Inked [From the CIA 1] (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Dawn Kunda

  Mary rolled all the windows down as the car quickly heated under the blazing sun. She repeatedly glanced in the mirrors, half expecting Cal to be back. It would be enough for him to return. She wouldn’t, couldn’t give more to him, no matter how much her blood raced when he was close. Anything more between them needed to be stifled. Three strikes and she’d be out. He would expect more and she had nothing to give.

  Her mind wandered to the two moments of release she’d scavenged from him. She loved the feel of him all over her and wanted to relive the scent of his body, the feel of his hands holding her, protecting her, and the maddening rush of sensations he caused.

  She smiled as the passenger door flew open.

  “How’d—” Her smile vanished as the man who let himself in pointed a large caliber gun at her waist. “Drive. I will tell you where to go.”

  Her fingers slipped and fumbled with the key as she obeyed and started the engine.

  “If you do not do as I say, I will shoot you.”

  Prying her tongue from the dry coating of her mouth, Mary answered, “I’m no good to you dead.”

  “I know you have already transferred the information. Therefore, you are of very little value. If you haven’t, I’ve overestimated the ability of Americans.”

  “Then why take me?” She needed to distract him while she pulled a plan out of the brutally hot air.

  “Chenzira prefers to take care of you himself. If not, then you will be disposed of to feed the sharks.” He kept his eyes on her, with brief glances at the road. “Turn left at the next road. Keep both hands on the wheel.”

  She had no chance to use her gun, strapped at her waist, or Cal’s which lay under the seat.

  Chapter 24

  Cal mixed with the multinational group who waited for the official to lead the tour. The fact that everyone here had a curiosity about the place allowed him to easily scan the lobby without appearing out of place.

  All consulates weren’t laid out the same. Most were of some sort of stone, cement, or occasionally brick. Stone, tile, and marble were staples of this building, so the interior had a stately look. Three halls diverged from the entry. A presumably locked door closed off one hall, so he doubted it was part of the tour. A circular information desk sat in the center of the lobby, stationed by a security person with an expression of complete boredom. A large white clock hung on the wall behind the desk.

  He had been in the building for over five minutes already. The faster he deposited the information, the less likely anyone would remember he had set foot in the embassy. He watched the security, waiting for him to assist a visitor or leave his station.

  The tour leader called out to round up his next group. Cal stayed at the back center of the group of migrating people, mixing in and not wanting to be noticed. The security person plunked on his swivel chair. Not good. Cal needed to consider another place to deposit the guide the arms terrorist unknowingly supplied.

  Perfect. A black box hung on the wall near the exit door. On a small shelf extended from the wall beside the box lay cards for comments and other brochures.

  As the tour leader turned to the farthest hall, instructing the people to follow, Cal stealthily abandoned the group. He rummaged in his jacket pocket and gripped the devices. With a fast, smooth motion, he dropped them with the rough note into the black box. With his other hand he pushed the exit door open, just enough to squeeze through and free himself.

  Difficult as it was, he didn’t look back while he traveled the sidewalk back to the car. Any surveillance equipment didn’t need another look at his face. Rather, he watched his feet, knowing they had approximately a block to travel before he’d meet up with Mary and carry on with the next part of their newly hatched plan, which wasn’t much.

  Their plan to drop off the information would definitely attract the attention of the CIA, but where would it go from there? Would the CIA plan to look for them? Help them? Hunt them down and accuse them of aborting their original mission?

  How long would it take for Grant to be notified? That was another problem. If Grant found out about the deposit, would he be able to dispatch a successful call as planned? Above all, they’d definitely need another plan and a hideout. They needed to keep moving. Maybe she was right and they needed to act solely professional. He didn’t know how long he could pull it off while in such close proximity to all she had to offer. He’d experienced enough of her to know he wanted more. A lot more.

  He needed to give himself a lesson in keeping his hands to himself for now. He’d start with tempering his attraction to her with reality, reminding himself of her detachment even when she performed her seduction. She’d acted like she got as aroused as he did, yet when it ended so did her emotion. He didn’t know if it would be worth the constant mind and body games she laid out at her convenience.

  With this last thought, he noticed he had walked past the parking spot he recalled. He looked back and around the area. His heartbeat elevated as he was sure this is where he left her. Another car, empty of travelers, filled the spot he recalled.

  She couldn’t have gone sightseeing on her own. They had a plan, and she knew he’d hurry back. His mind wasted little time on these thoughts before he needed to admit what he feared.

  Mary would not have left their meeting spot. He couldn’t imagine any errand or idea powerful enough that she’d jeopardize this simple yet necessary plan. They did have a follower. The follower hijacked her and the car.

  He needed to leave the area. Someone may be left behind to find him.

  * * * *

  Back at the hotel, the only place left to go, Cal immediately grabbed his niner and shoved it in his waistband. Lucky he had supplied himself with extra weaponry. Paranoia hit a high level for him.

  Pulling out his cell phone, he sat on the bed. They hadn’t brought much, yet an unexplainable presence of Mary wafted through the air. The soft scent of makeup, mostly used to cover her mark, had penetrated the surface of the room. Her few feminine articles were easy to separate from his small pile of rumpled clothing.

  He hesitated before dialing the familiar number.

  “I need to speak with Agent Grant.”

  The operator hesitated before saying, “Agent Grant is on vacation.”

  Cal thought for a moment, then said, “Tell him to call home.” He immediately ended the call. Even on vacation, if he was, an agent typically got important or odd messages relayed. As far as he knew, Grant hadn’t planned a vacation and protocol required advanced notice for such outings.

  Something definitely went wrong in Washington. The whole operation stunk. He began to consider the affair as a setup, but had no clues as to why. The room held a cool temperature, yet he wiped moisture from his face as he paced the floor.

  He couldn’t recall a similar situation recently in his career as a CIA agent, yet he vaguely knew of random agents in the past suddenly evaporating from the employee roll. Assuming they had played for the wrong side, couldn’t handle the stress, or fell from grace in some manner, he never spent excessive time wondering about their problems. Now he wished he did know why they miraculously disappeared.

  The rumors had escaped his attention. He worked for the good of the country, the United States of America, and wanted nothing to do with the dirty side of internal affairs. Maybe if he had acquainted himself with that side, for extra knowledge, he’d have insight on what to do at this strategic point.

  Not good enough. Too late to lament over lost agents and their plight. He forced himself to assume that Agent Reiss, Mary, was MIA. He didn’t doubt his name followed right after hers on the official roll call of agents acting in covert operations that needed to be displaced. And now Grant.

  Did Grant have an emergency vacation leave? Was he told to take time off? Worse, did he leave for his safety? Getting close to nothing surprising him anymore, Cal clenched his fists, ground his teeth, and growled a hot breath instead of punching a hole through the wall.

  His next idea came at
him with force. It had been with him since Mary vanished. Chenzira’s men had her. He needed to return to Cairo. Energy surged through him like a volcano. He felt the steam heat his face.

  Stopping in mid-stride, he bent to his overnight bag and stuffed it with the few articles lying about. He paused as he rested his hand on the outfit Mary had laid on a chair. Crumpling it in his grip, he tossed it with his things. The vanity in the bathroom had a few articles that he scraped into the bag as he held it open at the edge of the sink.

  He deposited the most recently used cell phone in his shirt pocket and dumped the rest of the disposable communication along with the clothes. He considered leaving the computer, and then decided the room couldn’t be left with any sign they had been there.

  With a quick glance around, he strode to the door. As his hand turned the knob, a message beeped on his phone.

  His heart rose with a false excitement. He froze before he looked at the phone screen. Could it be Mary? Had she sent a message and was on her way back?

  Releasing the doorknob, he fumbled with the phone in his haste to check the screen. A frown grew as he studied the short sentences.

  Chapter 25

  It appeared they traveled northwest. Mary had an innate ability to sense direction even when on foreign lands. Looking straight ahead at the winding road in which she could see mountains with snow peaks nearing, she asked, “Where are we going?”

  “It is not your business. Drive,” her captor snarled.

  “We aren’t headed for the sea, and I’m not aware of an airport in this direction.” She wouldn’t give up. He said nothing. “Aren’t you going to turn me over to Chenzira?”

  She glanced at him and saw him staring at her. She looked back at the road. Peripherally, she could see his stare wander her body. She shook with a sudden chill.

  “I’m not taking you to him. Why would I? ”

  “What…?” Not that she endeared herself to the idea of going back to the Hidden House, but at least she’d know where she was and would be familiar with her surroundings. The fear she had stowed away and replaced with anger transferred again. The fear stung. It felt like tiny ice shards picking her stomach.

  At least she didn’t conjure up a wasted scheme for when she’d be in Cairo again. She needed to focus and find out who this dark and angry man at her side represented.

  “I suppose you picked a random woman to kidnap?”

  “You are not random.”

  “Then who are you?”

  He hiked up his knee and turned toward her. “I will take you to Chenzira.” She shook her head in confusion. “After a while.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He laughed. “Do not think everyone is a friend of Chenzira.” He spat on the floor next to his scuffed boot. “He wants you. Of course, then so do I.”

  The winding of the highway and rise in altitude offered an excuse for her queasy stomach.

  * * * *

  Do not call office.

  Do not go to Cairo.

  Further instructions soon.

  What the hell did that mean? Cal reread the message on his phone. The sending number showed up restricted. The only one who knew the number to this phone would be Mary.

  He strained his mind to think of what she really meant to tell him. She certainly wouldn’t run away from him. The thought brought on a surge of anger, quickly subdued by worry. He worried for his partner, a beautiful and sensual woman. He wasn’t entitled to consider her more than a partner, and wavered on the idea of her thinking more of him. A few brief moments of weakness hardly made for a romance.

  It was possible that Vic Grant might have this number. What if he intended to warn both of them? Why would Grant think they wanted to return to Cairo? Or did he already know she had been abducted? How could he? Cal did know the CIA had deeper roots than any other agency minus the special teams of the military. He needed to consider the idea that the agency knew he and Mary were missing at this point. He wasn’t sure it’d be helpful if they did know.

  Dropping his bag on the floor of the hotel room, he sat on the corner of the bed and sunk his forehead into his hands. He rubbed his face, yet the grief remained deep. His gaze fixed on a speck of dirt on the tile floor.

  He didn’t know how long he studied the immobile dirt before he made a decision. The message couldn’t be from anyone other than Vic Grant. Cal at least needed to await the next message. If anyone else, an outsider or an enemy, had somehow sent the message, he’d still need to hold off on returning to Cairo.

  Slowly he removed his phone from his pocket. Staring at the screen, he wished the next message to him would transfer. He didn’t know how long, when, or if there’d truly be another message. He took the battery out to avoid detection. He’d randomly check for another text. Time for a walk.

  Chapter 26

  The road became increasingly filled with ruts, potholes, and rough gravel. The sides of the mountains closed in as she weaved each twist in what could hardly be called a highway. The temperature dipped lower than at seaside, and Mary thanked custom for the long sleeves she grudgingly slipped on earlier.

  Fir branches slapped the windshield, leaving streaks of dew across her vision. She didn’t turn the wipers on and let the mist of the forest dull her vision. The speedometer showed barely twenty kilometers an hour.

  How much further could she drive into the mountains, not knowing where her captor directed her to, how much farther, or what would happen at the end of the trail? Cal knew she had disappeared by now. Was he able to follow? Would he find her? Save her?

  The trail abruptly ended in weeds and hardwoods, which she guessed towered fifty feet tall with trunks that surprised her for their stamina against strong winds. Fir trees blocked a view of anything behind them as the full limbs started at the ground. She gripped the wheel and waited for what came next.

  “Kill the engine.” As she obeyed, he snatched the keys. With his gun still ready for any false move she might attempt, her captor stepped out of the car as the motor silenced. “Get out.” He wasn’t much for lengthy commands.

  Her legs tightened as she stepped outside the car. She attempted to stretch the aches of the long drive.

  “Get in front of me. I will tell you where to go.” He waived his gun at his waist, indicating her position. “Straight ahead.”

  She glanced in the direction he faced, looking for a trail or path as their journey hadn’t ended. An overgrown opening, barely wide enough to allow a walking path, began at the driver’s side of the auto. She wondered how long it had been, or if ever, anyone had traveled this deep into the woods on this particular trail.

  From forced history classes she knew these mountains had been a great deterrent during the war between Russia, Turkey, and the rest involved in WWI. Many soldiers had died while crossing the Taurus Mountains. They had negligently attempted passage during the winter seasons. At least she wouldn’t have to trudge through icy cold snow and a season of blizzards.

  She shielded her face with her arms crossed in front as tangles of low branches, lush with foliage, slapped at her as she disturbed their resting place. The uneven ground, littered with brush, rocks, and fallen debris alternately tripped her feet. His constant prodding with the butt of the gun kept her moving.

  Ahead, she saw brightness in comparison to the misty dampness and shaded forest they had trucked through for what must have been at least half an hour. A few more steps and a clearing with a dilapidated, small cabin appeared.

  “Stop here.” It was one of his few verbal orders since they left the car. Mary watched him turn his back, although he kept his head turned toward her. She cleared her throat and breathed heavily from the exertion. Disgusted, she looked away as he urinated in the brush.

  Yanking his zipper and re-tucking his shirt, he began to talk. “I will keep you here. You are my hostage until you give me the information my people need.”

  Fed up with his treatment and the black hole without knowledge of what he wante
d, she got mad. Between gasps of air and her racing heart pattern, she yelled, “What do you want? How can I tell you anything if I don’t know who you are or what you want?”

  He stared at her, anger in his eyes. Then he laughed. His laugh was angry. “You want to know who I represent before you tell me your information? What does that matter?” As he spoke, he walked to the cabin and unlocked the door. “Get in here and we’ll see what you have for me.”

  She stood her ground. She could at least escape while outside. Inside, the building would prove a prison. He had her gun, and her phone remained in the car. Cal’s gun hadn’t been found, or looked for.

  “What are you waiting for? No one will find you here. If they do, you will all die.” He reached out and grabbed her forearm. With a grip like iron, he tugged her to the door and shoved her through.

  * * * *

  “Bring Ahmir Rabad to me.” The guard perked up as Chenzira threw him the order. “He should be counting the guns right now.” He swiveled his chair to face the wall-sized window overlooking the tropical garden, which did little to soften the atmosphere of the Hidden House. Lighting a cigarette, he dismissed the guard.

  Within a quarter hour, the guard came upon the storage room for the handguns, rifles, and military guns. He rapped on the door while pressing the palm of his hand on the screen stationed on the wall. The door briefly clicked, allowing the guard to enter.

  “Rabad, the chief wants you.” Agent Baier glanced sideways to Agent Ranier. The third man at the table rested an AK-47 in front of where he leaned his elbows.