Free Tom Clancy Under Fire by Grant Blackwood Page A

tell him everything.”
    “Starting with where you are.”
    “Right.”
    “Good luck.”
    •   •   •
    JACK WALKED the three blocks to Wellesley’s apartment building and pressed the call button for the correct apartment. Wellesley answered: “Yes?”
    “Jack Ryan.”
    “Come up.”
    The door buzzed and Jack went through. When the elevator doors parted on the seventh floor, Wellesley was waiting. He led Jack into the apartment and offered him tea, which Jack declined. They sat down in the seating area before the windows. Spellman was nowhere in sight.
    “Where’s Matt?”
    “Elsewhere. Good heavens, Jack, what on earth happened to your face?”
    Wellesley’s surprise seemed genuine enough. Which meant nothing.
    They were on a first-name basis now, Jack noted. He took a moment to gather his thoughts. What he was about to say might permanently change the game. Whether he answered Wellesley’s question truthfully or with a lie, the SIS man’s reaction might tell Jack much. He decided on the former; it was the best way, he hoped, to maintain his babe-in-the-woods status with Wellesley and Spellman.
    “Someone grabbed me last night. There were a couple of them.”
    Wellesley leaned forward. “What? Where?”
    “Seth’s apartment. Not the Pardis condo. A second one.”
    “Go on.”
    “I woke up in a van. I managed to get away from them and . . .” Jack touched his forehead and frowned. “I don’t remember much after that. A woman picked me up and then I . . . Well, I guess I did something pretty stupid.”
    “Which was?”
    “I went back to Seth’s apartment.”
    “Why?”
    “There was a safe in there. At lunch, Seth asked me to get it for him. I went back for it, but the safe was open. There was nothing inside, so I left.”
    This was the weakest part of Jack’s story. While the man on the roof had neither seen Jack’s face nor heard his voice, the incident might in Wellesley’s eyes be too coincidental. Jack’s hope was that the SIS man assumed he was lying out of self-protection.
    “Why didn’t you tell us about Seth’s other apartment?”
    “How could I know you were who you claimed to be? Anyone can make up a business card. It means nothing.”
    “Good point,” replied Wellesley.
    “I have to ask, Raymond: I leave here and a few hours later I’m kidnapped. It looks bad.”
    “I understand.” Wellesley lowered his head in thought, slowly rubbing his thumb over his chin. “But I can assure you, Jack, it wasn’t me.”
    “You? Or you and Spellman.”
    Wellesley didn’t reply. “Just be careful from now on, Jack. I can get you some protection if you’d like.”
    “No, forget it.”
    “If you change your mind, call me. And you should go to the hospital and have your head seen to.”
    “Have you heard from Seth?”
    “Sadly, no. As I said, we’re quite concerned. Did you try to contact him?”
    “I texted him. I haven’t heard anything back. Listen, I have to be honest: I can’t believe he’s on the run with your money. That’s not the Seth I know. Could someone have taken him?”
    “Perhaps, but we have no evidence of that. We think he left of his own accord.”
    “Any idea where he might have gone? I could take a leave of absence from Hendley and—”
    “And what, Jack? Hunt for him like you’re in a Ludlum novel? Jack, I do admire your dedication to your friend, but you need to let us handle this. Go about your business. Inform us if Seth makes contact. That’s all you can do.”
    They stood up and shook hands. Wellesley walked him to the door and said good-bye.
    Jack returned to Ysabel’s Range Rover and climbed in.
    “Did they buy it?” she asked.
    “It was just Wellesley. I think so, but that’s one cagey bastard. And if he was behind it, he deserves an Oscar.”
    Jack’s disposable phone trilled. It was a text message. The screen read: IT’S SETH.
    Jack typed: WHERE ARE YOU?
    OUT OF TOWN.
    SAFE?
    Y, came Seth’s reply. FIND WHAT I LEFT FOR