“The lack of a clear motive—other than a hatred for the luxuries of western life—it’s one of the things that makes Al-Farook such an infuriating adversary,” I told her. “And, of course, it makes it almost impossible to predict where he’s going to attack next. To an extremist like him, the entire western world is a target.”
I sighed and ran my hand through my hair.
“I’ve been chasing this guy for well over two years and I’ve always been, not just one step behind but two or three. Always playing catch-up. He never makes a mistake.”
Christine came toward me and put her hand on my arm, raising those enormous blue eyes to meet mine.
“He will make a mistake, Jason,” she told me, with just a hint of a smile. “In fact, maybe he already has.”
Chapter 7
Christine
Jason wanted to get the photos he had taken of the diamonds sent to his man Warick as soon as possible, so he decided to head upstairs to the office Billman had set aside for his use while he was in London.
I found his relationship with Warick perplexing. I had never met a man as confident in his own ability as Agent Jason Kern, yet he seemed to defer to this contact on so many things—doubting his own instincts and, worst of all, ignoring any troubling behavior, such as Warick’s intimate knowledge of the attacks barely forty-eight hours after they had taken place. It was easy for the lines to become blurred when agents had contacts they worked with closely over a long period of time. What starts as a professional relationship soon becomes an awkward sort of friendship—but one where the agent ends up keeping secrets from his or her friend. Maybe in this case, Jason had become a bit chattier than he'd intended.
I decided I needed to know more about Warick—and about Agent Jason Kern. My career, and perhaps my safety, relied upon my ability to trust Jason; which meant I either needed to trust Warick, too, or figure out just what it was about their relationship that worried me.
I headed upstairs myself and popped my head in the door of Billman’s office.
“Is she free?” I mouthed at the secretary, who was busy on a phone call. She nodded in response and I headed in.
“Anything from the lab?” Billman asked me as soon as I entered.
“Maybe. Jason, I mean Agent Kern, wants to run a few things by his diamond contact first.” I paused.
“Something wrong?” Billman had always been able to read me like a book.
“I have a few concerns about his contact—a Brit by the name of Adam Alan Warick. He seems to have a lot of Jason’s confidence without giving a lot back in return.” I was unsure whether to tell Billman about the detailed information Warick had about the London bombing. Expressing my personal concerns was one thing, but if I suspected that someone—maybe even Agent Kern — was leaking information to an external informant, then the situation would soon escalate way beyond my control. I decided to keep quiet for now.
“He just seems a bit secretive about him, I suppose,” I tried to sound as breezy as possible. “I assume we’ll have a file on Warick, and I was hoping to get access to it so that I could learn more about him. Perhaps I could also get our file on Agent Kern, too?”
I hadn’t meant to ask for Jason’s file. It was a last-minute decision, and I wasn’t even sure why I’d asked. Was I suspicious of Jason’s close relationship with Warick, or was I suspicious of Jason himself? Maybe the real truth was that I wanted to learn more about the man I appeared to be falling for quite dramatically.
Billman agreed to have the files sent up to my desk and I headed back there, stopping on the way to fill up on yet more coffee. Eventually, I knew I would have to sleep, but while Al-Farook was out there, I was determined to keep going. Besides, there were so many troubling questions about this investigation, I was sure I wouldn't be able to calm my mind enough for sleep to come.
I spent a couple of hours looking over the files on Warick and Jason. Warick appeared clean as a whistle—or as clean as someone working in the diamond trade could be. He had a couple of questionable contacts in the industry—men suspected of smuggling or involvement in the blood diamond trade—but none of them had been convicted, and it appeared, on paper at least, that Warick had kept his own hands clean. He was Oxford-educated, from old money, had never married and had apparently devoted his life to his very successful career. He had money, lots of money, according to his financials, so it was unlikely anyone could buy him off, and there didn’t appear to be much to blackmail him with; he was too much of a workaholic for a seedy personal life.
Jason’s personnel file was equally reassuring. Steady start at the agency, only making waves when Al-Farook became a major target, and since then he had received commendations for his work on the investigation. I felt a strange sense of pride when I read his achievements, but I also felt relieved that my gut feelings about him were not entirely misplaced—just inappropriate for the workplace…
Seeing as the files were a blank, I went back to watching the Al-Farook videos. I think it was on my third viewing of the most recent video that something caught my eye. There was a strange sort of pattern to the blinking; no, not a pattern exactly. But there was a uniformity to it. He either blinked normally, quickly, or he blinked slowly. There was nothing in between.
I sat back. That almost sounded like it could be the dots and dashes of Morse code. Had Al-Farook been trying to communicate another message to us all this time?
I grabbed the phone and dialed the number for the hotel where Jason was staying, asking to be put through to his room. It rang and rang, and I was about to hang up, thinking he had gone out for a very late dinner, when someone answered.
“Hello?” I asked. Had reception put me through to the wrong room?
“What time is it?” a very befuddled and sleepy voice said. No, that was Jason. I smiled. He sounded so different from his normal, slightly brash, American self.
“It’s Christine,” I replied. “And it’s about 2am.”
There was no response.
“Did I wake you?” I asked cheekily.
“No, I was just… I just dozed off reading some files.” At the other end, Jason was slowly pulling himself together. I felt cruel. Jetlag was a bitch—but I knew he wouldn’t want to sleep through my latest discovery.
“I think I’ve spotted something else in the Al-Farook tapes.”
“Really?” I had his attention now.
“Remember the strange blinking I mentioned? Well, I think it’s deliberate. I think it’s Morse code.”
Jason was silent. “But why would he be blinking in Morse code? Why not just say what he wants to say?”
That was the one thing I couldn’t explain; the one hole in my theory. “I don’t know—but it’s worth looking into, right?
“Of course, of course,” Jason answered. “So, what’s he saying?”
I didn’t answer.
“Christine?”
“I don’t know Morse code,” I admitted eventually. “Well, I know a few key letters—SOS, that kind of thing—but not enough to translate a whole message.”
I heard Jason laugh on the other end of the phone. “Are you at the office?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be over in a few minutes.”
Jason was as good as his word, and twenty minutes later he was being shown up to my open-plan office, bearing fresh coffee and doughnuts.
“Early breakfast,” he told me. “So, let’s see this Morse code.”
I glanced over at him. There was something a little teasing about his tone. Did he not believe me? I had probably pricked his professional pride by spotting it, but that was no reason to play down my achievement. Even if I was wrong, at least I was thinking out of the box; given that he had been chasing Al-Farook for years, it was probably going to take something unconventional for us to finally catch him.
I played the second and then the third videos, where I felt the blinking pattern was clearest; as his health deteriorated through the last two films, the eyes were l
ess visible and therefore the pattern, if it existed, was harder to see. Jason was watching intently. After the first viewing, he pressed ‘play’ again.
Suddenly, he paled. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“All this time, it was right there. Right there in front of us,” he answered cryptically.
“What was there? What are you talking about?”
He seemed to come back to earth at that point. “Look,” he began, moving the video forward to a specific spot. “This is the video we received after the attack in Chicago, right? I think you’re right about the Morse code—here”—he pressed ‘play’ and allowed the clip to move forward for a few seconds— “I’m sure he’s blinking the word New. As in New York.”
We both sat in silence as we realized the significance of Jason’s words.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Pretty sure, but I want an expert to look at all these tapes right away—especially the last one.”
I knew why Jason wanted the techs to look at the last video. If he was right, then Al-Farook had been warning us about his future attacks all along.
I called the techs immediately and told them about our theory. As soon as I hung up, I called Billman, who’d asked to be kept in the loop, no matter what time we got a result.
We waited in silence for several minutes, until my phone rang. With a glance at Jason, I picked up the handset.
“What did you find?” I asked.
“You were right,” said the voice on the other end. “Each of the last four videos warns about the next attack—city and date.”
I nodded at Jason who swore under his breath.
“And the most recent clip?” I asked urgently.
“It says: ‘not my doing, please help me, Antwerp, Thurs 18’”.
Thursday the 18th? That was only a few days away. Al-Farook—or whoever was controlling him—was escalating. I thanked the tech guy and hung up.
“It’s not Al-Farook,” I told Jason, who shook his head in disbelief. “It never has been. But if we want to stop who is behind this, we need to get to Antwerp as soon as possible.”
Chapter 8
Jason
I listened in disbelief to what Christine told me after she got off the phone with her tech guys. Had I really been so blind? Had I become fixated on Al-Farook; fixated on the agenda that he, or whoever he was working for, had sold me in those damn videos? It had never even crossed my mind that there was anything other than Islamic extremism going on. The idea that there was something more sinister happening couldn't have been further from my mind. I felt ashamed, not only that I had failed to spot what had been happening, but also that I had been only too eager to buy into the idea that another disgruntled Muslim kid was blowing up our streets. I felt pretty stupid, to be honest, but also strangely proud of Christine.
She wanted me to call Billman and explain the situation—I think she was trying to help me recover some shred of my credibility—but I insisted that she make the call. She deserved all the credit for this catch. From what I could hear of the conversation, it was clear that her boss was insisting that we go to Antwerp together. Even though my mind was focused on Al-Farook, there was room for a little pleasure at the thought of having Christine all to myself for a few days.
Christine hung up. “We leave for Belgium tonight. Billman is going to arrange a private plane for us—can you go to the airport as you are?”
I looked down at my outfit. I had my gun in my shoulder holster—that was all I needed. “I guess so. What about you? Don’t you need to pack?”
She shook her head. A woman who traveled light. Hallelujah!
I decided to call Warick from the car, to see if he had anything useful for me on the diamonds. It was late at night in the States, but he would still be awake. Sure enough, he answered after a couple of rings.
“Jason, my boy. How are you?”
“Good,” I replied. “Just checking if you have any thoughts on those photos I sent you?”
“What’s the rush? I’ve been at dinner all evening, but I can take a look now, if its urgent.”
“Not urgent, exactly. But it would be useful to get your insight before we leave.”
“Leave?” Warick asked casually.
“Yes, we have some intel on the next attack and we’re on our way there now.” I noticed Christine watching me oddly.
“How terrible,” Warick replied. “I do hope you manage to catch the little bastard. UK again, or is it back in the States?”
“Neither. Antwerp.” Out of the corner of my eye, I was sure I saw Christine shake her head. Warick laughed ironically.
“Antwerp. Diamonds. Makes sense! Well, good luck, Jason. I’ll let you know if I see anything useful in those snaps you sent me.”
Billman was waiting for us with papers for the Belgian authorities; they had been warned of our arrival, and were more than happy for the assistance, apparently. Interagency working was obviously much smoother in Europe than in the US.
The pilot nodded hello from the cockpit as we got on board and then closed the door, leaving Christine and me alone in the main cabin as we took off. She was quiet—even for her.
“Something wrong?” I asked. She smiled weakly.
“I just keep thinking about this guy. Al-Farook, or whatever his name is. Not only has he been made public enemy number one, but, clearly, whoever has him is treating him terribly. And this has been going on for almost three years!”
She suddenly looked over at me guiltily.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
I moved to the seat next to her, ignoring the ‘fasten seatbelt’ sign. If you couldn’t ignore the rules on a private jet, when could you?
“I know what you meant. And you’re right. For years, I’ve treated this guy as a run of the mill terrorist. It would never even have crossed my mind to think of him as the victim. It took your fresh approach to help me see what I’ve been missing.”
Christine looked up, and I could see that those deep blue eyes were brimming with tears. Goddamn—the damsel in distress thing turned me on every time.
“You think he’s a victim?” she asked quietly.
“I’m afraid we have to consider that option,” I replied.
“That poor man,” Christine said, and I felt her move toward me. Was she seeking comfort or something more? I looked over at the cockpit, where the door remained resolutely closed. For all intents and purposes, we were alone up here.
I lifted Christine’s head from my shoulder and leaned in toward her, placing a soft kiss on her lips, then another. I waited, giving her the chance to draw away, to tell me to get lost — but she did neither. I kissed her again, and she responded.
We kissed passionately as I maneuvered her to a prone position on the small sofa where we had been sitting, before running my lips down her neck, delivering soft kisses here and there, and enjoying her gasps of pleasure. I lifted myself up on my arms so that I could look at her lying beneath me.
“Are you sure you want this?” There was a moment of hesitation, but then she nodded shyly, biting her lip as she did so. I felt myself begin to harden; it was always the shy, quiet ones that got me going.
I slowly peeled off her shirt, kissing the swell of her breasts, which were just as soft as I had imagined. She was wriggling out of her pants, but she seemed hesitant to take off my clothes. I gave her a hand with that, and soon we were lying in each other’s arms in just our underwear.
My cock was so hard now, and Christine gave me a shy smile when she saw it; as if she were surprised that she could excite a man to that extent. This girl really had no idea what she was doing to me—and that just made her even sexier.
I went back to kissing her and slipped a hand inside her panties. She moaned softly as my fingers ran over her sex, which was wet and ready for me. I roughly pulled down her underwear, kissing her hard as I slipped off my boxers.
Lifting myself up on my arms once more, I positioned myself, put on a condom I had
set aside, and then slowly entered her. I wanted to see her face as she felt me slide inside her, and it was as beautiful as I’d imagined.
This was not yet making love; this was lust, pure and simple. The result of a day of sexual tension, a day of intense pressure. We both needed the release, and, boy, did we get it. Within just a few thrusts, I saw the telltale flush of red on her breasts and face which told me she was about to come; and when she started making louder noises of pleasure, I knew it wouldn’t be long before I reached my climax, too.
Afterwards, we lay on the cramped sofa, soaked in sweat. I went to kiss her but she pulled away awkwardly, grabbing her shirt from the floor to try and cover herself.
“What is it?” I asked confused, and a little worried. Was this not what she’d wanted?
“That was amazing, Jason. Thank you. But, well, I don’t know if it’s the best thing to do when we’re working together?”
Now a little embarrassed, I, too, started to pull on my clothes. I thought there was a real connection between me and this girl, and now she was giving me the brush-off?
But as I sat in my own seat for the rest of the flight, I thought about what she’d said. Perhaps she was right. Neither of us needed the distraction while we were hunting Al-Farook—or whoever had been pulling his strings all this time. I watched her staring out of the window as we came in to land in Antwerp.
There would be plenty of time after we caught Al-Farook.
Chapter 9
Christine
I had just been looking for reassurance; someone to tell me that we were going to be able to help this poor guy Al-Farook, who, I was more convinced than ever, was clearly just a patsy for this whole string of attacks. I should have known better than to look for comfort from a man I found attractive, and who had been flirting with me since we met.
Toxic Seduction (Romantic Secret Agents Series Book 3) Page 5
