Maggie would need to send them a card. She almost laughed at the thought. So mundane amid the surreal conversation she was having with her old boss. Leon was in danger, and no one was there to help him.
“I’m not going to stand by while you do nothing. You might be fine with crossing him off your roster, but I will not give up on him. Ever.”
Grace huffed. “I see Bishop’s assurances that the two of you were no longer romantically involved was yet one more lie.”
“Whatever.” Maggie had heard enough. Leon was on borrowed time, and she wasn’t going to waste any more of it talking to a cold, old battle-axe.
“Where are you going?” Helmsley asked as Maggie shoved past her.
“To save him.”
“You’re needed here,” Helmsley called behind her.
Maggie stopped and turned at the door. “Leon needs me, and that is all I care about.”
“He could already be dead.”
“If he’s dead, then god help the people who did it.”
Chapter 8
Farnborough, Great Britain
* * *
Farnborough Airport lay thirty-five miles southwest of London. It had rained the whole way there, the day nothing but a grim downpour of gray. So much for summer.
Maggie hadn’t spoken much during the journey, too lost in the multitude of things that could go wrong with their plan, of what could be happening to Leon, and the danger that had arrived on their doorstep so soon after Bishop’s betrayal. It was just one thing after another.
“Thank you for this,” she said as she got out of the car and collected her hastily filled duffel bag from the trunk.
“Of course.” Ashton took the bag from her, and they rushed out of the rain to the check-in building of the private airport. “He’s practically my brother.”
“You didn’t talk for years.”
“Exactly.”
Maggie allowed a smile and hugged her best friend’s broad shoulders once they were inside. “Seriously, though, thank you.”
“We’ll get him home,” Ashton promised into her ear and squeezed her tight. “Don’t worry.”
Unlike a commercial flight, checking in and going through security was a breeze. Maggie had more than one passport with her, unsure which of her aliases might be needed for what they were about to do, but no one asked her for any documentation. She gave Ashton a questioning look, to which he replied with a sly wink.
The private jet, an elegant Legacy 500, sat waiting for them at their corresponding gate. A sleek, eight-passenger plane that came with all the mod cons the social elite who could afford such luxury could want, including Wi-Fi, beds, a fancy dinner-and-drinks menu, and a cabin attendant.
“This must have cost a pretty penny,” Maggie said, guilt rising within her at costing her friend so much money. Not that she refused Ashton’s offer when he gave it. Guilt she could cope with. Losing Leon was a whole other beast entirely, and a possibility she would do all she could to avoid.
“Don’t worry, Mags. The guy who owns the plane owes me a favor, so I got it cheap.”
Maggie’s and Ashton’s ideas of “cheap” were two very different things.
“Hi, welcome,” greeted a handsome young man at the foot of the drop-down stairs leading up into the plane. “I’m Craig, and I’ll be your cabin attendant for your flight.” His eyes stuck to Ashton as he spoke, giving the Scot a little more than mere professional attention. Maggie couldn’t blame the man. Ashton was quite the sight, with his immaculate dark hair, muscled, tattoo-covered arms, and deep-blue eyes that promised mischief.
“Nice to meet you,” Ashton said, handing over their bags.
Craig introduced them to the two pilots once inside, and they prepared for takeoff. Ashton had made it clear the flight was urgent when making the arrangements, so they prepared to leave as soon as he and Maggie sat down.
“A double whisky for me and the good lady when you get a minute, Craig,” Ashton said with a knowing grin before turning his attention back to Maggie. “You look like you need one.”
“Nine hours, Ash,” she said, staring out the window as they left the interior loading bay and taxied out onto the runway. “A lot can happen in nine hours.”
“Don’t think about it that way. For all we know, Leon’s made it out already. Don’t forget, he’s as resourceful as you, and almost as resourceful as me. And anyway, if he does need our help, that gives us nine hours to plan.”
The tears she’d held back in front of Helmsley slipped down her cheeks, betraying her outer resolve. Craig arrived with their drinks and handed her a napkin without comment. Ashton didn’t seem to worry about talking in front of him or the pilots, so Maggie didn’t either. She was sure their discretion was well paid for.
“You really love him, don’t you,” Ashton said, watching her from across the table between them.
“I can’t think about any of that right now.” What mattered was preparing for what they must do. They didn’t have much to go on, but at this point, Maggie was desperate and willing to risk anything to get Leon out of Somalia in one piece.
“You’re not an agent now,” Ashton pressed, not for the first time. “You can be together without the Unit sticking their noses into things.”
It wasn’t just the Unit, though. Not even two months had passed since she’d left the job and her old life behind, and already she’d been dragged back into it. She was beginning to think she’d never be able to escape.
“We’d never be able to have a normal life.”
Ashton considered her for a moment. “With you two, I don’t think things will ever be normal. You’ve just got to take what life throws at you and try to make it work in the process. You’re both miserable without each other. Besides, who wants a ‘normal’ life anyway? Whatever that is. Sounds boring, if you ask me.”
Maggie stared down at her hands. “What if I do?”
“Then fight for it,” Ashton said with an unusual sharpness. “You’re willing to fight for so many things for other people, Mags, but when it comes to your own happiness, you shy away and give up.”
Maggie blinked. “Kick me while I’m down, Ash.”
“I’m giving you a kick up the arse. You’re in need of one, and I love you too much to let you sit there and feel sorry for yourself. You’re about to fly thousands of miles to rescue Leon, but you’re still sitting here thinking of all the ways you and he won’t work when it’s clear that you’re head over heels for the man.”
Maggie sat in silence, unable to retaliate with a response. It wasn’t every day she was slapped with the truth like that, especially from Ashton.
The engines ramped up behind them before the breaks were released and the jet raced down the runway for takeoff. Smaller planes always seemed more precarious to Maggie; the impact from hurtling up thousands of feet into the sky and navigating the wind felt more intense in the close confines.
Not that the classy private jet was claustrophobic. At almost thirty meters long and two wide, it was like sitting in someone’s living room. The interior was decorated in beautiful maple wood and cream leather, making it appear more spacious. The seats were large and comfortable enough to sleep on without them being turned down into beds, and a long couch ran the rest of the length of the plane behind them before reaching the restroom at the back. As far as flying went, this was the way to go. Maggie only wished they were headed on vacation as opposed to diving headfirst into what could be a very dangerous shitstorm.
“Now,” Ashton said, once the plane settled above the clouds and the engines calmed down, “what’s the plan?”
Maggie hadn’t had time to come up with anything detailed or foolproof. All she had cared about was getting to Somalia as fast as she could. Now that they were on their way, she was left with the task of scrambling together a plan that could work.
“Helmsley came through,” Maggie said after what felt like a century of tense waiting. They were only a few hours away from Somalia now, and she gre
w more anxious and agitated with each passing minute.
Tossing her ego aside, Maggie had sucked it up and called her old boss, not bringing up their little scene from earlier when she’d walked out. Grace never mentioned their tiff either. Both women seemed to care more about getting Leon out now that it was clear Maggie was arriving there in a matter of hours, whether the Unit liked it or not.
“The Somali government has a man inside,” she explained to Ashton. “He isn’t at the compound, but he was the one who managed to set up a meeting with Yasir and told him about Leon.”
Maggie filled her friend in on everything the Director General told her about Leon’s mission and how he was masking as the son of wealthy Somalis living in Britain. Even Ash had scoffed at Leon’s plans to take out Osman from inside his own compound in the middle of nowhere. This only reinforced Maggie’s view that it was a dumb move, given that Ashton had a habit of throwing himself into the thick of things without thinking first. She almost smiled with chagrin at the thought. Wasn’t she doing the exact same thing now?
“How can he help?” Ashton asked, tucking into a steak dinner Craig had made for him. Maggie had no idea how he could eat so close to a mission. She’d forced down what she could of the complimentary snacks earlier, knowing she’d need the energy, but they only made her churning stomach worse.
“Yasir hasn’t ventured into Mogadishu after an attempt on his life a few weeks ago by Somali soldiers. He sends his younger brother now instead, and he has arranged a meeting tonight with their men stationed in the city.”
“Why are they meeting?”
Maggie read the email Grace had sent and memorized the address of their meeting place; some run-down house at the edge of town in an area even the soldiers avoided. “The contact didn’t know, but it’s most likely to arrange another terrorist attack on the city.”
“And what?” Ashton asked as he polished off the final bites of his meal with a glass of white wine. “We’re going to crash the party?”
Maggie shook her head. “I’m not, but Ekaterina is.”
“Ah. Doing a little business in the area, is she?”
“She is now. If I can get to that meeting and speak with Yasir’s brother, we might be able to talk him into setting up another meeting with the man himself.” It was a long shot, but it was more than they had before they took off. Maggie clung to it with every bit of hope she could muster. It had to work.
“And you think said meeting might be held in Yasir’s compound since he’s giving Mogadishu a wide berth?”
“It’s the best chance we’ve got. Otherwise we’re left with trying to break in.” Though it was an alternative option, it was one Maggie would prefer to avoid.
Ashton appeared to be of a similar mind. “If this Al-Shabab cell is as legit as you say they are, breaking in undetected will be nigh impossible.”
“Which is why we need to be at that meeting.”
“And this is where Ekaterina comes in.”
“And her bodyguard, of course. Helmsley’s arranged for some weapons to be ‘donated’ for the meeting by our own troops stationed in the city. They don’t have many to spare, but it will hopefully be enough to convince Yasir and his brother that we have a lot more where those came from.”
Ekaterina Kovrova was one of the many aliases Maggie had adopted over the years, the skill of taking on a new persona one of her particular specialties. Ekaterina was the ideal one for the task that lay ahead. She was Russian, for one. Russia was hardly known for its love and close ties with Britain and the rest of the Western world, which people like Yasir vehemently despised. It would at least explain why Ekaterina was willing to do business with Yasir’s militia.
The big plus for using Ekaterina was her profession. Thanks to the excellent work of Ashton’s friend Gillian, an eccentric housewife turned criminal forger, the name Ekaterina Kovrova was known all across the black market. Through a network of eyes and ears, rumors, and taking responsibility for trades and deals no one could pin on anyone, her alias was well established as being one of the most elusive, discreet, and well-stocked arms dealers available.
“Weapons won’t be easy to come by for their group now that they’ve been shafted out of all the major ports and cities.” Ashton wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned back in his seat with a satisfied full belly. “The chance to purchase new stock won’t be easy for them to refuse.”
“I hope you’re correct,” Maggie said. “Right now, that’s all we have going for us.”
Neither of them brought up the fact they had no plans for what they would do once they reached the compound. Aside from it being hard to predict what might arise, they were both well aware that they might not make it back out again—if they even made it that far in the first place.
Maggie got up and stretched her stiff back, thankful that she’d packed the vital necessities needed to transform herself into the Russian, along with a few other options. “I better get ready. We’ll be landing soon.”
Ekaterina had come in handy when Maggie was framed for murder, and she could only hope that her alias would help her out of this situation, too. She’d wormed her way out of too many sticky situations not to believe in luck, and if there was ever a time for Maggie to catch a break on a mission, it was most definitely this one. It wasn’t only Leon’s life that could depend on it—it was hers and Ashton’s, too.
Chapter 9
Mogadishu, Somalia
12 July
* * *
Being undercover in such heat was a whole new level of irritating. Even under the cloak of night, a close, humid air hung thick in Mogadishu, like breathing in a sauna.
Maggie’s head itched under her wig. Unlike her own wavy blond hair, Ekaterina’s fell almost to her waist, black as raven’s feathers and severely straight with a blunt fringe. At least she could forgo her contacts for this one. Maggie’s forger had given the Russian alias her same ice-cold eyes.
Dressed in a sharp, fitted business suit to match Ekaterina’s ever-serious nature, it was all Maggie could do not to strip off her jacket and wave a hand over her face. It was just after midnight and Maggie wasn’t looking forward to how hot it would get once the sun rose. If they lived long enough to see it, of course.
They had to make their own way to their contact’s house. It was in a nicer part of town than their meeting place, but that wasn’t saying much. The whole of Somalia was like the Wild West.
Dilapidated buildings lined every dusty street, most of the small businesses shuttered down for the evening. No one had any business being out on the streets at this time; most of the locals knew better than to stay out after dark. While daylight didn’t guarantee safety, night was for the devious, the deceitful, and the dangerous.
Maggie kept her eyes sharp as Ashton drove the beat-up car, used in some small attempt to blend in. The city was notoriously hazardous—gun violence, robberies, murder, and kidnappings were as common as the sunrise. The British government listed Somalia as a strict no-go zone when it came to travel. Not that it was the kind of place people wanted to go for their two-week vacation from work, but anyone thinking of going to Mogadishu was strongly advised otherwise. Maggie could see why.
Craig and the two pilots remained at the Aden Adde International Airport, inside the plane and on the runway by Maggie’s advice, and under strict orders to leave if they felt their lives were under any threat. Westerners weren’t welcomed by most in Somalia, and though the woman and two men were aware of the dangers, their eyes had bulged when Ashton handed them a gun each and showed them the basics.
The British soldiers had met them upon landing with the promised guns, the team of men warning them not to stay long. Maggie didn’t intend to. If things went her way, they would be back in the air before morning, with Leon among them.
Eleven minutes from the airport, their contact lived around the corner from the Banadir Hospital in a run-down, two-story building. Ashton parked out front and Maggie spotted a head peeking out the win
dow behind closed curtains. A minute later, the man was outside, checking up and down the empty street before approaching their car.
Maggie and Ashton got out, armed with some of the weapons the soldiers had provided for tonight’s ruse. Maggie held her hand close to where a concealed gun hung at her waist, ready and willing to use it at the slightest sign of danger.
“Ugaas Warsame?” she asked, having memorized the name Helmsley sent over.
The man nodded. “Maggie Black?”
His English was broken but clear enough, which was good considering neither Maggie nor Ashton spoke a word of Somali or Arabic. Ugaas was a tall, slender man with sharp cheekbones and hard eyes that spoke of someone who had witnessed many hideous things in his lifetime. Maggie knew the look, having seen it in the mirror often enough.
They each shook hands with their new comrade, keeping introductions short.
“Switch to my car,” Ugaas said, motioning them to follow him to his beat-up truck. “Safer. Tahiil knows it.”
“How long have you been undercover against Yasir?” Ashton asked.
Having both been on long jobs pretending to be someone other than themselves, Maggie and her best friend knew the effects a long-term mission could cause. Losing touch with what was real and what wasn’t was a common side effect of prolonged infiltration, and Ugaas wouldn’t be the first person to have switched alliances during the process.
“Eighteen months,” Ugaas replied, coming over to help Maggie move the two large crates of weapons from the trunk of their car to the back of his truck. “Though not much longer. I hope.”
Helmsley had assured Maggie that Ugaas was unaware of Leon’s name being leaked, at least according to the Somalian’s handler. A pang of regret stirred within Maggie at that, but the less the man knew, the less she had to worry about things going wrong. The success of the job already hung on a knife edge.
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