“I’ll be right there.”
“This had better work,” Damian said after he hung up.
“Talk me through this one. We’ll figure it out while we’re waiting for Paige. I don’t want her in danger any more than you do.”
Damian flashed his light at the new challenge and prayed this would all be over soon.
* * *
A prayer running through his mind, Brent moved silently, stepping carefully to avoid detection. He caught a glimpse of a shadow falling over the intersecting hallway and, a moment later, saw a man’s silhouette. Quickening his steps, Brent peeked around the corner just as Tristan stepped through a darkened doorway.
The man started to turn, but Tristan grabbed him around the throat with one arm, both holding him in place and preventing him from crying out. With his other hand, he injected a needle with a heavy sedative into the man’s arm.
A slight vibration of the floor followed as Tristan lowered the man to the ground. A short distance away, Quinn appeared from another adjoining hall, signaling that the area was clear.
“Seth?” Brent’s voice was barely audible.
“We checked the basement. He’s not here,” Tristan said in a whisper. “Maybe this is the wrong place.” Motioning to the man on the floor, he added, “Which means I owe this guy an apology.”
“No, your instincts were right. This is where they wanted us.” Brent quickly filled him in on the conversation he had overheard between Vanessa and Andrea.
“We’ll check the rest of the building in case they moved him,” Tristan said. “What do you want us to do with this guy?”
“Tie him up and lock him out of sight in one of the supply closets,” Brent said. “Jay’s still keeping watch outside. Go grab him if you need extra manpower to search. I’m going back to Vanessa.”
“What are you going to do if we can’t find him?”
“Vanessa said she’ll cooperate. Let’s hope she won’t have to.”
Tristan motioned to Quinn. “Go grab Jay. I’ll meet you upstairs.”
Brent crept back to where he had last seen Vanessa, praying they could find Seth before it was too late.
* * *
Damian heard Paige’s footsteps as she rushed toward him. He sensed the moment she saw the bomb. “Is that a . . . ?”
“Yeah. I can’t disarm it alone.” Damian glanced over his shoulder. “I know it’s dangerous, so you can say no, but are you willing to help me?”
The internal battle was evident on her face. Damian had seen the way his squad had often used humor to ease their stress. He attempted his own brand when he said, “At least it isn’t a gun.”
Paige cocked one eyebrow, but his comment seemed to snap her out of her debate. She moved closer and set the toolbox down beside him. “What do I do?”
“I’m going to have to clip two wires at the same time. I need you to hold them clear so I can reach them without accidentally clipping any others.”
“Sounds simple enough,” Paige said. She stepped closer and took a look at the jumble of wires. “Maybe not.”
Damian dug through his grandfather’s toolbox. He found several pairs of wire cutters and determined to thank his grandfather in the very near future for never throwing out his old tools. Closing the toolbox, he pushed it closer to the door. “Here, you can stand on this so you can reach.”
Paige stood on the sturdy metal toolbox, using the wall to balance herself. Damian guided her hands to the section of wires he needed her to hold. She followed his instructions, and he struggled to access the correct wires.
“Damian, what are those numbers?” Paige asked. Her voice rose in panic. “Is that a countdown?”
He looked at the detonator, saw the display that had previously been dark, and watched the number forty-six change to forty-five. Suddenly, he faced an unsettling moment of indecision. He might be able to send Paige to safety, but if he did, Seth would die. “Just hold steady. I can make it.” Damian pulled back another batch of wires. “Count it down for me.”
“Thirty-four, thirty-three, thirty-two . . .” Her voice hitched as she fought for control, and Damian willed his fingers to work faster.
Chapter 42
“Thirty-one, thirty.” Andrea held up the display, showing Vanessa how much time was left. “It’s up to you. We can help each other, or you can become a widow in”—she looked down at the display again—“twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three.”
“Fine. You win.” Vanessa couldn’t take the chance. She would have to give this woman what she wanted and trust her husband’s squad to help both of them. She lowered her gun to the floor. “Now flip whatever switch that is to turn it off.”
Andrea pressed a series of buttons, presumably a disarming code. “That was close,” she said, shaking her head as if she were scolding a small child.
“What now?” Vanessa asked.
“Now, you and I are going to take a ride to an airstrip outside of town. Tomorrow morning when the banks open, we’ll be in the Caymans and we can conclude our business.”
“First I want to see my husband.”
“The money first.”
Vanessa straightened. “My husband comes with us, or you’ll never get the money.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” She drew her gun and aimed it at Vanessa. “You’ll help me get this money, or you and your husband will both die.”
The look in Andrea’s eyes, the telltale glance away from her when she spoke, set Vanessa’s whole world on edge. “You killed him.”
Andrea looked down at her watch. “He has at least a few seconds left.”
* * *
“Ten, nine, eight . . .” Paige continued her countdown, desperately fighting against the panic boiling inside her. “Damian, hurry.”
“Pull those apart a little wider . . .” He slid the wire cutters into place, Paige watching the numbers tick down. Four, three . . .
Damian snipped two wires.
Paige slumped in relief, her breath coming out in a whoosh. Damian dropped the tools and reached his hand out to steady her, afraid she was going to faint. “Are you okay?”
Paige couldn’t speak, but a voice from the other side of the door snapped her back to reality. “I’d be a lot better if you’d get me out of here.”
“Stand back.” Damian took a step back and kicked out one leg, breaking the door in. He quickly used his knife to cut the rope off Seth’s wrists.
“Let’s go. We’ve got to get to Vanessa.” Seth raced toward the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Damian leaned down and grabbed the toolbox with one hand and nudged Paige forward with the other hand. She felt like her legs were jelly, but she managed to follow Seth into the kitchen. The three of them hurried to the truck, and Paige was surprised when Damian motioned her into the driver’s seat.
“You want me to drive?”
“Yes. I have a plan, and we’ll need your help.” Damian and Seth climbed in beside her.
“I really could use a bit less excitement in my life.”
“We’ll work on that tomorrow,” Damian promised. “For now, take a right at the light.”
Paige turned on the engine and pushed on the gas pedal. Making her way down the street, she prayed she would never, ever have to see a real bomb again as long as she lived.
* * *
Brent faded back against the wall, not wanting to consider that Seth might be dead. With Vanessa unarmed and currently standing between Andrea and him, Brent didn’t have a shot, nor was he sure if the dead man’s switch was still active, assuming Seth was alive.
“Is he alive?” Vanessa asked, raw emotion obvious in her voice.
“There’s only one way to find out. As soon as you’re done signing the money over to me, I’ll tell you where he is.”
“Which way?” Vanessa asked, motioning back to the hall where she had come from.
Brent shifted slightly. He would have only a brief opening when they passed him. When he heard Andrea’s nex
t words, his frustration rose another notch. “We’ll take the private elevator over there. I’m not taking a chance that you have friends hiding around the building.”
He had only seconds. If he didn’t act now, he was going to lose her. Without any way to communicate with his squad, he wouldn’t be able to tell them what to look for, nor did they have transportation to take up pursuit.
He would have to choose. Save Vanessa now, knowing Seth would most surely die, or hope Seth was still alive and that Andrea would eventually let Vanessa go.
He heard a horn honking, once, twice, three times.
It couldn’t be.
The sound repeated. One honk, two, then three.
When the same rhythm repeated a third time followed by silence, Brent knew. Code three. He wasn’t sure what the signal meant, but it pushed him to act. Leading with his gun, he swung into the open cross-section of the hallway. “Vanessa, down!”
She dropped instantly, Andrea aimed her weapon, and Brent fired. Andrea crumpled to the ground, and Brent rushed forward to secure her weapon before checking to find she didn’t have a pulse.
Footsteps sounded in the hall, the evidence of several people running toward the gunfire. Tristan and Quinn arrived first, just as Vanessa was pushing herself to a stand.
Tears running down her face, she asked, “Seth? Did you find him?”
Brent took it upon himself to answer. “He’s not here. We don’t know where he is.”
“She said she deactivated the bomb, but I don’t think she did.” Vanessa pressed her lips together, and she swiped at the tears on her face. “I think she killed him.”
“We’ll find him, Vanessa,” Brent promised. “No matter what, we’ll find him.”
More footsteps pounded toward them, and then there was a shout. “Vanessa!”
Vanessa’s eyebrows rose, and her mouth opened in astonishment. “Seth?”
She ran into the hall, and Brent watched in wonder as Seth rushed around the corner and swooped down to lift his wife into his arms.
Chapter 43
Damian’s knowledge of the city had proved invaluable when the men had discussed their exit strategy. Using Paige’s phone, Damian had given Amy a secluded spot thirty minutes outside of Maracaibo for the navy helicopter to pick them up.
Brent’s decision to leave Andrea’s body behind had simplified the process. Terrance Gunning had remained unconscious until they were nearly out of the city. When he had awoken to find several Navy SEALs staring at him, he had wisely cooperated. Thankfully, this time, the night extraction had gone off without a hitch.
They had also passed off the information to the CIA and DEA about the new drug traffic lanes through Maracaibo, and the Saint Squad was happy to be free of that burden. Now they were aboard the USS Harry S. Truman in a boardroom, discussing their next move.
“Gunning isn’t talking,” Brent said. “Without his confirmation, we have no way of knowing who else might be involved.”
“From what I got from Andrea, she tricked Morenta into paying to have the Saint Squad stranded in Canaima,” Vanessa said. “He’s the one who tried to kill you, partially as revenge for crossing him a few years ago and partially to send a message to Americans that we shouldn’t mess with him.”
“They still had to have someone from CIA helping them find you in Maracaibo,” Amy said. “We know Andrea stayed in South America after faking her death, and Terrance Gunning didn’t have access to the information. Plus, he had already dropped off the grid before Vanessa left.”
“I know it sounds impossible, but it has to be Warren behind all of this,” Vanessa said. “No one else knew when I would be at the airport, and no one else knew Damian went to Canaima to look for you.”
“How do you want to approach him?” Seth asked. “We can’t accuse him without proof.”
“The lack of access by anyone else may be proof enough,” Paige offered.
“I agree,” Vanessa began, “but I would like to have something more substantial. He could always claim someone managed to tag me before I left for Maracaibo.”
“But you said you swapped out your clothes when you got there,” Paige reminded her. “We screened everything you had with us in Venezuela and checked to make sure you hadn’t been tagged with a marking spray. Everything was clean.”
“Then we need to prove no one else had access,” Vanessa concluded.
Amy motioned to a bank of three computers on one side of the room. “I could use some help with the search.”
“Amy and Vanessa, divide up what you want us to analyze,” Brent said.
“You know, for Navy SEALs, it sure seems like we do a lot of desk work.” Damian took a seat at the work table in the middle of the room.
“It’s not all sneaking up on bad guys,” Jay agreed.
“But there’ll be plenty of that,” Quinn promised.
“You can all speculate on future missions later,” Brent said. “For now, let’s get to the bottom of this.”
* * *
The complete picture was falling into place. A deeper look into Andrea Kemper’s file provided an angle Vanessa hadn’t before considered. Now only one piece of the puzzle was missing, and Vanessa knew she was the only person who could find it.
She would have preferred to meet Warren at CIA headquarters, where she could be assured that no one would have a weapon besides the security police. In fact, she would have been happy to have even arranged this meeting in the United States. Unfortunately, the money was the key, and there was only one way to prove her suspicions.
With the information retrieved from Andrea Kemper’s belongings, Vanessa had already confirmed the existence of the bank account in the Cayman Islands. Now, here she was, standing on the sidewalk two hours after the bank opened.
She looked over at Paige. “You know, you don’t have to do this.”
“We both know I’m the only person who can do this. If you have anyone else with you, you’ll raise suspicions.”
“I can go in alone.”
“That’s not going to happen.” Paige adjusted the strap on her purse and shifted it more firmly onto her shoulder. “You need someone to watch the door, and no one would believe you would come here without some kind of support.”
She was right. Rule number one was to cover all your bases. She would never go into an undercover operation alone without already having her support system in place.
“If there’s any sign of trouble, you call for help,” Vanessa said.
“I will.” Paige lowered her voice and added, “But I doubt the guys will wait for a phone call. They’ll be here before I finish dialing.”
“True.” Vanessa resisted the urge to look for the Saint Squad. As the newest and least recognizable member, Damian had been assigned a spot inside the bank. Besides being armed with a concealed handgun, he was also wearing a comm unit disguised as a Bluetooth. Quinn had taken a position on the roof while the others were scattered around the area, covering the various entrances to the bank.
Paige reached into her purse and glanced at a message on her phone. “Looks like someone’s heading for us.”
Vanessa turned to see Warren’s secretary, Maryanne Pennington, walking down the sidewalk.
“Maryanne, I didn’t expect to see you here.” Vanessa stepped forward and gave her a quick hug. “Where’s Warren?”
“He couldn’t make it. Some big meeting up on Capitol Hill.” She reached into a purse-like briefcase and slipped a sheet of paper from it. “He sent me with the information you asked for.”
Vanessa took the paper from her and glanced down at the account numbers and percentages that were to be transferred to each one. Suspicions raced through her mind. She had initially thought Warren was the only person to have access to the information that had leaked. When she discovered his secretary had gone through her initial CIA training with Andrea Kemper, new possibilities surfaced. As Warren’s secretary, Maryanne was trusted implicitly and could just as easily have been the leak.
Drawing on all of her acting abilities, Vanessa said, “Thanks. I guess it’s time to see if this will work.” She took a step toward the door, and Maryanne moved forward as well. “You don’t have to come in. I can take it from here,” Vanessa said.
“Sorry, Vanessa, but you know it’s procedure. You have to have a witness when transferring seized funds to make sure the money is going where it’s supposed to.”
“I know. That’s why I brought my assistant.” Vanessa waved in Paige’s direction.
“Yes, but she’s in your chain of command. I’m afraid it will have to be me.”
“Okay. If you insist.” Her suspicions heightened. Vanessa turned to Paige. “I guess you can just wait here.”
“I’ll come inside with you.” She pointed at a cluster of chairs visible through the window. “It looks like there’s a waiting area in there.”
Vanessa nodded her agreement. The three women walked inside, Paige taking a seat near the door. A man behind the counter greeted them. “May I help you?”
“Yes, I need to transfer some funds out of an account,” Vanessa said.
“Do you have the account number?”
“Yes.” Vanessa retrieved the account number she had written on a piece of paper and handed it to him.
He punched the account number into a computer. “Your name?”
“Lina Ramir.”
“And your ID, please.”
Vanessa handed him the passport that identified her as Lina. The man verified the information and waved her forward. “Right this way.”
Vanessa and Maryanne followed him past two desks, including the one where Damian was currently sitting under the pretense of asking about different account types. At the third desk, the man stopped and indicated for them to sit down.
“Mario will be able to help you.” The man handed Mario the paper with the account number before returning to the welcome desk.
“What can I help you with today?”
“I need to transfer the money out of this account and close it. Here is where the funds need to go.” Vanessa passed him the paper Maryanne had given her.
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