Athena Force 7-12

by Carla Cassidy, Evelyn Vaughn, Harper Allen, Ruth Wind, Cindy Dees

  And all this while, Atif waited to die.

  Ashurbeyli seemed to think he’d made as much of his point as he was going to. “This man is a traitor to his government, and yet still too weak to be one of our own. He is my gift to you. The next hostage to die will be someone you cry over.”

  The scuff of leather soles against marble steps, a quick, futile protest—

  Selena flinched at the sudden, resounding blast of the gun, muffled as it was by the back of Atif’s skull. Nothing came close to describing gunfire in close proximity, nothing. Nothing came close to describing the aftermath, as she listened to the sodden thump of Atif’s body hitting the first stair, rolling down to the second…the image of bin Kuwaji came to mind, flopping his way downward to lie on the long, narrow landing until someone took the risk to acquire his body.

  Closing her eyes only made it worse.

  Ashurbeyli found her there. “And what do you think? The drinking water enough to raise the level of the sea—was that perhaps too far?”

  She glared at him in unabashed fury. “You went too far when you stormed in here yesterday afternoon! You went too far when you shot a man for being less complicated than you! And then you blame everyone else for the turmoil of your country—that’s one hell of a case of self-delusion you’ve got going, buddy.”

  “Ah,” he said, looking at her with an understanding that turned her fury to cold wariness. “You think that man was someone to cry over. And you would be the one to do it.”

  She hesitated, uncertain whether to admit to it—to show the weakness, or to get right in his face about it. Two men flanked him and blood splattered them all, a pattern so distinctive she could almost tell who’d been standing where. She could certainly tell that Ashurbeyli had pulled the trigger.

  And two men flanked her, still jamming the gun in her ribs, only far enough away so they weren’t impeding Ashurbeyli’s conversation.

  She got in his face anyway. “Yeah,” she said. “I damn well would. Because of the two of us, I’m the only one with enough humanity to care!”

  She grunted as the pistol barrel rode her ribs, bruising them, and Ashurbeyli raised a hand that put an instant stop to the rough treatment. “Leave her,” he said. “Put her back where she was, and two of you will watch her at all times. See to her needs, and have her ready to move if Mr. White or I choose to speak to her in the back room. Soon enough you will see her die. Until then, we will not mark her.” Touching her for the first time since he’d searched her, Ashurbeyli lifted Selena’s chin in his hand, a proprietary gesture with complete awareness. “These marks already here will be perfect, I think. Not so much as to disguise her identity, but enough to heighten the poignancy of her death.”

  “Oh, please,” Selena said. “Now you’re going too far. Too much.”

  He shook his head, maintaining his firm grip. She somehow stopped herself from biting his fingers. “I’m afraid,” he said, “that you underestimate the reaction of those with enough humanity to care. The stories they will tell about you…” He tsked. “A tragedy, really.”

  This time she jerked her chin free to glower back at full force. “There’s a tragedy coming, all right.”

  She didn’t have to say anything more; she saw his eyes darken. Not irked at her implication so much as at her continuing challenge…but she had to give him that much: he had patience. He had his schedule and his plans, he had other things to do and he had the patience to make her wait for her tragic end—to make it happen at a time and in a way that would do him the most good.

  Even for that, she had to respect him.

  But she still intended to stop him.

  Cole stepped out into the gusty, spitting rain of the old runway. He pulled his shearling coat closed against the Berzhaani winter, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and the cell phone—the silent cell phone—within easy reach. Selena called this his McCloud coat, reminiscent of the fictional Texas cop who’d been transplanted to New York City, and teased that he’d chosen it to disguise his adaptable and quick-thinking nature with a laid-back image. Cole thought he’d chosen it because it was warm and he liked the rough-out leather, but a second thought made him reconsider. Made him realize she was right, that he’d done it almost without thinking.

  If she knew him so well, what had set her off? Sent her away to this turmoil? She’d as much as admitted he was right about that—but he hadn’t even been home to put his foot in it. He’d been a lot closer to her than he’d expected, but she hadn’t known that. She should have. He should have let her know; it was their long-standing agreement. But things had developed too quickly, too quietly…and she hadn’t. And even if she’d somehow found out, it was hardly cause for…for…

  This.

  He shivered and turned his collar up. Nearly half a day in a noisy Lockheed Starlifter, keeping company with nine cargo pallets and one other passenger who was no more eager to introduce himself than Cole, and he’d come halfway around the world, from one winter to another. This small airstrip had made the pilots work for a landing, and the crew had given him no more than an amiable wave as they prepared to unload cargo—relief supplies for besieged villages, support gear for the small remaining military presence here. Berzhaan allowed no more than that, and gave the U.S. access to this landing site only for the relief supplies.

  They definitely didn’t want the States in on the hostage crisis.

  “Sir?” One of the energetic young men engaged in unloading the Starlifter moved away from the rear fuselage to approach Cole beside one of the four underwing turbofan engines, now silent. Even with the efficient bustle at the tail of the plane, after the extended noise of their travel, the whole airstrip seemed silent.

  Cole’s cell phone seemed especially silent. Selena, where are you?

  Knowing Selena, she was simply busy. Or she’d very wisely taken the chance to grab some rest.

  Except she should have called by now regardless—if she could—and he knew it. He couldn’t talk himself out of knowing it.

  “Sir?” the private repeated. “Can I help you?”

  It was a polite way of asking whether Cole had any real business being here, and of warning that without a good answer, he could expect to be removed. Remarkably polite, under the circumstances. Cole eased his duffel to the ground. “I’m waiting for my ride,” he said.

  “CIA. Would you like to see ID?” Sometimes he carried it…most times he didn’t. But this trip, he’d use it to pull as many strings as he could.

  The private gave a short nod, and Cole opened his jacket to the cold and fished the ID wallet from his inside coat pocket. Carefully. Letting the young man see that he did indeed have a pistol, a 9 mm Browning Hi-Power Mark III in a belt holster that wasn’t meant to be the least bit hidden but which was carefully placed opposite to the direction in which he fished for the wallet.

  The young man gave it a careful look, eyebrows rising at the sight of the eagle-topped shield, and returned it. “Would you like me to check on your ride?” His tone was perfectly respectful, but Cole understood his intent. To get Cole off this airfield, and away from military turf.

  Cole shook his head. “Not just yet.” If Tory couldn’t make it, she’d send someone for him. Their arrangements, made as soon as he’d snagged his transportation, had been quick but thorough. She was, he thought, quite a bit more habitually circumspect over the phone than he’d expected from her.

  The young man shifted into conversational mode, obviously planning to stay for a while. He’d been sent, then; he had his orders. It made Cole wonder with just what kind of cargo he’d kept company. The private said, “You’ve been in the air a while. You hear about the second hostage?”

  The second hostage? There were at least twenty-five of them as far as Cole knew. The second hostage…what?

  Then he knew. His pulse hammered into overload and his shoulders stiffened and he said sharply, “They killed someone else?”

  Taken aback, the young man frowned, expressively dark eye
brows bold in a face with such little hair atop. Cole had to stop himself from grabbing the fellow up and shaking the words free—he’d be useless to Selena if they detained him, or even if the cargo handlers all piled atop him with such force as to break every rib he had. But nor could he quite find the words to demand answers; his tongue tangled around things unsaid until he finally spat out, “Who?”

  The soldier’s eyes widened in sudden comprehension. “You know someone.” The thought froze his expression, and then he shook himself free of it and said, “Sorry, sir. I don’t know much. But it was a man—”

  He said other words, but Cole didn’t hear them. Too busy dealing with the sudden loss of strength all the way down the back of his legs and the flip-flop in his stomach. His heart, formerly pounding, now just raced in relief. He realized the soldier had hesitated, waiting for some indication from Cole, and he shook his head ever so slightly. Then he reached down for his duffel, just to be doing something. Cool, Jones. Real cool.

  But this wasn’t one of his assignments. This was Selena. The heart she carried under her controlled exterior had grabbed him the first time they met, had grabbed him hard. And she’d shown him that heart over and over again…right up until the moment she called him from hiding, quite typically refusing to leave that besieged building. The difficulties of their marriage, the thing that had almost torn them apart…

  That same heart. Living apart from one another so frequently had turned them into the very kind of family that Selena feared…a broken family in physical fact, even if not emotionally. When they’d reconciled, it had been with the awareness that they’d have to try harder than ever—and that inevitably, something would have to change. Cole would have to take a Langley-based position or find work elsewhere altogether; Selena might simply travel with him for a few years, or she, too, might stay stateside. They just hadn’t had a chance to come to any conclusions when he’d been called away.

  So it had often happened. Things got left unsaid, and then when they rejoined they became too caught up in relearning each other’s every favorite touch to tackle practical things until again, they received the call to arms. These past few years…the fears and chaos of the world had not been kind to schedules that had previously been workable. And now he could only hope they’d have the chance to change that.

  “You okay, sir?”

  Cole realized he still crouched by the duffel and straightened. “Just thinking,” he said. “Any change in their demands?”

  “I didn’t hear the little speech the guy said before—well, you know—but I think it was just the expected stuff—do things our way or more people will die and next time you really won’t like it.”

  “Time frame?”

  Because Selena still hadn’t called. They could still have her.

  The guy shook his head. “Haven’t heard they gave one. They didn’t last time, either. Just showed up with a hostage—bing! Time’s up!”

  Great.

  Cole closed his coat, squinting into a renewed gust of misty rain as he caught sight of the dark, boxy sedan headed their way. It couldn’t have looked more out of place on the airstrip, and he very much expected it to be his ride. Enough so that he gave his unofficial escort a nod and stepped out to meet the car. The back door opened as the car stopped; the driver even kindly popped the trunk. Cole tossed his duffel into a space otherwise full of camera accessories and shoved it closed before diving into the refuge of the vehicle.

  Even as he closed the door, Tory Patton murmured something to the driver; the car swooped away from the plane and across the tarmac, affording Cole a view of scattered hangars and a small control tower through the rain-streaked windshield. He shifted his attention back to Tory, who had also chosen the back seat—he presumed so they might talk. She looked just as she did on camera—calm, elegant beauty, set off by a natural poise—even with her hair tucked under a Sherpa-style hat with tassels hanging from the ties. “Brr,” she said. “I haven’t been warm since this started.” She looked at him with something akin to surprise. “Only a day. Seems longer, doesn’t it?”

  “A lifetime,” he said. “You told me to get here—I got here. Now let’s talk about what you wouldn’t say over the phone.”

  One winged eyebrow rose. “Wow. And here I thought you CIA guys were so good at finesse.”

  “I can finesse with the best of them—when we’re not talking about Selena. You don’t want to talk in front of your friend?” He jerked a thumb at the driver. “Then stop the car and we’ll get out.”

  “Mmm.” She pressed her lips together over the thoughtful noise and then shook her head. “Not a problem, or he wouldn’t be here.” She raised her voice slightly. “Isn’t that right?”

  The driver didn’t so much as cast a glance at her; he turned between two hangars as if he knew just where he was going—and it didn’t necessarily seem to be off this airstrip. “I’m sorry, Tory,” he said, his voice full of studied innocence. “Did you say something?”

  “So convincing,” she told him, but turned back to Cole with a more serious expression darkening her brown eyes. “Here’s the situation as I know it—and for the sake of argument, let’s just say I’ve got the real scoop.”

  He nodded, short and impatient. “Just skip past the part where the CIA has a couple of SEAL teams on standby, desperate for intel. And the part where the Berzhaani don’t want us here and damned sure don’t want those SEALs going in—they’d rather see the hostages go down than find victory in U.S. assistance. Razidae is the only one who showed signs of softening on that stance, and he’s out of commission. So we’ve got relief troops here waiting to swap hats and turn into peacekeepers. Just tell me what I don’t know.”

  She pursed her lips slightly, thoughtfully. “That certainly limits the conversation. How about this—in exchange for some of the relief we’ve offered their Kemeni-damaged areas, Berzhaan had given us a little space to work from—and the air force already had a special Predator team in the area. They’ve been keeping an eye on things south of here, a certain much-traveled border where we’re hunting a certain well-traveled terrorist leader.”

  Afghanistan. Of course.

  “They’ve pulled the Predator back in—they’ve already done one pass over the capitol. We’ve got some of that intel the SEALs need—some close-ups of the roof, with all the hidey-holes and exits. They’re still analyzing what they gathered up, and they’ll be headed back for a second pass. I thought the operators might be just the contacts you need—the wild cards who’ll not only keep Selena’s best interests in mind, but who have the ear of the people on the other end of the intel.”

  Whoa.

  She waited with patient amusement, watching him process what she’d said. The car eased to a stop, almost unnoticed, slotting in between several others of a similar make beside one of the smaller Quonset buildings.

  Of course. The Cassandras. They’d actually come through.

  “Josie Lockworth.” He said it, and he shook his head, barely believing it. “You’ve got Josie Lockworth and her modified supersneaky remote-control spy plane here.”

  “Well, in point of fact the air force has her here. But what I have is ID giving you access to the building—not, mind you, that I think that would stop you, but we might as well do this the easy way—and Josie’s got a keen interest in talking to you. For that matter, in keeping you close by in case you hear from Selena again. Have you?”

  He didn’t quite hear her last question, still full of relief at just how very thoroughly Tory Patton had come through for him. For her Athena classmate. He said, “I’m going to owe Selena an apology…I once implied she was exaggerating about the Athena grads.”

  Tory smiled. It had a secretive look to it. “Ah, she said you could be a charmer.”

  “She—you’ve talked?” Great deduction, Jones.

  Her smile told him all he needed to know. Oh yeah. Women. She shrugged, a motion almost lost in her quilted coat. “You didn’t answer my question. Have you hear
d from Selena?”

  The answer sucked any vestige of the light moment from the air. “No. And I should have.”

  “Yes,” she agreed quietly. “You should have.”

  Cole shook it off. As best he could, which wasn’t entirely convincing even from his own point of view. “She knows how to take care of herself. She lost the landline the last time we talked…there’s no telling what’s up with the cell. She’ll get in touch.” He cleared his tight throat. “When she can.” His throat had clogged right up again; he coughed, and then he held out a hand. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Cole Jones. And I’m very grateful for your help.”

  Worry lurked around her eyes, but her expression softened as she took his hand. “Tory Patton,” she said. “And I’m glad you thought to call me. We’ll all do what we can to see that Selena walks out of that building.” She released his hand, tucked a lock of hair back into her hat. “Now. Do you want to go meet another Cassandra?”

  Hours passed. Selena prevailed upon her Kemeni guards—a new set, as guard shifts changed over for the third time—to escort her to the ladies’ room, giving her the chance to establish she was on her period. It wasn’t a lie that would hold up, but it took some of the eagerness out of their eyes; as men who considered themselves righteous warriors fighting for a righteous cause, they leaned too hard on their spiritual beliefs to casually break the law against being intimate with a woman in her menses. In fact, they’d probably have to perform ablutions before their next Salat just for touching her.