by Lucy Monroe
Cowboy looked smug. “Chuma expected to be back in the city the day he arrived in Morocco.”
“It looks that way,” Neil agreed, the lethal edge to his demeanor pronounced for a brief moment.
“So, we go in and extract Jamila before Chuma gets down from the mountain.” Rachel wasn’t letting that sadist get his hands on the young innocent.
“You don’t have clearance to bring her in, or to break cover to reveal the truth to her,” Kadin pointed out.
“I need to call Whit.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Cowboy asked.
Neil nodded as if agreeing with a statement rather than a question, his expression understanding. “Sometimes it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission.”
She looked up at Kadin to see how he was taking the talk of insubordination from his team, but he was looking at her. And the only expression on his face was one of interest.
“I won’t compromise the operation without warning him first.” She wasn’t going to leave Jamila to dangle in the wind, but Rachel’s loyalty to her agency was too deep to take any steps without at least giving Whit a heads-up first.
Besides, she believed in her boss. He would finally see the need to bring Jamila in. He had to.
Kadin nodded.
Neil said, “I’ll set the call up.”
“Why can’t I just use your satphone?” she asked Kadin.
“Extra protocols are in place for communications with TGP. Your agency hasn’t kept its invisible status in Washington by accident.”
“Don’t know how invisible it’s going to be with the recent audit of the State Department going on. Those Tea Party politicos have got it in for the Oval Office and Whitney’s agency for sure. And their investigator has sickening skills on the computer,” Neil said as he typed furiously on his laptop.
No one said anything to that. Politicians were always putting one agency or another on the bubble. Sometimes rightly so; sometimes it was nothing but political grandstanding. Rachel personally loved the president and had little time for the Tea Party.
She knew other agents who felt different, but no one got into it over their political beliefs. Not in TGP offices, anyway. Whit had a strict no-discussion of religion, politics, or personal diets policy in place.
Even though everyone knew he wasn’t a fan of any of the grandstanders, and particularly not the Tea Party. His wife, on the other hand, had her fingers in a lot of political pies. The woman was downright scary, and Rachel shuddered to think what would happen if she ever found out about TGP.
But TGP had weathered the McCarthy years, the Nixon fiasco, and the Clinton scandal without discovery. Surely, this latest burst of political interest would swirl around and over them, too.
Interrupting her thoughts, Neil handed her a headset. “It’s a direct line to your director’s office.”
She’d barely gotten the earpiece to her head when she heard the Old Man’s voice barking, “Whitney here. Where in the h-e-double-toothpicks is my agent, Marks?”
“It’s Rachel Gannon, sir.”
“Rachel.” A soft sound came over the headset, as if Whit had sighed in relief. “How are you feeling, agent?”
“I’m doing better than I was three days ago, sir.” She didn’t have to fake the slight break in her voice.
She was better, a lot better, but her voice box had been strained to the point of whispers and pain.
“No doubt. No doubt. You’re being called in from the field. Another agent will take over the investigation.”
“That’s not necessary, sir.”
A snort of disbelief came through the phone, and then a no-nonsense tone saying, “It is. Absolutely. Your cover is either blown or, at the very least, compromised.”
“But I got most of the information we needed.” Or Kadin’s team had. “We have photos.”
“Send the digital files in; we’ll start running facial-recognition software immediately.” He didn’t ask how the pictures had been obtained or whom they were of.
Andrew Whitney didn’t waste time on what he considered unnecessary dialogue.
“Yes, sir.”
“When will you be Stateside?”
“Sir, there is still the matter of Jamila Massri.”
“What matter? Has something significant changed on that front?”
“I’d say my capture was significant.”
“Did your captors give you reason to believe that Chuma had twigged on to your connection to his fiancée?”
Rachel wished she could lie, but to do so with her boss would betray her sense of integrity. She didn’t have much left of her humanity, she thought sometimes, but this she did have. “No, sir. Though they’ll figure it out eventually.”
“You’re founding this belief on what?”
“I met the woman for coffee almost daily for weeks.”
“But you were careful not to be seen by Chuma, and you said she wasn’t being shadowed.”
“He might be sucking her in with a false sense of independence.”
Whit didn’t reply to that, but what could he say? They both knew that Abasi Chuma was a bad, bad, bad man. But only she was convinced that evil was going to leave its mark on Jamila Massri before TGP had a chance to move in on Chuma and his cohorts. Working the angles they did sometimes meant getting other governments involved in taking down dirty information brokers like Chuma.
All of that took time, time Jamila might not have to maintain her innocence in the face of the evil her future husband embraced.
“I need to bring her in, sir.”
“We’ve discussed this, Rachel.” Whit sounded tired and almost apologetic. “She’s a field asset without the intel to justify an involuntary extraction.”
“She’d come voluntarily if I told her the truth about Chuma.” But even as she said the words, Rachel wasn’t sure she believed them.
She’d been so sure she could have saved Linny if only she had been paying attention, if she’d discovered the truth about Arthur Prescott and told her sister before Linny got in too deep. If Rachel had even known about Prescott.
The past weeks with Jamila had shown Rachel how far an innocent woman would go to believe the best of a man who was rotten to his very core.
“Maybe. Best-case scenario, yes.”
“So I tell her.”
“You’re in no condition to fly to Cairo.”
“She’s in Marrakech.”
“No.” Unequivocal and stark.
Rachel opened her mouth to argue, but Whit didn’t give her the chance. “It’s too dangerous. Worst case, she doesn’t believe you and goes to him with a story about the crazy woman trying to ruin his reputation.”
“We don’t know that.”
“It’s our job to consider the worst-case scenario always and prepare for it.” His words were so like her earlier thoughts.
Tension ratcheted up Rachel’s spine. She hated having her own certainties turned back on her. “But, sir—”
“And in no scenario can you see or be seen with Miss Massri there in Morocco,” Whit interrupted. “If you’ve managed to maintain any semblance of your cover, it will be blown wider than the gates of Baghdad, and any hopes of keeping Chuma ignorant of our investigation with it. I don’t need to tell you we can’t afford to give him time to cover his tracks.”
“Whit, we can’t leave her to him.” They just couldn’t.
“She’s an adult. She’s made her own choices.”
“Her father made the choice for her.”
The sound Whit made could have been exasperation, but it could also have been one of grief. His words were unbending, however. “She doesn’t disagree with it.”
“It’s not right, Whit. You know it’s not right.”
“We don’t always get the chance at right; sometimes we have to settle for bringing down the bad guys.”
“You’re talking about collateral damage.”
“You’re not stupid, Rachel.”
&
nbsp; “No, I’m not, but I won’t let her fall into that pit, either.”
This time, Whit’s sigh couldn’t be taken as anything but impatience. “I need you Stateside, Rachel.”
“Whit … no … please …”
“Look, can you flip her, do you think?” he asked, his tone saying he didn’t have a lot of hope she’d agree.
“What do you mean?” She knew what it meant to flip a spy, but Jamila? “You want her to spy on Chuma on purpose? How is that going to keep her safe?”
“Keeping an informer perfectly safe is not in our charter. We are charged with protecting vital information from reaching the wrong hands.”
“The individual is still important, sir.” Jamila was important.
“But she cannot take precedence over the operation.”
“She deserves our protection, just like anyone else.”
“You cannot protect an adult woman from her own decisions.” There was a message in her boss’s words, but Rachel wasn’t going to hear it.
“I need to bring her in, sir.” That was the message he had to hear.
“You cannot approach her in Morocco.” Whit’s voice dropped several degrees toward icicle. “You will not approach her in Marrakech.”
“We have to do something!” Rachel’s voice broke again, this time simply giving out as the attempt at yelling cost her a big chunk of the progress she’d made so far.
“Rachel …” Whit’s voice trailed off, sounding more tired than she’d ever heard the director. “Come back to Washington, and we’ll work something out.”
She saw the promise for what it was; unfortunately, it wasn’t enough.
“We can’t leave her just yet, sir,” Rachel tried to explain. “We don’t know what Chuma will do.”
“Marks’s medic recommended another twenty-four hours of rest before your long flight back, I think he said,” Whit equivocated.
“I’m not supposed to be out of bed now, sir.”
“Twenty-four hours, Rachel. That’s all I can give you.”
“I’ve got vacation time accrued, sir.”
“I can’t approve that at present.”
“Sir?”
“Twenty-four hours.”
“I hear you, sir.” But she was careful not to agree.
“Take care of yourself.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell that Atrati captain that I want you on the plane in twenty-four hours. No later.”
“I’ll tell him, sir.” But she wasn’t promising to go.
“I’ll tell him myself,” Whit said in a tone that implied he had noticed her lack of verbal commitment to his plan.
“If you say so, sir.”
“Put him on.”
Rachel didn’t bother to answer but pulled the headset off and passed it over to Kadin.
Chapter Nine
“Your boss not agree with you staying in Morocco?”
Neil asked.
“He gave me twenty-four hours.”
“It shouldn’t take that long to get the girl.” Cowboy looked like he was trying to figure out why Rachel didn’t seem happier.
“Whit forbade me to see or be seen with Jamila Massri in Morocco.”
“Yeah, that tracks,” Neil mused aloud. “Chuma and his goons are still undecided on whether or not you’re intelligence or just a very nosy tourist.”
“Apparently the man can’t figure out a female spy who doesn’t use a come-on to get what she wants, and since you never approached him for sex …” Cowboy mused aloud.
“Therefore, I can’t be a spy.” Maybe Abasi Chuma was dumber than she thought. “And if I was just a tourist?”
“Didn’t matter. Their plans were to kill you either way once he was sure he’d gotten all the answers from you that you had to give.”
Rachel felt sick to her stomach at such a quick dismissal of human life. “And Whit wants me to leave Jamila at the mercy of that man.”
“Your boss doesn’t want the investigation compromised,” Kadin said as he took off the headset. “He expects you on a plane home—”
“In twenty-four hours. I know.” But she wasn’t going. Not without Jamila.
“He also said that we are specifically denied permission to extract Ms. Massri as a hostile witness.”
“In other words, he wants the little lady left exactly where she is.” Cowboy’s twang didn’t give away his opinion of that reality.
“That’s not going to happen,” Rachel said with more vehemence than she should have. Her voice started to give out again.
Kadin’s eyes flared with concern. “That’s enough talking for now.”
“I’m fine,” she denied, but she was careful to keep her tone and volume modulated. “You need to understand that I’m not leaving Morocco until I know Jamila is safe.”
“It could take days—weeks, even—before your agency and/or its allies are ready to make their move.”
“Then I stay for weeks.”
Kadin didn’t argue with her or ask if she had a plan. He just nodded.
Cowboy and Neil didn’t say anything, either, but the looks they gave Kadin spoke volumes about their commander’s sanity. She’d understand it if the look was directed at her, but it wasn’t.
“I’m not leaving Africa with Jamila in jeopardy,” she said, in case there was any question left in any of their minds.
“Yes, ma’am, we did get that impression,” Cowboy drawled.
“So, why are you looking at Kadin like he’s the one who’s nuts?” she asked before she could think better of it.
“Because Kadin is perfectly capable of drugging you and putting your stubborn ass on a plane regardless, but the man’s got no plans to do so.” Cowboy frowned at Kadin. “Even though his orders are clear.”
Kadin’s jaw hardened. “Andrew Whitney does not write my orders.”
“He does when TGP contracts our services.”
“No.” That was all Kadin said, but the word left no room for misinterpretation.
Rachel’s boss was not his commander, and that was that.
“Roman isn’t going to be happy if you disobey a direct order from the head of TGP.”
“I’ve pissed him off before. I’ll do it again.”
“That’s for damn sure,” Neil said under his breath.
Kadin didn’t appear to take offense.
It was Rachel who couldn’t help asking, “Why?”
Suddenly Kadin’s attention was fully and completely on her. “Because I’m just that kind of guy.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“Why not force you back to Washington?” Kadin asked, his expression unreadable.
“Yes. And why help me?” Because she knew he was going to.
“I owe you.”
Rachel’s mouth opened; nothing but air came out. She took several shallow breaths before turning away without another word and heading off to find the kitchen.
She was hungry.
She was not going to overthink what Kadin had said. She just wasn’t. He had walked out of her life ten years ago without a backward glance. He’d walked back into it when she’d been pretty sure all hope was lost.
She was not going to question his reasons for helping her protect Jamila.
Whatever made Kadin feel like he owed Rachel some kind of debt was working in her favor. He wasn’t drugging her and tossing her unconscious behind onto an airplane headed for the States. Right now, that was pretty much the best she could hope for. With Jamila’s life and innocence on the line.
Besides, while Rachel might be years past believing Kadin owed her anything, no matter what he claimed, he did owe Linny.
They both did.
Wanting to follow Rachel, Kadin turned to Spazz instead. “What else do you have?”
“Not sure.” Spazz’s eyebrows drew together, his expression thoughtful. “But they’re freaked about something.”
“Not just finding Rachel where she wasn’t supposed to be?”
>
“No. Chuma still isn’t convinced she’s anything more than she claimed—a nosy tourist caught in the wrong place. But something has got him acting level-four paranoid.”
“What do you mean?”
Spazz shrugged. “Look, despite the way Chuma devalues women, I’m not sure his underlings would have reacted like they did with Rachel if the big man wasn’t so tense about whatever’s about to go down. Yes, tourists disappear every year, but a kidnapping could still bring attention Chuma can’t want.”
“If TGP has their shit together, they’re already taking advantage of the opening the political situation in Egypt has caused,” Cowboy mused aloud.
Kadin nodded. Roman had said as much; so had Whit when he’d spoken to Kadin and tried to order him to bring Rachel Stateside immediately. “You can bet on it.”
“It’s pretty clear that the men who kidnapped Rachel were acting on orders given after they found her snooping.” Spazz shook his head and typed something into the computer. “Chuma had to want her out of there worse than Whit wants her back in DC, and I’m thinking there’s a reason.”
Kadin had to agree. “Something big.”
“And that something is still in Egypt.” Cowboy tipped his head back, his eyes going cold. “I’m thinking whatever that something is, Chuma having it is not in the U.S. of A’s best interests.”
“Yeah.” And Kadin’s world just got a little more complicated.
They might not work for the government, but almost every member of the Atrati had been in the military at one time. He and his team had all defended their country with their lives, and that wasn’t something a man forgot because Uncle Sam’s name dropped off his paycheck.
“Shame.” Cowboy frowned. “Timing sucks for your little gal. She might’a got away with the whole dumb-tourist routine if Chuma’s boys weren’t on high alert.”
“Maybe.” Unlike Spazz, Kadin wasn’t convinced of that.
All the intel they had on Abasi Chuma painted him as a true sexual sadist. A man like that, who enjoyed inflicting pain, especially on the unwilling, was always looking for excuses to do so and would make them up if he had to.
