Retribution - A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller Book #7

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “Remember, try to keep them on as long as possible, and try to get proof of life.”

  Temple answered the phone. “Hello?”

  “A phone has been delivered to the front desk. You will take it in your car, alone. You will receive a phone call in fifteen minutes. No police, no traces, or she dies.”

  The call ended before he had a chance to respond.

  He stared at the agent, already on his phone. “Confirmed. A package arrived for you only a few seconds before the call.”

  “They must have been waiting for the electronic delivery notification,” said someone manning a laptop. “I’ll see if we can trace that.”

  Temple rose and headed for the elevators.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  He didn’t bother looking back at the FBI agent. “I’m going to follow their instructions. To the letter.”

  46

  John F. Kennedy International Airport

  New York City, New York

  “You two seem happy.”

  Kane grinned at Sherrie, planting a passionate kiss on her lips before turning back to the ticket agent. “Disgustingly so, right?”

  Sherrie jabbed him playfully in the ribs. “We’re newlyweds. This is our honeymoon.”

  The agent’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Moscow? Interesting choice.”

  Kane shrugged. “Hey, if my baby wants to go to Moscow, we go to Moscow.”

  Sherrie squeezed his cheek. “Ooh, you’re so good to me!” She took her passport back from the agent. “My great-grandfather is from there, and I’ve always wanted to go. Dad said I better do it before all hell breaks loose over there, so”—she shrugged—“why not?”

  Kane squeezed her tight. “Why not, indeed!” He held up their boarding passes. “Thanks!” He planted another kiss on Sherrie, then they headed for security, hand-in-hand, both the picture of careless bliss. Kane drew her in a little closer so they could whisper sweet nothings in each other’s ear. “Do you think Chris is watching?”

  She laughed as if he had said something funny. “If he is, he’s going to put a hit out on you.”

  Kane chuckled. “I wouldn’t blame him. You’re a fantastic kisser.”

  “The CIA trained me well.”

  “They do have an amazing program, don’t they?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I, of course, didn’t need any training. I was a natural.”

  Sherrie patted his cheek. “I’m sure you thought you were.”

  “Ouch. I guess I’m just going to have to prove myself when we get to the honeymoon suite Langley booked us. Or do you want to join the mile-high club and skip the formalities?”

  “You are very sure of yourself. I see why Fang loves you.”

  “Confidence is but one of my many virtues.”

  She slid her hand down his chest toward his crotch, Kane’s libido taking over. She stopped, poking a finger into his belly button. “Keep dreaming, you manwhore.”

  He laughed, squeezing her tighter. “I think this will be a fun assignment.”

  “Me too. What do we do when we get there?”

  “Hopefully Langley will have some more intel for us.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  Kane gave her a look as they approached the security line. “They will. There’s no way that sweetheart of yours is going to leave us in Moscow as newlyweds for any longer than he has to. You might not be able to resist my charms.”

  She slapped his shoulder. “You’re terrible.”

  He grinned. “Yes, I am. You’re just lucky you’re my best friend’s girl, and the mission doesn’t dictate I charm those pants off you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re not my type.”

  Kane thought of his friend, the polar opposite of him in so many ways. “Clearly. But as a master of disguise, I can be anybody you need me to be.”

  Sherrie eyed him. “I think we better update our cover.”

  Kane’s eyes narrowed. “To what?”

  “To a newlywed couple that had their first fight, and needs separate rooms.”

  Kane laughed. “I can see why Chris loves you so much.”

  “And don’t you forget it.”

  He smiled, handing over his passport and boarding pass while lifting his bag onto the scanner. “Trust me, I won’t.”

  47

  Mountain View, California

  Temple drove his car, the same Mercedes his daughter had died in only a week ago, the memories of her panicked breathing, then silence, haunting. He had intended to get rid of it, but he hadn’t yet had time to go through the brochures Davis had already provided him, too preoccupied with bringing those responsible to justice.

  God, she’s efficient.

  She was his rock, and had been for years. Through his wife’s sudden illness then death, she had kept him together, kept the company running smoothly, allowing him time to grieve. She had filled the hole left in Angela’s life, giving her a strong, caring female figure to lean on when her dad was hurting so bad he couldn’t bear to be with his own daughter because of the memories she forced to the surface every time he saw her.

  Davis had been there through it all.

  And he was determined to save her, whatever it took. Even if they asked him to sell his company, he’d do it.

  In a heartbeat.

  He cared for Davis. Deeply. It wasn’t romantic. He didn’t know what it was. It was more than family, more than a friend. It had developed into something more with each crisis he faced.

  Could it be love?

  His stomach flipped at the thought, guilt sweeping over him as he thought of his wife, and the betrayal it would mean if he had developed feelings for another woman.

  She would want you to move on.

  He shook his head. It was just emotional weakness. He was still overwhelmed with his daughter’s death, and was searching for something to fill the void left behind by her loss, and Davis was the only person in his life that had the potential to fill it. If Davis were a man, he’d be filling the void as well, just in a different way. They might be out drinking, playing golf, or talking cars and smack about their college days.

  No, it couldn’t be love.

  Yet the guilt he felt at this moment suggested otherwise.

  The phone delivered earlier rang, the Bluetooth pairing tying it into the car’s audio system. He pressed the button on his steering wheel. “Yes?”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll kill her if you’re lying.”

  “I’m not. I’ve left the building in my car, and nobody is following me.”

  “You know what we want.”

  “No, I have no idea. Tell me, I’ll do anything.”

  “We want Donald Penn.”

  A wave of nausea swept through him, his worst fears confirmed. This was all about Penn, and that meant this had to be related to a foreign government.

  And that meant they wouldn’t hesitate to kill Davis if he didn’t deliver exactly what they asked for.

  “You can have him, but I want to talk to her.”

  “No.”

  “Proof of life, or there’s no deal.”

  The phone call ended, and Temple screamed at the radio. “No!”

  He slammed his fist several times into the steering wheel, his eyes clouding over with tears, the car correcting his drift with a beeped protest as the lanes became blurs. The phone rang again, and he hurriedly pressed the button. “Yes?”

  “Sir, is that you?”

  “Tanya, oh thank God! Are you okay?”

  “I-I’m fine. I’m sorry, sir, I—”

  She was interrupted, the voice from earlier replacing hers.

  “Satisfied?”

  Rage blazed through him. “If you hurt her—”

  “I will do whatever I please to her. If you follow my instructions exactly, then that won’t become necessary. Do we understand each other?”

  Temple forced himself to calm down, noddi
ng at the radio. “Yes.”

  “Good. Instructions have been sent to the phone. Follow them precisely, or your friend dies. But not before we’ve enjoyed ourselves.”

  The call went dead and Temple shouted a string of curses at the radio before pulling off the road and grabbing the phone, a text message received, the timeline horribly tight.

  He grabbed his own phone, dialing Simmons. He answered almost immediately. “Please tell me you haven’t killed him yet!”

  48

  FBI Field Office

  Albany, New York

  Dawson held up a finger, silencing the room, the interrogation having resumed on the other side of the glass after the abrupt beat-down he had given Penn. “Why?”

  “They’ve taken Tanya.”

  Dawson’s eyes narrowed at the desperation in Temple’s voice. “Who took her?”

  “I don’t know. Four men came into my office, shot my security chief, shot out the windows, then jumped out with parachutes. They took Tanya! I just heard from them. They want Penn in exchange for her, or they’ll kill her.”

  Dawson pursed his lips, staring at Penn through the glass, the man now going through photos of suspected North Korean agents, as the NSA tried to figure out who he was working with.

  So far, he had recognized nobody.

  Or at least hadn’t admitted to any.

  “How did they contact you?”

  “Through a phone they had delivered.”

  “Are the police or FBI involved?”

  “They were, but not anymore. They said they’d kill her if they were.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “In my car. I don’t know what to do!”

  Dawson felt for the man. It was probably a situation Temple hadn’t been in before. A man like that was rarely out of control, yet now he was being manipulated by experts.

  It had to be the North Koreans.

  “Can you describe the men who took her?”

  “Why does that matter? They looked Chinese or something, though I suspect Korean. North Korean.”

  Dawson’s eyebrows shot up, surprised Temple had made the connection. “What makes you say that?”

  “They looked Asian, were all shorter than the Asian’s I’m used to meeting, and I thought I heard on the news Penn’s ancestry was Korean.” Temple paused. “You’re the expert. Did we just kidnap a spy?”

  Dawson frowned, his mind racing as he debated what to tell the man. Yes, they had kidnapped a spy, and yes, Temple had put two and two together. Would telling him he was right or wrong change anything? “Yes, I think it’s possible.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Send me the instructions they sent you. I’ll get back to you.”

  “Make it fast. They want this to go down in less than six hours.”

  Dawson ended the call as Niner pointed at the mirror.

  “He just identified somebody.”

  Dawson glanced at their prisoner, some excitement on the other side of the glass. But none of that mattered now.

  They had bigger problems.

  49

  Briefing Room C-6, CIA Headquarters

  Langley, Virginia

  Leroux sat in his chair, quiet, a mere fly on the wall, his presence only needed should Director Morrison be asked a question that he couldn’t answer.

  So far, there had been none.

  Directors, chiefs, secretaries, and more were either in attendance in person, or via teleconference, Leroux waiting for the man himself to perhaps make an appearance at any moment.

  For it was an important decision that needed to be made, and the President would have to sign off on whatever recommendation came out of this hastily called, late-night meeting.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t confident that any agreement would be reached, the finger pointing and blame-game underway for the past fifteen minutes, fifteen minutes they didn’t have.

  He checked his watch.

  Sixteen minutes.

  “He’s a traitor,” said the NSA’s representative in the meeting.

  “No, he’s a spy.” That was Morrison.

  “Didn’t you vet him before you hired him?”

  Yet more criticism directed at the NSA.

  “Of course we did, and everything checked out. Listen, this goes way deeper than someone infiltrating the NSA. His identity passed our deepest checks. Everything, right down to his high school yearbooks.”

  “You’re suggesting he was here that long?”

  “No, I’m suggesting he was surgically altered to look like the real deal.”

  “Then what happened to the real deal?”

  “Probably dead. His parents, I mean the ones who adopted him, both died in a car accident a year before we hired him. He had just moved to DC, so he knew almost nobody, so his background check relied on old contacts who wouldn’t be able to see him in person to know that anything was out of the ordinary. This was extremely well thought out. Christ, the guy has a wife and kid!”

  “But the bottom line is he isn’t American,” said Morrison, interrupting the repeated information.

  “No, he’s not. He’s already admitted that under interrogation. An interrogation he’s been fully cooperative in.”

  Morrison leaned forward slightly. “And that is the crux of the matter, isn’t it, ladies and gentlemen? Penn is a North Korean spy. Tanya Davis is an American citizen. Isn’t it our duty to try and save her?”

  “And give up this resource? Penn could give us invaluable insight into the North Koreans.”

  Morrison shook his head. “How? He’s been out of there for at least a decade. What could he possibly know that they can’t change tomorrow? They know he’s been compromised. Hell, they sent a team to take him out. He’s useless to us now. Any codes or contacts he may have had will already have been changed, and the most we can hope for is that he might be able to identify some faces that he saw a decade ago.” Morrison leaned back in his chair. “Listen. While we debate this, the life of an innocent American citizen is at risk. I say we make the exchange, then try to get him back as soon as she is safe.”

  The NSA chief waved a hand. “Not so innocent, Leif, and you know it. She and her boss got themselves into this when they kidnapped Penn. Now they’re mixed up in something far bigger than them, and only have themselves to blame.”

  Leroux had to agree with that observation. If Davis and Temple hadn’t interfered with their own brand of justice, then none of this would be happening. Though Davis was probably only guilty of participating. Temple was the man who called the shots. And from what his team had put together from media reports, Davis was an extremely loyal employee, and a close friend of Temple’s.

  She was the only thing left in the poor man’s life that he probably cared about.

  “She’s just a pawn.”

  Everyone stopped their bickering, turning toward Leroux, who sat aghast that he had vocalized his thoughts.

  Morrison waved a hand at him. “Explain.”

  Leroux gulped, now committed. “Well, my team has been putting together a profile on Temple and Davis. It’s our belief that Davis is so loyal to Temple, that she will do anything he asks of her, including breaking the law. She was a friend to the family for years before Mrs. Temple died from ALS a year ago. The amount of time the two have spent together outside of company business, has increased significantly based on news and social media reports. She became a sort of surrogate mother to the daughter.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying we shouldn’t be so quick to condemn the woman. She was acting out of loyalty to a man she has been very close to for years, who is responsible for making her very wealthy, and whom some have speculated actually loves Franklin Temple.”

  Morrison’s eyes widened slightly. “Do we have any proof of that?”

  Leroux shook his head. “No, though the possibility can’t be dismissed. We have no evidence that anything has ever happened between them, but with the amount of time they spend to
gether, there is definitely a bond there. That could have led her to do things she normally wouldn’t have done. I don’t—” Leroux stopped, not sure he should finish his thought.

  “What, son?”

  Leroux sighed. “I don’t think she deserves to die because she works for a man who lost control in a moment of grief, and turned to the one person he thought he could trust.”

  Morrison turned to the display showing the Delta commander. “Sergeant Major, how confident are you that you can retrieve Penn after you hand him over.”

  “Sir, if anyone can do it, we can. However, keep in mind that the North Koreans will have planned this out extremely well. I expect they’ll have snipers in position, and multiple means of egress. I’d like to suggest something different.”

  50

  Over Colorado, United States

  Dawson stared at the prisoner, handcuffed to the seat across from him. For a man about to be handed over to “his” side in the dispute, he didn’t seem very chipper.

  In fact, he seemed downright depressed.

  Maybe it’s the two black eyes and broken nose I gave him.

  It could have been a lot worse.

  Atlas could have hit him.

  He checked his watch. They were still two hours out from California. To make his life easier, he had demanded radio silence from Temple, otherwise the man would constantly be hounding him, requesting an update as to when he’d arrive. Unless the hand of God intervened, they weren’t getting there any quicker.

  He had instructed Temple to return home, and Washington had arranged for a security detail to watch the house, with any interrogations to be delayed until the morning.

  After the handover.

  Penn caught him staring. “What?”

  Dawson shook his head. “Nothing. How’s the nose?”

  “It hurts like a mother.”

  “Pyongyang taught you well. You speak English like you grew up with it.”

  “I did.”

  Dawson’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Really? How’s that?”

  “We have special schools where children who show certain attributes are placed. We’re taught foreign languages and customs. Those who excel are trained to become foreign agents.”