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Kate could have kicked herself. She shouldn’t have been so quick to tell him that she’d already raised the money. Not a good negotiating tactic.

“You can’t keep asking for more money,” she said, and then she found the fortitude to talk tough. “I have my limits.”

“This deal is not about money anymore,” he said.

“Kidnapping is always about money.”

“Not this one. Keep your money.”

“What do you want?”

“Code.”

“What kind of code?”

“Buck Technologies code.”

“You’re asking for something I can’t deliver.”

“Don’t lie to me, Kate. I know who your father is.”

Kate stepped a little farther away from the front door. “You asked for money, and I got it. That was the deal.”

“Wasthe deal. The deal’s changed. If you want to see Patrick alive, you’re going to deliver exactly what I want.”

“You can’t just say you want code. What code are you talking about?”

“I think you’ve got enough to chew on for now, Kate. Keep your phone on. Answer when I call.”

The voice on the line was definitely different. The deal was different. Too much was changing, and it was making Kate’s heart pound. “Who are you?” she asked.

“Silly question.”

“You don’t sound like the man who called me before. I want to talk to Patrick. I need to know he’s there.”

“Soon,” the man said. “We’ll talk very soon.”

The line went silent.

Kate stood alone on the porch, still holding her phone, wondering what to tell her father.

Chapter 38

The open Jeep was speeding toward the coast, and Javier smelled seafood. Not the rich aroma ofcazuelademariscosor some other tasty Colombian dish, but the pervasive stench of the seafood industry at Colombia’s main Pacific port of call.

Buenaventura—literally, “good fortune”—has evolved into a twenty-first-century hub of trade and commerce, blessed by proximity to Chile and Mexico and direct access to trade routes with the Asian markets. It hadn’t always lived up to its name. Javier was a product of the old port of Buenaventura, one of the deadliest places in Colombia, where “good fortune” meant living to see another day in the never-ending cocaine wars for control of the port.

“Stop here,” said Javier.

His driver slammed on the brakes, overreacting to the command, which nearly sent Javier flying through the windshield.

“Comemierda,”Javier said, as he slapped the “dumbass” with the back of his hand. “Don’t you know how to drive?”

“Not really,” he said, cowering.

Javier reminded himself that he was just a kid, which was probably the reason Patrick Battle had let him live after killing the others. Javier had found the kid cowering in the corner, clutching the cellphone he’d used to call Javier—the same cell Javier had then used to call Kate.

“She knows it was a different caller this time,” said Javier, as he stuffed Inkface’s cellphone into his pocket. “She said my voice sounded different.”

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