San Sebastian; beautiful beyond words. Eva’s home, a substantial mansion left to her and Carlos after the death of their father, sat on a hillside overlooking the sparkling Bay of Biscay. The last time he was in that house with Eva, he had almost lost her for good. She was having second thoughts about a relationship with the likes of him. He didn’t blame her. This was his life, his whole life; negotiating and rescuing hostages. Who knew the life he was trying to forge with her, the normal one with a planned wedding and future like every other bloody couple on the planet, would come to collide with this life?

It had taken him nearly forty hours to reach the house but not for lack of transportation. There was no airline strike or terrorist threats blocking his travel. He had taken a bit of a side trip to gather information. Terry was severely limited as to his field activities. Nothing beyond reconnaissance and covert intel gathering, so he started the job deep in the Spanish Basque country.

Rumors were running ramped about increased pushes by the ETA. The militant group was expected to lay low and play the goodwill card as promised, but governments in Spain, France and the Basque Country were at high alert. Heightened activity was violent. Nothing comes easy when facing such groups, especially freedom for a hostage of value. Already Terry knew negotiations would serve only as a stall tactic until they could locate the cargo.

This would be dangerous and he would be sitting on the sidelines, thanks to an injury that sliced tendons and nerves in his right hand nearly a year ago. This was something he had to deal with. Ego and responsibilities needed to find common ground. The soldier in him was irritated, seeking every way to get as close to the front line as possible. The man he was knew that taking such a risk was not an option. This time he would surely lose Eva. It just wasn’t worth it.

Nearing the house he gawked. A crowd was gathered at the gate. Media shouted for a scoop and fans stood silent vigil. Eva’s feet and Carlos’ guitar were famous all over Europe. The ETA knew damn well what they were doing.

Finally granted entrance by the local police, Terry didn’t feel the silent weight of the situation until he traversed the long, twisted drive to the house. Frank Goshim was waiting at the door.

“Word?” Terry asked as he entered.

“Just today.”

“Proof of life?”

“Nada.”

It’s how it always starts. Eva’s lovely dance studio overlooking the bay had been commandeered by Zack who’d set up HQ. He reported everything he’d gathered from the neighbors and local officials. The call for ransom went directly to Carlos’ manager. Luckily, the man had enough sense to inform the kidnappers that Thorne & O’Leary were handling the case and already at the mansion. It was all a moot point. The media had reported that bit of news days ago. The ETA knew. Carlos was the manager’s cash cow and they wrongly figured he might leap and send cash for a POL. He didn’t, so they were in play.

“Hey Thorne,” Goshim grunted, handing over a cup of coffee. “The maid. We can’t get nothin’ outta her, but she hasn’t stopped crying since this happened.”

“Theresa Cortez?”

“Yeah, Cortez. What’s her fuckin’ story?”

Terry winced. On one hand, he liked Goshim. He was a great soldier, a highly trained military expert but as a man, he was as rough around the edges as raw rotted wood. In some ways he reminded him of Bud White. Gruff but a damn good man to have at your side. On the other hand, just like Bud used to be, Goshim irritated the bloody hell out of Terry. “Mate, Eva and Carlos were the kids of wealthy aristocrats. People like that seldom have much to do with child rearing. Eva said Mrs. Cortez is the only mother she ever knew. Have you talked to her?”

“She won’t talk to me. To any of us. She was waiting for you. I’m betting this broad got lots for us to work with. Doesn’t she know time is tight here?”

“Where is she?”

“Where else?”

Terry headed for the kitchen. Sure enough, the old woman was sitting at the table, sobbing her eyes out silently.

“Mrs. Cortez?”

“Oh! Mr. Thorne! Thank God you are here!” Theresa Cortez spoke sterling English with a thick Basque accent. According to Eva, the maid is the only reason she and her brother spoke English.

She leapt from the chair and embraced him. Sitting at the table, he set his coffee down and offered her his handkerchief.

“How is my Eva?” she asked, sniffling and wiping tears away.

“Good, good. Worried but very well. You know,” he said with a grin, “We’re planning a New Year’s Eve wedding and intend to bring you to the States to be there.”

“Yes! Yes, oh yes!” She patted his hand. “I always new my Eva would marry well.”

He avoided cocking his head with wonder. Was she marrying well? This wasn’t the time to explore those thoughts. “Mrs. Cortez, I need to know everything you know.”

She eyed Goshim, standing inside the door but focused on Terry. “Of course. I was not here when he was taken, but his room … it was …”

“We checked out the room,” Goshim grunted. “Cocaine, empty liquor bottles. Not a fingerprint anywhere, but definitely signs of struggle.”

The old woman’s eyes lowered, embarrassed for Carlos. “Oh Mr. Thorne. I can not believe Luc Ramirez has anything to do with this. He must have been taken hostage too!”

“We’re sure Ramirez is part of the ETA, I’m sorry.” Again he patted her hand as she sniffled more and the tears dripped from her chin.

“Luc Ramirez has been a dear friend to Carlos for so long. Since they were children. Oh, I remember.” She smiled sadly. “I loved that boy as much as the Menendez children. I was always indulgent with Carlos … far more than Eva. Their father was so hard on them, you know. Making them practice constantly. But when he and Mrs. Menendez left for holiday, I always indulged the small things.”

Terry’s instincts perked up his ears. “Like how?”

“Oh,” she sighed, twisting the handkerchief in her fingers. “Carlos so wanted a normal life and many friends. He would often beg me to let him go on small trips with Luc. Most of the time it was a simple camping weekend in the mountains. I would drive them down and pick them up a few days later. Carlos was a changed boy after those trips, so joyous and pleasant. But …”

“But?”

“Well, once I was out marketing. Eva had been sent to Paris to study dance and Carlos was supposed to be off at university. When I returned, I noticed his car and was very excited, I had bought everything to make his favorite meal and it seemed … ordained. But when I came inside, I searched for him. He wasn’t in the studio, nor the game room. He wasn’t on the beach. I found him in … in his father’s bedroom … with … Luc. Until this day, I have never told a soul.”

“Whoa,” grunted Goshim.

Terry rolled his eyes, wishing he could have rethought hiring the man before they’d actually done it. Savvy wasn’t Goshim’s strong point.

“I was so ashamed for him. But Mr. Thorne, since that day I have also found him in bed with women. My hope is that he will choose correctly.”

Goshim snorted. “Thorne, does your fiancé know her brother’s a fag?”

Again Terry rolled his eyes, but this time turned a glare at the man. “I have a gay brother, ya know.”

“Oh. Wow. That’s too bad, man. Sorry to hear that. So Mrs. Cortez, can you remember anything strange about Luc’s behavior lately?”

“No, no. In fact, I have seen him perhaps three times in as many years. I understand he has an important position with an international computer company.”

“Nope,” Goshim spat. “He’s been busy being Robert Garra Rubina and his important job is to terrorize people into taking the ETA stand. What’s your position on Basque freedom?”

“That’s enough, mate.” Terry could see that the old woman was on overload. She’s told secrets and she’d learned facts … none of which fit into her personal reality. Aside from that, something was pricking his instincts like a burr and he had to get at it. “One more question, Mrs. Cortez. Where in the mountains did you take Carlos and Luc all those years ago?”

“South, near Landarbaso.” Her eyes had gone wide.

“Can you show me on a map?”

“I think so.”

“Get me a map,” he turned to Goshim who went to the kitchen door and bellowed for Friday. Nope. Goahim pissed him off far more than White ever did. The word uncouth came to mind.

Kenny Friday, a consummate nerd and Goshim’s sidekick for the past ten years, rushed in with an armload of maps. They rolled them out on the table until the maid could pinpoint the exact location.

“Where’s Dino?” Terry asked as he tugged his kit close.

“At the embassy. He should be back in a few hours,” Friday reported like a good little minion.

Terry slipped out of his jacket and slid into his left handed shoulder holster. He checked his pistol and slipped it in place. Tucking a small flashlight into his hip pocket he dug into the bag and retrieved a warm parka to cover it all. Changing from track shoes to boots, he was ready.

“Where you think you’re goin’?” Goshim asked, eyeing Terry suspiciously when the old woman busied herself with packing a few sandwiches. She was obviously smarter or wiser than Goshim ever will be.

“Recon,” Terry said.

“Uh, I heard you’re not field-ready, Thorne.”

“I’m recon ready. Just gonna poke around a bit. I’ll be back by morning. Friday, you and Zack keep a close eye on communications. I want coverage on any band you find suspicious. Got that, mate?”

“Already on it, Terry.”

“Good onya. Goshim, I want twenty-four hour protection on Mrs. Cortez and her family. Got my cell. Call if there’s any development.”