Chapter 6 Ben
SIX
BEN
“I’m cold, annoyed, and soaked to my skivvies,” Ben grumbled as he unlocked the next-to-last of the houses he and his assistant were checking.
The ones he’d thought likely to have problems, he’d already inspected with his maintenance crew.
It was off-season, so more of the rentals were unoccupied than during the summer, when tenants usually called to report problems. The week of heavy rain and high winds made leaks and damage that much more likely.
“We’ve been lucky that the damage is minimal,” Jenny replied. She had gone with him to help catalog what would need to be repaired. “We’ve had worse with other storms.”
They wore hooded rain slickers to avoid dealing with umbrellas as they went in and out of houses, but at this point their coats were too wet to be fully water-repellent.
Cold rain soaked Ben’s face and ran down his neck.
Good boots kept his feet warm and dry, but the rest of him felt cold and clammy.
“One more left after this,” Ben remarked. They made quick work checking for the most common areas for storm damage. The house had been cleaned since the last tenant, but a dog collar lay on the counter with a dangling license, name tag, and tracker.
“We should probably call and see if they want this back,” Ben said as he peered at the information on the license. He shoved the collar in his back pocket. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“Do you mind handling the last house?” Jenny asked when they reached the door. “I’m supposed to call a prospective renter at four, and the paperwork is back at the office.”
“Go ahead,” Ben said. “I figured I’ll head home after I’m done. I’ll type up the damage report, and we can deal with that tomorrow.”
He waved as she got in her car, then crossed the street to the last rental house on the list. It was a cute cottage painted light blue with white filigree trim, not as large or fancy as some of the neighboring houses, but just right for a single renter or couple to spend a few months near the beach.
Mindful of Erik’s warnings that morning, Ben sized up the area, taking in parked cars and looking for anyone who didn’t belong. He had his pistol under his slicker, something he didn’t usually feel the need to carry, since Cape May had a low crime rate, especially during the quiet season.
He couldn’t help feeling jumpy, but nothing struck him as dangerous, and Ben chalked it up to cop nerves, a common side effect of hypervigilance.
Ben let himself into the house and locked the door behind him. He left his dripping slicker on the welcome mat and switched on the lights. They had done the outside checks on the property the previous day, leaving it to today to check inside the houses for evidence of leaks or water damage.
He headed to the second floor to check the small attic first. Nothing looked amiss, but Ben still couldn’t shake the sense that something was wrong. He heeded his intuition and came downstairs with his gun in hand, sheepish when he faced an empty hallway.
Outside, thunder shook the house, and a flash of lightning lit up the sky through the windows. Ben couldn’t wait to get home and find out what Erik had learned from his research.
He checked the bedrooms, making sure no water had gotten in around the windows. Ben tensed at an eerie whistling sound, and relaxed when he realized it was just the wind whipping around the house.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, a brilliant streak of lightning and a loud burst of thunder made him jump.
The lights went out.
Ben froze, not because of the sudden darkness, but because he picked up the faint scent of aftershave that hadn’t been present when he entered.
“Stop right there, Nolan. Put down the gun, and then put your hands in the air,” a voice commanded.
The glow of a cell phone revealed three armed goons facing him, weapons drawn. Outnumbered and in the dark, Ben’s odds in a fight were slim.
“What do you want?” He lowered his gun but didn’t let go of the weapon.
“Put the gun on the floor and push it over to us.”
Ben didn’t recognize the speaker, but his heavy Jersey accent told him these were likely Newark Mob goons, not Russian Bratva.
He complied and straightened slowly with his hands in the air. “You’re making a big mistake.”
The speaker laughed. “Yeah, yeah. We know all about your boyfriend, the spy. If he gives us what we want, no one needs to get hurt.”
Ben didn’t believe that, but he wasn’t going to argue.
The leader dialed a number, and Ben heard Erik answer. “We have him. And if you want him back, follow my instructions exactly.”
Ben felt ice slither through his veins. He knew how the call would affect Erik, but with two guns trained on him, he didn’t dare interfere.
“You have the Wildwood window,” the leader said to Erik. “And we think you know where the big dome from that old hotel is. Give them to us, and your boyfriend walks away from here. I’ll text you the location of the meeting spot.”
The leader put his phone back in his pocket. Two men kept guns trained on Ben at close range while the leader pulled Ben’s arms behind him and zip-tied his wrists. Ben’s phone was in the pocket of his rain jacket, which hung near the front door.
“I hope Mitchell is a sensible fellow, and that he cares about you more than the stained glass,” the leader said. “And in case you’re wondering, the phone is a burner with location tracking spoofed. He’s going to have to play by our rules to save you.”
Ben didn’t doubt that Erik would put his safety first, not just over the haunted window but over the dome, assuming he knew where it was. He doubted the mobsters would believe that Erik didn’t have the dome and didn’t know where it was; that didn’t bode well.
Another clap of thunder and streak of lightning gave Ben a second look at his attackers. Three toughs, all in their late twenties, foot soldiers, not generals. They had been sent to fetch him and lay down the ultimatum, but they weren’t the ones in charge.
“Did Barone put you up to this?” Ben asked as the leader hustled him toward the door.
“What do you care?”
“I keep track of who kidnaps me,” Ben deadpanned.
Despite his earlier bravado, Ben knew Erik would be going insane with worry and felt certain he was already planning a rescue.
They went out the back door, Ben frog-marched between two of the goons. His captors cursed, scanning the area around them. A body lay sprawled in the yard, covered in blood, and Ben realized that the mobsters’ lookout had been murdered.
That meant a second threat. Ben dropped to the ground, trying to stay out of the way as gunfire sounded and the Newark goons exchanged fire with a new enemy who had taken cover outside the door.
They didn’t stand a chance. Within seconds, the Newark leader and his men sprawled dead on the concrete steps as a man in tactical gear with night vision goggles strode up and hauled Ben to his feet, giving him a quick once over.
Two others took Ben and held him up like a prize trophy as the new man in charge took a picture, then dialed a cell phone.
“Mitchell. Give us what we want, and no one dies.” The Russian’s accent didn’t leave any question about his affiliation.
Ben heard the zing of a photo being sent. He couldn’t make out Erik’s response and wondered what his partner thought about the switch in kidnappers.
“The window from the Wildwood collector, and the dome from the Commodore Wilson. You’ll find out where he is when we get what we want,” the Russian replied to whatever Erik had said. “Keep the cops out of it, or I shoot him.” He ended the call and spared Ben a disdainful glance. “Let’s go.”
The Jersey guys had taken Ben’s gun, and the Russians didn’t seem worried enough about what else he might be carrying to pat him down. They hurried him to a panel van parked behind the rental house and shoved him inside, driving away before the doors were closed.
Ben hoped the neighbors would report shots fired. Several of the nearby houses were occupied year-round. He hated to think of what the aftermath would look like for the cops to clean up. Moments later, he heard sirens and felt a flash of hope.
“You think Barone is going to accept killing his people and not come after you?” Ben asked from where he was sandwiched between two brawny men. “He wants the same windows.”
“Shut up,” the operative next to Ben growled and elbowed him hard in the ribs.
“Barone couldn’t find his dick with both hands.” The Russian drove with his headlights out through the dark streets at a speed that made Ben fear a whole different cause of death. “He is an idiot.”
Ben didn’t argue. The guard next to him had jammed the muzzle of his handgun into Ben’s side, and point-blank, he couldn’t miss. He and Erik had both been kidnapped more than Ben wanted to recall, and it never got less terrifying.
Ben tried to settle into his seat and felt a hard knot in his back pocket.
The dog collar had a tracker. Maybe Erik can use that to find me.
If Jenny remembers to mention it. If Erik can get in touch with the renters to have them track the tag. If the dog owners aren’t too far out of range to pick up the signal.
That had better not be my only chance, or I’m royally screwed.
The sound of sirens faded. Occasional flashes of lightning lit up enough for Ben to realize they were heading out of town, toward the port.
That made sense, since the commercial fishing hub had plenty of big warehouses, some of which were less active in the Fall.
Even if Erik suspected that was where the Russians took him, finding them would take far too long.
“Get out.” One of the goons dragged Ben from the van, and he nearly fell. The two men caught him and marched him inside at gunpoint.
Inside, a few security lights kept the warehouse from being completely dark, and Ben could hear the hum of a generator.