CHAPTER 2

One month after Matteo Falcone was released from federal prison:

Ranger's POV

I hated leaving Stephanie alone, even for a week, but Roberto Flores was a good friend and he was desperate. He'd called late one night and I knew this wasn't a business emergency; his voice was hushed yet shrill at the same time.

Roberto explained that his young son, whom he'd named Carlos after me, had been kidnapped and a ransom demand had been issued. It was a frequent occurrence in Latin America; a way the cartels made a little extra money and sent messages to people who refused to do business with them. Roberto was more than willing to pay the ransom, but he didn't trust the kidnappers to release his son unharmed. That's where I came in. I was to deliver the money and make sure his son came home safe and sound.

I booked a flight and flew down to Buenos Aires to meet with Roberto. It was a long flight and I caught some z's. I had a crazy dream about treading water that seemed to last forever. It reminded me of my training days during Ranger School only this dream didn't have a happy ending.

Roberto picked me up at the airport. He was a tall imposing man, swarthy with the lean ropy muscles of a swimmer. There was a lot more grey showing in his thick black hair than when I'd first met him, but the lines around his eyes and mouth were new. I could see the desperation in him. Roberto had had Carlos late in life and he was his only child. I didn't have children yet, but I could imagine how he felt.

Many years ago, Roberto had saved my life by hiding me from the vengeful son of a drug lord I'd assassinated while I was under contract with the U.S. government. In the intervening years, I'd helped Roberto resolve problems with the cartels several times. They'd infiltrated his pharmaceuticals company, stolen top-secret drug research from him, and they had tried to shake him down for protection money. Now, with his son's life in danger, he was understandably upset, but he'd raised the ransom money and entrusted it, as well as his son's safety, to me.

The kidnappers had called and left instructions for the money drop. I was to fly out to an island in the Pacific, about a three-hour flight due west of Santiago. The island was known as Isla Más a Tierra, or Robinson Crusoe Island, part of the Juan Fernández Archipelago and a protected national preserve. The large island was quite isolated with only about 800 people living there, mainly lobster fishermen. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble for what should have been a simple exchange of a suitcase full of money for a young child.

I flew into Santiago and met with Flores' private pilot. He had a small plane ready and waiting for me. The pilot knew the score and, as a trusted employee of Flores, he was willing not only to fly me out to the island, but he also pledged to be my backup. A quick flash of his jacket revealed his shoulder harness complete with an older model .357 Magnum.

An hour before we were to leave, I called Stephanie. It had only been two days, but I already missed her beyond reason. I couldn't believe how quickly she had become an integral part of my life. We hadn't spent one night apart since the day I'd proposed to her, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

We were planning our wedding and I found I enjoyed it. I liked working with Steph, seeing how her mind worked; we were so different from each other. I was careful, methodical and thorough and Steph was impulsive, chaotic and delightfully creative. I liked her unpredictability. For a man who didn't smile very much, I'd worn a perpetual grin the last few months. I told her I'd be home in a few days and then found myself making kissy noises over the phone. Oh, how the mighty have fallen!

The flight out to the archipelago was uneventful. Before I left Santiago, I studied satellite maps of the area and knew there was a dirt landing strip in the southern end of our target island. There were a few small outbuildings near the airstrip, but the only town on the island was several miles to the northeast. The pilot made a circle to line up with the southern end of the runway and we began our descent. We were a few hundred yards from the edge of the airstrip when the unexpected ping of bullets hitting the plane had both the pilot and me scrambling. The pilot immediately pulled the plane up and broke off the landing attempt, not sure where the gunfire was coming from.

We flew north of the island and discussed our options. The problem was we had to land, not just for the exchange of the money for the child, but we had to refuel the plane to be able to make the return flight to Santiago. The only available fuel within three hundred miles was on Más a Tierra and we had only enough fuel to stay in the air for another thirty minutes or so.

The pilot circled around and now we both could see a boat anchored off the south end of the island, near the cliffs where the airstrip began. If that wasn't bad enough, the pilot informed me we were rapidly losing what little fuel we had left. A bullet must have clipped the gas line or punctured the tank itself. We both agreed our best option was to land from the north side to avoid the boat, if that was truly where the gunfire had come from.

We circled again and started our descent from the north, but just as before, we heard gunshots striking the plane. This time though, we didn't have a choice. We had to land. We both checked our weapons and prepared for a battle. As soon as the plane touched down, we could feel something was wrong. There were no brakes and the wing flaps weren't working. We were barely slowing down and it was a very short runway. It took less than a minute to reach the end of the airstrip and the plane soared off the edge of the cliff.

The pilot immediately turned the plane south, trying to avoid being hit by more bullets from the boat. But in mid-turn the engine burst into flames. We turned again, hoping to be able to glide to a safe landing on the island. It was not to be. The fire had spread to the wings. We prepared for an imminent crash into the ocean.

My last thought was of Stephanie…