Riley watched Ivanovitch and the woman walk along the street as they shoved their weapons out of sight. Passersby already gathered timidly at the alley. Gunfire was nothing new in Suwan.
Winded, excited and wary, Riley fell back into the seat. The woman wasn’t Sam St. John. He clung to that fact.
“Where to?” the driver asked. He knew from his previous association with Riley not to ask questions.
“The airport,” Riley replied. As long as he remained in Suwan—even Berzhaan—without sanction, he was a target. His agent’s jacket was big enough that if Ivanovitch had done what he’d threatened to do, the United States and Berzhaan’s relationship would further fragment.
He needed to get back to Langley. More was going on in Suwan than their Intel had indicated. And since Sam St. John might not have been the woman in the digital footage offered from MI-6, she deserved to be released.
Besides that, he had a plan.
“St. John.”
Recognizing Riley McLane’s voice, Sam stopped her forms in midmovement and turned to the door of her cell. Her defenses were up instantly. When she’d last seen him seven days ago, they’d parted under strained circumstances.
“McLane?” she called.
Howie Dunn had left hours ago when they had finished for the evening. They had put in six days on the search for the Cipher, two days since the Russian connection had turned up in Berzhaan and Sam had started figuring out who the agent on the ground was in Berzhaan. If McLane wasn’t there now, she had to think that maybe she was wrong.
“Are you decent?” he asked.
“Yes.” Decent, Sam thought, taking stock of her perspiration-sodden clothing, but not presentable. Then she thought that assessment was stupid. She was totally not happy with Riley McLane and didn’t give a damn what he thought about how she looked.
The door opened and Riley walked in with an armful of clothing.
“Are we going somewhere?” Sam’s heart leaped at the possibility. In almost two months, she’d only been out of the room the one time Riley had taken her earlier. And that had only been to Stone Mitchell’s office, barely five minutes of open air. Even the skills at isolation that she’d developed getting bumped from foster home to foster home hadn’t prepared her for the ordeal she’d faced. A window had made a lot of difference, a constant reminder that a world existed outside of the place she had stayed then.
“No,” Riley said, lifting the clothing. He sounded tired and edgy. “I’m trying to catch up on my laundry.” He laid jeans, a green turtleneck and a black jacket on the made bed. A clear plastic bag contained white, French-cut panties and a bra.
“Well,” Sam said, “I’ll have to question your taste.”
Riley had three boxes of footwear and dropped those on the bed as well. “C’mon. We haven’t got all day.”
She was surprised at the amount of angry rebellion that flooded her. “No.”
He looked up at her and scowled irritably. “What do you mean, no?”
“No means no. I’m not going. I’m a prisoner here. Not someone you can check in and out like a library book.”
Riley growled. “We’ve got a mission briefing and a plane to catch. We really don’t have time for this.”
Sam’s thoughts reeled. A mission? A plane? For a moment she thought she needed to pinch herself, to see if she would wake up.
“What are you talking about?”
Rolling his wrist over so that he was looking at the inside of his wrist, Riley said, “We’re losing time. We didn’t have enough time as it was.”
“I’m not going until you tell me what’s going on.”
“I was over in Berzhaan,” Riley said. “I found the woman who was in the digital recording MI-6 gave us. Mitchell knows it wasn’t you. I took pictures of her with a minicam I wore.”
Sam felt like she’d been hit by a bus. She’d just about been able to get her mind wrapped around the idea that her incarceration was going to last a really long time after her “confession” so she could get a look at the files concerning the Cipher. Now she was free?
“Who is she?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know,” Riley answered.
Anger burst free inside Sam. Someone—some stranger—had taken her life away from her. Only, that wasn’t true. She’d seen the pictures of the woman in the digital footage. The woman had looked enough like her to be a sister.
Sam struggled with her voice, striving to sound normal. “Does she?”
“Does she what?”
“Look that much like me?”
Riley hesitated only a moment. “Yeah. She does. MI-6 made a mistake. We made a mistake.” He hesitated. “We know that now.”
Sam’s eyes burned with frustration and anger and hurt. She refused to cry. She wouldn’t let him see her cry.
“Two months, McLane,” she said in a voice made hoarse by strain and surprise. “Mitchell took almost two months of my life and I spent them in here. After I promised myself I would never be locked down like this again.”
All the times she’d been sent to her room or a corner in foster homes, not to be seen or heard, had haunted her. She had felt powerless and helpless in a way she hadn’t felt since she was a child. No one should have to go through what she’d gone through, then and in the past two months.
Riley looked at her. Pain echoed in his eyes. “Sam, I can’t do anything about that. I’ve fixed what I could.”
Her voice broke, and she didn’t speak until she was under control again. “I missed Rainy’s funeral. I wasn’t there with my friends when they needed me. No matter what you do, you can’t fix that.”
“I know.”
“I want out,” Sam declared. “You can’t come in here after two months and tell me everything has been taken care of, but now we have a mission. My apartment has been taken by this time, and my personal property has either been thrown out on the street, locked in storage or auctioned off.”
“Your apartment is still there,” Riley said. “I made the last two payments for you. I took care of your utilities, as well. You don’t have any credit cards. Your car is out in the parking lot here at the Agency.” He looked at her. “Your life is intact, Sam. So is your job.”
“I’m free?” She stated that as if she couldn’t believe it.
Riley nodded. “Free.”
“And what the hell makes you think I want my job back?”
He looked at her. “Maybe you don’t, Sam. I don’t know how I would feel if I were you. I don’t know how you feel right now. However you feel, I’m trying like hell to understand and I’ll help you any way I can. But I need you.” He pushed his breath out. “This woman that looks like you, she’s tied up in the arms shipments in Berzhaan somehow. I’ve convinced Mitchell that I’m the right guy for this job. That we’re the right people for this job.” He paused. “I need you to make this work. The same likeness that exists that landed you in trouble can be used against her.”
His words echoed in the room. The honesty in them was so real they cut like a knife. She discovered that she liked having heard him say that. I need you. Simple and direct, and she was surprised at how good it made her feel. Yet, at the same time, his words and his need—so apparent in him now—scared the hell out of her. I need you was also a trap, a commitment that she didn’t want to have to make.
“Where were you when I needed you?” Sam asked in a ragged whisper. If he saw that what he was asking was more than he had given, surely he would just go away.
He eyed her steadily. “I was here, Sam. Then, when I couldn’t be here anymore, I was in Berzhaan. Maybe if I hadn’t been the one to bring you in I wouldn’t have stuck around. But I was. And I did.” He paused. “I’m also the one who found the woman in Berzhaan.”
Sam crossed her arms and shook her head. “I can’t go. I want to see my friends. I need to see my friends.” I want to be around people who don’t want to lock me up, she thought. Not around someone who might change his mind at any moment. Not around s
omeone I embarrassed myself with.
“I understand that. Let me show you something.” Riley reached into his pocket and pulled out a portable DVD player. “You and Howie were working on the Cipher killing.”
Sam stood her ground. She wasn’t going to be lured into Riley’s trap. What she wanted to do, all she wanted to do, was get back to Arizona and check in with Kayla, Alex, Darcy and the others.
“Howie told me you guys got close to discovering the Cipher’s identity,” Riley said.
“Maybe.”
“Howie told me about the boat,” Riley went on. “About how you picked that ‘accident’ as a contract hit.” He opened the DVD player. “You narrowed it down to what? Fifteen guys?”
“Eleven,” Sam said, still not moving. “There were eleven men on that yacht. Provided the Cipher isn’t a woman with large hands.”
“He isn’t. He was onboard the yacht when it slammed into the docks.”
“Probably not then, but shortly before,” Sam agreed. “He must have dived out of the boat just seconds before the impact. That’s the only way he could have gotten close enough to grab his victim’s foot and hold him under till he drowned.” She studied his features. “We can’t prove that the Cipher was there.”
“Take a look at this.” Riley pushed the DVD player in her direction.
Reluctantly Sam looked. Image after image scrolled through the DVD viewer screen.
“After you nailed down those eleven faces,” Riley said, “the Intel databanks went to work crunching known assassinations carried out by the Cipher. And deaths that potentially related to him. Nearly everyone the Cipher killed was someone high profile. Cameras, media as well as security, cover a lot of those incidents. Computer programs searched thousands of hours of video. We kept coming back to one face. One of those eleven potential faces you identified.”
Then a man stepped into front and center of the view screen. He stood at the edge of a crowd inside a large metropolitan building. At least six feet tall, he was broad and powerful looking. He looked to be in his midfifties, fit and muscular. His head was shaved, gleaming occasionally as the smooth skin reflected light. He passed by the sequence like a man on a mission. He wore a lab coat and carried a small PDA. He could have been a doctor or an intern. The security footage was good, but the man never quite looked at a camera.
“He knew where all the cameras were,” Riley said. “See how he moves? Maybe he mapped them out ahead of time, hacked into the security system and familiarized himself with the layout.”
“Do you know who he is?” Sam asked.
“No.”
“Why did you look into this?”
Riley was silent for a moment. “Because I thought you were right about your friend being murdered. I wanted to believe in you.”
“That was a big change. You didn’t want to believe in me at first.”
“No,” Riley admitted. “But that was when I was remembering what I’d seen in that file MI-6 had sent Mitchell. A week ago I saw you lay everything on the line in an effort to help your friends.”
Sam felt herself go cold inside with anger and humiliation. She knew what had happened between them a week ago. Not a night had passed that it hadn’t haunted her.
“What?” she asked in a flat voice. “You’re talking about my offer of sex?”
Riley’s eyes slitted and his mouth turned down. “Don’t,” he whispered.
“That’s all it was, right? An offer to have sex? That’s what you called it.” Sam couldn’t stop the anger she felt. Two months of being locked down, having her attempt at seduction thrown back in her face; it was more than she could take. And Riley McLane had the nerve to walk into her prison cell and expect her to act as if none of it had mattered, that she was just supposed to forget that any of it had happened.
Riley’s face turned neutral. “Yeah. That’s what I called it. That’s what I thought it was. My mistake.” He turned and walked to the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Out.”
“What about me? Am I still free to go?”
Riley stopped at the doorway. “You’re out, St. John. Free to go. Free to stay. Free to do whatever the hell you want to do.” He stepped outside and the door closed behind him.
Sam listened to the hollow click of the door closing. This time, the sound of the lock activating didn’t follow. Emotions swelled within her, almost overcoming her. She tried to push the pain and uncertainty away, but every time she did it seemed to roll back over her and attack her from another position. She couldn’t get away.
He didn’t deserve that, she told herself as she stared at the closed door. He’d only been doing his job.
She drew a shaky breath and looked at the clothes on the bed. Doing his job didn’t excuse him completely. He’d doubted her, and he’d hurt her. She’d shown him her vulnerable side, and he’d cast it away as though it was nothing.
You should have expected that, she chided herself. You can’t leave yourself open to anyone. They’re strangers, not family. They will hurt you if they get the chance, and sometimes even when they don’t mean to. They’re not family—Riley isn’t family. He doesn’t know the first thing about you.
Hesitantly, afraid of what she would find and preparing herself for the worst, Sam approached the door and tried the knob. It really was unlocked. She pulled the door open and felt the slightly cooler air in the hallway push in against her. No one was in the hallway.
She drew a breath of fresh air, then pulled her head back inside the room. She stripped off her workout clothes and showered, turning the spray up so hot she felt certain she was going to be scalded, then switching to cold needle spray.
She toweled off and dressed quickly. She left her prison garb behind in the room. As she strode down the hall, she considered her options. She wanted to return to the academy, to talk to Kayla, Alex, Darcy, Josie and Tory.
Rainy’s possibly mined eggs figured into the mix somewhere, but that also put the Cipher into events, as well.
He killed Rainy. The thought slammed into Sam. He killed her and he’s getting away with it. Before she knew it, tears ran down her face. She wiped them away with the back of her hand. She was mad and hurt and confused.
Going back to the academy sounded good, but it meant relying on the friendships there instead of standing on her own. She’d been locked down for two months, unable to do anything to avenge her friend.
Are you going back to them like this? she asked herself. All busted up and broken? Is that how you want to go back? Let them see that you never really made it out of all those foster homes? Is that what you want, St. John? The sympathy vote? Damn you. You were never a quitter. Not then. Not now. You’re going to finish this.
She shut off the tears and wiped her face by the time she reached the security checkpoint. The young agent manning the security desk looked up at her.
“I need to borrow the phone,” Sam said.
He hesitated for a moment, then set the phone unit on the top of the counter. “Punch nine to get out.”
Sam took the handset and dialed Mitchell’s office.
“Mitchell,” he answered in a calm voice.
“It’s Sam St. John.”
“Hello, Agent St. John. What can I do for you?”
“Does McLane have a cell phone?”
Mitchell hesitated. “Yes.”
“I need the number.”
“Why?”
“Because I changed my mind.”
“You turned him down?” Mitchell didn’t sound surprised.
“You bet your ass.”
“I told him you would. I also told him that wouldn’t be your final answer.” Mitchell read off the cell-phone number. “You’re not someone to leave something unfinished, and the Cipher is unfinished business. So is the woman you were mistaken for.”
Sam tried to respond to that, but nothing came to her.
“Good luck, St. John.” Mitchell broke the connection.
Pushing
through the surreal feeling of the moment, Sam punched in the numbers for Riley’s cell phone.
“McLane,” he answered. His voice sounded gruff and rushed.
“Me,” Sam said. Silence filled the line for a moment. “I want the Cipher. He killed my friend. I’m not going to let him get away with that. Where can I meet you?”
Chapter 13
L ess than an hour later, Sam was aboard an air force jet transport winging out of Langley Air Force Base. The rest of Commander Novak’s SEAL team was waiting when they arrived. The SEALs were working security and covert ops on the mission.
All of the Navy Special Forces men were young, lean and hard. They exuded confidence and efficiency, but they could have passed as college students or young business executives. They were a mix of white, black, Asian and Middle-Eastern.
Seated at the conference table bolted to the floor, Sam felt the vibration of the jet’s powerful engines.
While en route on the helicopter, the SEAL commander and Riley had stayed busy on cell phones making arrangements. Howie had worked on the notebook computer. Absolved of any duties and not able to hear what Riley was saying because he’d cut her out of his communications loop, Sam had forced herself to sleep for the half hour the trip to Langley Air Force Base took. Sleep was her oldest retreat from events that were out of her control, and from unhappiness that had been too much to bear. She’d woken as soon as the helicopter had begun its descent.
The air force jet was large and set up for handling meetings in-flight. The interior was almost set up like a conference room, complete with coffeemakers, a well-stocked refrigeration unit and a kitchen area.
Novak’s SEAL team members were quiet and efficient, much like their commander. They all ate and sat attentively around the table as Riley provided the briefing.
“Gentlemen,” Riley said, “for almost two years, the United States, particularly the Central Intelligence Agency, has been under intensive scrutiny by Prime Minister Razidae and his cabinet. We are providing arms and acting in an advisory capacity to Berzhaan’s military, but several of that nation’s citizens as well as our own people have gotten suspicious of our efforts there.”
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