Code Name: Bundle!

by Christina Skye

  Her eyes widened. “Mr. Trace?” Vainly she tried to shove the wiggling cat under her shirt, but the white tail switched back and forth like a windshield wiper.

  Gently, Trace extracted the animal from her grasp. “Who’s your friend?”

  Sunny’s shoulders squared and she looked at Trace with an expression of bull-nosed stubbornness. “You can’t have him. Miguel found him wandering in the engine room and they were going to drown him. I hate them.” Her eyes filled with tears. “He’s not sick or anything. He’s healthy and his fur is beautiful and—and probably he got lost and snuck aboard in San Francisco.” She reached out for the cat and tucked it protectively against her chest. “I won’t let anyone hurt him.”

  The little white ball began to purr loudly. “See? All he wanted was food and water. My sisters and I will take care of him until we reach Puerto Vallarta. Then Miguel will take him to his sister because she’s nice and has lots of cats. Trouble will have a good life there.”

  “Trouble?”

  “That’s what we call him. It was really hard to keep him hidden.” Her eyes shimmered for a minute. “I wish I could take him home with me. He could sleep right on my bed. But there’s probably all kinds of stupid adult laws about taking him back to the United States.” Her lips began to quiver, and she looked away, rubbing a hand quickly across her eyes. “I’d ask Daddy, but I don’t want him to get in trouble.”

  She fed the hungry kitten another piece of food, sniffing furtively.

  Trace tried to harden his heart to the kitten and failed. “What’s that you’re feeding him?”

  “We saved our sushi from dinner because he likes raw fish. Olivia did some research on the Internet, and they said it has to be cut up very fine, so we did that. See?”

  The kitten went right for the mush, smearing tuna all over his white face.

  “It sounds like you three know what you’re doing.”

  Sunny’s gaze shot to his face. “So you won’t tell on us? You won’t get Miguel in trouble, either? He was just trying to save the cat. Then Trouble got free and we found him wandering around outside the spa yesterday.”

  Trace tried to ignore the plea in her big green eyes. “I guess a few hours won’t hurt.” He gave the cat a gentle scratch behind the ears and then stood up. His tone hardened as he looked at the nervous crewman. “You found the cat?”

  The man nodded.

  “You shouldn’t have gotten these girls involved. I’ll keep the cat with me until we reach Puerto Vallarta. Then I’ll make arrangements to give you the cat to take ashore. There’s no need for you to bother the girls again.”

  “Yes, yes. That is very good. I do not like to involve them, but to kill a cat is a very bad thing.”

  “You’re going to take the cat, Mr. Trace? Can I come see him in your room?” Sunny danced from foot to foot. “Can my sisters come, too?”

  “We’ll see. Right now you are heading right back to Cruisers’ Camp. You can’t walk around the ship alone without telling your parents. They’d be sick with worry if anything happened.”

  Instantly Sunny’s smile fled. “I didn’t want anyone to worry and this was the simplest way, don’t you see? My sisters and I have a feeding schedule and a time that we meet Miguel when his cabin is being cleaned. He needs to hide the cat then, so we take turns.” Her little chin rose defiantly. “We had it all figured out. Then you had to come walking by.” Her eyes narrowed suddenly. “You were watching us.” She shoved her hands onto her hips. “You shouldn’t watch people. It’s not nice.”

  Maybe not, but watching people happened to be a big part of his job, Trace thought.

  The young crewman was listening intently. “He is right, Sunny. You should not leave the campers’ class again. Your parents will be very angry. I tell you this already.”

  “Okay.” Sunny moved closer to Trace as he opened his sweatshirt, slid the cat inside, then closed the zipper halfway.

  Little claws kneaded his chest.

  When he looked down, Sunny was giggling at the little white face burrowing out above his sweatshirt.

  “Mr. Trace, he likes you. Hear how loud he’s purring?”

  Trace figured anyone within six feet could hear, which would pretty well shoot any chance of secrecy. “Let’s get you back to camp,” he said gruffly. “Then I’ll take our friend to my cabin and make him a box.”

  “A box?” Sunny frowned. “Oh, you mean for poop.”

  Trace nodded to the young crewman, who seemed only too happy to escape.

  Trace realized he might have bitten off more than he bargained for. What was he going to use for kitty litter? And how was he going to hide the cat when his cabin steward came in to clean?

  Just the same, he couldn’t help putting a protective hand around the kitten. Maybe he’d let Gina in on the secret. She would be able to come up with food and—

  Trace looked up, sensing a change in the corridor. Energy seemed to snap around him. The cat meowed loudly and climbed up Trace’s chest to stare over his shoulder.

  Trace gripped Sunny’s hand and turned, his uneasiness growing. They were half a mile off the coast, traveling past barren beaches and rugged, unpopulated mountains. Houses dotted an isolated cove, and small trawlers dotted the distant harbor. A short way inland a white truck raced along the road that paralleled the coast.

  The energy changed, sharp and focused and churning.

  And in that heartbeat, everything fell apart.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  A SENSE OF DANGER STRUCK Trace with overpowering force, drilling into his neck and chest. Sweat broke out as he watched the truck crawl like a white bug in the distance. But it wasn’t the truck he was worried about. It was something much closer.

  Something that waited in shadow, hidden and lethal.

  Only one stimulus caused this kind of response. Like every man in the Foxfire program, Trace had been equipped to respond to one specific threat.

  Enrique Cruz.

  But he was dead. Had to be dead.

  Once again the oily energy skittered through Trace’s senses like a sickness that would not die.

  He was certain. Somehow Cruz had escaped from death in the Pacific.

  Cruz had once bragged that a military exercise wasn’t over until he said it was over. He had always been the first on the training field and the last to leave. The fastest and the strongest among the Foxfire operatives, Cruz had abilities that no one could match. If he had cheated death again, what would he be capable of now?

  Another disorienting wave of energy cut across the corridor, slamming into Trace. Pain shot behind his eyes, bringing nausea in waves. He pushed a dial on his watch, reviewing precise GPS coordinates. A second button recorded the coordinates for later reference, so that Izzy could order a satellite flyover at the exact location.

  “Mr. Trace?” Sunny stared up at him anxiously. “You’re sweating and you don’t look good.”

  “I’ll be fine, honey.” They were almost at the youth camp now, and Trace was itching to be gone. In a matter of seconds his priorities had changed completely. Hunting Cruz took precedence over all other directives, even safeguarding the material in Tobias Hale’s safe. “Is your sister Cleo back inside?”

  “Oh, that was Olivia. Cleo had her turn being sick yesterday.” Sunny gave the cat a quick pat and then ran toward the entrance of the children’s camp. “I’ll check to be sure.”

  With growing impatience, Trace stood in the hallway assessing scenarios and probabilities. Sunny appeared, flanked by her two sisters. All three were staring fixedly at his chest.

  He gently pressed the cat’s white head out of sight while the girls giggled and returned to camp. Meanwhile, the energy was fading. Trace tried to localize the source, but with his chips disabled, it was like looking for a black thread in a dark room blindfolded.

  Was Cruz ashore in the white truck he’d seen? Or maybe traveling in one of the fishing trawlers in the cove?

  He stared down the companionway, fr
owning, considering a third scenario. Could Cruz be somewhere aboard the ship right now? If so, had he picked up Trace’s presence yet?

  Highly unlikely. With his chips inoperative, Trace wouldn’t stand out unless the two met face-to-face and Cruz was too smart to be wandering through any public areas.

  He was watching for the elevator when he felt someone behind him. He spun around, silent and fast, his focus centered on maintaining flexibility and lowering his center of gravity.

  Gina was staring at him oddly.

  He tried to move past her into the elevator, but she blocked his way. “I can’t talk now,” he said.

  “We’ll talk right now or I’m taking you to Tobias.” Her shoulders were stiff. “I just saw Sunny and she told me you were outside the camp. She said you’ve been watching her. I want to know why, and it had better be convincing.”

  The elevator doors hissed shut.

  “Sunny was mistaken. I was simply taking a walk,” Trace said calmly. He reached around and pressed the elevator button. “We can discuss it later, after I make a call.” The elevator doors swung open.

  Gina’s eyes narrowed on his face. “Are they in some kind of danger?”

  “I can’t discuss it now.” His voice was low, but the edge was growing sharper.

  Gina stepped back. “I want answers. If Carly or her family is in danger, Ford needs to know that. He’s a Navy SEAL and he could help.”

  Complications.

  The last thing Trace needed right now.

  “Trace, did you hear me?”

  He moved past her into the elevator. While she was still staring at him, Trace unzipped his jacket, pulled out the squirming cat and pressed him into her arms. “Take care of Sunny’s cat for me, will you?”

  The white kitten burrowed against Gina’s chest. “A cat? I can’t have a pet aboard ship. Hey, stop licking me—”

  The elevator doors closed, cutting off her protest.

  INSIDE HIS CABIN, Trace pulled out a small titanium suitcase and shot the bolts. His encrypted satellite phone housed in molded plastic was the latest model, to be used only in critical circumstances.

  Anything that involved Enrique Cruz counted as a critical circumstance.

  He listened to a brief hiss of static, followed by three short clicks as the call was rerouted to another secure location. More static cut across the line.

  “Ace Pizza. What’s up?”

  “We’ve got a problem.” Trace didn’t bother to identify himself. There was no need, since he was the only person who would use this secure phone. “Our man is back.”

  The sudden silence felt heavy. Neither man mentioned Enrique Cruz by name.

  “You saw him?”

  “No direct sighting, but a definite sensory response triggered with multiple distortion. It’s our man, I’m sure of it.”

  “The King is in the building,” Izzy said coldly. “Location and condition?”

  “Condition unknown.” Trace punched a button on his watch and passed on the GPS coordinates he had recorded earlier, along with the details of his sensory response.

  Izzy’s tone was brisk and precise. “Dizziness. Nausea. Visual distortion. How severe?”

  This was the voice of a medical authority talking, and Trace considered his answer accordingly. “Twenty-five-percent disruption. Performance ability affected but only temporarily.”

  “Duration of attack?”

  “I didn’t clock it. I’d say three minutes.”

  “Any significant observations ashore?”

  Trace heard the fast click of a keyboard. Every detail would be carefully recorded for transmission to Lloyd Ryker, Foxfire’s head.

  “A small cove with a rocky beach. Probably ten small motorboats and five fishing trawlers visible. Four houses near a little adobe church. I saw a white truck moving south along the beach. The truck felt important, but that is speculation.”

  “Understood.” More typing. “Any localization aboard your ship?”

  “Not that I could sense. I’d say it was more of a protective move, not an attack. With my enhancements disabled, I would assume I’m off the radar to the man in question,” Trace said carefully.

  “That is correct, as far as we know. But I’ll be phoning back within the hour, so stay within reach of this phone.”

  “Will do.”

  Trace flipped off the satellite phone and looked out at the shimmering line of the ocean. Clouds were piling up in the west. The sun was hot overhead.

  And Enrique Cruz had reappeared.

  Some part of his mind refused to accept that his old teammate was still alive. He had watched Cruz’s chopper explode in a fireball though Cruz’s body had never been recovered afterward. Given the violence of the final explosion, the lack of a body had not seemed significant.

  Trace schooled his thoughts to absolute calm. What happened next would not be his decision. The most important thing he could do now was stay flexible and alert, while preparing for every possible scenario. Given the importance of the material Tobias was chaperoning, an attack there zoomed to the top of Trace’s scenario list.

  Somehow Cruz could have caught wind of the new technology and decided to go after it. If so, Trace would have to fight without any of the skills that he had come to rely on. In short, he would be a flea squaring off with a tiger.

  FUBAR.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  LLOYD RYKER WASN’T HAPPY to be disturbed. From what Izzy had seen, few things seemed to make Ryker happy.

  “O’Halloran was certain about the sensory phenomena? You believe it indicates Cruz is in the vicinity?”

  “I’d give it a ninety percent probability, sir.”

  “How close?”

  “Impossible to say yet.”

  “Any problem with our man? He’s still field capable, I take it?”

  “That’s affirmative, sir.”

  “Then I want Dakota prepped and sent in as backup. Bring him up to speed and have him ready to fly within the hour.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “We need absolute deniability on this whole situation. Is that clear, Teague?”

  A pause. “Understood, sir.”

  Ryker cleared his throat. “Anything else you need to tell me?”

  “No, sir.”

  It was a lie. Although the source was unclear, for the past month Izzy had been receiving garbled messages on his computer. One week earlier he had received a coded e-mail, short and to the point. The message listed the street address of his mother’s home outside Baltimore, along with her precise times of leaving and returning. Whoever had sent the message wanted Izzy to know that his only existing family was under close surveillance. Furious, Izzy had called in a favor from an old friend on the local police force. Although she didn’t know it, his mother’s house was now under round-the-clock protection.

  Despite all his searches, Izzy had no more to go on. He had traced the message to a public Internet café in one of the busiest neighborhoods in Singapore. The computer time had been purchased in cash. The proprietor had noticed nothing strange about the Caucasian man who had rented the Internet time, and no camera surveillance was available.

  Dead end.

  “Notify me when Dakota is outbound for Mexico. And see what you can pull from satellite coverage of that area. I want to know every speck of dirt on that white truck. Is that clear?”

  “Already on it, sir. We should have the first visuals within the next fifteen minutes.”

  “Excellent. I don’t need to remind you that the man is dangerous, Teague. He nearly killed you in New Mexico.”

  Izzy was highly unlikely to forget that encounter. Cruz had broken several of Izzy’s bones and attacked Trace O’Halloran’s sister. Izzy wasn’t going to let the man escape again.

  “Call me as soon as you’ve gone over the satellite feeds. I’ll expect a complete report by 0400 hours.” Ryker didn’t wait for an answer, and the line went dead.

  Instantly, Izzy went to work, scrolli
ng through maps of Mexico to pinpoint the GPS coordinates Trace had given him. He was in the middle of searching police reports from the area when he heard his incoming e-mail program chime softly.

  More orders from Ryker already?

  But the incoming message wasn’t from Ryker or anyone else whose e-mail address Izzy recognized. The content appeared to be gibberish.

  He stared at the screen.

  Then he typed in a line of code. The letters shifted continuously in seemingly random patterns as a powerful program went to work analyzing the message for all possible word strings. At any other time Izzy would have felt a deep sense of pride that his newest program decrypted the message in less than three minutes.

  We’ll be sure to say hello to Marietta.

  The single line of text blinked ominously, jolting Izzy to his feet. If he didn’t act fast, someone very close to him would die.

  He stared at his gray metal desk and the secret files stacked in neat, organized rows. He saw the new encryption equipment he was building on a nearby table. He registered the half-eaten tuna sandwich next to a cup of coffee that was rapidly growing cold. And he had the jarring sense that his whole world, the normalcy of his life as he knew it, had just spun on its axis and fled.

  Which was exactly what happened whenever Enrique Cruz hit the scene, he thought grimly.

  But he swore the people he loved would not get hurt by Cruz’s treachery. He reached for the telephone in the corner of his desk, then stopped, his eyes on the blinking red lights that registered calls through the facility’s general phone system. Frowning, he pulled his personal cell phone out of his pocket.

  He didn’t need to look up the number. He had known it by heart for years.

  She answered on the second ring, sounding breathless. “Hello?” Izzy’s eyes softened at the sound of the voice, low and smooth and cultured. “Teague residence.”

  He frowned. No matter how many times he told her not to answer with her name, that the world was a dangerous place and you didn’t give away information unless you had to, his mother was still southern and a creature of manners.