Barabas shook his head. “No.”
We arrived at the guardroom and Janice offered me the phone. A seasoned guard, Janice was a werejackal, about ten years older than me, with blond hair and a big smile. She looked like a soccer mom on steroids.
I took the phone and pressed the speaker button. “Yes?”
“Kate?” the Clerk’s familiar voice asked. The Clerk had a name, but nobody among the mercs used it. He was simply the Clerk and he didn’t seem to mind the name.
“Yep. What can I do for you?”
“Saiman’s been kidnapped.”
“Aha.” Aha was an excellent word. Neither a question nor a statement.
Janice scribbled on a piece of paper, transcribing the conversation.
“They’re holding him for ransom. They dropped the note off at his accountant, who called us.”
“How much do they want?”
“A big one.”
“A million?”
“That’s right.”
Barabas’s eyes went wide. Janice clamped her hand over her mouth for a second. The Guild charged ten percent of ransom for rescuing kidnapped victims. That was quite a chunk of change.
“Where do they want the money delivered?” I asked.
“Mole Hole, in the crater. You know the place.”
Everybody in Atlanta knew the place, but I knew it really well. That was where my insane aunt nearly killed the lot of us and almost burned the city to the ground. That was where I had killed her and almost lost Curran.
“Any details?” I asked.
“I’ve got the note. It says, ‘I’ve been kidnapped. I’m under heavy guard. Please draw one million dollars and deliver it to the Mole Hole before sunrise or my attackers will see red.’”
“Odd note.”
“I wouldn’t know,” the Clerk said. “We got one the other night that said if we didn’t come and get this guy, the kidnappers would feed him to a giant tortoise. Do you want me to do anything about this?”
“I’ll take it,” I said.
“Just so you know, you’re on record for that.”
“That’s fine. Thank you for calling.”
“Anytime.”
I looked at Janice. “Did you get all that?”
She passed me the paper. Under guard, seeing red. Interesting choice of words, atypical of Saiman. He spoke like a college intellectual. His philosophy was that if he couldn’t pack at least three syllables into a word, it wasn’t worth his attention.
Saiman was a self-admitted sexual deviant and egomaniac. The last time he put me into a life-threatening situation, he’d jumped into his car and taken off so fast, the snow from his tires pelted my face. But if I saved him, he would owe me a favor. A very large million-dollar favor.
“We’re not going to pay that ransom, are we?” Janice asked.
“Hell no.” I looked at the paper again. “Is Jim still up?”
“He’s in his spy rooms,” Janice said.
Most shapeshifters were seminocturnal. Late to bed, late to rise. The Pack’s chief of security and my onetime Guild partner was no exception.
“Oh good. If Curran comes through here, this whole thing never happened.”
“Are you asking me to lie to the Beast Lord?” Janice’s eyes narrowed into slits. A subtle grin hid in the corners of her mouth.
“No, I’m telling you not to volunteer information.” If Curran got involved, it would be all over. “What the Beast Lord doesn’t know can’t hurt him. Or me.”
I went through the security checkpoint and down the wide staircase that ran the height of the Keep’s main tower. Luckily I didn’t have to go too far. Jim’s spy operation occupied rooms two floors below.
I found Jim in the small kitchenette getting a cup of coffee. Tall, with muscle definition that made you wince, Jim prided himself on the ability to intimidate by simply being there. He was in his early thirties, with skin that matched the coffee in his cup and short hair, cut close to the scalp. Normally he didn’t stand, he loomed like a menacing shadow, but right now he was on his home turf, and the air of threat had dropped off to tolerable levels. He leaned against the wall with one arm, drinking coffee, looking relaxed, and when he saw me, he smiled without showing his teeth. Jim Shrapshire, a sweet and welcoming jaguar. Aha. Not buying it, buster.
“Is there any coffee left?”
Jim hefted the metal pot. “There is.”
I grabbed a mug and watched him pour the nearly black liquid out. Back when we both worked for the Mercenary Guild, Jim preferred to take night jobs. The giant vat of coffee was made once, in the morning. By the end of the night, no sane soul would touch it. Jim drank it like water.