True Deceptions (True Lies)

by Veronica Forand

  “I’m selling drones, and it appears you’re buying. How interesting.”

  “Are you trying, but failing, to be undercover at Pelican, or did you lose your position at the agency?” Simon asked, ignoring his questions.

  Dane, an embedded CIA agent who monitored the world of arms deals as carefully as Simon participated in it, refused to answer, which told Simon exactly what he needed to know.

  A waiter brought them to a private table.

  Simon focused on the waiter without a glance toward Dane. “We’ll have the mansaf.”

  “You remember my love of lamb.” Dane smiled and placed an order for wine as well. The waiter nodded and left them alone.

  “You’re entirely predictable, which is why I’m always a step ahead of you,” Simon said with a laugh.

  “Someday, you may be stuck at a desk job, a mere speck of who you once were.” Dane, leaning back in his chair with a smirk, seemed amused by the prospect.

  “I’ll be retired before then.”

  “Actually, I thought you had retired. Last I heard, you’d flown the coop and found a few island girls to hide out with. Facebook never lies.”

  “Perhaps I planted those photos. My life is an open book. Currently my love of technology trumps my need for beaches and bikinis.” Except for one extra long beach body with a love of robotics.

  “Interesting. And you want my drones?”

  “Maybe. I need prices and availability.”

  Dane tapped his fingers on the table. “About twenty thousand a piece. Also, I have people who can arm them for remote detonation for a price.”

  “Not necessary.”

  His brows lifted. “Interesting. Even more interesting is your new female friend. You always had fantastic taste in women, although she seems a bit out of your league.”

  “Stay away from her.” Simon recognized Dane’s hormones reacting to a potential conquest. They’d often competed for the same women. Dane tended to gain an upper hand with his pretty boy face and easygoing attitude. Although Simon trusted Dane with his life, he wouldn’t trust him with any female over the age of twenty.

  Dane laughed. “You never did like to share, did you? Remember lovely Valeriya? She chose my refinement over your depraved self-importance. Pissed you off to no end.”

  Simon’s serious facade cracked, and he felt a smile emerge. “You bribed her away from me with a bottle of red wine and some asshole singing in Italian. You’re welcome to any woman willing to leave for that fluff. Besides, your endgame was a bit more sinister than mine. I just wanted to move Tucker out of Russia.”

  Dane’s face hardened. “Can’t go back, so I move forward.”

  Tucker, a brand new operative posing as a student in Moscow, had become swept up in the local culture, including a sexy coed named Valeriya. After they’d moved in together, she created an international incident when she’d stolen laptops from two low-level American diplomats and had turned them over to the FSB. It had all been caught on tape. Tucker refused to believe her guilt. He’d been fucked over by love and was probably still in denial today that he’d done anything wrong.

  Dane and Simon had been sent in to cleanup the mess, neither government trusting the other to get the job done. SIS directed Simon to expose her and remove Tucker before he was arrested for spying. Dane’s job was to eliminate her… permanently. It was his last documented role as an assassin.

  Dane completed his task, but not before Tucker learned his identity. Furious that the American had killed an innocent woman, Tucker contacted the Russian authorities to have him arrested. Before Simon could shut Tucker down, the git was arrested and questioned. He sang like a bird on crack to the Russian authorities. He’d not only revealed Dane’s link to the CIA, but he’d also hinted at several other students who might be working with MI6. He was sent home in an embarrassing spy swap.

  After claiming PTSD and begging for a second chance, Tucker was permanently removed from the field and placed in a rather boring office building away from Vauxhall. Being a mid level bureaucrat suited him.

  The waiter returned with a large platter of lamb in a plate of rice, almonds, and pine nuts, and covered in a fermented yogurt sauce. A plate of flatbread accompanied it. A perfect way to shift the mood at the table.

  Dane scooped up some of the meat in the bread and moaned as he chewed. “This is almost to die for. How is old Tucker these days?”

  “He’s no longer allowed to come out and play. And he probably hates you more than he hates me.”

  “The world is a safer place since his reassignment.”

  They clinked their wineglasses in agreement and laughed. Simon dug into the meal. The chefs had outdone themselves.

  Leaning back in his chair, Dane smirked. “The shithead gave away everything he knew because he didn’t want to spend the night in a Russian jail. His dick must be less than a half-inch long. He should never have been allowed in the field. You English need better recruitment techniques.”

  And Dane should be back out in the world doing what he did best instead of hiding from the past.

  A food court had been set up in the northernmost area of the main conference center. Cassie had some tea and a falafel while she people-watched. It was not relaxing. Crowds caused her more tension than just about anything else, even guns and spiders. But once she exited the building to walk over to Hall C, and her tension lifted. Despite the heat, Jordan was beautiful, and the people had been nothing but nice to her. Perhaps she could return someday without the restrictions placed on her by Simon and her assignment.

  A mere hundred yards from the massive crowds in the main area, Hall C was a calmer, quieter place. She strolled past the displays of some companies that didn’t have the clout of the ones in the Main Hall. Massive HD screens with cinema quality videos broadcasted demonstrations of the awesome power contained in these weapons. She stopped at a manufacturer of gas masks and noticed a few samples small enough to fit an infant. She pictured a family huddled up together, praying for salvation with their masks on. The falafel she’d eaten turned into a lead weight in her gut. War stunk. Cassie, however, could make a difference. If she performed her job to the best of her ability, she could avert war around the world. And where she couldn’t, she could try to minimize casualties. That was her goal.

  Omnicore Explosive was located in the furthest corner from the entrance. Huge posters showing detonations and fireballs covered the back wall of the booth. Not a warm and fuzzy marketing approach. In addition, the salespeople had proven to be as obnoxious as all the other people Cassie had to deal with.

  They wanted to know why she needed the explosives. She had no clue. They wanted to know the grade, the preferred place of origin, and preferred packaging of the product. No clue, no clue, and no clue. She did know that Simon had requested thirty-five pounds. That’s all he’d told her. Nice.

  She took a price sheet from them and started back to the Raytheon exhibit to find Simon. So what if she was an errand girl right now. Last week, she’d been a vital part of the team when she’d taught Simon some fundamental information on drones. He asked the right questions and listened to her explanations with interest.

  Her steps lightened. She couldn’t wait to go back to London and have Simon’s attention focused again on her, even for only a few hours a day, even if it wasn’t permanent.

  Back outside, she turned her head to avoid the bright glare from the windshields of the parked cars. Her stress evaporated as she walked past some storage areas. The silence, marred by an occasional helicopter or distant car, soothed her nerves. The heat sizzled on everything in sight, yet she slowed her pace in order to embrace the hot dry air. When she turned a corner, a breeze kicked sand into her face, and she squinted as she tried to protect herself. The sand burned. She pulled sunglasses from her pocketbook and tucked herself between some buildings until the wind died down. The sound of strangled cries, like those of a baby, echoed from a place farther into the alleyway.

  The picture of th
e gas mask for the infant was still fresh in her mind. Her goal of protecting the vulnerable of the world could start here and now. She walked closer to the noise.

  Situated behind a Dumpster, a man dressed in long black and white robes with a white Arab headdress tied with a black leather strap held a woman on the ground. One hand covered her mouth, and the other crushed her windpipe. The woman’s eyes bulged in desperation. She tried to pull the man’s hands away, but he held her on the ground. Her long black robe had a few rips in it and dust faded the color to gray in spots.

  Two other men dressed in similar outfits stood nearby watching, without helping either the man or the woman. A chill ran through Cassie. She should run to get help, but despite her instincts prodding her in the opposite direction, she moved closer. The woman’s face reddened.

  “What are you doing? You could kill her.” Her heart battered her chest as though telegraphing her a warning to turn away, but she ignored it. She pushed at the man harming the woman and started shaking his shoulders. “Stop. Please stop.”

  One of the other men grabbed her arms and pulled her away from the man assaulting the woman. Someone took Cassie’s cell phone and her purse. She struggled and screamed. A thick, strong hand covered her mouth. She couldn’t break free. The other woman faded into unconsciousness.

  Two Jordanian soldiers arrived, but neither spoke English. The man who beat the woman yelled and pointed at both the slowing waking woman and Cassie. The woman shook her head, tears rolling over her cheeks.

  How could someone be treated so poorly? What had she done?

  A soldier pulled her to her feet. They secured the defeated woman’s arms behind her back with handcuffs.

  Then the soldiers stepped toward Cassie.

  Chapter Twelve

  Simon left Dane and went to meet up with Cassie. She’d be excited to find out she was finally a player. Her expertise would be the game changer in this assignment. They could buy the drones from one source, probably Dane, and completely retrofit them to the needs of the North Korean businessmen, keeping the new and improved capabilities developed by Cassie off the radar of international groups looking for serious destructive power.

  When he arrived at the Raytheon display, he couldn’t locate her. He called and texted. No response. Toying with some of the exhibits, he kept one eye and one ear on the crowds at all times. Thirty minutes passed while he was waiting. Was she lost? He called her phone again and received no answer. She knew never to turn her phone off. Ever. He texted her again and even sent her an email. No reply. Perhaps she’d gone to the restroom.

  A tall, blonde woman among mostly dark-skinned men in uniforms should not be difficult to find, but the only blonds he saw as he pushed through the crowds on the way to the restroom were several male members of the Swedish military. He stood outside the restroom door for several minutes before asking a woman to check for her inside. A minute later, the woman emerged with no news.

  Where was she? A woman who never veered from the rules and, who followed his orders at least ninety-nine percent of the time would not take off without telling him. Not here. He clenched his fist. If one person, any person, harmed her, he’d regret his decision a million times over.

  He needed a plan. He returned to the Raytheon display and asked them to contact him if she came back. A few U.S. and German companies he’d done work with in the past also promised to contact him if they saw her.

  Three hours turned into four hours, which turned into six. Where the hell was she? The hotel had been contacted, but he hesitated before calling in the SOFEX security team. He and Cassie didn’t need that much exposure. Something happened to her. Something bad. He wanted to believe everything would work out, but if something smelled like shit, it generally was.

  Cassie’s disappearance didn’t annoy him like the times he’d lost partners to South American jails or Russian hit squads. She was more important to him than a typical partner. And that made this whole situation even more frustrating. If he didn’t know where she was, he couldn’t help her.

  After going over every possibility, no matter how remote, he contacted the one person who would give him the most crap—Tucker.

  “When did you last see her?” Tucker sounded as angry as Simon felt.

  “She left me while I spoke to one of my contacts.” No way in hell was he mentioning his lunch with Dane.

  “This assignment must be completed, and you lost our most valuable asset?”

  “The same one at whom you aimed your Walther P99? Yes. Can we go through diplomatic channels to find her?”

  Simon could hear Tucker’s exhalation through the phone. “One major problem. She’s American.”

  “That was your call. Why the hell would you make her American and tie our hands.”

  Tucker paused a few moments before responding. “It was necessary for the assignment.”

  “You’re an idiot. Your cool maneuvering may end the assignment before it begins, unless you either locate her or find me a replacement.” The idea of someone replacing Cassie stuck in his throat and made him want to reach through the phone and kill Tucker. “Help me find her. If you have to involve the Prime Minister, do it.”

  “I’m not your puppet, Dunn. Don’t threaten me.”

  “Let me rephrase, then. If she’s not located in the next twenty-four hours, I will drop my assignment, fly to London, and personally rip your heart out and shove it up your arse.”

  The line went dead.

  A fear swept through Simon, as big as a tsunami, threatening to completely derail his control. He couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t lose her. His heart would burst if the woman he cared for even more than Nicola disappeared from his side. He’d never survive it.

  At the hotel in Amman, he questioned as many colleagues as he could without drawing too much attention to himself. No one had seen her. Sitting in the bar, he watched Dane arrive with a few U.S. military officers. If Cassie was acting as an American, he’d better start using his American contacts.

  “Dane, do you have a minute?”

  “For you, anything.” He looked over Simon’s shoulder. “Where’s your companion?”

  “Missing.” Simon didn’t have time to play games with Dane. He explained how she hadn’t met at their designated spot after lunch.

  Dane raised his eyebrows. “She’s not exactly the easiest person to hide around here. Are you sure she didn’t take off on her own?”

  “She wouldn’t leave without telling me. She’s American and has been gone almost eight hours now.” He frowned. “Can you contact the embassy and see if the authorities have located her?”

  “Give me some time, I should be able to find her.” Dane pulled out his phone and began to dial.

  Cassie didn’t understand why she’d been arrested. No one spoke English. She only knew a man was abusing a woman, two bystanders did nothing to help, and the military had arrived. Instead of receiving assistance, both she and the woman were put in handcuffs and pushed into a police van, while the men walked away laughing. The woman had regained some of her energy and sat with her hands together, chanting something to herself over and over.

  Cassie didn’t cry. She didn’t fight. A fog covered her senses and drugged her into a stupor. At first all she’d wanted was Simon, and she’d called out to have someone contact him. After the van doors had closed and they’d driven for what seemed like hours, she’d stopped asking. They’d ignore her anyway.

  The van arrived at a white stone building surrounded by a large black iron gate. Guards in military uniforms, carrying assault rifles, stood at the entrance. Two women in black uniforms with white scarves covering their hair pulled the beaten woman out of the van and then grabbed for Cassie. She tripped. Her knee plowed into the asphalt. Pain tore through her leg. A jagged hole ripped in the fabric of her skirt exposed a bloody wound. No one, however, rushed to her aid.

  She lifted her skirt to look more closely at the wound, but a security guard yelled at her and yanked it back down.
Blood seeped through the material and oozed from the rip. She remained sitting, unsure of putting weight on her leg. Her throat felt like she’d swallowed a large stone and it was stuck halfway down her windpipe, making her breathing difficult. She rocked her body back and forth, but she didn’t cry. Not yet. Not in front of the guards who had placed her in this hell. They left her on the ground, standing over her with large rifles at the ready. Did they think she’d run? She was too much of a coward.

  Several other women, some in shabby robes and others in more Western clothes, arrived in police cars and vans. The police pushed them toward Cassie and the woman from the SOFEX compound. One newly arrived woman had a deep gash on her forehead. Blood smeared across her face and her right eye was swollen shut. Two of the women sobbed and pleaded in Arabic. Others remained silent, their heads bowed in submission.

  When the group grew to seven, they were led into the building through heavy doors and then down long gray hallways. In a small empty room, female guards began to strip the prisoners. Several women cried out as guards pulled their clothes off and left them standing naked. One older woman, marked by deep lines and blemishes on her face, wore a constant scowl. She stripped off her clothes and stood completely naked with her shoulders back and saggy breasts thrust forward.

  Although Cassie towered over the guards and the other prisoners, she tried to minimize her presence by slumping forward and standing in the back of the room. She didn’t understand the orders, as she didn’t understand Arabic. Instead, she followed the example of the women around her. The humiliation of the situation almost broke her, but she carried on without complaint. She removed her pencil skirt, her blouse, her bra, and her panties. One hand automatically dropped over her crotch and the other covered her breasts.

  The guards lined the women up against the wall. Six medium to short women with dark hair and dark complexions lined up next to Cassie. Standing there, at least six inches taller than the next tallest woman in the room, with her long golden hair shining brighter than the darker hues of the other woman, she’d never felt so alien and alone in her life.