“Has there been a ransom demand yet?” Marcus Deangelo asked.
“Sixty million and some change,” Quinn said. “It’s all there in the file.”
“Who’s taking responsibility?” Harvard asked.
“A new terrorist faction calling themselves Ejército del Pueblo de Colombia, the People’s Army of Colombia, or EPC,” Gabe said. “All we know about them is that they broke off from the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia about six months ago and have been on a terror campaign ever since.
“That’s where Harvard comes in.” He turned toward Eric Physick, who had a rep as one of the best analysts ever to work for the CIA. A genius with more brain than brawn—something Gabe would have to fix if the kid wanted a chance of staying on this team. “We need you to gather as much intel as possible on the EPC. Who, what, where, how—get me everything available. We’re working against the clock. The FBI will only be able to stall the ransom drop for so long and I don’t want to go up against these guys blind.”
Harvard nodded, picked up his laptop case, and unzipped it. “You’ll know the basics by the time we get to Colombia. The rest will take me a little longer.”
“Thanks.” Gabe refocused on the rest of the men. “Okay, so here’s how the team’s going to work. Harvard will control base camp and all the comms, including all contact with the hostage takers, should it come to that. Harvard, make a list of everything you might need and you’ll have it when we land.”
The kid nodded, but didn’t look up from his computer.
“Jesse Warrick will function as our medic. Anyone gets hurt, we defer to him. If you need anything, Jesse, let either Quinn or me know and we’ll get it for you.”
Jesse tipped the brim of his Stetson back with one knuckle and patted the bulging bag on the seat next to him. “I travel with my own supplies, thanks,” he drawled. “But I do want access to medical records and everyone needs to have a physical exam in the next twenty-four hours so I have a baseline reading should one of ya get hurt.”
“Done.” Gabe studied the group. “We’ll rely on Jean-Luc as our translator. Anyone else fluent in Spanish?”
“Mine’s passable,” Jesse answered.
“All I remember from Spanish class is un burro sabe mas que tu,” Marcus said and Jean-Luc snorted a laugh.
“‘A donkey knows more than you?’ Nice, Marcus. If we need to insult the EPC into submission, we’ll know who to call.”
“All right, gentlemen,” Gabe said. “Enough joking around. We have a little over four hours until we land. Read up and catch whatever sleep you can, because once we’re on the ground, we’re on the move.”
Chapter Three
BOGOTÁ, COLOMBIA
“Nice digs,” Jean-Luc said from the passenger seat of the rented 4Runner. “Nice neighborhood. I didn’t think Colombia had nice neighborhoods.”
Gabe ignored him and leaned on the steering wheel to study Bryson Van Amee’s apartment building and the surrounding neighborhood. It was nice. Affluent. Clean. Full of sprawling parks and red brick buildings with a subtle British flair to the architecture. A million steps up from the barrios he’d seen during his past two trips to Bogotá. Of course, he’d been assisting the Colombian Army in hunting for the brutal leader of a drug cartel, not searching for an unfortunate American businessman caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“I don’t think the snatch happened inside his place,” Gabe said, “but it won’t hurt to check it out.” He needed to get a feel for the kind of person Van Amee was. A survivor, he hoped, or else they’d be dragging a body back to the States.
“Security guard on the front door,” Jean-Luc pointed out. “Cameras, too. IP-based, which means they probably archive their footage.”
“How do you know?” Gabe had seen the cameras, but as far as he knew, there was no way to tell whether they were on an IP network or closed-circuit TV just by looking.
“My brother-in-law owns a security company in New Orleans,” Jean-Luc said and raised a pair of binoculars, focusing on the closest camera. “I help out with installing systems when he’s short staffed, and…oui, I know that brand. I can call him, but I’m pretty sure it’s an IP camera. We should ask to see their footage.”
Gabe shook his head. “I don’t want to risk tipping anyone off that we’re looking.”
Jean-Luc lowered the binoculars and grinned. “I like the way your mind works, mon capitaine. Very James Bond.”