She bent at the waist and blew me a kiss. “You too, my beautiful friend. Please come home soon.”
I nodded, but was unable to speak. I hadn’t been prepared for the intensity of my homesickness.
As soon as Sandra faded into the background, Greg asked, “What’s going on with Quinn? Why haven’t they left yet?”
“They’ve been delayed. Some bullshit excuse about their entry visas. Immigration is claiming they applied for a tourist when they should have filled out the paperwork for a business visa.”
A spike of alarm and guilt cinched my throat. “Where are they? Have they been taken into custody?”
“No. They’re still at the resort. I think having Marie there saved Dan and Quinn a trip to detainment. The Chicago Sun has been all over her updates and her first article was picked up by the Associated Press.”
Greg and I glanced at each other and he asked the question I was thinking. “What article? What did she write?”
“She wrote an international news piece about the kidnapping, heavily implying Nautical Oil was behind it. Their shares tanked—excuse the pun—yesterday, and in the last twenty-four hours the pundits on CNN, Fox News, etcetera have picked it up. They really like that Greg is a former Marine.”
“And so gosh-darn handsome!” Sandra hollered from someplace unseen.
“And you have cute kids. People care about other people with cute kids,” Alex added distractedly.
“What do Jack and Grace have to do with this?” I leaned forward unthinkingly, blocking Greg from the screen.
“Oh yeah, sorry. Marie used a picture of Greg with Grace and Jack, Chicago Former Marine Abducted by Nautical Oil Pirates—that’s the name of the article that ran Friday.” Alex read from a newspaper next to his laptop then lifted it up so Greg and I could see. “But the picture she used was taken a while ago and she didn’t use their names, just Greg’s. I don’t think Jack and Grace will be easily recognized.”
He was right. The picture was taken over four years ago and the kids looked a good deal different. Still, Greg’s name was splashed all over the place. I hated to think Grace and Jack would find out about the abduction from someone other than me.
“I think Nautical Oil Pirates has a nice ring to it. They should sponsor a Pittsburg hockey team,” Greg said absentmindedly, pulling me away from the screen so he could see the newspaper.
“As long as the media is focusing on the story, Quinn, Dan, and Marie are relatively safe.” Alex set the paper down and crossed his arms. “If something were to happen to them, the US would have to step in on some level. These oil privateers want less scrutiny, not the CIA poking around.”
Both Greg and I stiffened at Alex’s use of the word poking. I wondered which kind of poking he was thinking about.
“Alex, there’s another problem. We didn’t rescue the other captives, I didn’t give Fiona the chance.”
Greg’s arm squeezed me around the waist and I took it as a symbolic you were right and I’m sorry squeeze. I leaned back and against him in a symbolic thank you for your apology, now let’s figure this out together lean.
“Yeah, can’t say I blame you. If Sandra showed up trying to rescue me from an illegal oil refinery in Nigeria, I’d likely gag her and remove her by force.”
“Gagging would be important.” Again Sandra’s voice carried to the call from some unseen place. “Because you’d get an earful from me.”
I felt Greg’s smile against my hair.
Alex smirked and continued, “So, I checked on the other hostages when you messaged last. Looks like they were moved and the building where you were held had been abandoned, or at least I can’t find any signs of life other than the refinery workers. I’m still trying to figure out where they were taken. But, even if we found them, you should consider the possibility that another rescue attempt is a lost cause. You won’t be able to break them out this time because their captors will be expecting it.”
I felt Greg shift in his seat before he asked, “What if we had leverage?”
“What kind of leverage?”
“Lots of money, and . . . something else.”
Alex’s eyebrows curved upward with curiosity and I turned to look at my husband.
“Lots of money?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”
A glimmer of something imbued Alex’s voice, resembling enjoyment, but not quite. “Define whose lots of money and how much?”
“I’m not sure whose money it is, precisely.” Greg split his attention between both Alex and me. “I’m guessing it’s money from the illegal refineries, and usually that leads back to corrupt government factions and/or extremist groups. But it’s at least a million, if not more.”
“So you want to take their money and ransom it back to them? In exchange for the hostages?” I connected the dots and turned back to Alex.
Greg nodded. “When I was scouting the mainline postings last month I found large quantities of cash in several of the abandoned sentinel houses, all US denominations. Obviously I didn’t touch it, but all together I estimate it’s at least a million.”