The Devil Colony(123)
Morning would be soon enough, so he let her live to see one more sunrise.
And now he was glad he’d shown such generous restraint.
“Do not bother tracking this call,” Rafe warned his adversary. “I employ a crack team of encryption experts. We’re bouncing this signal all around the world.”
“I wouldn’t think of it. You were clearly expecting this call, so I can only assume you had countermeasures in place.”
Exactement.
After seeing the photo earlier, Rafe had known Painter would discover some way to reach out to him. He was somewhat surprised it had taken this long. Ashanda—along with assistance from TJ—had worked their technological magic on the device, ensuring no one could track the phone or trace the signal.
“I’ve called to restart our negotiations,” Painter said. “To continue where we left off.”
“Fair enough.”
“First, I want some guarantee Kai is still alive.”
“No, I don’t believe I’ll give you that.” Rafe enjoyed the long pause, knowing how it must torture the man. “Not until I understand what you’re bringing to the table.”
The pause stretched, stoking suspicion.
Are you preparing to bluff?
Truly, in the end, what could the man offer of interest?
Rafe stared at the gold jar resting atop the dining table. He had studied it at length, drinking in every bit of it, trapping it forever in his mind’s eye. Even now, he rotated the jar in his head, tracing a finger over each inscribed letter of the lost language and feeling anew the detailed landscape that was etched across its golden surface.
This treasure promised far more than wealth. It could guarantee eternal glory, for him, for his family. What more could he want?
Painter told him. “In exchange for Kai’s safe return, I will reveal the location of the Fourteenth Colony.”
Rafe slowly smiled, shocked yet again.
The man never ceased to amaze.
Remarquable.
12:44 A.M.
“Uncle Crowe, you’re alive!”
Painter sagged in his seat upon hearing her voice, wanting to express the same sentiments himself.
She was alive!
Instead, he kept his questions practical, knowing he’d have little time. “Kai, are you okay? Have they hurt you?”
“No,” she answered, stretching that single word to encompass so much more.
Painter knew the trauma she must be undergoing: the deaths, the bloodshed, the terror of the unknown. But he also heard the bravery in that one utterance. She had the blood of warriors in her.
“I’m going to come get you. I promise.”
“I know.” Her response held both tears and hope. “I know you will.”
The phone was taken from her. Rafael returned to the line.
“So we have a deal, n’est-ce pas?”
“I will call you with a time and location for the exchange.”
“And I will want proof of what you claim, Monsieur Crowe.”
“You’ll have it. As long as she is safe and unharmed.”
“So be it. Au revoir.”
As the line cut off, Painter continued to hold the phone, fingers clamped tightly to it, as if trying to keep his connection to Kai. He felt light-headed with relief.
A voice rose behind him. “So is Kai still alive?”
He swung around in the chair. Jordan’s bruised face was raw with worry. Focused on the call, Painter had not heard the boy creep into the office. Either the youth was remarkably light-footed, a trait well known to his Ute clan . . . or Painter was simply too exhausted to pay his usual attention.
Maybe it was a combination of both.
Painter faced the young man, knowing he had to be truthful. Jordan had earned it. “They’ve not harmed her,” he said. “But she’s still in danger.”
Jordan stepped forward. “So then you’ll tell them what they want to know . . . to get them to let her go?”
While this was a question, Painter heard the note of demand in it, too.
“I will try.”
That’s the best he could offer. He’d been bluffing with Rafael over the phone, buying time for Kai. But how much leeway had he bought her? How long could he keep stringing the Frenchman along?
In truth, Painter had no idea of the location of the lost Fourteenth Colony. Only one person had a chance of gaining that knowledge—and he was on the run, being hunted by every law enforcement and intelligence agency in the country.
The fear had returned to Jordan’s face.
Painter stood, crossed over, and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay to worry, but don’t lose heart. I have one of my best men on the case.”
Jordan nodded, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
Painter looked down at the telephone handset still in his grip. Rafael would be expecting another call in an hour. Painter needed some answers by then. He turned to the dark office window, staring across the breadth of the country.