steel gave him a good feeling.

      “Anything on their radio chatter?” Hogan asked his com man, Nickles.

      “I’ve got nothing. There was a brief cell-phone call, but they cut it off. They’re tight on their discipline,” Nickles answered.

      “Unless they don’t have anyone to call as backup,” Hogan said.

      Nickles smirked. “That’s thinking too positively.”

      “But it is an option,” Hogan said. “Either way, keep watching. If they’re not making calls out, then they probably have something arranged as backup.”

      “I’m worried about this Cooper guy,” Nickles stated. “I was trying to keep track of his calls, but they were too encrypted. I couldn’t get a handle on who or where he was calling.”

      “He’s not going to be a factor. Nobody has been following us,” Hogan explained. “Just keep your ears open for the Yakuza radio traffic.”

      “You don’t think it’s going to be that much of a cakewalk, do you?” Nickles asked.

      “I’m carrying a shitload of firepower. Everyone on this team is. The Yakuza do not fuck around when it comes to business, and the men we’re going against, they might not be military, but they are smart, tough and capable,” Hogan replied. “When we make our move to get the girl, it has to be hard and it has to be fast.”

      Nickles smirked. “It’s never soft and easy.”

      Hogan slapped the fore stock of his MP-5 into his meaty palm. “No, it never is.”

      HONEY LOOKED AT THE tree line surrounding the clearing. Only an old, overgrown path showed any alternate way off the cliff-top clearing where the Yakuza vehicles were lined up. Men spread apart, ducking into clearings and ditches, carrying high-powered rifles and handguns with them.

      It was an ambush, she thought, but then she realized that would be a stupid idea. The Yakuza wanted payment for her. If they opened fire on whatever negotiators her father sent, then there was a chance that they’d damage the money or the plans. She squirmed in her seat, keeping her eyes on the path that cut up the side of the mountain.

      There was a chance, she thought. She wouldn’t have to go back to her father, and she could get away from these Yakuza thugs, if only she could create some kind of distraction. Her heart hammered under her breastbone, the uneasy tingle of nausea and anticipation filling her mouth with a coppery taste. She could run—

      And what? Have not one but two small armies hunting her through the woods?

      Anything was better than being Daddy’s little hostage, she thought.

      If it came to a choice between living with a murderer or dying with a bullet in her back, she’d take her chances with the slug through her spine.

      Her hand touched the door release for a moment, then she looked at Machida.

      “They’re coming to take you home,” Machida told her. “If you try to run, people will get hurt. You’ll be one of them.”

      “Mercenaries and criminals. What’s my father paying to have me freed?”

      Machida shook his head. “That is not my place to say.”

      “I can’t live with that. Because of me, some psychopath is going to get his hands on the equipment necessary to exterminate a few hundred people with the push of a button.”

      “We do what we have to do,” Machida said. “I am bound by duty to my family to hand you over to your father’s negotiators.”

      “No matter who suffers?” Honey asked.

      Machida didn’t answer, his face becoming a hard mask. She knew she’d pissed him off, and regretted it. Somewhere, deep inside, she could sense there was something different about him.

      “Then, child, if you truly believe in doing your duty, I shall honor you. I will do what I have to do, and I will try to stop you, but I do not blame you for doing what you feel is the honorable thing.”

      “Thanks for nothing,” Honey said.

      The cell phone in Machida’s hand rang once. He checked the readout on the caller identification. He managed a smile. “I shall be outside of the vehicle. Your father’s men have just passed one of the checkpoints we’ve set up.”

      “Oh great. The cavalry is here,” Honey answered. Her upper teeth clicked against the rings piercing her lower lip.

      “I wish you well in your endeavor, Rebecca Anthony.”

      “Call me Viscious Honey,” she answered.

      Machida looked at her. “I wish you well, Viscious Honey.”

      She managed a smile as the Yakuza man left the vehicle.

      NICKLES LOOKED OVER at Hogan. “There was a quick spurt of cell-phone activity. Only one ring, though.”

      “They’re good. We must have passed a scout. For people without military-level communications equipment, they’re very efficient,” Hogan answered. “Any word on Cooper?”

      “No sign of him since he crossed the road and went into the woods over the top of the hill.”

      “How long ago was that?” Hogan asked.

      “Three minutes,” Nickles replied.

      Hogan looked at the map strapped to his forearm and judged overland travel versus the speed and distance they had traveled by road in the convoy.

      “There could be a small problem,” Hogan said. “This guy, Cooper, if he’s a fast runner, he might actually show up on site when we’re making the trade.”

      “One more body to add to the pile,” Nickles pointed out. “He’s one guy with an 8-shot pistol.”

      “Nine shots. Thomas always kept that thing cruiser-loaded with an extra shot in the chamber.”

      “Nine bullets against us?” Nickles asked. “Body armor and automatic weapons and fifteen-to-one odds.”

      “Not counting the Yakuza.”

      “Who we’ll be taking care of, too.”

      Hogan listened to his com man’s words and didn’t quite believe them. There was something about the lone FBI agent. Something that wasn’t right. He smelled phony as a Fed, but he actually seemed like someone Hogan would have picked up for his mercenary unit. The way he checked and cleared the Glock without even a second’s sloppiness showed him as a professional weapon handler. The way he handled himself against a half-dozen men stuffed into the back of a van, and evading four armed killers in the woods was further proof that Cooper was more commando than federal cop.

      Hogan knew having him pop into the scene with his gun blazing would only serve to make a tough situation even worse.

      The

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