Firestorm

by Rachel Grant

  This was their first night sleeping together. And he still hadn’t kissed her.

  8

  They drove straight through and arrived in Dar es Salaam late the following night, where they checked into a luxury hotel on the water. Several of Gorev’s associates were staying at the same hotel. From here on out, they would be “on” every minute.

  Savvy barely slept that night, again with Cal nearly naked by her side. She was too wound up, anxious about the coming meeting she hoped would gain them invites to the party on the Russian oligarch’s megayacht.

  Radimir Gorev was just as nasty as Nikolai Drugov had been, but he was even more ambitious. And if Jean Paul Lubanga’s Russian-backed coup was a success, then Gorev would rise in Russian ranks, and Congo’s future would be even more bleak.

  Unlike most of his colleagues, Lubanga was technically adroit. His daughter said he’d taken a job in Kinshasa not long after the visit by Mobutu. His job had been in corporate management of mining operations. There he’d learned computers, recognizing that technology would give him an edge.

  He rose in the ranks by learning coding and data management, which he applied to his illegal enterprises in addition to his official job. He was now as high as he could go, senior minister in charge of mining rights in a vast and mineral-rich country. On the surface, he was the president’s crony. But on the side, people like Gorev were financing his imminent coup.

  In the hours before she left Djibouti, she’d had a briefing with Seth in which he elaborated on an arrangement Lubanga had with a televangelist, the Reverend Abel Fitzsimmons, who wanted to be the spiritual leader of the mostly Christian DRC under a Lubanga administration. Savvy’s cynical side said the reverend wouldn’t care so much about the spiritual lives of Congolese people if they weren’t sitting on trillions in mineral wealth, and Seth had agreed. He wanted her to report back if the reverend attended the party.

  Details on Lubanga’s business dealings were scant because the mining minister was as skilled with computers as any technical intelligence officer in the CIA. The best hackers in the world had been unable to crack Lubanga’s system. For starters, he himself didn’t go online, ever, at least, not with the computer that handled his finances. He had a government computer that went online, but it was loaded with disinformation. Like leaders of terrorist groups, he worked with a network of couriers and USB drives, and somewhere in his home country, there was someone at a computer terminal moving his money around, but they’d yet to locate the computer or the accounts. The transactions were so far removed from the man, they were impossible to connect.

  But like any busy businessman, Lubanga never traveled without his laptop. He needed to plug in and read the documents that were delivered to him on those drives, and his stay on Gorev’s yacht was certain to be a smorgasbord of information exchange, with information delivered from several sources.

  Her original plan for their mission was simple: during the party, find his stateroom, and copy the hard drive of his laptop while Cal cornered him and made his pitch for a mining concession. But the first step was to get invited to the party.

  The day dawned sunny and bright. They were nearly seven degrees below the equator, and the temperature was expected to hit eighty degrees. They spent the morning in their room, rehearsing. Memorizing. She quizzed Cal mercilessly on his cover, and he did the same to her.

  In the late afternoon, she showered and dressed carefully for Mani Kalenga’s meeting with Gorev’s associates. She needed to look her part: sexy clothing, heavy makeup. Pretty, but not too pretty. Sexy, but not too sexy.

  Cheap, but…no, cheap was fine.

  Like a failed courtesan. A woman with enough sex appeal to entice Mani Kalenga, but not smart enough to have secured the octogenarian without screwing it up.

  She was a desperate gold digger who’d just lost her meal ticket. Mani Kalenga would do for now, but she was looking to trade up. That was why she couldn’t react to Cal’s every touch with a frisson of excitement. He was just a stop on the road for her, not nearly rich enough to suit her needs.

  Plus he was too young. And healthy.

  And utterly perfect.

  Jamie Savage was really dumb to think she could trade up from Cassius Callahan. He was a pinnacle unto himself.

  She turned to face the man who’d agreed to play her master, and in so doing would be protecting her on what was likely to be the most dangerous mission she’d ever attempted. “How do I look?”

  He smiled and said, “Fucking hot. Too hot for my liking given the men we’re meeting. So basically, perfect.”

  She smoothed down his Armani shirt as she rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. “You look pretty damn perfect too.”

  They’d decided Mani was a mercenary who knew how to dress the part of one who wanted into the big leagues. His beard was fuller but not unkempt, and his clothes were far more expensive than hers.

  Luckily, she’d set up a rather large bank account for this op, courtesy of Nikolai Drugov. Diverting a chunk of his money into accounts in Mani’s name had been easy and far faster than waiting for the CIA’s budget office to agree to the expense. Seth had signed off and filed the paperwork so it wouldn’t come back and bite her in the ass later.

  They’d made good use of the money at the mall in Nairobi, buying him high-end clothes to fit his character. The end result was Cal looked hot as hell in his new suit.

  She’d spent the last two days arguing with herself over telling him the truth about the mission and had come to a conclusion. She couldn’t tell him before this meeting, because if they didn’t wrangle an invite to the party, the point was moot. If they failed tonight, she’d put him on a plane back to Djibouti and go after Lubanga on her own.

  Zero risk to Sergeant First Class Cassius Callahan, because he’d be nowhere nearby when she took out the Congolese minister. Plus Cal’s focus on this meeting wouldn’t be fractured with concerns beyond their control.

  She’d felt strangely free once she made the decision. She wasn’t risking Cal, and she wouldn’t fail the CIA. Seth had agreed to her choice of Cal for this op, but he’d never said they both had to see it through to the bitter end.

  Only she had received the kill order, and only she would take that risk.

  “You ready?” Cal asked.

  She nodded. “Let’s roll.”

  They stepped into the hotel’s large bar and restaurant and were led to a private room in the back, where two Congolese men sat with a Russian. There was only one other place setting at the table—a fact Savvy had been counting on. She pouted for her fake lover. “Mani, you didn’t tell them about me?”

  His gaze showed a hint of exasperation, with an edge of restrained authority. “I set this up before we met.” He gave the men an apologetic look and spoke in Lingala, giving, she presumed, the planned story about being stuck with her after hooking up with her at the park and causing her to be dumped from her tour. He didn’t trust her alone in his hotel room, so he’d brought her to the meeting. He wasn’t ready to put her on a flight home yet; after all, she gave a masterful blowjob.

  One of the Congolese men grinned broadly as he stared at her mouth. She puckered her lips and said, “Mani, what are you telling them?”

  “Only how happy I am to have you as my companion.”

  One of the men asked a question in Lingala, and he answered with the negative. There was enough of a French influence on the language that she could pick out basic words, but that was all.

  One of the men gestured for her to sit, and he waved to the waiter and asked in French for another place setting. Probably the Congolese man had asked if she could understand them. He must have been satisfied she couldn’t, since she was allowed to join their meeting. After all, there was always a chance Mani would share, and these weren’t the sort of men to turn down a free blowjob.

  She sat and listened with a blank face. The Russian didn’t speak Lingala, but he did speak French, as did everyone, including Cal. Savvy pretended not
to understand that part of the conversation and dropped the occasional heavy sigh as if this was the most boring meeting of her life. She sipped a drink and nibbled on bread.

  It didn’t take long for the men to ask Cal to produce an artifact, which was ostensibly the reason for this meeting—to determine if he had goods worth bringing to Gorev. Cal opened his briefcase and removed the false bottom.

  Savvy squealed as if she’d never seen such a thing. “Mani! What have you got there? Oh. My. God. That’s beautiful! Is it…real?”

  “Sweetheart,” his voice showed irritation at the interruption, “none of these men speak English.” His words were a blatant lie, but they’d agreed he would drop it if he could, because she expected it would entertain the men. “It’s rude to speak when they don’t understand.”

  She furrowed her brow. “But you’ve all been speaking in languages I don’t understand. So doesn’t that mean you’ve been rude?” Then she smiled and let her gaze travel over the Russian. Anton was high up in Gorev’s organization. He was the one they needed to win over. “Think he’d be up for a threesome?”

  Cal’s gaze narrowed. “I don’t share.”

  She licked her lips. “But it could be fun.”

  Anton’s face remained blank, but from the shift in his posture, she knew she’d caught his attention.

  “Zip it. This is a business meeting. You’re lucky I didn’t leave you at Amboseli.”

  She lowered her voice to a husky register, as if eager to convince him she was worth his while. “That’s not what you said last night.”

  He fixed her with a gaze that was somehow hot and sexy and angry. Mani Kalenga had an edge to him. He wasn’t the least intimidated by hardened warlords and had no problem putting his flighty toy in her place.

  Even better, Savvy could see the subtle signs Anton was on edge because of Mani’s alpha demeanor. Anton wanted to show he was more than an underling to Radimir Gorev. And he might just use Jamie Savage to do it.

  Cal played the part to perfection. He handed the artifact to the Russian and said, “Egyptian. Fifth dynasty, or so I’m told.”

  For the demo piece, they’d opted to go with an Egyptian artifact that had been found in a marine’s CLU at Camp Citron. He’d gone to Cairo on leave and had somehow smuggled the item back to the base. There’d been suspicion he’d been dealing drugs as well, and a toss of his quarters revealed a cache of artifacts. The piece was a gold pendant encrusted with gemstones, so good it had to be fake—Savvy had been shocked to learn it was all too real, and likely something ISIS had snatched and slipped into the black market to fund their terrorist organization.

  Well, now it would be used to fight them.

  Anton’s eyes widened as the heavy gold hit his palm. “It is beautiful,” he said in French, his focus shifting from wanting to put Mani in his place to the piece in his hand. The Russian pulled out a loupe—as she’d expected he would; antiquities were his specialty—and studied it. He set it on the table and asked, “You have more? Like this?”

  “Five pieces,” Cal said. “All gold. All from the same dynasty.”

  The Russian smiled. “Gorev will be pleased. You may join us tomorrow. Bring the antiquities.” He glanced toward Savvy. “And the girl. She’ll fit right in with the night’s entertainment.”

  She’d have gone even without an invitation, but this was even better. Oh yes. Anton definitely wanted to use Jamie to put Mani in his place.

  Cal grinned and picked up his drink. He downed it in one gulp and set it on the table. He tucked the artifact away in the case and said in French, “Excellent. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to make good use of my companion’s mouth.”

  The men laughed. One of the Congolese men slapped his back.

  Savvy gave her best vacant look and said, “What did you say, Mani? Did you tell them we’re going to fuck? Because no way am I screwing you unless you let me wear that pendant. Oh my God. I can’t believe you’ve had that this whole time and didn’t show me.”

  “You can wear it while you suck me off. Let’s go. I want to celebrate.”

  He pulled her from her seat and dragged her from the private room in the back of the restaurant.

  Savvy’s blood was pumping high with their victory. They were in. The cover story had worked. The men would look at her as nothing but a vacant plaything. She’d have access to Gorev’s boat.

  Tomorrow, she’d get Lubanga’s hard drive.

  Inside the elevator, she pushed Cal into the corner, not thinking, just relishing the moment. He gave her his full, knee-weakening smile as his hand slid over her ass. “God, you’re fun to watch in action. You somehow manage to make your eyes look vacant. I mean, I know how brilliant you are, and even I was buying the dumb-bimbo routine. And I could’ve sworn you don’t speak a lick of French.”

  The thrill of success combined with the heat of his compliments and his hands on her ass had her at a fever pitch. But she wouldn’t kiss him. It was up to Cal to take that step. She just pressed close and said, “You were perfect. The hint of hard-edged violence that simmered under Mani’s calm exterior. It was a perfect don’t-fuck-with-me vibe you managed to convey in three languages. You triggered all of Anton’s inferiority complexes. He’s going to trip over himself trying to steal me from you.”

  He stroked her cheek. “If he touches you, I might have to kill him.”

  She would have pointed out that the goal was for Anton to touch her—but Cal’s mouth covered hers, cutting off her ability to speak or even think.

  His tongue was hot and urgent. Staking his claim.

  Victory felt so good, and it tasted even better. She kissed him with all the passion she’d been harboring for months. He scooped her up, turned to put her in the corner as his tongue slid against hers. Her short dress hiked up as she wrapped her legs around his hips, and he ground into her, setting her on fire with the feel of his erection against her now thoroughly wet panties.

  This was how she knew it would be with Cal. All heat and fire and, oh God, his thick erection would make her blind if her eyes were open. The doors opened on their floor, but he still kissed her, and she wasn’t about to tell him to stop. Not when she finally had what she wanted from him.

  Cassius Callahan, in all his passionate glory.

  The doors closed again, and he lifted his head. “We missed our floor.”

  “We could stop the elevator, and I could go down on you.” Even as she said the words, she was shocked to realize she meant it. The security camera would capture them, but if anything, it would only be good for their cover.

  But this wasn’t her. She wasn’t an exhibitionist.

  Was she?

  Maybe she didn’t care as long as she finally got to taste Cal. Every inch of him.

  He rocked his hips and that thick, wonderful cock set her aflame. Even as he did that, he whispered in her ear, “Not here. Not like this.”

  Then he released her and turned to hit the button for their floor again. They descended to the lobby first, and she adjusted her dress while he adjusted his erection, which would be all too visible to anyone entering the elevator. The doors opened on the lobby, and there was the Russian and one of the Congolese men.

  Cal made it look like he was just zipping his fly, and Savvy wiped her bottom lip, as if she’d just finished. The men laughed and stepped inside. The Russian said, “Ménage à trois?”

  This was French her character would understand. Savvy’s skin was flushed from their kiss, perfect for this moment. “Mani! You said they didn’t understand English!”

  In French, Cal said, “I don’t share. But you can have her when I’m done.”

  “I will look forward to that. I hope you finish with her soon.”

  Cal cocked his head. “I might finish sooner if I get a good deal from Gorev.”

  “Then I shall put in a good word for you.” Anton nodded as the doors opened.

  It was their floor. Savvy gripped Cal’s hand, preventing him from exiting. The last thing
they needed was for the Russian to know where their room was.

  “This is not you?” Anton asked.

  “No. Must’ve hit the wrong button. I was a little distracted.” He gestured to Savvy’s mouth.

  “I’d like to have your problems,” the Congolese man said in French as the doors shut again. Cal hit the button for an upper floor that was above the ones the other men had selected. The Russian got off first. Then the Congolese. They reached the upper floor that wasn’t theirs and exited.

  From there, they took the stairs the eight flights down to their floor. Inside their room, Savvy swept for bugs.

  For a moment, she’d allowed herself to forget the stakes. Her attraction to Cal was dangerous.

  She wouldn’t be so sloppy again.

  9

  Cal adjusted his bow tie, still not quite believing that he was attending a black-tie party on a megayacht as a spy. Who knew this James Bond kind of shit was real? Cabals of evil villains really did meet to hatch their schemes at black-tie affairs. Or at least, this was how Russians got their kompromat.

  Unlike in the Bond movies, there wouldn’t be a casino. The women would all be paid companions, but he couldn’t remember if that was in the movies. He’d never read the books. Savvy had said to brace himself for a sex show and possibly guests joining in on the staged action—and things could get rough from there.

  That was what kompromat was all about, after all. Push the mark to do something violent or embarrassing and get it on tape. Gorev had a simple approach: invite everyone to his boat, give them drugs and women, and let the cameras roll.

  According to Savvy, that was how Drugov initially snared Brie Stewart’s brother. Once he knew Jeffery Prime, Jr. was willing to play, JJ had skated down a slippery slope into some horrific shit that was likely to land him in prison for the rest of his life—if he could be located. He’d disappeared the day after Drugov died. He was a threat to Brie, which meant Bastian had called in favors from Special Forces operators who were stationed at Fort Campbell to watch over her until he returned home in a few weeks.