Page 60 of Under the Radar
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Mac heard several text ringtones from the phone in his pocket. He’d look at them in a few minutes, and finished his report, glancing at the wall clock. It was 12:50 p.m. He’d be late meeting up with Mo. She’d probably be glad to have the extra time.
He’d sent out a Sanctuary alert two days ago and had dipped deep into the well of talented men and women he’d worked with over the years. The group included retired Secret Service, Special Ops, and even a few mercenaries. These men and women were combat-hardened people who stayed in shape and hadn’t even blinked when Mac mentioned they’d be protecting an innocent woman from a drug cartel.
He’d given them full access to his building and his home. By the time he arrived with Mo later this afternoon, they’d have converted one of his guest bedrooms into a command center, another into sleeping quarters for six, and installed state-of-the-art surveillance equipment.
Granted, he’d always kept his apartment building in pristine condition and had an elaborate security set-up, but he’d balanced it with the right-to-privacy for his tenants. As of this afternoon, every nook and alcove in the public spaces sported a new camera. He’d even arranged for the old railroad tunnel that ran perpendicular under the property to have digital video monitoring at the entry and blocked exit in the parking garage. He was taking no chances with Mo’s safety.
He’d also brought a veteran he’d worked with in Iraq on board. A man who had saved his ass on more than one occasion. Michael Mooney could strip the attitude off a suspect with a stare, and the guy had a sixth sense for anticipating the enemy. He’d be an invaluable asset to Mo’s safety. Plus, the guy was up to speed on the new security system and its nuances.
Everything was ready to go. Mac even had a new treadmill installed in his home gym. As hard as it was going to be for Mo to stay indoors for long stretches of time, he made sure the treadmill was primed for the miles she’d run to avoid going stir-crazy. And he’d also arranged to have his refrigerators stocked with an obscene amount of food. He’d never met a person on duty who wasn’t grateful for a quick bite and a strong cup of coffee.
Mac rubbed the back of his neck and watched the numbers speed by on the security scan. The screen stopped moving and the green all clear flashed across the monitor. He fired off an email update to his replacement on the next cruise, which was due to leave in five hours. He glanced at the clock. 1:05 p.m. With any luck, they’d be disembarking the ship in a half-hour. Mooney would arrive with the limos at 1:30 p.m.
A ringtone reminded him that he had texts. He pulled the phone out of his back pocket and tapped the screen. His heart rate quickened when he saw Mo’s name on his phone and morphed into a dull thud of horror as he read her message.
Mac…see message below from my mother. I’m at customs-leaving the ship. Join me later at the hospital. Don’t worry—Cecil is armed.
Maureen, darling, your father was rushed to Johns Hopkins early this morning. They think he had a heart attack. I’m on the plane now. If you get home before I do, please go to him. Cecil and the limo are waiting for you outside the ship.
Mac went numb. He set the phone down, scrubbed his hands across his face, and checked the time on the text. 12:41 p.m. That was twenty minutes ago. He leaped across the desk and used the public address system to issue a request for Maureen Reardon to report to the security office. He repeated the message three times. But deep down, he knew that unless she’d been detained at customs, she was already gone. Getting off the ship was a lot quicker than getting on it. He called her, but it went straight to voicemail.
He grabbed a talkie and summoned Dimitri.
“Yeah, boss?”
“Where are you?” Mac demanded.
“Outside customs helping a family with six kids stay in line. What’s wrong?”
“Maureen might be down there in the luggage area or outside waiting for a ride. If you can find her, physically stop her. I’ll be right there to help you.”
“Got it.”
Mac heard pounding feet and the surprise of startled passengers as Dimitri took off. Mac raced the four flights of stairs to the disembarkation area. He displayed his badge at customs, ran through the luggage area calling Mo’s name, and plowed through the front doors. Dimitri worked the area to his right. Mac turned left toward the procession of cars and limos waiting to pick up passengers.
He had no right to demand that each limo open their doors so he could look inside, but that didn’t stop him from peering in them. He resisted the urge to shove his fist through a window.
At the end of the line of cars, his stomach twisted so hard Mac thought he might be sick. He’d turned down the volume on his earpiece when Mo took a shower because several people in the office spoke to him at once. Guilt swarmed him like angry bees. He’d forgotten to turn the volume back up. Mac leaned over and placed his hands on his knees.
He tried Mo’s phone again, but once again, it went to voicemail. He googled the number for Hopkins and requested patient information as his nerves frayed like a rope twisting in a vise.
Hopefully, Mo’s father really was in the hospital. It would suck for Charles, but it would sure narrow down the scenarios flying through Mac’s mind at Mach speed.
The switchboard answered, “Your relationship, please?”
Without hesitation, Mac blurted out, “Son-in-law.”
“One moment, please.”
Mac glanced ahead. Dimitri jogged toward him shaking his head.
The Hopkins operator came back on the line, “I’m sorry, sir, but we haven’t admitted anyone by that name.”
Mac disconnected the call and howled a groan from the depth of his gut. The realization seared through him like a hot knife. They had her.
The bastards had her.