by Cate Noble
It was a win-win. Once Harry got what he wanted, the CIA could keep Rufin and all his dirty little secrets encoded in data chips embedded in the renegade test subject know as Taz. Provided Taz was still alive and the chips were retrievable. And even if the data was viable, all that crap on mind control would require years of testing.
When the news broke that Abe Caldwell had been freed on bond pending a deal with the Justice Department, Harry left his father’s farm and paid Abe an unexpected visit.
Two bullets in the shoulder had Abe begging for mercy. Turned out the man was terrified of dying. In those last few hours of his life, Caldwell had spilled his guts over and over, hoping to win a respite.
“You and I can strike a new deal,” Abe had blubbered. “You can come to Zurich. We’ll both be protected there. I have connections you can only dream about.”
As a desperate show of good faith, Abe had spewed forth the combination to his safe, which had been well stocked with cash and gold Krugerrands. Not enough for Harry to retire on, however.
“I can get more,” Abe had gone on. “Please! Just let me call my personal physician.”
In the end, Caldwell even gave up his most valuable human asset: his mole within the Agency.
Taking over Caldwell’s personal traitor had been disgustingly easy. People sold their allegiance for money, not friendship. Loyalty was a matter of cash flow. And while the CIA mole would have to be done away with soon, for the time being the man was worth his weight in the Krugerrands Harry now controlled. Krugerrands the mole had been smart enough to stash away, amassing a secret fortune without the telltale trail of cash the Agency regularly checked for.
Growing impatient, Harry peeked out the blinds again. This time he noted that the southbound traffic was starting to creep along.
His cell phone went off just then with a special ringtone. Edguardo. “Finally,” Harry said. “What’s your ETA?”
“There’s been a problem,” Edguardo said.
Those four words had Harry snapping off the television. “Go on.”
“The men we hired were spotted by another woman, who ran to warn the target.”
“Jesus! If they blow this job—”
“Unfortunately, that’s exactly what they did. They knew they could be identified, so they firebombed the place before the police arrived.”
Harry groaned. Even though riskier, he and Ed-guardo had agreed to hire local talent to grab Gena Armstrong. A new face in a Podunk town like Sugar Springs would draw the attention of hometown cops faster than a hot fresh doughnut.
If everything had gone as planned, Edguardo would have eliminated the locals once Gena was handed off. In this part of the country, dead bodies were part of the landscape and were always blamed on border issues.
“I’ve taken care of the men,” Edguardo went on. “So it can’t be tied to us. In fact, the cops are already blaming the husband of an illegal alien.”
Harry peered out at the traffic again. It moved slowly. The familiar urge to flee built in his chest as he began shutting down his laptop. “What about the target? Is she dead?”
“Unknown. I’ve got a report of one fatality at the shelter. Plus several burn victims were transported to the local hospital. The fire spread to a nearby apartment building, so the body count is expected to climb.”
Harry climbed behind the wheel but didn’t start the engine. “See if you can find out if one of the victims is a thirty-year-old Caucasian female. Blond hair, blue eyes. Five-six. Then call me back.”
Swearing, he disconnected and stared out the window before drawing back and smashing his fist against the dash.
Gena Armstrong Gambrel would pay for screwing with Harry again. If she was one of the burn victims, he hoped she was suffering, but alive. Because right now he needed her to survive … just long enough to get leverage.
God, please, don’t let the bitch die.
Chapter Six
Washington, D.C. Area
October 4, 7:00 A.M.
“I want breakfast. Two eggs, scrambled, with toast. Coffee, black.” Rocco looked directly at the closed-circuit camera that monitored his movements in the room. He maintained three seconds of eye contact, then turned away before giving in to the urge to flip off the viewer.
Food was the last thing Rocco wanted, but he figured Thing 1 and Thing 2 would be more likely to respond to an innocuous-sounding request. Offering threats had done nothing.
And after a night of no sleep Rocco really could use the coffee. Edgy, he paced. He hated being kept in the dark, literally and figuratively. The windowless nine-foot square room made him restless.
Sparsely furnished, it held a twin bed, a wall-mounted television, a compact refrigerator, and a small-scale table with chairs just slightly larger than kiddy furniture. The adjacent bath was equally spartan: sink, shower, head.
Rocco was familiar with his place of detainment, the basement level of a high-rise not too far outside D.C. He had debriefed “persons of interest” here before. He’d just never imagined himself on the receiving end.
While considered a secure location, it wasn’t as private as the truly hidden places the CIA used when it needed to keep a subject’s whereabouts secret. And even though this place was designed more for protection than detention, the bar across the outside of the door effectively held Rocco against his will.
Once Things 1 and 2—the cocky bastards refused his request to see ID—had locked Rocco up, they had seemingly abandoned him. Except for that one short blast of verbal crossfire over Travis Franks’s whereabouts. That had been fun. The Things were convinced that Rocco and Travis were jointly pulling the wool over their eyes. And Rocco had been too pissed to bother correcting them.
While Rocco had yet to figure out Travis’s game, one thing was as clear as rainwater: Rocco had been played. Right along with Travis’s two watchers. And none of them were happy campers.
Point of fact was the call Rocco had overheard during the ride there. Thing 1 had placed it—to whom?—only to receive a royal ass-chewing for letting Travis out of their sight. Interesting.
Rocco glanced toward the remote-controlled camera installed above the prison-issued door. If not for the camera’s periodic movements, he might have wondered if the Things had skipped out, and maybe they had. But someone was out there watching him. He could feel it.
And he’d make damn sure they felt it, too, because he planned to throttle the next person who came in that door.
Screw Travis. Rocco wasn’t behaving any longer.
So where was Travis now? And damn it, whatever he was up to, how would it affect Maddy’s chances for survival?
That Rocco had allowed Travis to confiscate his friggin’ cell phone was another mistake. Rocco had initially thought he’d understood Travis’s hesitancy to disclose strategy in front of the two watchers and had gone along, fully expecting Travis to reconnect here and bring Rocco up to speed.
None of that had happened.
Without his cell phone, Rocco was pretty much screwed seven ways to hell. He had no way to contact Minh Tran. No hope of saving Maddy. Travis better have a giant rabbit up his sleeve.
Rocco eyed the clock. Three hours. He was supposed to be in San Francisco by ten A.M. What would happen when he didn’t show? Maybe if he’d had his cell phone he could have talked Minh Tran’s goon down. Or struck a new agreement. Was Travis even thinking of that? Or was he too focused on his own agenda? On recovering Harry Gambrel?
The new intel on Harry couldn’t have come at a worse time. For Maddy. Ever since recovering Dante Johnson and Max Duncan from prisons in Thailand, Travis had been mentally flying a missing-man formation. Travis had seemingly been hell-bent on bringing home the last member of his team. No matter the cost.
And yet Travis had assured Rocco that someone they both trusted was working to save Maddy. “Both trusted” made for a very short list: Dante and Max. Check.
Unless Travis had enlisted help in Southeast Asia. That list was even short
er: Diego Marques. Uncheck. After helping Rocco free Dr. Rufin, Diego had sworn never to work with the Agency again. Had Travis somehow changed Diego’s mind? Or had Travis come up with a fix on where Maddy was being held?
Who knew? At this point Rocco was second-guessing every supposition he’d made. To be left isolated like this was unacceptable. So was being left hanging without word on Maddy.
Even though Travis was one of the few who knew that Rocco and Maddy’s relationship had devolved to a platonic one—at Maddy’s insistence—Travis knew Rocco had feelings for her. If not love, then genuine caring.
Travis also knew Rocco felt responsible for Maddy’s situation. God, was she okay? The sound of her screams still echoed in his head.“Nooooo! … Rocco … make them …”
Minh Tran and his men would pay for hurting her.
“Swear to God,” Rocco muttered.
Bet they’re quaking in their boots. The snide thought reminded Rocco of how ruthless Minh Tran was. And going after Rocco’s sister proved how mercenary he could be.
Earlier, Rocco had talked briefly to Adele. While she had no clue what was really going on, Adele had made it clear she felt the government and Rocco both owed her for the many inconveniences she was being forced to endure.
God love his sister, because there were times when Rocco found it damn difficult. Compared to Maddy’s circumstances, Adele was living at the Taj Mahal, in a house far nicer than her trailer, with all her meals brought in, even cigarettes and booze.
He hoped that with Tran’s modus operandi exposed and Adele hidden beyond his reach, Maddy’s value as a hostage would increase substantially. As their sole point of leverage, they needed Maddy alive and well.
But only if there was someone to bargain with.
Once Tran learned Rocco had been detained, was in lockdown and unable to deliver Rufin, Maddy’s value would plummet with Tran’s impatience.
Killing her would give Tran a quick, angry fix. But he wouldn’t stop there. Tran wouldn’t accept being thwarted. He’d still want Rufin. He’d still want to get back at Rocco. Which meant Tran would go further. Dig deeper into Rocco’s past.
No. Rocco refused to let himself think about his remaining vulnerability.
Gena.
He prayed that Travis was correct, that it was unlikely Minh Tran could connect the dots. As far as the outside world was concerned, Rocco hadn’t had contact with Gena in nearly four years. Four years that included her marriage to Harry Gambrel.
Four years of vanquished dreams.
Outside, in the hallway, Rocco heard voices. More than one, but the thick door made their words indistinguishable. It was always possible that they were coming to set him free, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He’d kick their asses first, ask questions second.
Rocco moved behind the door, knowing they’d open it cautiously. If he were too close, they’d slam it shut. He’d wait until the door was open a good six to eight inches, then yank it backward and block it from being closed.
The lock snapped. As soon as the door swung wide enough, Rocco grabbed for the man’s wrist.
“Down, boy.” It was Dante Johnson.
“Dante!” Rocco shoved the door all the way open. Max Duncan was there, too, hovering in the hall behind Things 1 and 2. Disapproval shimmered like a heat wave between the two watchers.
“Travis sent us,” Dante began.
“Where the hell is he?” Rocco snapped. “And who did he send to rescue Maddy?”
“Maddy Kohlmeyer?” The tone of Dante’s voice confirmed he knew little or nothing. “I believe Travis was meeting with Artel Quaid in hopes of learning more about the situation.”
Rocco picked up on the code and tried to quell his irritation. “Artel Quaid” was a fictional name signifying caution. Dante’s use of that same name months ago had helped Rocco locate him in an overseas jail.
Thing 1 shifted closer and tapped Dante’s shoulder. “Where is Franks meeting this Quaid fellow?”
Dante turned, as if seeing the watcher for the first time. “What was your name again?”
The watcher sneered. “Just answer the question. It’s important that we find Travis Franks.”
“I bet it is.” Dante nodded at Max, who drew his gun at the same time Dante did. “Get ’em up boys. Hands clasped behind the neck.”
Dante passed a Glock nine millimeter to Rocco, who immediately chambered a round.
“Hey, we’re on the same team,” Thing 2 began.
“Right.” Rocco stepped out into the hall. “Where was all your team spirit when I wanted out?”
“Better get inside before you piss him off,” Dante said.
Outfoxed and outnumbered, the watchers exchanged glances, then stepped into the room. Max shut the door and locked it.
“God, I’m glad to see you two,” Rocco said. “Thanks for springing me.”
“We owed you.” Dante and Max nearly spoke in unison. “But how the hell did you end up here, with those two?” Dante went on.
Rocco pointed to the ceiling, reminding them that the building was wired. “We’ll talk outside.”
Rocco’s rucksack, gun, and wallet were right where he’d left them in a metal bin outside the door. His belongings appeared undisturbed, but he’d check them more closely later.
“So what the hell is going on?” Dante asked once the three of them were inside the black Chevy SUV. Dante drove with Max riding shotgun. “And where is Travis?”
“I was going to ask you that same thing.” Rocco squinted against the bright sun. “You told those guys that Travis sent you. Are you saying he didn’t?”
“He did, but not directly.” Dante caught Rocco’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Travis told Cat where you were being held.”
Rocco sat forward. Catalina Dion was Dante’s fi-ancée. Though not an Agency employee, she’d worked with them years ago as a contract agent. She’d been one of the best, and Rocco considered her an unofficial member of their team. So did Travis.
“He knew damn well Cat would tell you,” Rocco said. “Tell her I owe her one. Did Travis give Cat any updates on Maddy’s situation?”
“I heard her BMW was found in the bay. Empty,” Dante said. “Is there more?”
“A lot more. I got an e-mail yesterday evening with a picture of Maddy. Minh Tran has her, most likely overseas. He wants me and Dr. Rufin in exchange.”
“Shit!” Dante said. “And you called Travis, right?”
“Actually, Travis showed up at my town house after Tran made an attempt to abduct my sister and her son. Travis heard me playing back a recorded phone conversation.” Rocco went on to explain Minh Tran’s demands.
“Did Travis move your sister and nephew to a secure location?” Max asked.
“Yes.”
“Guess that explains why Travis asked Cat to also check on Gena Armstrong,” Dante said. “Good thing, too. The women’s shelter Gena volunteers at in South Texas was firebombed last night.”
Rocco felt as if he’d been hit by a cannon. “Was Gena hurt?”
“I understand she escaped without major injuries. But there was at least one fatality. Sounds like Tran was trying to get to anyone connected to you,” Dante said.
“What time did this happen?” Had the bombing been intended as a message to underscore Tran’s threat?
“I don’t have that level of detail. Cat’s trying to run down particulars as we speak,” Dante replied.
“I want Gena put in protective custody!” Rocco said. “Does Travis know about this?”
“When Cat told him about the explosion, he said to get you to South Texas, fast. He also advised her to keep this out of the normal channels. Obviously, Travis is still concerned about an internal leak,” Dante said.
The reason Travis had enlisted Catalina to check on Gena, as opposed to using someone inside the Agency, became plain. The Agency had a deeply burrowed mole.
It dawned on Rocco that they were headed for the airport, albeit slowly. Morning rush hour wa
s in full swing.
“Damn it! I need to talk with Travis,” Rocco said. “He knows I’ll do anything to protect Gena. But I can’t just abandon Maddy!”
“Look, man, there’s something else you need to know,” Dante said. “Travis and Maddy started dating a few months ago. Finding Maddy is important to him, too.”
“Maddy and Travis?” The news was and wasn’t surprising. Rocco knew Maddy had been dating someone. But Travis? “How long have you known about this?”
Dante shrugged. “I didn’t until Cat told me this morning. Guess women are more in tune with that stuff. Cat thought Maddy and Travis were purposely keeping a low profile since his divorce was just finalized.”
Jesus. Was that why Travis had distanced himself these last few weeks, keeping contact with Rocco to strictly work issues? Now Rocco felt even more guilty. How many times had Travis and Dante tried to point out the secret torch Rocco carried for Gena—even while he’d dated Maddy?
“It’s like you compare all women to the Ghost of Gena Past,” Travis had once said. “Who the hell wants to compete with that?”
“I feel like an idiot for not picking up on it sooner,” Rocco said.
“Bottom line: you’ve got to trust Travis on this one,” Dante said.
“Tell me more about what happened in Texas. Did you say Gena was at a women’s shelter?” Had her problem resurfaced?
“My intel’s sketchy, but Cat’s gathering a full dossier for you. Gena worked for the company that was building a new facility for the shelter. In fact, it was still under construction. There’d been some recent vandalism. Nothing serious. Until last night. Gena and one other volunteer were there working when it happened. Local law enforcement seems to believe either the husband of the other woman is behind the attack, or whoever has been behind the previous vandalism decided to take it to the next level.”
“In light of the timing and what’s happening to people around me, I think we can rule both of those out,” Rocco said.
“I agree.” Max had been quiet up till now. “For what it’s worth, my Spidey senses are telling me Gena’s in serious danger.”
