Seven Days to Forever by Ingrid Weaver Read Free Book Online Page B

the mix-up at the ransom drop and the scuffle at Abigail’s apartment appeared to have been successfully contained. To everyone’s relief, the team had moved swiftly enough so that no word had leaked to the media or to the local authorities. How much damage had been done to the Ladavians’ negotiations with the LLA was another matter.
    Flynn turned right and headed toward the stocky, bald man who was seated in front of the radio. “Is there any word from the Ladavian Embassy yet, Chief?”
    Chief Warrant Officer Esposito shook his head as he glanced up at Flynn. His forehead creased like a pit bull’s. “The LLA hasn’t been in contact since they put the boy on the line.”
    “How’s Vilyas?”
    “Not doing well. He had to be sedated.”
    “That’s rough. He didn’t look in good shape when I saw him at the ransom drop.”
    Esposito bared his teeth, exposing a flash of gold. “I can’t blame him. If anyone snatched one of my boys, I’d have to be tied down to keep from going after the bastards myself.”
    “Do you think the Vilyas kid is still alive?”
    “At this point, the odds are in his favor. The ransom money isn’t all the LLA are after. They want to terrorize Vilyas and the Ladavian government, and as long as their hostage is alive, they can keep turning the screws.”
    “Yeah, it’s a win-win situation for them. If they get the money, they finance more terrorism. And if they execute their hostage, they demoralize the royal family and gain worldwide publicity.”
    “Hanging would be too easy for bastards like that.” Esposito gestured toward the pack that Flynn carried on his back. “Is that the money?”
    Flynn slipped the straps of the pack off his shoulders and held it out to Esposito. “Yeah. It’s all there. What do you want me to do with it?”
    “The box I used for my equipment is under the table. You could put the money in there to keep it out of the way until we’re ready for the next round.”
    Flynn peered under the table and spotted a battered steel trunk. He bent down to slide it toward him, stuffed the pack inside and closed the lid. By the time he had straightened up, Esposito had already turned back to the radio as if he were totally disinterested in the twenty million dollars in cash that rested inches away from his feet.
    Neither man considered the situation to be strange. People in their line of work were motivated by loyalty, honor and duty—if they’d been interested in money, they would have been accountants.
    “Hey, O’Toole. Let me take a look at that arm.”
    Flynn glanced at the lanky man who was walking toward him. Sergeant Jack Norton had the easy gait and whipcord leanness of a marathon runner. His specialty was field medicine, but no one made the mistake of believing that made him soft. Norton could pop dislocated joints back into place or fish through a guy’s guts for shrapnel in the morning, then proceed to take advantage of their grogginess to rob them blind at poker in the afternoon.
    “Forget it, Norton,” Flynn said, moving toward the mess area. He grabbed a can of soda from one of the cases on the floor, opened the top and took a long swig. “It’s just a flesh wound.”
    “Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” Jack said as he followed him. His soft Louisiana drawl echoed in his loose-limbed strides. “Humor me, anyway. It’s the major’s orders.”
    Flynn looked around. “Where is the major, anyway?”
    Jack tipped his head toward the far corner where some extra canvas tarps had been strung to partition off a small room. “Back there, doing his best to keep any more, ah, surprises from hitting the fan. He told me to send you in when I’m done.”
    “Fine,” Flynn muttered. He pulled one of the chairs close to the trestle table, sat down and extended his arm. “Knock yourself out.”
    Jack sat across from him and opened up the red tackle box where he kept his medical supplies. He let out a low whistle as he peeled back the blood-encrusted