by Jeff Gunhus
“A hell of a gathering to take out if your goal is to destabilize the world order,” Rick said.
The comment earned him a glaring look from his boss. Dreslan shook his head. “Because of the attendees, the level of security for the event is incredible. We’ve been working on it for a year, in earnest for the last six months. There’s zero chance Scarvan penetrates more than one layer of hard security.”
“I wouldn’t underestimate him,” Mara said.
Dreslan’s face reddened. “Getting into the General Assembly hall would require him to penetrate nine levels of security. For that session, it will be the most secure building on the planet, even compared to this one.”
“Besides,” Nancy said, “we’re not having the president of the United States skip out on the largest gathering of heads of state on U.S. soil, for Christ’s sake.”
The president held up a hand. “Nancy, please.” He turned to Hawthorn. “Look, Jim, I’m taking this seriously. I know you’re not an alarmist and you and your team wouldn’t be in here if you weren’t legitimately worried. But this Scarvan. He is human, isn’t he?”
“Yes sir,” Hawthorn said. “But he’s a master at thinking of solutions to problems no one imagined. Accessing areas thought impenetrable is what this man does. If you could just––”
“The gala,” Rick said, cutting Hawthorn off.
The room turned toward him.
“That evening, there’s a gala reception at the New York Public Library,” he continued. “The Rose Reading Room is being transformed into a sit-down dinner for the heads of state. We’ll have it locked down, but there are more vulnerabilities there than at the UN. That’s where he might go for it.”
“We have an iron-tight plan to secure the building,” Dreslan said, again looking frustrated with his subordinate. “We will protect the attendees at both events using every means at our disposal.”
“But Special Agent Hallsey is correct. It is less secure than the UN building,” Hawthorn said.
Rick, as if sensing he’d already gone too far, remained silent. Reluctantly, Dreslan agreed. “The UN was built with the intention of heads of state safely coming and going. The New York Public Library presents more issues. Especially this year.”
“You’re talking about the protests,” Patterson said. “We’ve had this discussion. Several times. I don’t want to change that decision.”
“What’s the issue with the protestors?” Mara asked, sensing she was wading into the middle of an argument.
Patterson gave a dismissive wave of his hand, as if giving approval for Dreslan to share with the group.
Dreslan answered, but he didn’t look happy about it. “We’re following standard protocol with the UN arrivals, blocking streets in the area to create a secure zone. The UN has a say in security arrangements there. There won’t be a protestor within blocks of the building.”
“World’s greatest democracy,” Patterson mumbled, “and we’re telling people they don’t have a say.”
“But the gala, that’s under our control,” Dreslan continued. “Protests will be allowed closer to the event location.”
“How much closer?” Mara asked.
“Bryant Park is being designated,” Dreslan said. “And another area blocked off at Forty-second and Fifth all the way to Grand Central Station.”
“How can we lecture all these totalitarian regimes about allowing dissent and then cordon off half of Manhattan just so they can arrive comfortably to a dinner party?” Patterson said. “I want them to hear the voices in Bryant Park. I want American democracy on show as they arrive.”
“I’m not qualified to say whether the protestors are a good idea or not,” Scott said. “But seems to me that Scarvan’s stated intention to take out the entire gathering of world leaders will not be helped or hurt by their addition, except perhaps to tie up more resources to control the crowd.”
Dreslan bristled. “Thank you for your analysis. I would never have agreed to the protest areas unless I was confident we can provide adequate security.”
“The best protection is still not to attend,” Mara said. “Mr. President, would you consider doing the UN address and then skip the library event that evening?”
“He can’t skip the dinner,” Nancy said. “The optics on that would be terrible. And what if there was an attack? All the leaders killed except the president, who decided at the last minute not to attend? How would that look?”
The room grew quiet as what she’d said sank in. The president spoke first. “Are you suggesting that if the room of world leaders gets blown up, you think it’d be better for me to be in the room because of the optics?”
Nancy backtracked, sputtering her words. “It’s not what I meant. We’re just spitballing here anyway. Jesus.”
The president stood. When he did, everyone followed suit.
“I’ve made my decision,” he said. “I’ll attend the UN General Assembly and represent the United States of America with honor as her delegate that day. If Scarvan is still in the open after that, I’ll develop an illness, or some kind of crisis, and we’ll cancel the gala event that evening for everyone. If it’s not safe enough for me to go, I’ll not allow others to risk it.” He pointed to Dreslan. “Secure both locations to the best of your ability. It’s not just me you’re protecting. If something happens to this group of world leaders, not only will it bring dishonor on America, but the world will spin into chaos.”
He walked around his desk, looking out the window, his voice changing.
“Imagine the turmoil if this madman pulled it off. Wiping out every head of state in one blow. The financial markets will crash. Hardliners across the world would use the opportunity to exploit any weakness to grab power. Every hotspot in the world will explode during the resulting leadership fights.”
He turned back to face the room.
“We can’t let this thing happen.” He pointed to Scott and Mara. “You two need to catch Scarvan. And when you do, you put him down.”
CHAPTER 44
After the meeting was over, Mara was able to talk briefly with Rick. They’d shaken hands like colleagues instead of lovers, even though everyone around them knew they were in a relationship. No public displays of affection while on the job. That was their rule. It was especially true in the White House.
Still, touching his hand sent a shudder through her body. She couldn’t wait to get him alone. Especially after his performance in the Oval Office. Watching his mind work and seeing him stand strong against Dreslan turned her on more than candles and champagne ever could have. He’d texted her that they had a chance to meet, but only for an hour, between three and four. She decided to make it work, intending to make the most of the hour.
At 2:45, she made her way over to the newly refurbished W Hotel, a reimagining of the historic Washington Hotel just across the street from the Treasury Building. Hawthorn had insisted on the short break to give them time to grab a shower and a change of clothes. She secretly wondered if he’d done so knowing it would give her a chance to see Rick, but she didn’t ask. She decided to just assume he did and allowed herself to feel thankful toward her boss.
Her first order of business had been to place a call to Joey. Marie answered the phone, Lucy’s mother-in-law. The older woman made things easy. There was never any undertone to her voice, only genuine happiness at hearing her voice. She shouted for Joey, who was apparently outside with some of the neighbor boys from the next farm over.
While they waited, Marie updated her on Joey’s activities over the last two weeks. Even though Mara had called every day since she’d been gone, she’d only connected a handful of times. She appreciated Marie’s effort to share what a great time Joey was having—fishing, riding bikes, overnight campouts with his new buddies. The best summer a young boy could have. When Joey got on the phone, Mara had him share all the same stories, careful to sound surprised and amazed as if hearing everything for the first time.
Then she heard some
other kids in the room calling his name and Joey politely asked if he could go back outside and play. Mara of course told him he should do exactly that and said her goodbyes. Once Marie was back on the phone, she didn’t ask once when Mara would come get Joey. Mara knew she desperately wanted to keep him there. And, not for the first time, Mara wondered whether she was being selfish not letting Joey have that normal life.
Lucy had asked Mara to take care of Joey, to protect him and keep him safe. She took that mission to be her most important. But what was the use of protecting him from stubbing his toe or from breaking his arm climbing a tree if the world collapsed around him?
Her dad used to say his missions were never about saving the world. It was about protecting his family, who lived in that world.
She’d never truly understood that until now.
Still, she wasn’t about to make any decision on that. Not right in the middle of a mission. If anything happened to her, the paperwork was already set up to have Marie and Ted take guardianship over Joey. And they’d expressed that they’d be more than happy to take on that responsibility at any time.
It was something she needed to consider.
But not today.
Mara said her goodbyes and promised to call again when she could. Marie told her to be safe and not to worry about Joey. Mara hung up the phone feeling only a short pang of guilt for not being there for the boy, but mostly gratitude for his terrific grandparents. Joey’s other set of grandparents were a devil-may-care international assassin and a dead woman. The kid was batting .500 on stable role models in his grandparents. That was pretty good in baseball, and maybe it wasn’t a bad average in a family, either.
Mara entered the hotel off of Fifteenth Street and made her way through the new lobby, taking in the new hipster vibe of the place. The check-in area had been transformed from marble and pillars filled with old-world charm into a sleek, glistening area with a shining black-and-white color scheme. Each of the three check-in desks was fronted by backlit white panels covered with caricatures of political figures and businesspeople. A soft, funky beat filled the room from hidden speakers.
She bypassed the front desk and headed to the bank of elevators. Rick had already texted her their room number.
As the elevator rose to the eighth floor, she felt the sexual tension building. The attraction to Rick was his mind, his dedication to his country, his character that she’d seen on display over and over in both his work and out in the world.
But he was also an incredible lover.
And that was all she was thinking about.
She caught her reflection in one of the mirrors in the hallway and stopped. She looked like hell. She’d been in her clothes since the day before, an off-the-rack suit purchased in Prague by Anna’s aide, who had guessed her size and taste. She’d showered in Prague, washing her own blood out of her hair from where Scarvan knocked her unconscious. But her neck had turned a dark purple and was laced with scratches. It wasn’t her sexiest look.
But based on the way Rick had looked at her when they’d been together in the Oval, that wasn’t going to matter.
She undid her hair, allowing it to spill across her shoulders, sweeping it in front of her neck. It hid some of the damage from nearly being hanged less than twenty-four hours ago, but just barely. She shrugged. It was going to have to do.
She found their room, double-checking the number on the text she’d received. She knocked in a playful cadence, expecting the door to open right away.
No answer.
She checked the room number again. It was correct.
She knocked again, a sinking feeling in her chest that maybe he’d been delayed.
But he would have contacted her if he was going to be late or had to cancel.
She was about to knock a third time when she heard a noise come from inside the room. She smiled, thinking through the next ninety seconds, imagining how fast she could get Rick’s clothes off him.
The door opened. A gun pointed at her face.
There was no time to react. Nothing to do.
She shifted her eyes from the gun to the face of the man holding it.
It was a face she knew. A man she’d fought and bested the last time they’d met.
She knew him only as Asset.
“Hello, Mara,” he said. “It’s time we had a talk. Please come in.”
CHAPTER 45
Scott opened the door to Alpha Team headquarters for Anna. He figured it was the least he could do since he was the reason for her arm being in a sling. Surprisingly, she’d seemed to have already gotten over him shooting her. In Scott’s prior experience, people tended to hold a grudge for a while after they’d been shot. Jacobslav Scarvan being the perfect example.
But Anna was a pro. Not only that, but she understood better than most his attachment to Mara. It was left unsaid, but if the circumstances had required a fatal shot instead of just a flesh wound, there was no doubt between them what would have happened.
And Anna was fine with that.
Which was one of the reasons Scott found her to be such an amazing woman.
“So, this is where the magic happens?” Anna said, looking around at the command center at the heart of Alpha.
Scott grinned. It was the same line she’s used the first time they’d gone into his bedroom together. He would rather have been there than in the middle of Alpha, but he knew that was pressing his luck. Anna may have got why he did what he did, and she may have been a pro, but he wasn’t so far out of the doghouse to expect any love right now.
“This is it,” Scott said.
The room appeared like a mini command center for a space launch. Rows of lightning-fast computers manned by young, tech-savvy analysts. Screens covered the far wall, capable of working both individually and together to create larger images. Photos of the United Nations building and the New York Public Library appeared on the screen, along with schematics, architectural drawings, security layouts, and other information the team was using.
Jim Hawthorn walked from his office and extended his hand. “Good to see you, Anna. Thank you for agreeing to help. Sorry to hear what happened.”
Anna reached out awkwardly with her left hand. “It’s what happens when you spend time with the wrong people. Happy to help any way I can.”
Hawthorn directed their attention back to the screens. “We have two teams working. Blue team has the UN building and red team on the NYPL.”
“NYPL?” Anna asked.
“New York Public Library,” Scott said. “Its main branch on Fifth Avenue is the location for the gala after the General Assembly session. Not only will it be the greatest collection of heads of state but add to that a who’s who list of dignitaries and celebrities that want to mix with the power brokers of the world.”
“Our thinking is that one of these two locations is Scarvan’s target,” Hawthorn said. “Of the two, the NYPL has the easier security to breach.”
“I’m not certain that’s the case,” Anna said.
That got the two men’s attention.
Anna walked to the screen showing an aerial view of the UN building. “Everything about this place screams security. Hardened perimeter. Controlled entry points. Underground arrivals. The place looks like a bunker.”
“But?” Scott asked.
“Its apparent strength is the weakness. Leads to complacency. Even you two assumed Scarvan would hit the library.”
Hawthorn was all ears. “How does he do it?”
“Diplomatic immunity protocols are the way I’d go in,” Anna said. “For all these safeguards and controls, diplomats require secrecy to ply their trade. The norms allow for diplomatic pouches to go unchecked. This can be an entry point for toxins, bomb parts, etcetera that can then be reassembled inside. We’ve all done it ourselves.”
Hawthorn and Scott shared a look. They actually had not. Anna gave them a disapproving look.
“Well, you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Let’s s
ay he’s used the diplomatic pouches. You’d need people on the inside to pull all this off,” Scott said. “Take possession. Stash the contraband someplace.”
“Each country submits documents for members of their delegation. Background checks are conducted, but it’s not hard to submit the bio of a look-alike to get clearance. If it’s some lower-level person, a simple bribe works to smuggle something in. If it’s someone in authority, like a delegate, then they are shown a great deal of deference once inside. The whole idea of egalitarianism in the institution means the smallest country has equal access as the heavyweights.”
“So, you think Scarvan has what he needs already in place?” Hawthorn said.
Anna shrugged. “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying we need to take care not to let the perception of security blind us. But if he does have the means to carry out the attack already inside, the question becomes, how does he get in?”
“His face is plugged in to every facial recognition software imaginable,” Hawthorn said. “He steps foot in Manhattan, and we’ll pick him up. Or we’ll pick up anyone walking around with a full-face mask on.”
“Unfortunately, you won’t know he’s wearing a mask,” came a man’s voice with a British accent. Jordi Pines walked out from a back room wearing board shorts and an enormous T-shirt with the face of Jeff Bridges as the Dude from The Big Lebowski on it. The analysts at their desks watched him warily as if a new species of animal had just entered their cage.
“Anna, this is Jordi Pines,” Hawthorn said. “He’s our secret weapon.”
Anna reached out to shake Jordi’s hand. Jordi held up his hand to show it was covered with orange dust. Doritos or Cheetos, Scott couldn’t tell which. Perhaps both.
“Not too secret,” Anna said. “I’m familiar with Mr. Pines. Or at least his reputation.”
Jordi looked around the room as if making sure everyone had heard. “Whatever you’ve heard is only the stuff I let people know.” He lowered his voice. “The real goodies I keep secret.”
