Hot Intent (Hqn)

by Dees, Cindy

  “Alex was supposed to embarrass his father in Zaghastan. But that didn’t happen, either. Then you people said you could break him in field ops training. But no matter what you threw at him, he didn’t crack. Now this. How could Alex and the girl get out of Cuba like this? We told the Cubans exactly where they would be landing and when, for Christ’s sake.”

  André winced. “The aftermath of the hurricane has made working conditions terrible down there. And the east end of the island is deeply isolated—”

  “Be that as it may. The op is shot to hell and time is growing short. Peter Koronov’s star is on the rise. Rumor has it he’s on the short list to become the next director of the FSB. He’s got the ear of the prime minister and the president of Russia. His enemies don’t dare touch him.”

  And yet, Operation Cold Intent dared attempt to discredit him and destroy his career. The Americans were using the man’s own son against him to bring him down, no less. If he were Koronov and ever got wind of that, he would be out for blood.

  Of course, it was not his job to question the methods or ethics of this op. It was merely his job to run the operatives and keep his mouth shut. But the whole thing left a bad taste in André’s mouth.

  Hell, maybe when this thing was over, he’d retire from the agency and stick around Doctors Unlimited. Get it some real funding and keep the outfit going as a legitimate aid organization and not just a CIA front.

  “And what’s this about a possible chemical weapons spill in Cuba?” the director demanded.

  “I’ve forwarded everything I know about it. Katie called me briefly to say that she and Alex had seen some suspicious deaths that Alex thought might be the result of exposure to something like sarin.”

  “Is there proof?”

  “I told them to get some and bring it out with all possible speed. The fact that they’re at Gitmo now makes me think they got their proof.”

  Of course, dealing with that would be way above the pay grade of Operation Cold Intent. He could practically hear the director’s mental wheels turning over how this complication would affect the op at hand.

  “If Alex brings out this proof, he’ll be a hero in the West. Koronov could spin it to his advantage. ‘See how brilliant and successful my son is. He learned it all from me.’”

  The director’s voice had taken on a bitter tone. André had long suspected that a personal vendetta lurked somewhere behind this op. After all, how often did the CIA go after one man this hard with the intent to utterly destroy him?

  “Alex Peters must not get credit for this discovery. Whatever proof he’s found of chemical weapons must be separated from any association with him. My team will work on creating another credible origin story for the information. In the meantime, Alex and the McCloud girl must be distanced from the intel.”

  André’s gut rumbled a warning at him. How was that going to happen? By killing them? The question popped into his head as a rhetorical one, but as soon as it did, he knew it to be a distinct possibility.

  Easier said than done, though. Not only had Alex survived his training, he’d so outperformed anyone’s expectations—which had been pretty damned high to begin with—that the agency was sharply split on what to do with him. The original plan was merely to use him in Operation Cold Intent to wreck his old man. But now, a number of senior supervisors in the agency wanted to anoint him the superspy of the next generation, while another faction wanted to throw him in the deepest darkest hole the agency could find and never let him out.

  The problem was that the CIA’s control of Alex Peters was tenuous at best. He was a maverick at heart and didn’t appreciate being jerked around. He would play nice and share his toys with the other children if, and only if, he saw a good reason for it. Fuck with Alex Peters, and he’d fuck the CIA back. Hard. And without hesitation.

  Making a run at Alex and Katie to kill them could backfire spectacularly. Particularly if the girl was successfully killed and Alex survived. Which was, in his opinion, a highly likely outcome.

  Casting about desperately for an alternative, André said, “What if we separate Alex and Katie? Alex has personal feelings for the girl and we can leverage those to get him to hand over whatever proof he collected. And we can...pressure...him to go along with whatever alternate explanation for the information you folks cook up over at Langley.”

  Silence on the other end of the line.

  He added, “It would have the side benefit of weakening Alex. He and his girlfriend are turning out to be a more effective team than anyone anticipated.”

  The director’s response, when it came, was brief. “Do it. Break them up.”

  *

  ALEX LOUNGED IN the chair as much as it was possible to lounge in an interrogation room. The man who’d just stepped through the door looked highly frustrated. Poor jarhead. The guy had so wanted to rough him up a little.

  “Come with me,” the Marine bit out.

  Alex followed the guy down a long hall. Given that the two of them were alone, he was obviously no longer considered a hostile threat. Too bad. He’d have enjoyed knocking this guy’s lights out. Sanctimonious know-it-alls had always irritated the crap out of him.

  Alex was reunited with his meager personal belongings—his wallet, knife and emergency medical pack. Funny how naked he felt without the compact kit of supplies. It was as if his identity as a doctor was tied to that black bag.

  “You’re really a doctor?” the jarhead finally asked.

  “Yeah,” Alex muttered as he signed the receipt for his stuff. “My associate—the one I told your colleagues about—is supposed to show up here with a bag of medical samples for me in the next day or two. Has she checked in with the base yet?”

  “You mean the hot babe the MPs picked up outside the fence a little while ago? Cubans were right tweaked that she made it onto the reservation. Sent half the damned army after her, the way I hear it.”

  Praise the Lord. She’d made it to safety. His knees actually felt a little weak at the news. “Is she all right?” Alex asked sharply. “I need to see her.”

  “Cool your jets. She’s okay. Gotta fill out some paperwork explaining what the hell she’s doing down here without us knowing about it. And the MPs sent her bag over here already. Lemme go get it.”

  Alex was so relieved he could bust that Katie was safe. But in the next breath, suspicion over why they hadn’t let her come join him blossomed.

  The guy plunked the bag onto the counter hard enough that Alex’s heart jolted in alarm. “Easy does it with those,” he snapped.

  “Who are you, anyway?”

  “Just a guy doing a job,” Alex answered wryly as he picked up the bag. “One last favor and then I’ll get out of your hair. Can you point me to the base hospital?”

  “Yeah, sure. Two-story white building. Long building. Kinda H-shaped. It overlooks the bay.” He gave Alex detailed instructions on how to get there, apologized for not being able to leave his post to give him a ride. The kid seemed to have forgiven Alex for not being a bad guy he could rough up. Eager to be away from the young Marine’s overblown brand of macho, he slipped out into the night.

  The hospital wasn’t hard to spot. The building, indeed, was snowy white with a big red cross mounted on the roof. It also had power, so the lights were on. He walked in the front door, identified himself as a doctor and followed the signs to the lab.

  A technician in a white lab coat looked up from a centrifuge as he entered. “Can I help you?” the guy asked.

  “Yes. Do you have a gas chromatograph here?”

  “Sure do.”

  “I’m going to need to use it. And do you have any chemical weapons detection kits in here?”

  That got a slower response. “Yesss. Why?”

  “I’m going to need whatever you’ve got. Then I’m going to need a sealed room to work in.”

  “Um, who are you?”

  His guy-doing-a-job line clearly wasn’t going to work on this fellow. He opened up the bag. “I
’m the guy who gets to test all these samples for chemical contamination. It’s going to take all damned night, too. You wanna stay and help and maybe get exposed to some nasty shit?”

  The tech answered hastily, “No, that’s okay. We’ve got a reverse air-flow room back there. I’m gonna need your help moving the chromatograph back there, though. Sucker’s heavy.”

  It took the two of them nearly a half hour to horse the equipment Alex would need back into the smaller lab. But he finally donned a disposable plastic chemical suit and went to work. He was deeply conflicted about what he hoped the tests would show. On the one hand, he’d love to be right with his diagnosis out of professional pride. But on the other hand, he’d give anything to be wrong. His life and Katie’s were going to get so complicated he didn’t even want to think about it if the results came back positive for sarin or some other chemical weapon.

  He set up the first sample and put it in the machine. In a few seconds, the machine beeped completion of the test. He took a deep breath and looked at the readout.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “AM I UNDER ARREST?” Katie demanded.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Then can I go now?”

  “Where are you going to go?”

  “I need to see my partner.”

  “The doctor? Um, your paperwork will need to be all in order. I’ll have to go check on that....” Her captor’s voice trailed off vaguely. No matter how polite this Marine was being, he was detaining her. And as far as she could tell, the guy was doing it illegally.

  “What’s the holdup? I’m an American citizen here.”

  “This is Guantánamo. We do things differently down here—”

  She cut him off. “Is this American soil?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I have certain rights. Look. I grew up on military bases. I know the deal. I’m going now.”

  “Ma’am, you can’t just barge out the door and bomb around the base.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  The poor guy had no answer for that and merely sputtered. She took pity on him and asked more temperately, “Who gave you the order to keep me here? Maybe I can have a little talk with him or her.”

  He answered reluctantly, “Base intel officer. Just a little while ago.”

  That startled her. The MPs had turned her over to the intelligence outfit down here? Someone must have reported their presence up the chain of command, and an order had obviously come back down to hold them here. What she didn’t understand, though, was why they weren’t allowing her and Alex to see each other.

  She asked, “Did the intel officer also tell you not to let me see my partner?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The guy sounded deeply relieved to confess that. As if she would now cooperate fully with him. She snorted mentally. Wild horses were not going to keep her away from Alex.

  “Are they interrogating Alex?” she asked lightly.

  “I don’t think so. Last I heard, he was at the hospital.”

  “Is he hurt?” she demanded sharply.

  “Not that I’m aware of. They killed the guy with him, but he’s all right.”

  They who? Why did Alex come in with someone? And the Americans killed that someone? The mystery deepened. One thing was for sure. She was getting out of here and finding him as soon as she could figure out a way to do it.

  She sighed in feigned resignation. “Okay, so I’m supposed to stay here until further notice. Is there anywhere I could maybe lie down for a while? It’s been a rough couple of days and I’m exhausted.”

  “Yeah, sure. We’ve got a break room with a couch in it. Come on.”

  She followed the soldier docilely down the hall and made sure to give the guy a big yawn as she stretched out on the couch. Oh, Lord, it felt good to lie down. She suspected that were it not for the stim pill Alex had given her, she’d be unable to move right about now. As it was, real exhaustion tugged at her, coaxing her to close her eyes for just a few minutes.

  The guy turned out the lights and pulled the door shut for her. She figured he would give her a little while to fall asleep before he would think about peeking in to check on her. Which meant she had to go right now.

  She opened the window behind the couch and was relieved that it was properly greased and slid up silently. She had to shove out the screen and winced at the faint screech it made as she punched it out.

  Feetfirst, she slid out the window and landed in a bush. It scratched the heck out of her calves and she bit her lip to keep from making any sound. She reached up to pull the window shut before she finally extricated herself from the attacking bush.

  Now, to find Alex.

  Hospital. Where was the base hospital? She figured it would have emergency power, so she headed for the nearest lit building at a jog. Unfortunately, it turned out to be some sort of operations center. She picked the next nearest building with lights and headed for it.

  A few jeeps passed her. She dived for cover when she had time, and when she didn’t, she pretended to be out for a late-night jog and waved jauntily at the drivers. Without exception, they whistled or called back. Not many girls in these parts apparently.

  The third lit building, sitting high on a hill overlooking the bay, turned out to be the hospital. The orderly at the front desk was completely unwilling to grant her access to the building, however. Unlike Alex, she was a terrible liar, and worse, she was too stupid tired to come up with a brilliant lie on the spot.

  She finally retreated from the front entrance and made her way around the far side of the building to the emergency entrance. She crouched outside in the dark to ponder what illness or injury she was most likely to succeed at faking.

  A police car was parked in front of the emergency room’s double doors, and as she failed to think of anything halfway believable, a military cop stepped outside. Two more cops came out, hustling a fourth man along between them.

  Oh, my God. Alex. And it looked like he was under arrest.

  The car pulled out from under the portico and she ran after it. Of course, she couldn’t keep up with the speeding vehicle, but she did see that it went back to the first lit building—the operations center.

  Cursing under her breath, she jogged back that way. Now what?

  *

  ALEX STARED AT the walls of the holding cell and could scream in frustration. He’d gotten to the very end of the tests before the cops—led by the lab tech from before—barged in on him and bodily dragged him out of the lab. At least he’d managed to turn off the chromatograph and erase the results it had recorded before he powered it down. He’d swallowed the flash drive holding the only other evidence and prayed the lunging Marines didn’t see him do it before they grabbed him.

  Who in the hell had known what he was testing for? And why would the Americans stop him from completing the damned tests? Wouldn’t they be the most eager of all to know if the Cubans were secretly storing chemical weapons smuggled out of the Middle East? It made no sense whatsoever.

  Apparently, he was under arrest, too. By whom, no one had bothered to tell him. And of course, there was no mention of exactly what he’d done to merit being thrown in here and locked up in the dark.

  None of this made any sense. He was an American government employee. He’d given his real name to the MPs who’d picked him up and had given the bastards André’s phone number to verify his identity. Sure, an ID might have to go up through channels, but how hard could it be for an American military installation to get a yes/no answer from the CIA on whether or not Alex Peters was one of the good guys?

  He felt his way around the windowless cell and located a sink, toilet and concrete bench in under a minute. He retired to the bench to make himself comfortable. God knew, he had plenty of experience with incarceration. Four years’ worth in his early twenties. He’d gone on a drunken joyride with the express intent of getting himself locked
up rather than taking up where his father had left off as a spy against the United States.

  What were they doing to Katie? Was she locked up, too? Were they interrogating her? If he were in charge, she’d be the one he tried to break. The untrained female civilian was a much softer target than the hardened, field-experienced spy.

  Unable to sit anymore, he paced the cell in the dark, swearing colorfully in a variety of languages. Not even a strip of light crept in under the door. Either it was weather-stripped or the hallway outside was darkened, as well. He suspected the sensory deprivation was intentional, meant to disorient and unnerve prisoners. He snorted. His prisoner training had included many days of blindfolds and light deprivation. Except, of course, for interrogations, which were conducted under blinding spotlights.

  As time stretched on and no one came to let him out, his alarm mounted. Why hadn’t the CIA given the Marines a green light to release him? Why the delay? His finely honed instinct for dealing with intelligence agencies told him something was afoot. Surely, the CIA wouldn’t have spent a full year training him with the intent to throw him to the wolves on his very first mission abroad for them. And why the forced separation from Katie?

  The trick, besides not panicking, was to keep an accurate sense of time. He set a mental alarm for four hours from now and lay down to catch a nap while he waited for his captors to make their next move. He expected it would come in the wee hours of the night when his biological clock was set for sleep.

  He was right. He’d been lazily dozing for less than a half hour after he’d woken from his nap when the overhead lights were thrown on. He swung his feet to the floor as his cell door banged open loudly.

  “Get up! Get up! Get up!” the guard yelled aggressively.

  Alex, already seated on the edge of the bed/bench, gave the guy a sardonic smile and stood up casually.

  Irritated not to have surprised him, the guard grabbed Alex’s arm roughly and attempted to throw him through the door. Not only was Alex expecting something passive-aggressive like that, but he’d studied martial arts basically since he could walk. It took more than a hard shove to knock him off balance. Apparently, this was not a polite visit to release the fellow American asset. What in the hell was the holdup with the CIA?