So damn peaceful.

And I feel so damn out of place.

Then the road comes to a wide four-way boulevard, and as promised and described, there’s an oval brick plaza with a fountain and a round bandstand. There’s a set of angled parking spots on this side of the plaza, and I drive in and park, out of breath.

I check my watch.

Thirty minutes ahead of schedule.

Well done, a sour voice inside of me says. Now let’s send this quiet old man to his death and get our family back. I look around the place. Across the wide avenue there’s a hotel building that looks to be under construction, flanked by smaller buildings that could be condos or high-priced shops. There’s a high pink stone wall and a black metal gate. A blue Mercedes-Benz convertible comes up to the gate, which has a keypad on a metal post. The driver reaches out, punches the keypad, and the gate slides open. There’s a large brass numeral 9 attached to the middle of the gate.

To the left of the gate is a smaller entrance for pedestrians, and that gate doesn’t have a keypad, for I see some beachgoers head in, carrying coolers and towels in their hands.

So pleasant, so peaceful.

I take my phone out, look to Archie.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I have to do this.”

Then I press the keypad on my cell phone, no doubt leading to this man’s death by the end of the day.

CHAPTER 79

TOM CORNWALL looks up from his bunk when the door clicks open and one of the men who works here comes in, bearing a tray with two white-plastic-covered dishes, and he reaches over and gently taps Denise’s foot. She’s snoozing on her side, Tigger up by her chin.

“Hey, wake up, hon, dinner’s here,” he says.

Then it all goes wrong.

Two bulkier men come in, and there’s a dead look in their eyes, and he sits back in the bed, yells, “Denise! Run! Get out of here!”

The men are pros, they spray something in each of their faces, and Tom chokes and Denise screams, and like that horrible day when they were taken from their homes, bags are pulled over their heads.

“Come,” a voice says, and strong hands grab his upper arms, and he’s propelled out of the room.

I dial the number, hoping to God this is the last time I ever have to remember this demonic series of numerals, and the phone is picked up on the first ring.

“Yes?”

“You know who this is,” I say. “I’m here at the little park, bandstand, and fountain.”

“So happy to hear from you, Captain Cornwall.”

“The feeling isn’t mutual,” I say. “Let’s make this quick. I have my weapon in my lap. Anybody approaches me I will shoot this old man next to me, all right?”

He chuckles. “With that deadly attitude, I’m surprised you’re not a general in your Army.”

“Give me time,” I say. “I need to talk to Tom, and I need to talk to Denise. Otherwise, this man is dead on this plaza.”