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

by Dawn Kunda

  “Our plan is different from what I have in mind for him.” Vic backed up against the wall. He found himself holding his breath until it came out in a heavy, slow stream. “Borland, shut the door in case he gets here before I’m ready for him.”

  Vic scooted back around the corner he had come from. The door softly clicked shut.

  Vic knew the layout of Kreis’s office. Vic had always had an internal bad feeling for Kreis and Vic was surer about this feeling now than he was about the route to get to his apartment. A former study of the windows, doors, vents, placement of the phone, computer, and electrical outlets in Kreis’s office had readied him for eavesdropping on anything kept from him. An air vent sat low on the wall behind the desk, which backed this hall. The janitors’ closet had a matching vent and Vic headed for it for the first time.

  For the past year, he’d occasionally made note of the inevitable. Even a prestigious unit such as the CIA had its black spots. He’d picked up on slight inconsistencies and odd maneuvers that came straight from the power of Kreis’s office. Vic hadn’t obtained enough material evidence to prove it yet. His time had run out and Kreis would win if he didn’t make a move now.

  The scent of bleach, lemon, and sanitation assaulted his senses as he rushed into the closet. He shoved a cart of cleaning supplies away from his targeted vent and lay on the floor with his ear touching the grate.

  “…and he will disappear as the others have.” This was Kreis’s matter-of-fact order.

  “When?” Borland’s voice held nothing but malice.

  “Grant probably has a family matter to manage tonight, so we’ll keep him in our sight and strike after his family is taken care of.”

  At least he had more than five minutes to make his escape. Vic kept his ear pressed against the grating, yet he already knew what the plan entailed.

  “…after the family issue is taken care of is a good idea, otherwise they’d be looking for him immediately,” Duchaine agreed.

  Vic heard enough. They intended to kill him, dump him somewhere, and go about their day as if nothing was amiss. He knew the pattern. Evidence had been destroyed except for a few dangerously acquired items he kept guarded from the system for now.

  A scrap of relief eased the former agitation as Vic stood and wiped the dust from his pant legs. It was ironic to feel relief when he’d just learned that his life would soon end. Most likely a bullet would quietly put him to sleep when he least expected it.

  The relief came from the fact that he had notice of the plan for his demise. He had his own idea of what to do.

  First, he hurried to Kreis’s office to play the game of a necessary meeting.

  He didn’t want the other agents to even consider that he heard the discussion against himself, so he heavily knuckled the office door before entering. “What’s the new plan, gentlemen?” Innocence hides any other knowledge.

  A quick conspiratorial look passed from Kreis, Borland, and Duchaine. Kreis tapped his fingers on his desktop as he stood. Putting his head down, Kreis dug his hands into his pant pockets, rounded the desk, and sat on the edge. “Vic”—it was unusual for the officer in charge to use a first name in an official unofficial meeting— “you have to notify Agents Reiss and Guevin that we need them back here in the States.”

  Vic wanted to hear more and didn’t make an agreeable comment. The other agents nodded their heads, as if they helped with the new plan.

  “I assume you’ve kept track of their progress and can contact them.” This time, Kreis waited for Vic’s response.

  After a moment of silence, Vic said, “Sir, I’m not sure I can contact them at any particular time right now.”

  Kreis’s mouth twitched at the corner. “Good answer, Agent. I understand your position. We’re past the stage of discreetness for your mission.” Obviously overlooking the blip in the new plan, Kreis continued to explain his nonnegotiable decision. “Agent Grant, you will contact the agents, assign them a time and location, which I have on this sheet.” He snatched a paper, no letterhead or markings, from his desk. “Agents Borland and Duchaine will fly to the location and insure them of a safe return.

  The only thing Vic needed now was a time frame. “How long are you giving me to contact them? You know it’s not always possible.”

  “Today, before you leave the office.”

  “I assume you’re going to send them.” Vic nodded to the other agents. “Right away.”

  “In an hour they leave.” Kreis stood, signifying the end of discussion. “Just get ahold of your agents and then your part is done. You can take care of your family matter after.”

  Vic tightened his lips as he took the death sheet from Kreis.

  As Vic turned to leave, Kreis added, “And when you relay the message, I’ll need their contact number and coordinates.”

  “Of course.” Vic pretended to scan the paper. The other agents stayed rooted to their spot. “Are we done or do you have something else?” Agents Borland and Duchaine took the hint and moved to the door. Not a chance Grant would leave and make it easy for them to have a follow-up meeting in his absence. They’d need to sneak it in and reassemble without notifying him. He’d be a constant annoyance until he left the building and then it’d be a long time till he’d follow an order from Kreis.

  Vic Grant followed Agents Borland and Duchaine as they left the fateful meeting.

  Chapter 35

  Cal’s gut reaction to the guerrillas standing guard over his partner was to ambush the lot of them, spill blood and crack bones, and then kill them all. The strain on his heart made it that much worse as he still wouldn’t or couldn’t admit the emotional tug she caused.

  It originated from his groin, but the thoughts of her silky hair and the few tender moments caught in her eyes when she was unaware of his scrutiny were memories he needed to relinquish to a folder of thoughts. He had no right to open it again, especially while in the middle of a mission.

  A snapping of brush alerted him back to the scene. The three armed men shifted their positions. Ranier backed against the van’s sliding door with his 47 slung low and ready.

  The apparent leader barked an order. “Stay positioned. We found this place, so it can be done by someone else. I need to check on our transport and then we can get back.”

  Too bad the leader didn’t mention back to where. Forgetting his initial urge, Cal cleared his head and came back to reality. Take the facts of a situation and make a plan. Until that theory failed him, he’d be safe.

  If he attacked, he might get two of the men out of his way, but at their base it would be unlikely he’d be able to take them all down. For all he knew, Ranier hadn’t turned sides and would watch out for Mary. Does he ignore him, or take him down as collateral damage?

  Cal would never shoot one of his own. Unclear of Ranier’s status, he’d have to work around him until absolutely necessary to make a decision.

  Cal watched Ranier and the leader enter the cabin. At that point, Cal stepped back, stuffed his gun in at his waistband, and found his trail of cat eyes he had positioned on the trees all the way from his car. A flashlight works better, but the shine from the moon and stars lit most of the eyes into a faint glow, easy for him to trail when he needed the help to evacuate. He turned back to the situation.

  Rounding the cabin and watching the posts of the guards, he located an area where he couldn’t see them. This would be their blind spot and he took the chance. Crawling on the ground, he reached the back of the van. Fumbling in his pocket, he found the receiver for the GPS and slipped it under the back end of the vehicle.

  Holding still, he glanced between the wheels to see if anyone had returned. He didn’t see any moving feet and slipped into retreat mode as he backed out from under the van. A stealthy crawl brought him back to the edge of the woods.

  He heaved himself from the ground and stepped as if the terrain of broken limbs, brush, and rocks was his homeland. Far enough from the base camp, he broke out into a run to his transportation, dod
ging most branches and feeling others snag his arms and slap his face.

  Breathing heavily, he ran into the offset from the main dirt road into the forest where his rental car sat. He slid over the hood and yanked open the driver’s door. Every second counted at this point. The engine purred to life. Driving a short distance with the lights off, he encountered the original dirt road. No lights from the van shone through the trees.

  Accelerating down the rutted and pothole-filled road, he headed for the highway. Not knowing which direction they’d take Mary, he chose to turn the way he had come, back toward Antalya. He hoped he made the right choice and would find out when the terrorists came to the highway and picked a direction. The GPS monitor would let him know their choice before too much time elapsed, yet a turn away from Antalya would allow them a chance to outrun him without knowing their luck, as long as the GPS worked. He hadn’t had a chance to test it and relied on the good word of the street men.

  He didn’t want to let Mary’s captors get too close to the city when he enacted part two of his plan. With this on his mind, he slowed for a swift curve, crossed the road and parked his car on the side of a cliff abutting a wall of dense rock.

  * * * *

  Vic returned to his own office. Once he shut the door, he got busy.

  First on his agenda was to make a call home. Watching his door, he pushed autodial. He listened to his home phone ring half as fast as his heart raced. The answering machine picked up. A short and to the point message followed along with a sharp beep. He didn’t speak, but let the tape run until it cut the call.

  Sure everything in his domain was taped and watched by now, he adjusted his belt, rubbed his groin, and made like he needed a bathroom break.

  Nonchalantly, he left his office. He wouldn’t be back. Ever.

  * * * *

  Mary felt multiple thumps and bumps of weight added to the van. She rolled her head to the other side to see who boarded. Her left eyelid stuck closed with crusted blood. A hazy view from her other eye informed her that multiple men had jumped on board. She saw four, one behind her, two on the same benched seat, and one knocked her knee as he squeezed past her and took the front passenger seat. There had to be a driver, so five men would surround her.

  Through her dozen or more years with the CIA she’d been in many dangerous situations. Her training, instinct, and adrenaline had always come through and gotten her to safety. She’d have to admit that a level of fear always accompanied her final moves to freedom.

  Yet, she had never been taken hostage or taken to be killed or whatever they had planned for her at this point. Her first captor had wanted two things from her. She assumed the first had been the lists from Chenzira’s documents, and the second thing rallied around a way to get entrance to Chenzira’s den. Maybe the first captor thought she really had a formula for a missile.

  Now Chenzira’s men had her again. Of course they had plans for her because she had hidden her identity, stolen flash drives from the Hidden House, and ultimately escaped. Which factor would they punish?

  Mary shook her head, angry with herself for her rookie action, which involved the lack of killing the bastard who had abducted her in the first place. Her mind began to clear off the dark patches from the slams her head endured.

  Her fear rose as she was forcefully taken farther behind enemy lines than she’d ever been before. She was alone. Contact with Cal or anyone seemed a fantasy at this stage.

  Yanking on her bound wrists, she encouraged anger to build. It’d be easier to take control of her situation. She’d make the right mix of intelligence, fear, and anger work for her, somehow. It’s all she could come up with right now.

  A newly arrived driver swiveled in his seat, bending toward her. An ugly smirk showed yellowed teeth along with a gold incisor. He reached and squeezed her chin with dirt-and-tobacco-stained fingers. Pulling back from the pain of her bruised face, she sunk her teeth into his thumb.

  He jerked his hand back. With a swift movement, he smacked the other side of her face. Her head snapped, throwing a wave of hair into her eyes. “Screw you.” She hissed.

  Tossing her hair to the side, she got a better view of the front seat member. God, no. Agent Ranier cautiously looked her way, then turned back to the front. She would never have guessed or believed it if she didn’t see him for herself. Was he the one that located her and arranged for her capture?

  Something had definitely gone wrong. The whole Cairo operation stunk. Everywhere they, she and Cal, had turned a new leak or highly questionable turn of events occurred. The only person involved who hadn’t raised flags yet was Agent Cal Guevin, her partner. The man she seduced. The man she hadn’t admitted to loving. She had only shown him raw sex, praying he got nothing more from it than just that. Even to herself, she would change her course of thought before getting to her real feelings. Emotional feelings had no place in her life as a CIA agent.

  “You bitch.” The driver breathed the words into the skin of her sore face. “I’ll make sure I’m in charge of your punishment once we’re through with you.”

  She glowered at him. The tender thoughts that threatened to invade her space evaporated. She raised her chin and let the anger simmer as the driver gunned the engine of the rickety van.

  The men in back spoke in staccato sentences, switching from English to Arabic. A few terse comments from the driver shut them up. Agent Ranier sat silently as the van bounced over the dirt road.

  As they neared the main highway through the Taurus Mountains, she hadn’t come up with a plan. It’d be easier to have an out if a chance existed for Agent Ranier to be on her side. Still, the doubt existed and she couldn’t risk it.

  The best time and place to divert their attention would be during a transitional opportunity, whether at an airport or marina. A crowd of other people, which might happen, would be an advantage. Otherwise, she’d remain on her own.

  The van turned back to Antalya. She sensed the change in direction after leaving the heavily forested dirt road. They drove in silence as the van began to wind the switchbacks of the grand mountains.

  Chapter 36

  Agent Grant walked toward the men’s restroom, and then quickened his pace as he passed the door. He went to the stairs. The stairwell consisted of cement painted gray. Why bother with the extra cost to the taxpayers? Cement is cement.

  Descending the stairs at a normal rate, he urged himself to appear calm. The tap of his shoes would give away an agent in a rush to evacuate the building. He didn’t want to attract any attention.

  His heart beat in his ears as the walls of the stairwell closed in on him for three floors. The air was dry and cool, yet he felt the trickle of perspiration begin at his waistband resting on his lower back. Once he reached the exit door, he couldn’t turn back. He had no intentions of doing so.

  For well over a year, he had known it might come to this. He hadn’t wanted his best agents on the Cairo mission, yet he had a glimmer of faith they knew how to survive the worst.

  The CIA created disposable agents when the need arose. He chose agents Guevin and Reiss because he’d personally trained them to avoid fatality. Kept in the dark, Vic didn’t know which of his operations or when Kreis and his men would act, or if his imagination had created the subtle signs of discourse from the top office. He didn’t know if he’d be in charge of that particular mission, but it happened.

  The bad vibes he’d accidentally become privy to weren’t something he could act on in an instant or without a plan. Naturally, he doubted the team he worked with, headed by Kreis, would stoop to dishonor their code of allegiance to the safety of the US. He knew it could happen, though. His recent observations held the evidence and he couldn’t ignore it in exchange for another day’s pay.

  If he went along with the plan to dispose of his agents under the façade of following orders, he’d be as guilty as Kreis and his men. Guilt never clouded his judgment as he was trained to turn the gray areas into black and white.

  The qu
estion “Did they intend to kill off any connections to the Cairo operation?” held no value in Vic’s mindset. If he suspected it, it was true. And he suspected it. He watched and listened, which gave him the answer. They did intend to kill off the connections. His agents and the whole formula for the clandestine op would disappear.

  A favorite remedy to a sticky situation in the CIA made things, ideas, and people evaporate from existence. The final peg in the hole happens when the last shred of evidence is extinguished, and that would be himself.

  All this knowledge roared through his head as he leaned on the levered door marked “exit.” He had wasted enough time. He pushed on the handle and walked into blinding sunshine and a wrap of humidity. A late-season heat wave. Looking straight ahead, he walked to the sidewalk and signaled for the next cab. His car wouldn’t take up space in the parking lot for too long. The agency would be all over it within an hour, if not sooner.

  Directing the cab driver to Reagan Airport, he pulled out his stashed track phone. He dialed the memorized number.

  After a young woman greeted her caller, Agent Grant said, “Tell Kat I’m going on vacation.” A dead silence followed. Before she hung up, he added, “My sister will know my vacation plans.”

  A soft breath inhaled with realization. “Kat’s working right now. Should I—”

  “Tell her sometime today. Doesn’t matter when.”

  “Can she call you?”

  Vic glanced around, always wary of his surroundings. Without answering, he said, “She’ll understand.” He disconnected the call. Opening the window, he dropped the phone onto the road. A brief clatter echoed against the back end of the cab.

  His sister Kat had been advised of his possible movement from the agency. Over a year ago he told her there might be a time when he’d have to abort his job and leave the US. She shouldn’t worry. He would leave quickly and leave a message with her friend about a vacation. The friend, he thought her name was Sarah or Sally or something with an S, didn’t have any idea what the message really meant. She was only the messenger.