Any discussion of her and Leon’s relationship, if there even was a chance of a relationship at all, could wait until she got back.
“I tried calling him yesterday,” Ashton said, “but it went straight to voicemail.”
Maggie leaned back, the heat relaxing her muscles as it washed over her sun-kissed skin. “He’ll be busy with his new job.”
With Bishop dead and the covert intelligence agency in disarray, it only made sense to promote Leon to fill the vacant position of chief.
“Think the new boss man will want to spend some time in the sun?” Ashton’s tone was meddlesome, his stance on Leon having done a complete turnaround since their reunion—a reunion made necessary so they could help Maggie clear her name.
Maggie sighed and stared at her feet in the water. “I don’t know, Ash. Things are complicated.”
“They always are with you two. Has it settled in yet? Being a free agent,” he asked, knowing she wanted to change the subject.
“It doesn’t feel real,” Maggie admitted. “I keep expecting the phone to ring with an assignment.”
Having been with the Unit since she was sixteen, trained from a teenager to live a dangerous life of espionage, it was taking a while to come to terms with no longer being an agent. It was all she’d known for twelve years, and now she wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself.
Ashton laughed. “You’ll get used to it. Life is far more fun on this side of the Unit. Believe me.”
A sound came from behind her and made Maggie’s ears prick. A creak of wood.
Footsteps, she was sure. At least two sets, both trying to be silent in their ascent, coming up the stairs from the living space below.
Maggie pulled her legs up from the pool and got to her feet. “I’ve got to go.”
“Everything okay?” Ashton asked, hearing the switch in her voice.
“Yeah, just some unexpected visitors,” Maggie said, adding a third person to her tally. She grabbed her towel and dried off so as not to leave a trail of water. “I’ll call you later.”
“Adiós, amigo.”
Ashton hung up, and as the approaching footsteps grew louder, Maggie ducked behind the wall of the outdoor shower. Her hand instinctively reached for her gun, but it wasn’t there. She wore a bikini and sunscreen as opposed to a holster with her Glock 19.
Maggie watched from her position and stuck her head out just enough to catch a glimpse of the intruders. Three people dressed in suits sneaked out from the top of the stairs. One woman, two men, all of them trained professionals judging by their rigid postures and watchful eyes.
Not one for sitting back and hiding, Maggie stepped out into the open. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
Each of them snapped their heads toward her, their expressions a mix of surprise and annoyance. Clearly, Maggie was better at sneaking around unheard than they were.
Maggie crossed her arms and regarded them through her tinted sunglasses. “You know, it’s rude to enter someone’s apartment without so much as a knock.”
And dangerous.
Maggie felt severely underdressed in the company of these strangers, their shirts buttoned to the neck, matching ties and reluctance to shed their jackets giving Maggie the whiff of a superiority complex.
“We need you to come with us,” ordered the woman, her hair cropped short and face stern. A wire hung visibly from her ear, and a bead of sweat trickled down her neck.
Maggie shook her head. “That’s not going to happen.”
“She wasn’t asking,” said the bald man to the woman’s right, a full head taller than his colleague.
Both speakers were British, which didn’t surprise Maggie. She was beginning to suspect who they were, but still, it was far from clear why they were here barking commands.
“Watch that tongue of yours, baldy, or I might have to cut it out.”
Baldy strode forward, but the second man blocked him with a warning hand.
Maggie grinned. “Yeah, best stay back. I wouldn’t want to mess that nice suit of yours.”
“One way or another, you’re coming with us,” said the second man, politer than the other two but just as serious. “Please choose the easy option and kindly get your things. There’s a car waiting outside.”
Maggie wasn’t one for following the orders of strangers. Especially strangers who were all carrying concealed firearms. She cocked her head to the side and stepped toward them.
“I’m not an easy-option kind of girl. Whoever sent you should have told you that.”
The sun must have gotten to Baldy’s head because he shoved his partner away and lunged at Maggie, grabbing for her shoulder.
While she may no longer be an agent, she still had all the years of training and experience. Already leaning her weight on the balls of her feet, Maggie dashed to the side and avoided Baldy’s grasp. Lashing out with a kick, she smacked her foot across the man’s jaw and sent him crashing to the floor.
The woman jumped into the fray at the sight of her fallen partner and came at Maggie with a swinging fist. Maggie ducked and swiped the legs from under her opponent, who fell flat on her back and sucked in a winded breath on impact. Maggie caught her square in the face with a jab that left her stunned, ensuring the woman wouldn’t get up while she dealt with the last one standing.
“Stop!” yelled the third suit, marching toward them all. Maggie was back on her feet now, the familiar surge of adrenaline pumping through her veins, her body falling into old habits and seeming glad to be put to use again after weeks of inaction.
The man reached inside his jacket where his weapon lay, and Maggie moved. Yanking his arm back, she caught hold of his hand and gave it a sharp, efficient twist.
He hissed in pain as Maggie used the advantage to lock his whole arm in a hold behind him, sending him helplessly to his knees.
The ringing came from somewhere on the man’s person. Maggie followed the sound and reached inside his jacket, taking both his gun and mobile phone. “Now, who could that be?”
“Have you made contact?” asked a voice when Maggie answered.
“He has,” Maggie said, using her shoulder to hold the phone to her ear. “It’s not going too well, though.”
“Ms. Black?”
Maggie held the man with one hand and admired the standard issue gun with the other. The weapon confirmed her suspicions. “The one and only.”
“It’s Director General Helmsley,” announced the voice.
Maggie groaned and twisted the man’s arm further in frustration, resulting in a pained yelp. “Grace, do you mind telling me why you’re so rudely interrupting my holiday?”
The director was silent for a moment, clearly not liking Maggie’s use of her given name. She cleared her throat. “I need you to come in.”
Maggie almost laughed. “I left, in case you’ve forgotten.”
When Maggie had requested to leave the Unit for good, Grace Helmsley hadn’t exactly been pleased with her decision. Nevertheless, she was efficient—almost clinical—in making sure all the paperwork was signed, and that Maggie’s access to headquarters was revoked.
“We have an … ongoing incident.”
Maggie didn’t miss the strain in the director’s words but found herself detached. She was done following orders and dropping everything at the last minute at the Unit’s request.
“Not my problem.”
“Actually, it is,” Helmsley countered.
Maggie narrowed her eyes. “What’s going on?”
Was this some kind of trick? A way to lure her back?
“I won’t say over the phone. A seat is waiting for you on the next flight back to London.”
No, the Director General wasn’t the type to pull any stunts to get Maggie back. She was too blunt and to the point for that. Whatever was going on, Maggie didn’t like it. The slight shake in the unwavering woman’s voice sent sparks of unease through her.
“And if I don’t get on it?” Maggie asked, still holding the
third man by his arm.
The director huffed. “The matter is time sensitive,” she snapped, “and I can’t waste any more of that time having this conversation. Believe me when I say you most definitely want to be on that plane.”
Maggie released the man from her hold, and he scurried out of her reach to cradle his arm. “Pleasure as always, Director General.” She made to hang up but stopped when Helmsley spoke again.
“Get on that plane, Black. Please.”
That did it. In all her years working under the woman, Maggie couldn’t recall Grace Helmsley ever pleading to anyone. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Maggie craned her neck back and sighed. She knew it was too good to be true. Walking away had been too easy.
“Fine. I’m on my way.” Maggie stepped over the squirming intruders and took one last look at the tranquil view. “And by the way, next time you need to reach me, try calling instead of sending a bunch of stiffs from MI6 to play chaperone. I could have killed them.”
“Duly noted,” Helmsley said. “I’ll see you soon.”
Maggie hung up and moved to pack her things.
She was getting bored anyway.
Chapter 3
London, Great Britain
* * *
Rain poured from the heavens over London in usual English summer fashion. Maggie pressed the buzzer at the front entrance to Inked International, the front for Unit headquarters, and waited. Drops of water dripped over her leather jacket from the edge of her umbrella in the same pitter-patter that washed over the streets.
It was a far cry from the Spanish penthouse.
“State your name,” said a voice through the intercom.
Maggie kicked the door with the toe of her boot. “Queen bloody Elizabeth.”
The lock clicked open, and Maggie pushed her way inside, shaking her umbrella out over the tiled floor, much to the front-desk receptionist’s chagrin.
“Ms. Black, you need a visitor’s pass,” he said in alarm, fumbling for a name tag.
Maggie shot him a glare, and he sat back down. “Don’t worry. I’m not staying long.”
The Director General didn’t have an office in the building. The Unit didn’t technically exist so it wouldn’t do to have the head of the Secret Intelligence Service take up residence here. Her office was at Vauxhall Cross with the rest of MI6.
Taking the elevator to the fourth floor, Maggie made her way to Bishop’s old office and knocked. Helmsley opened a moment later seeming like she’d been by the door awaiting Maggie’s arrival.
She ushered Maggie in and closed the door behind her. “Thank you for coming.”
Niceties? Maggie’s initial dread intensified. She sat down at the conference table where she’d been briefed for many assignments during her career. “It didn’t seem like you wanted to leave me much choice.”
Helmsley took a seat across from Maggie and fiddled with her tablet. “I sent them for your protection.”
Maggie shook her head in exasperation and looked around. Bishop’s office had been spartan during his tenure, but he’d allowed himself some small items. His usual mug adorned with the British flag was gone, as was the photo of his twin daughters. Any trace of the man had been removed. Maggie forced away the twang of sadness the vacant room stirred within her. Bishop had been a liar and a traitor.
“I can look after myself, Grace. Now, what’s up?”
Helmsley pushed aside her tablet and laced her hands together in front of her. “Shit has well and truly hit the fan.”
The Director General wasn’t one for dramatics. If she said things had taken a turn for the worse, she meant it. Maggie sat up straight. “How bad?”
“We’ve been hacked.” Helmsley almost spat the words, furious outrage flaming behind her sharp eyes.
Maggie balked. “Hacked?” The Unit were the ones who did the hacking, not the other way around. The staff of analysts and computer techs were the best of the best, headhunted from all over for their brilliance behind a keyboard. Maggie had relied on them for all sorts of issues during her time as an agent.
“Yes.” Helmsley straightened her suit jacket, her feathers well and truly ruffled. “I don’t know how they managed it, but they did.”
Hackers wouldn’t break their way through the supposedly impenetrable firewalls of the Unit just to prove they could. It was a significant risk to take, and Maggie was willing to bet Helmsley had the entire strength of the Unit working to track down the ones behind it. Whatever the hackers wanted, they wanted it bad. “What did they take?”
Helmsley swallowed and met Maggie’s eyes. “The list.”
Maggie frowned. “What list?”
“The list,” Helmsley repeated irritably. She turned back to her tablet and linked it with the projector screen on the wall. A video began to play, giving Maggie flashbacks to a mission in Paris at the end of last year. Only it wasn’t a young man speaking about blowing up the city this time.
A young girl sat in an empty room, her fear palpable even through the screen. Her entire body tremored, and she watched someone from behind the lens with nervous distrust as they filmed her. She couldn’t be older than eighteen.
A man’s voice yelled at her from offscreen, and the girl recoiled, flinching as if she expected to be hit. Maggie didn’t recognize the language the man spoke, but he barked at the girl again in broken English. “You read. Now.”
The girl nodded emphatically, and her bottom lip quivered. “I’m speaking on behalf of those loyal to Ivan Dalca,” she began. The lilt to her words told Maggie that although she spoke it very well, English wasn’t her first language.
Dark, natural curls fell down her back and matched the deep brown of her eyes. Her cheeks weren’t as filled as Maggie suspected they usually were, the slenderness of her body indicating she’d been underfed. She was Middle Eastern in appearance, and beautiful in an innocent sort of way. A tear slipped down her cheek, and the man gave her a clear warning to continue.
“We demand that Ivan be released with immediate effect and allowed to leave the country unharmed. We have broken through your stronghold and know who each and every one of you are.”
An arm came into view and handed the girl a photograph. Maggie gripped the side of the table, recognizing the face.
“This is Secret Agent Jim Hunter. He is currently stationed in Beijing, posing as an employee to factory owner Mark Islington. Under the name Andrew Rundell, he is gathering intel on the inhumane working conditions inside the factories to bring down Mr. Islington’s illegal operation.”
The girl’s voice shook as she spoke, the severity of the situation and the harsh wording odd coming from her.
“To prove that we are serious in our demands, we have released this information to Mr. Islington and his known associates. The longer you take to release Ivan Dalca, the more of your agents we will expose. Their lives are in your hands.”
The image of the girl blinked out as the video ended.
“Agent Hunter is dead,” Helmsley stated. “We received the video yesterday, and they did as they said. They blew his cover before we could reach him.”
Maggie slumped in her chair and ran a hand through her blond locks. She’d stood outside in the hallway chatting to Jim Hunter barely two months before, laughing at his usual jokes and friendly taunts. “Have you told Jim’s family?”
“We informed his wife, Susan, earlier today.” Helmsley shifted in her seat, her obvious discomfort unsettling. Maggie was used to her no-nonsense attitude and cool demeanor. Even her bob of gray hair was slightly out of place, her uniform power suit creased like she hadn’t gone home since receiving the video.
“And your other agents in the field. Have you withdrawn them?”
“Those we could contact.”
Maggie knew the drill. Contact wasn’t always possible in the field, especially for deep undercover jobs. It was far too risky, both to the success of the mission and to the agent’s cover. News wouldn’t reach agents on those types of a
ssignments until they themselves made contact.
“Who’s Ivan Dalca?”
“A Romanian sex trafficker, among other things,” Helmsley informed. “Selling young girls is where he makes most of his money. He was charged with trafficking offenses and has been at Her Majesty’s Pleasure for the last six months.”
Prison. Maggie thought as much. She nodded her head toward the screen. “And these people?”
“Members of his criminal syndicate, we believe. Dalca’s reach across Europe is vast. A considerable amount of those trafficked here from the continent each year have passed through his hands at some point in the process.”
Which explained why his people would resort to blackmail. There was too much money involved to leave him behind bars. Too many opportunistic rivals who would be eyeing the syndicate’s weak spot as a way to take over Dalca’s operations.
“Are you letting him go?” Maggie asked. It wouldn’t be the first time such a trade had been made behind closed doors.
Helmsley slammed a fist on the table. “We don’t negotiate with criminals.”
“Even if it means the lives of your agents?” Letting one poor excuse for a human being go in exchange for the lives of her old colleagues seemed like an easy decision to Maggie.
“Dalca’s imprisonment was an international headline,” Helmsley said. “I can’t bloody well let him waltz out of prison a free man.”
Maggie understood. The Unit didn’t exist, and it had to stay that way. If Ivan Dalca were suddenly let go, the media would be on it in a heartbeat. With no good reason for letting him out that could be explained to the public, Helmsley’s hands were tied. Even if she did find a way to slip him out unnoticed, there was no guarantee Dalca’s people wouldn’t release the information they’d stolen anyway. Or sell it.
No, letting Dalca go wasn’t an option. Which left Helmsley with quite the predicament.
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