Page 64 of Seal of Honor
“What about his insurance? The insurance company can pay.”
How could the HTs possibly know about the kidnap and ransom insurance policy? Danny gazed up at Frank Perry, who looked completely befuddled. Useless. The insurance rep wasn’t in the room at the moment, and O’Keane gave him a nudge in the side and mouthed, “I’ll find out more about it.”
Danny nodded and sidestepped the insurance question, saying instead, “We’re working as fast as we can through all the regulations, okay? But while we’re doing that, I need to know Bryson is still alive. Can I please talk to Bryson again?”
“No. I’m done with this. You will pay the ransom tomorrow at noon, or else I will kill him.”
“I understand, but tomorrow is Sunday, and it’s a holiday weekend here in the States. The banks won’t open until Tuesday.”
“It will be tomorrow or never. I have no problem killing him, Agent Giancarelli. I can find another family that is willing to pay.”
“Okay. None of us want that. How about you let me speak to Bryson? I only want to hear his voice, Angel. You can understand why I want to make sure he’s still okay, right? I simply want to ask him some questions.”
“Ask me.”
Danny snapped his fingers for the list of proof-of-life questions that O’Keane and Chloe Van Amee had spent the last hour working on. They had to be very specific, uncomplicated questions, with an easy answer that the HTs wouldn’t be able to guess. Coming up with a viable list was always a lot harder than it seemed at first, especially in today’s technological world where a quick computer search could turn up loads of personal information.
Someone slid the paper across the table, and he scanned the list. The first two questions about Bryson’s sons’ middle names and birthdays were far too easy, but the third should work. “All right. Are you still there? I need you to ask Bryson what name he wanted to use if his son Ashton had been a girl.”
Silence.
“Can you do that for me, Angel? Go ahead and ask him for me. I’ll wait.”
Dial tone.
Danny sat back and blew out a breath that puffed up his cheeks. His heart was hammering, adrenaline surging through his veins like a nitrous injection, leaving his engines revving and his hands shaking. He knew from experience it’d take hours to come down if he just sat here, so he pushed away from the table.
“I need a breather.”
O’Keane nodded. “Take it. I got this.”
“I’m going for a run. Call me if Angel gets back with the proof of life in the next hour.”
“He won’t.”
Yeah, they wouldn’t hear from Angel again until later tonight.
Danny made it about a block into his run before his phone, tucked in the zippered pocket of his running shorts, rang. Had the HTs gotten back that fast? Well, color him surprised. He skidded to a halt underneath a palm tree, dug out the phone, and lifted it to his ear.
“Giancarelli,” he answered.
“Danny. Uh, hi.”
For the space of three heartbeats, Danny struggled to make sense of the voice he knew but hadn’t heard in years.
Marcus DeAngelo.
His best friend.
The guy he’d grown up with, who used to be like a brother to him.
The guy who had convinced him to apply for the FBI after leaving the military.
And the guy who vanished off the face of the earth after a negotiation went sideways on them two years ago.
He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the number. It wasn’t a Los Angeles number, wasn’t even a U.S. number. “Marcus? Where the hell are you?”
“It’s…” Marcus trailed off and exhaled hard. “I can’t talk about it right now.”
