A Risk Worth Taking

by Brynn Kelly

  “That’s some serious security.”

  Samira jumped. Jamie was standing behind her, dressed in the ripped green sweater. His jean legs were splashed with dirt.

  “American diplomats always take their security seriously,” she said. “And Hyland might not be the only foreign dignitary staying there.”

  “Whoa.” His eyebrows rose, his gaze still across the street.

  She turned back. The blond guy—Fitz—had stepped out of the tent with a brunette woman, and was sweeping a narrowed gaze across the scene. Samira shrank into her chair.

  “Is that guy a clone?” Jamie said. “He’s everywhere at once. The woman he’s with—she was the driver of the Peugeot. Both looking fresh after their nap in the forest.”

  Fitz... She did a partial word search on Hyland’s files. A few dozen hits—Fitzpatrick, Fitzgibbon, Fitzsimmon... But it was a Matisse Fitzgerald that seemed most likely. He’d been CCed into memos about the senator’s security and was listed on an itinerary of a previous official trip as “head of contract security.” A Christmas present list from a few years ago—presumably written by an assistant of Hyland’s—listed gifts for a Matisse, Jennifer, Grace and Toby Fitzgerald, and a delivery address in Washington, DC. Hardly damning evidence.

  “Bingo,” she whispered, as she opened the next file.

  “What have you found?” Jamie walked behind the chair.

  “Fitz’s résumé, with his photo and everything. Matisse Fitzgerald. He’s ex-CIA, worked in East Africa the same time as Hyland, after Hyland left the marines and before he started up Denniston. He’s been a ‘security contractor’ ever since.”

  “A mercenary?”

  She frowned up at Jamie. “Isn’t that technically what you are?”

  “In a sense, but I don’t get paid nearly enough. And I don’t shoot people for profit and neither does my employer—as far as I know.”

  Across the road, Fitz approached the nearest pair of diplomatic security agents, who straightened. They exchanged a few words.

  Jamie stepped closer to the window. Samira killed an urge to yank him back.

  “Does that look tense to you?” he said.

  “Diplomatic security would hate that the senator also uses his own security. A senator wouldn’t usually get this level of diplomatic protection, but I guess since he’s standing in for the secretary of state on an official visit, he’s using the secretary’s traveling detail.”

  “It’d be a bad look if somebody sneaked through NATO security.”

  “And yet you’re talking about sneaking through NATO security.”

  “We’re not carrying bombs or AKs. They’re screening for terrorists, not petty thieves. They won’t check what we carry out, just what we take in.”

  She shut the laptop and smoothed her hands over the lid. “Are we really going to try this?”

  He narrowed his eyes, still watching across the road. “I don’t see that we have a choice.”

  “Maybe Hyland will...trip over and the fob will fall off onto the ground and we can walk past and pick it up.”

  “Let’s hope for that. But we’ll plan for something a little more challenging.”

  “This is crazy. I just don’t know where we would start, getting in—”

  “Merde.” Jamie’s jaw dropped.

  Several people had stepped out of the tent. Even among the dark suits and coats, a tall, broad man in a dark suit and coat stood out, thick silver hair swept into a boyish style that suggested, in an artful way, he’d just got out of bed with a glamorous woman. Samira stood, and had to dive for the laptop to stop it hitting the floor.

  “Oh my God,” she said, planting the laptop on the chair. “Hyland.”

  A dozen people swept in from nowhere—media, holding cameras and recorders. Faint shouts were audible.

  “I’ve never seen him in person,” she said.

  He strode to the middle Land Rover, flashing his vote-winning smile for the cameras, his suit jacket stretched over broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist, the fingers of one hand casually hooked in a trouser pocket. A flash of white on his belt—the fob.

  Wow. She’d seen him on video and in photos thousands of times but now she got it. He looked like a film star playing the role of senator. An all-American actor who’d never be cast as anything but a hero.

  “That guy tore my life apart and until now I’ve never laid eyes on him. And look at him. Even I want to believe he’s a good guy. That’s what we’re fighting here.”

  The senator called out to the media and laughed with all his perfect white teeth. He answered a few questions, an arm slung over the rear door, which was held open by a diplomatic security agent. A camera flashed.

  “It looks like an ad for Land Rover,” she said. “In GQ.”

  Jamie slipped behind her and placed his hands on her upper arms. “There’s a reason they call him Teflon Tristan. That’s why we need that evidence. People aren’t going to believe it until he’s forced to admit his guilt.”

  “So we just walk on up and say, ‘Hey, Senator, mind if I take a peek at your dongle?’”

  “By the look of him, I suspect he gets that kind of talk a lot.”

  “It wasn’t a joke. None of this is a joke.”

  Jamie squeezed her arms. “I know, Samira,” he said, with a quiet seriousness that settled her nerves a touch.

  The senator disappeared into the car and the cavalcade moved away, escorted by three police bikes as well as the cars, blue lights flashing from the Land Rover grilles, leaving Fitz, the Peugeot driver and half a dozen police outside the hotel.

  The door to the parking basement rolled up and a blue Prius nosed out. Two men in black suits and sunglasses filled the front. Through the windscreen, Samira caught the unmistakable flash of a blond pixie cut in the back seat. The car turned onto the street in the opposite direction from the cavalcade. The rear windows were blacked out.

  “That was Laura,” she said.

  “I would have expected more protection.”

  “She wouldn’t have the same level of protection as a president’s daughter. Those would be personal bodyguards—I know Hyland pays for protection for her, too. And there was someone with her in the back, a woman. A social-media manager?”

  “Right, then,” Jamie said, releasing Samira. “Now’s as good a time as any to go and break into his room.”

  “Oh my God, are you serious? We can’t just walk in there and bash our way through the hotel. That place will be crowded with security. And police. And goons. And his staff.” She swiveled. “We wouldn’t get—”

  Jamie was grinning. The bastard.

  She brought a hand to her chest. “Another joke.”

  “Too hard to resist. Lighten up, Samira—it’s not like we’re about to mug one of the most powerful people in the free world. But, yeah, we’ll wait until Angelito and Holly get here in—” he looked at his bare wrist, and hurriedly rubbed it “—at eleven thirty and then we’ll come up with a plan that’s watertight and one hundred percent safe.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “Okay, maybe ninety-nine percent safe and just a little leaky.”

  He raised his arms, rested his fingers on a ceiling beam and leaned his hips forward. His back cracked. Why did they never come as easily for her? She ached to wrap her arms around his muscular waist, burrow her nose into his sweater.

  “Anyway,” he said, “nothing we can do until then, so I think my time’s best spent in bed.”

  She stopped breathing.

  “Sleeping,” he said, his mouth curling. “Unless you have a better idea.”

  His eyes did that crinkling thing again, which never failed to somersault her belly.

  She sat back in the chair, her face heating. Resisting was almost physically painful, but if he wasn’t available she was a fool to di
g herself in any deeper. “I need to check up on a few things.”

  Like her parents. God.

  Several news outlets reported they were being questioned on Samira’s whereabouts, and speculated that the United States was pressuring the Canadian and Ethiopian governments to hand them over on suspicion of “terror-related activities.” Samira chewed on her knuckles. Her parents were smart and would have good lawyers, but Ethiopia didn’t have a whole lot of clout to stand up to America. And surely terrorism was an exception to the rule of diplomatic immunity.

  In the United States, Tess was still being held by the FBI, despite legal challenges by her TV network. Samira was still wanted but Jamie hadn’t been identified.

  Samira leaned her head against the wing of the chair. A dull headache was settling in behind her eyes. She closed them. How bad would it look for her parents if she was caught breaking into Hyland’s hotel suite? But what if she wasn’t caught? What if she could get access to the vault and fix everything?

  There had to be more she could do to prepare. Virtually explore the hotel layout and security, poke and prod its systems in the hope there was some useful flaw. Her eyes stung. In a minute...

  She was woken by murmuring voices, behind her. She shot out of the chair, sending the laptop flying again.

  Three people were seated around the dining table—Jamie, Angelito and an athletic brunette who looked like she’d fit right into their commando unit.

  Jamie stood, scraping the chair back behind him. “Samira, this is Holly.”

  The woman gave a sharp, assessing nod. She looked vaguely familiar.

  “Angelito you know,” Jamie finished.

  Hardly.

  “‘Rafe,’” Angelito said, in the indiscernible accent she remembered. Someone who’d moved around a lot, like her. “I’m just a diving and surfing instructor now.”

  Was that code for something like security contractor or assassin? No amount of surfing would make that guy look like anything but a commando. She finger-combed her hair. As the rush of panic at waking settled, her back began to ache. No, you can’t have another crack.

  “I’ve just been catching Holly and Angeli—Rafe up on the story so far,” Jamie said, pulling out the fourth chair for Samira. He was clean-shaven and his face had lost the sunken look. She’d never seen him clean-shaven. He looked less soldier, more doctor—and no less attractive.

  She walked behind the kitchen island, found a glass and filled it.

  “And we’ve come up with a plan,” he said, leaning back against the wall behind the table, casting a back-me-up-here look at Rafe and Holly before returning his gaze to Samira. He folded his arms. “We wait until the senator and his daughter go out tonight—he in the tuxedo to this reception, she to her book launch—and we drive into the car park, go up to the room and get them to let us in.”

  All sound seemed to mute.

  “Well, when I say ‘us,’ I mean you’ll wait here. You’re too easily recognized. The three of us will go.”

  She forced the water down her clamped throat. Relief washed over her at the thought of staying behind, but... “If you think they’ll even let you into the hotel, let alone anywhere near his floor, let alone... I’ve been around diplomats since I was a child. You’ve seen the security—it’s intense. More so these days, with the fear of terrorism. You will need keycards, security clearances, ID—”

  “We’re hoping there’s a notable exception to that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Laura, the senator’s daughter.”

  Three pairs of eyes trained on her. “I’m not following. Are you planning to sneak in behind her?”

  Rafe frowned up at Jamie, making his permanent glower even more intense. “I don’t like that Samira’s not getting this.”

  Holly pulled her hair out of its stumpy ponytail and mussed it up. “It worked before. It will again.” An American accent but not one Samira could pinpoint. She looked like a watersports instructor, with a freckled face and blond streaks in her hair.

  “Last time you only had to pass as her from a distance,” Rafe growled.

  “I fooled you,” Holly said.

  “I’d never seen Laura in person.”

  Samira laid her palms on the kitchen island. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Holly here is our Trojan horse,” Jamie said. “She used to be Laura’s body double. That’s how she and Angelito met, not that I know the whole story. Someday I’ll get the capitaine drunk and find out, and I’ll tell you everything.”

  Someday. Again, that suggestion there’d be something between them after this.

  Rafe’s jaw twitched. Samira guessed he wasn’t keen on someday coming, either. Was that why Holly looked familiar—she did resemble one of the most photographed women in America? The fine bone structure, the athletic body, the honey-colored skin...

  “I was paid to act like Laura,” Holly said. “I studied her closely. The way she talks, the way she moves, the way she holds herself.”

  “Maybe with the right clothes and a haircut,” Samira said. “And makeup and sunglasses, and...” She pushed the heels of her palms into her eyes. “No, this is crazy.”

  “It won’t fool the senator or anybody else who knows Laura well,” Jamie said, “but I’m hoping it’ll be enough to get us past security and reception, if we breeze in and out quickly. And you said yourself that these diplomatic security agents wouldn’t normally be around her, so...”

  Samira released her eyes. Stars actually swam in her vision. “You know that secretaries of state block off an entire secure floor in a hotel when they travel? I’ve seen it. They set up their own security cameras, sniffer dogs—not to mention the dozens of agents and hordes of local police. Plus there’s Hyland’s very own goon squad.”

  “But when Hyland and Laura are out, their personal protection will be with them along with the bulk of diplomatic security. So we’d mostly be dealing with police, hotel security and a handful of diplomatic and support staff.”

  “And it’ll be dinnertime, so most of them would be off the floor, leaving a skeleton security presence,” Holly said, swinging back on the chair. “So we fabricate a reason that Laura—well, me—pops back to her room at the hotel to grab some forgotten thing, with her security detail.” She nodded at Rafe and Jamie. “And we grab this fob and bring it back. If we don’t find it, we leave again pretty damn quick.”

  “You can’t... This is...”

  “Ambitious?” Jamie said. “Was that the word you were thinking of? Look, we will consider every eventuality and have it covered—and we’ll make sure we have an escape route if things go to hell. We’re good at this kind of stuff.” His eyes were bright. He liked this kind of stuff.

  “What if it’s in the room safe? What if Fitz is standing right outside the door? Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m taking this seriously enough to point out all the many obvious flaws.”

  “What do you think we came all the way here for, Samira?” Jamie said. “What did you think we would do?”

  “It wasn’t my choice to come here. Though maybe I thought I might be able to infiltrate the hotel security systems and... I don’t know. Now that I’ve seen all that security standing around... This just seems all too dangerous.”

  “Everything in life has risks.”

  “Maybe in your world. But in the world I live in—used to live in, want to live in—most people just do ordinary things on ordinary days and have a realistic expectation of not being thrown in jail. Or worse.”

  Jamie winked at Holly. “You make it sound so dull.”

  Samira threw up her hands. “Dull? I miss dull. I miss normal. I miss average. How many more laws are we going to break today?”

  “By bringing down this arsehole we’ll make the world safer for a lot of people. We’ll help a lot of people live happily dull and secure l
ives—including yourself, if that’s what you want. You want this guy to continue to be one of the most powerful men on earth? Maybe even US president?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You are in a unique position of being able to prevent it, while securing Tess’s freedom and saving Charlotte’s neck—and your parents. And then there’s you and me.” She shut her stinging eyes. He said it like they were an entity. She knew he didn’t mean it like that. “And anyway, you’ll be waiting here, in safety.”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about.” She opened her eyes. He was right. She couldn’t let her lack of courage screw things up now. “We’re talking about a very short window of opportunity.” Her stomach ached like she’d done a hundred sit-ups. “The password is set to expire at eight o’clock. We’d have to get the fob and set the files to copy over before we’re locked out.”

  “How long will they take to upload?”

  “That depends on what’s there, but it doesn’t matter too much. As long as the process begins before the password changes, it’ll finish the upload.”

  “So it’s going to be tight,” Jamie said. “But we have all afternoon to get our plan watertight.” He was jumpy, wired. Oh God—drugged?

  “And if it’s not watertight we’re not doing it,” she said, eyeballing him. How could she tell if he was using? Nicole had seen it in his eyes.

  Jamie’s gaze flicked momentarily to Rafe. “Sure,” he said, unconvincingly.

  “And there’s one more problem with that plan,” Samira said.

  Jamie tilted his head, his forehead bunching.