Chapter Two
Thanksgiving, 4:00 a.m.—South of Atlanta
Cassie blew on her fingers, shivering as the cold seeped into her bones. The kidnappers took her coat and while a sleeveless, deep blue sheath of raw silk was a great dress to help raise money, it sucked for keeping warm. It was still dark but it seemed an eternity since she left the hotel. She wasn’t sure what part of Georgia they were in; it felt close to the middle of nowhere. The air was crisper and almost no sound of traffic could be heard in any direction. Around Atlanta, no traffic noise was a rare thing.
She remembered walking to the train station from the Artmore Hotel, assuring her friends she needed no escort. After all, the train station was just across the street. Down on the platform, the station had been strangely empty, even for the night before a holiday. Then she remembered seeing the two men walking toward her, and the sickly sweet smell of something on a rag thrust under her nose while her hands and ankles were securely bound with tape. Her body began to sag as the anesthetic took hold and removing her from the public location became easier. First her feet went numb then her legs and the tingling sensation was unavoidable as a buzzer rang incessantly in her ears, and she was out.
Her next conscious thought was of movement. For the only daughter in the wealthy Devlyn family, her father insisted any self-defense classes include what to do when kidnapped. While her father was a powerful man, who marketed to the American military, it never crossed her mind other, less scrupulous businesses would also work with MM Air. But her father won in the end, just as he always did when she was too tired to fight against him.
Cassie laughed to herself as she thought about her father and his face when he was informed of the kidnapping. Martin Devlyn imagined himself a legend, untouchable by mere men, surrounded by the privacy money and government connections afforded. Born in Pennsylvania he was listed on the company website biographies page as a regular ‘Captain America’. An Air Force Academy graduate, veteran of the Gulf War, and former test pilot, who after ten years left the service to started his own company. For over twenty years MM Air grew and expanded to become the fourth largest private government and military contractor in the country, making Martin very rich and too powerful.
Yes, her childhood was bizarre compared to others she knew, but in retrospect there were other public signs things weren’t always legal with Martin and his business dealings. Her own innocence and inability to distinguish lies from the truth rang false now as she reflected on those years when terror and a growing desire to disappear became steady companions. When other girls took ballet and gymnastics she studied Kung Fu and marksmanship. The games most favored by the Devlyn children weren’t ‘house’ or ‘hide and go seek’. As children the one game her brothers played most often was ‘war’. Fortunately, that might save her life as the kidnappers sped away from the scene of the crime.
While she couldn’t see where they were driving, Cassie could hear the rush of traffic and the roar of the road beneath the tires, she smelled the newness of the carpet inside the van. Briefly she wondered if the carpeting was removable in case her body was too bloody to transport; then immediately regretted her morose attitude.
She smelled two different humans in the van. One reminded her of her grandfather and the Old Spice deodorant he used. The other smelled of garlic and poor hygiene. Her mouth wasn’t taped so Cassie tried to get them to talk, relate to them on a human level. Just as she had been taught so many years ago by those who played the games better than she.
“Please, whoever you are, just call my father. It’s listed under ‘Martin Devlyn’. I’m sure he will take care of whatever you want if you just don’t hurt me.” Cassie tried to sound calm and rational. Panic wouldn’t get her anywhere. That was the first lesson she’d learned. Begging only brought laughter and jeers. Locked in closets for hours as they taught her not to talk under interrogation, Cassie knew she could keep cool under worse conditions than these. Swallowing the fear, she wondered who these people represented and how real was the threat of death.
Silence assailed Cassie from all sides. She kept quiet, trying to get her bearings while blindfolded and ran through lists of preparation and survival skills drilled into her head for twenty years. Don’t volunteer any information, don’t panic, don’t cry—all ran through her mind like the billboard marquee at the Fox Theatre downtown on Peachtree Street.
It felt as if they were currently on an expressway. There were no stop and go motions and she heard a rhythmic chunk as they travelled across the gaps where the concrete blocks came together. From where they grabbed her at the MARTA train station there was only one expressway easily accessible, but once on the Downtown Connector mishmash of I-75, I-85 and I-20 they could have taken the van in any of the four compass points. Most disturbing was the fact she hadn’t heard them call anyone. While Martin wasn’t listed as he should have been within the cell phone, her brothers were, as was Sean.
Sean. Her skin warmed as she returned to thoughts of him. The memory of the musk of his skin and the love that radiated from every pore of his body steadied her fears. Surely by now her brother had called in Sean and his team. If he was involved she felt the chances of survival increasing drastically. These assholes didn’t know who they were dealing with. Their connection was powerful. He would find her no matter where these worms hid.
After what seemed forever the van left the expressway and the road noises diminished. Next came a short time of stop and go movement, then a complete stop. Her fear grew as the men roughly retrieved her from the cargo section of the van, carried her inside and threw her, still bound, into a chair. They tied her down to the seat and left as she acclimated to the new surroundings.
The blindfold was still on her eyes, her hands and feet were tied to the chair she’d been placed in. There was no outside noise but the temperature seemed comfortable at first. The air reeked of cigarette smoke and a stale food odor. It reminded her of Grandmother Devlyn’s Borscht, made every year for Christmas, whether anyone ate it or not. She also smelled kerosene, probably for a space heater. It was due to be colder than normal that holiday weekend.
Twisting Cassie managed to get a glimpse of darkness. It must be well after midnight, two hours at least since they grabbed her. They could be anywhere in the state of Georgia in that amount of time. Sooner than she expected there were footsteps outside the door.
Someone removed the blindfold. Cassie blinked and tried to adjust her eyes to the sudden light. Two men were in the room. Both dressed in dark jeans, black sweaters, and leather jackets, very good quality but somehow stereotypical of what a kidnapper should wear. They were both Caucasian, most likely Eastern European judging by the dark hair and heavy facial growth. When they smiled it chilled her to the core.
One addressed her in a heavy Slavic accent, probably Russian. “Miss Devlyn, we need to have you speak with your father.”
“Call him yourself, you have my phone.”
“They will want to verify you’re still breathing. Your voice should make him more willing to deal with us.” The cold in the man’s eyes matched the ice in his tone. Suddenly Cassie felt a very familiar cold, nauseating sensation crawl down her spine to settle in the pit of her stomach: fear.
Cassie tried to engage them in more conversation, to calm the chill settling into her bones. “Did you try calling my brother? He would believe you, I know he would.”
“Kevin Devlyn?” They obviously knew the hierarchy.
She admitted, “I don’t have much of a relationship with my other brothers.”
“No Miss Devlyn, I would imagine you don’t have a relationship with them. Too much like your father, aren’t they?” A third man stepped into the room and Cassie’s heart dropped through her stomach. This was no casual kidnapper; this man knew death on an intimate basis.
He was tall, slender yet muscular, close in age to her father. The gray hair was shorn close, military style and his eyes were ice blue, cold and lifeless. Across his left cheek was a scar left either by a knife or other sharp instrument. He was also dressed in dark clothes, but on his wrist was a Rolex and each pinkie was adorned with large gems.
“Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?” Real fear rose in her throat. If this man knew of her distaste for her siblings, what other family secrets did he know?
He stepped forward, circling her chair as he began reciting as though asked an unspoken question. “Cassandra Alexander Devlyn, born December 24, 1986 in Seattle. Three older brothers, mother attempted unsuccessfully to kill herself when you were eight; and was ultimately committed to a personal care facility for unspecified reasons. Living as the only daughter with a raging psychotic brother proved damaging and dangerous when Greg wrecked while drunk, injuring you and killing your best friend. On advice of psychiatrists you left Martin Devlyn’s house in Alpharetta at the age of eighteen to attend Georgia Tech after having survived the horrific crash, and never lived at home again. Is that enough or shall I continue?” The smirk on his face held no menace, only the confidence of a man who holds all the cards.
“No. That’s enough for me to know you’ve done your homework. How much am I worth?”
“Seventeen million euros if he pays at first demand, twenty at our second.”
“What about a third demand?”
He looked at Cassie with those cold eyes. “Then I tell him where to retrieve the body, Miss Devlyn.”
“Please don’t call me that.” Legally Cassie was a Ferguson; only her family refused to acknowledge the change. “If you can’t just call me Cassandra, then use my correct last name—Ferguson.”
“Interesting, that I did not know. Very well then, Mrs. Ferguson. I was hired to find you and use you to exact revenge against MM Air as well as your brother and father. They have some actions to answer for. Your family, your brothers, are monsters and need to be held accountable for their crimes.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about Mr. Tsichevna. Why pick on me?” Cassie demanded with as much bravado as she could muster. “Why not grab Greg or Martin if that’s who you’re upset with?”
Walking over, he knelt down before her chair and looked into her eyes. The cold in his eyes seemed to soften as he examined hers. “You play innocent very well, Mrs. Ferguson. Can it be you really don’t know about your father and the other side of MM Air? That would be the icing on this cake. To enlighten Martin Devlyn’s daughter to who and what he really is would be a delight beyond measure.”
Cassie could feel Tsichevna’s eyes burning into the side of her head. Though she tried to ignore him, his mere presence made her nervous and uneasy. For not the last time she wished she had the custom made Glock handgun Sean gave her for Christmas several years ago.
“I’m sorry, but I really don’t know what you’re talking about. MM Air ships everything from military supplies to humanitarian aid to all corners of the world. They aren’t responsible for where and how those supplies are used. I’m sorry but it seems to me you need to go after those who actually used those weapons against your families. Not the transportation company.”
Tsichevna snorted at her. “Do you know how to cripple a man who is already tormented, Mrs. Ferguson? Take something he treasures and give it back to him broken. Think about that, who shall be tormented the most when I break you?” The sneer on his mouth made her want to jump up and slap it off. His gaze wandered up and down her silk clad body, naked hunger written on his face. Pulling a small switchblade from his pocket, Tsichevna began flicking the blade open and then closed.
“Leave us,” he demanded of the two others. “And close the door behind you.”
Cassie’s blood ran cold.