“Yeah, but I don’t know how long ago this happened. Our dog Buster needed out, then he went crazy. Emily’s getting the kids together now. They’re going to Mom and Dad’s. As soon as I finish up with the cops, I’ll head over there. I’ll pack everyone up and head to the lake, but you have to get Sarah and Julie out of there.”
“On it.”
“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful. Whoever did this bypassed the security in the garage and disabled the motion sensor lights on the outside.”
“They aren’t beginners.”
“I can see that. Keep Sarah safe.”
Rand ended the call and shoved his phone into his pocket.
“What happened, is—”
“Everyone’s fine, but we have to go.”
“I’m ready.”
“Armed?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He slid his jacket over his holster and slung their bug-out bag over his shoulder.
“What about Julie?” Sarah asked.
“I’m thinking.” He led the way through the carriage house but stopped at the door, peering out into the backyard. “We’ll go to Andy’s loft. He may or may not be there, but at least it’s a destination for now.”
“But Julie?”
“Can you get into the garage and keep an eye out there? I’ll go inside and get her. We can have her drop us at a metro or somewhere else.”
“Rand, Matt. Emily?”
“They’re fine. They’re going to be fine. Keep close, okay?”
Sarah nodded and took his hand.
It was almost four in the morning. Soon enough, the sky would begin to lighten, they’d have greater visibility and more options for where to go. He’d allowed their circumstances to dictate where they went, and that was his mistake. They had to stop reacting to what was happening and go back to being proactive.
Rand led Sarah across to the garage. The backyard entrance was the weakest point as far as security went. One flimsy lock was all that kept them out of the house. Armed with the security code, there wasn’t much barring their entry. He jimmied the door open with nothing more than his pocket knife.
He clicked on his flashlight and peered around the two-car garage. Besides an overabundance of stuff, it was empty.
“You stay here, close the door. Keep a look out through those windows. I’ll go get Julie.”
“What about the cops? Should we tell them?”
“No, chances are if they try to help, it’ll just get them killed. Stay here.”
Rand crossed to the door leading into the house. He tried it, and it opened into the laundry room. Julie hadn’t even thought to lock it, probably because she felt safe behind her security system and locked doors. Those weren’t always enough of a deterrent.
He paused to de-arm the security system, then proceeded through the darkened house on quiet feet.
It made sense the Chinese would go after Sarah’s family now that they knew who she was. But to steal their GPS?
Rand had a bad feeling about who the mole might be.
Who would have the kind of access to protective details and the sort of insight to know that Sarah’s family would come to check on her?
Irene’s wound hadn’t been bad. He could see taking a knife to the gut as a way of selling her act.
Then there was Hector. Rand had kept Hector apprised of their every move. Maybe it was time to play some cards close to the vest.
It meant abandoning the idea of going into the embassy to obtain the case. They’d made too many plans, included too many people, for that to be a good plan of attack if he suspected one of their inside people was the source of the continuous leak.
Rand gently pushed Julie’s bedroom door open. “Julie? Julie, it’s Rand,” he said in a soft, calming voice.
“Hmm? Who’s there?” Julie’s voice was slurred with sleep. A human-shaped lump moved, and then light blossomed from the bedside lamp. Julie rubbed her face. “Rand? What are you doing here?”
“There’s not a lot of time to explain. I need you to get up, get dressed, and come with us.”
“What? Why?” Julie’s gaze dropped to the gun in his hand. “What’s going on?”
“Someone’s after Sarah. I can’t tell you more, but you’re in danger. Please, get dressed and leave, for your own safety.”
“Who’s after Sarah? What—why do you have a gun?” Julie sat up and shoved a pair of red-rimmed glasses onto her face.
“Julie, I need you to get up now.” Fuck, he didn’t have time for this. Dealing with civilians had never been his strong point.
Something banged across the house.
“Sarah?” Rand called out.
No answer.
“Get up. Get dressed.” Rand gestured to the discarded clothes on the bench at the foot of Julie’s bed.
Like it or not, he was going to leave without her in a few moments. Rand pivoted and strode through the house.
“Sarah? You okay?”
Again, no answer.
Rand tightened his grip on the gun and lifted it, aiming the mini flashlight ahead of him.
It was entirely possible someone could get the GPS out of Matt’s car and backtrack their route to Julie’s. Matt had said he wasn’t sure how long it’d been since the car was broken into. If Rand were in their shoes, he’d have multiple people canvassing every known location Sarah frequented, which would make for a highly mobile team. They could be to the house in less time than it took to get to Rand’s house.
Fuck, he should have just packed Sarah up and left Julie. Yeah, it’d make him a cold-hearted bastard, but Sarah was who mattered to him.
“Sarah, babe, talk to me?” Rand edged through the kitchen, past the pantry and peered into the laundry room. The door to the garage was mostly shut. The light was on.
He held his breath, listening for anything, the scuff of a foot.
This was a dream. A nightmare. Wasn’t it? He’d just seen Sarah. Rand pulled the door open.
The back door stood ajar. A large box appeared to have fallen off the top of the shelves nearest the door.
But no Sarah.
Rand dropped the bag, ducked, and flipped the light switch off.
Sarah was gone, and whoever had taken her could be lying in wait for him. The lights would give away his position. If he wanted to get her back, he had to keep breathing, keep fighting.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust.
Where was the protective detail? At least one car had been sitting on the house. What about those officers?
Rand crept out the back door, scanning the yard for any movement, something out of place, but it was all where it should be. Except the side gate. That stood open.
He flattened his back against the garage and peered around the corner.
The report of a gun, even with a silencer, was still loud in the stillness of the early morning hours.
Rand flung himself backward. The bullet hit the corner of the garage, breaking off chunks of wood, sending shards every which way.
An engine rumbled to life.
Sarah.
Rand shoved to his feet. He couldn’t fire. What if he hit her?
He edged through the gate, just in time to see a SUV make the turn at the end of the street.
Rand jogged out to the middle of the driveway. A car sat across the street, doors open, the dome light on.
Oh no…
He crossed to the car and covered his mouth with his hand.
One man slumped to the side, his seat belt keeping him upright. The other was leaned over his partner, his throat slit.
Rand could see it now.
Wei and at least one other had taken the two undercover cops by surprise. Once there was no one to keep a look out, they’d waited.
Rand peered back toward the house. From this vantage point, they could have seen movement in the guest house and their trek to the garage. At that point it was all about getting a drop on them.
So where was Sarah now?
…
Irene knocked on the door. Her head was woozy and she wasn’t exactly steady on her feet, but she had to power through.
If Mitch was telling her the truth, if Charlie wasn’t dead, then it changed everything. There was only one person who could help Irene see the bigger picture.
Carol Sark.
The woman was a brilliant analyst focusing on the Asian region. She’d seen the same problems Irene had, but with a macro view of the overall problem. They’d begun working together in secret, certain they could identify their mole.
Irene knocked again. She’d call, but her phone had gotten lost in the mix of being admitted to the hospital, and she hadn’t wanted to wait to track it down. What time they had was running out.
The porch light flipped on.
“Carol, it’s Irene. Open up, please?”
The lock scraped and the door swung open. A young, blonde woman blinked at her.
“Irene? What are you—okay. Come right in.” Carol stepped back. “Are you…wearing a hospital gown?”
“Carol, we’re in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” Carol followed Irene into the living room, scrubbing her face with her other hand.
Irene sat on the sofa, her very bones weary. Carol perched on the coffee table facing her. The oddest things stuck out to Irene, like how Carol’s cartoon pajama pants matched her shirt. It was the drugs still addling Irene’s thoughts. She had to focus.
“Did you ever look into a field agent named Charlie Peterson?”
“He was on my list, but he was marked deceased this week.”
“He’s not dead.” Irene leaned forward, but that was a mistake. It hurt. But damn, they were in trouble.
“W-what?” Carol blinked.
“Charlie’s not dead. Mitch said the body in the morgue is not Charlie Peterson. He thinks…he thinks it’s Charlie’s brother.”
“Oh…oh my God, then…”
“Then who has been coordinating the delivery of Charlie Peterson’s remains if it hasn’t been his brother?”
“You think Charlie is the mole.”
“Or one of them. How far back have you been able to go?”
“Four years, but only on the top level of the list.” Carol pushed to her feet and crossed to a desk occupying the corner of the living room. She unlocked a drawer and pulled out a folder and notebook.
“We need to go deeper. Charlie has to have been working with someone.”
Because if Charlie was alive, he couldn’t have gotten this far without someone feeding him current information, and that meant there was another traitor in their midst.
…
Sarah was going to be sick. The bump on her head throbbed. She hurt all over. And this was only the beginning. It was going to get a whole lot worse.
Was Rand okay?
She’d heard the single shot. A person could be killed by one bullet.
God, she hoped he was okay, and that he stayed put.
This was all on her now, and she knew the chances of her coming out of this alive were slim to none. The best-case scenario she could think of was destroying the codes. Yes, it would mean losing assets in Asia forever, but at least no one else would die.
Just her.
She doubted they’d let her live to tell the tale about how she foiled their plans. This wasn’t a movie, and they weren’t cartoon villains.
The car eased to a stop.
She could smell—brine. The ocean? But that was miles away. The Potomac, maybe? They’d have to be on the east side of the city, then.
The car door opened and hands pulled her upright, then out of the vehicle. Her rubbery legs refused to support her and the man guiding her had to mostly carry her.
She could try harder, but she wasn’t.
There wasn’t much left in her, she couldn’t put up a huge fight. She wasn’t stronger than they were, but she could be smarter. Let them believe she was weak, about to collapse. The more they underestimated her, the more opportunity she might have to destroy the protocols. She’d sworn an oath to protect her country at all costs, including her life. There was nothing more important than ensuring the safety of the agents and assets in the field.
Sarah tripped over her own feet and the man’s feet and panted for breath. It wasn’t all an act. They’d hit her pretty hard in the garage, and she hadn’t entirely recovered. A concussion wouldn’t kill her, but it was screwing with her.
The cloth bag over her head made it hard to hear the muttered voices. She caught a few words, but nothing informative. Least not until they’d passed through a few doors. With each clang of metal on metal, the smell of the water grew fainter and less distinct.
How many people were there?
The one holding onto her hadn’t let go, so there must be a second person opening and closing the doors. And yet, they were talking to someone every so often that didn’t sound like them.
Three people? More?
“Sit,” the man holding onto her said.
He shoved her into a cold, metal chair. She leaned to the left, against some sort of sturdy table.
Wow, was that her head swimming—or was the ground moving?
A hand grasped the bag and stray strands of her hair. He pulled, and she gasped as her scalp prickled with pain.
Shit. If she couldn’t handle a few pulled hairs, how in the world was she going to withstand the tooth-pulling, nail-prying questioning she dreaded?
A few lights illuminated a bare room. The metal showed the years of use, how cruel salt water could be.
A ship of some sort, then. They were on the Potomac at least, and it had to be a large boat if she wasn’t feeling the regular roll of waves.
She blinked at the two men, and her stomach dropped through the floor.
Zhang Wei. She’d expected him as much as she feared him.
And Wang Ping.
Panic tightened her throat. Water pooled in the corners of her eyes. Dammit.
For several long seconds, Wei and Ping stared at her, their gazes cold. They knew who she was—what she was. Was there any point in denying it? Should she?
“Ms. Collins, we will dispense with the formalities,” Ping said at last. He gestured to Wei, then sat across from her.
“What’s going on? Why am I here?” She asked the questions she had to, but the fear wasn’t faked.
Wei reached past the door of the next room and brought back the briefcase.
Dented, silver, plain, she’d had it with her for most of the last few years. It often collected dust in her closet or under her bed, wherever she had space to keep it until her next round trip.
Sarah swallowed and stared at it.
There were no identifying markers, no name etched onto the outside, or even a tag to label it as hers were it lost.
“You are a CIA operative, Ms. Collins. We know the truth.” Ping gestured at the case. “We also know you’re keeping secrets. Open the case.”
“What? That’s—that’s not mine. You’re crazy. Let me go.” She shook her head and glanced around.
Three doors, two portholes.
There were just the two men and her. She could hear movement, the scrape of a foot, someone close by. Listening? Waiting to join in?
She kept her bound wrists in her lap. The zip ties were problematic. Too tight to wiggle out of. Too thick to break. She’d need something to cut them with, and then figure her way out if she could get that far. No, her best chance was to fake it until she made it out of here. Play the ignorant card hard and keep her answers simple.
“We know you are CIA, Ms. Collins.” Ping reached into his jacket and pulled out a large tablet. He used his thumbprint to unlock the device and bring up a video. Or what appeared to be a video. “Open the case, or your family dies.”
Sarah gasped and her body went cold.
Matt paced the length of her parents’ living room while Emily and her mother sat on the sofa, the baby in her arms. Little Jonah
was no doubt shadowing Dad in the kitchen, hoping for candy.
“What—what have you done to them?” Sarah’s hands shook.
They were supposed to be gone. At the lake house. But Matt had said they’d been delayed. Why hadn’t they gone when Rand told them to leave? Why had she ever thought working for the company was a good idea? Now her family would pay the price.
Unless she traded the lives of company agents for her family.
How did she make a choice like that? She’d sworn an oath, but compared to her family, was it worth it?
“Just unlock the case, and they’ll be fine to go about their day,” Ping said. He swiped his finger across the screen and showed her another camera angle, this one of the kitchen.
Dad knelt down on Jonah’s level, helping him unwrap one of those caramel candies he loved so much.
How had they gotten all of this done? When? Her parents hadn’t mentioned anything about a break-in. Then again, with someone like Wei, he could probably get in and out without being noticed.
They’d wanted the car noticed.
Which meant all of this, every bit of it, was planned. Staged. And she had to out-think them. Somehow. Someway.
If she triggered the failsafe on the case and destroyed the protocols, then what would happen to her family? How did she know they weren’t bluffing? Wei was here, which meant he wasn’t there to do the killing.
“What have you done?” She had to think. Be smarter. But her head ached, and she felt as though her thoughts were mired in sand.
“You mean, what will happen if you don’t cooperate? I’ve been doing this for a long time, Ms. Collins. Longer than you’ve been alive.” Ping again swiped his finger over the screen, a couple times, views of other rooms passed up until he got to another shot.
This one was of a small, copper pipe in what appeared to be the basement.
Something with a red, flashing light was taped to the pipe.
“If you choose to not open the case, we will detonate this small charge. It won’t take much to cause an unfortunate explosion due to an overlooked gas leak.”
Real-life gas leaks were not the same kind of foundation-shattering blasts they were on TV, but they could still kill everyone in the house. It could be devastating.
She opened and closed her mouth.
What should she do?
She couldn’t put her family in danger. She couldn’t withhold information that would kill them. There was no point in refusing to admit the truth anymore, was there?
Spy Games (Tarnished Heroes) Page 23
