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While we make our way down the narrow road next to a dry riverbed, I use the satellite phone to dial my man in Bonifacio. The calls are encrypted, allowing us to speak freely. He’s been on Daisy and Laura’s tail all day, following them from shops to bars and finally to a restaurant. They dined alone, and then they left. He lost them in the traffic, but the drone pilot pinpointed the house they entered. It’s a fancy address on the beachfront a short distance outside the city.
“I was just about to call you,” he says.
“Did you find the Remingtons?”
“I found them, all right. I’m in the beach house they rented.”
“Did you interrogate them? Do they know anything that can help us find the kids?”
“Someone beat me to it. Their throats are slit. He must’ve waited for them inside. I was five minutes behind them. Their bodies are not yet cold.”
“Marziale?”
“Probably. It’s his style. It looks like his men’s work. I heard an engine and saw a jet ski take off from the private jetty just as I arrived. The drone pilot has a visual on him.”
“Is he alone?”
“Yes.”
“Go after him. Find out who sent him.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll intercept him on land.”
“If he tries to board a boat, sink it, and pull him out. You have permission to use the drone guns. I want answers before you kill him.”
“Yes, sir,” he says again.
The driver slows the vehicle down. “Over there.” He points toward the outline of a SUV that stands on the side of the road a distance ahead.
I hang up. Fighting instinct takes over. The familiar burst of adrenaline in my veins sends a rush to my head. “Stop.”
My uncle shifts to the edge of his seat and cranes his neck for a better view through the windscreen. “Is that yours?”
I lift the powerful night-vision binoculars to my eyes and check the registration plate.
Yeah. That’s mine.
“The vehicle is empty.” I lower the binoculars. “Pull over here.”
Once the driver has parked, I get out and survey the surroundings. The three SUVs that tailed us stop behind the 4x4. My men climb out, their movements quiet and their weapons aimed in front of them as they fall into a circle formation around the vehicles.
“Come with me,” I tell the man who rode shotgun in the 4x4. “The rest of you follow when I give the signal.” I wave my gun toward my uncle who’s gotten out and is standing next to the 4x4 with his robe billowing in the icy wind. “Handcuff him to the wheel. Make sure you take the car key with you.”
“Angelo,” Uncle Enzo says in protest, but I’m deaf to him, already making my way to the abandoned SUV.
The man I brought with me is ex-military. French Foreign Legion. His expertise is explosives. He goes ahead with the portable explosive detector and thermal goggles, scouting the ground for landmines and other devices. Booby traps are Marziale’s favorite hobby. It’s his signature trademark.
My man lifts a hand to show the way is clear. At the vehicle, he scans the door handles, the body, and the underside.
He catches my gaze and gives a single nod. I open the back door. The interior is empty except for the four schoolbags stacked on the backseat. My gut clenches at the sight of Sophie’s yellow bag with the fluffy white dog keychain on the zipper and Guillaume’s blue one that’s halfway unzipped to reveal the banana Heidi packed for his break-time snack.
I fit my thermal goggles and check the ground. Six sets of footprints—four small and two big pairs—run through the sand in the ditch next to the road.
At my signal, the men move. Four stay behind to guard the vehicles. Two go ahead to scout the area while we follow the tracks, my heart beating harder with every step I take.
After a ten-minute hike, smoke and the glow of a fire become visible. I raise a hand, signaling for the men to slow down. Not making a sound, we leopard-crawl to the top of the outcrop. A metal structure appears at the foot of the hill. The area around it is flat. Weeds grow tall around the building. An old well sits on the side. A quad bike is parked in the front. Two men sit not far from the bike, warming their hands over a fire.
I draw a circle in the air, instructing my men to surround the building. I want nothing more than to storm down there and kick the door open, but I wait patiently until the footmen have searched the area. I doubt Marziale planned an ambush. The landscape is too bare. The small bushes don’t provide enough shelter to hide a grown man’s body, not even if he’s camouflaged and lying flat on his stomach.
