“Carly, I can barely hear you. Is everything okay?”
Watching the endless expanse of water shimmer beyond the windows, Carly thought of a man who had made no false promises, a man who faced danger without blinking. “Everything is exactly the way I wanted, Mel.”
Her hands were shaking now, so she put the receiver down very gently, feeling as if something deep inside her had torn free and lay bleeding.
It was raining when McKay hit the tarmac at Little Creek, Virginia. It had rained for six hours straight since he'd left Miami, and there was still no sign of a letup.
So much for sun and fun in paradise, he thought grimly. He'd been summoned back to HQ abruptly, so he knew something serious was in the works, and it wasn't taking place on any cruise ship.
The attacks had been a diversion—or maybe designed to put extra pressure on Brandon. Now that Brandon had caved in, Vronski's focus would shift to the main event— whatever that was. Meanwhile, Carly would be all right, he told himself harshly. Izzy was under orders to watch out for her, and Izzy's moves were good.
His instincts were on full alert as he shouldered his duffel bag and trotted to the waiting Jeep. The driver, a fairly new arrival from Georgia, saluted smartly, with excitement in his eyes.
Something big was definitely going on, judging by the charged atmosphere on base. Everywhere, personnel moved with silent competence as they readied for an unknown mission, their adrenaline spiking with the knowledge that drop orders were imminent. There was no time for fear and no room for second thoughts. Fighting was what SEALs did best, and McKay knew that better than anyone because his team was the best of the best.
Train hard and fight harder. McKay made damned sure it was a principle they lived by. Now it looked like training time was over.
Grimly, he pushed a final thought of Carly out of his mind as the Jeep fishtailed over the wet runway into the darkness.
He barely had time to stow his bag, wash his face, and make sure there was no sign of GQ polish left before he headed off to be briefed. No one he passed made any comment, but McKay was experienced enough not to expect any.
The mission briefing room was full when he arrived, and he snagged a seat against the wall, instantly hit by the hum of expectation that meant an active mission on the boards. Turning his head, he glanced around in search of his team, frowning at their absence. Where the hell were they?
The door closed. Everyone in the room sat up straight as a lean, gray-haired man strode to the front podium.
His eyes scanned the room. “Gentlemen, I'm afraid we have a situation in the Caribbean.”
The muscles tightened at the back of McKay's neck. It had to be Santa Marina.
The dock in Miami was hot and noisy as Carly wrestled her bag of camera equipment onto her shoulder, caught in a stream of sweaty, milling tourists.
By sheer force of will, she had endured the rest of the cruise with her emotions locked down tight, though pain continued to throb just below the surface. If Daphne and the crew had noticed her strain, they had been wise enough not to mention it. Only Mel had sent her an occasional questioning look, which Carly had resolutely ignored.
She plunged toward the taxi line, all too aware that she would be late for her two o'clock meeting at the hotel.
After that, she and Mel would join representatives of the cruise line for drinks and a discussion of themes for the new ads.
Work, she told herself fiercely. She had to forget about the man with the shadows in his eyes. If there was any honesty in what they had felt for each other, he'd find her when his mission was over.
Assuming he was still alive.
She swallowed hard clutching her camera bag. In the process she brushed against a man in a dark suit. “Sorry,” she mumbled lurching around him.
It took her a full minute to realize that there was another man in a dark suit walking just in front of her and a third man off to her left. They seemed to be keeping pace without trying, despite the human flood around them.
Carly glanced around uneasily and saw she was near the edge of the taxi stand with the two suits holding steady on either side of her.
She sped up.
So did the suits.
A dark Ford sedan cut out of the line on the opposite side of the street and pulled up in front of her.
She spun and charged back the way she'd come. As she did the suits moved in close, flanking her. Two of them took her arms.
“Let go!” she cried the sound all but drowned out by the shouting and laughter around her.
“You have nothing to be alarmed about, Ms. Sullivan.” The tall man to her right spoke flatly, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. “We simply need to ask you some questions.”
“What kind of questions?” Carly tried to twist free. “Who are you?”
“It will make things easier if you come with us quietly,” the tall man said.
“Maybe I don't want to make things easy,” she snapped. “And I'm not going anywhere with you.”
“You have no choice,” the man on her left said flatly as
he opened the rear door of the sedan. They hustled her inside, one in front with the driver and the other two beside her. The door closed, and Carly struggled to reach the handle, only to find it was locked.
“Stop the car or I'll start screaming.”
If the men were disturbed by the possibility, they didn't show it.
“I mean it. This is kidnapping,” she hissed, seriously alarmed now.
“In point of fact, it's not.” The tall man turned to study her and she saw that his sideburns were touched with gray. “In a case like this, different laws apply.”
“In a case like what?”
She received no answer. Her throat was dry and her heart was pounding. Were these the men McKay had been protecting her from? If so, what would he want her to do now? Thinking furiously, she clutched her camera bag to her chest as panic churned through her. She couldn't be sick now.
Or maybe she should be exactly that.
With a strangled sound, she pitched forward, clutching her knees.
“Hell, you're not going to be sick, are you?” Sideburns edged away with a sound of disgust.
Carly kept her head down and summoned more unpleasant rumbling sounds from deep in her throat.
“Damn, she is sick. Stop the car, Willis. I don't want to clean up a mess in here.”
The sedan immediately veered into the right lane, and Carly saw they were still near the terminal at the dock. There was a rest room to her right, half hidden by a row of tour buses. “The cruise,” she said breathlessly. “Must be something I ate.”
Muttering, Sideburns gestured to his companion. “Go with her.”
Carly lunged from the car, bag in hand. At the rest-room door, the tall man took her arm firmly. “You have five minutes. Then I'll come in after you.”
She charged past him, her mind racing as she found an empty stall, tossed down her bag, and fished out a change of clothing.
Old jeans and a black sweater.
Sunglasses, too.
Working fast, she changed then stuffed her other clothes back into the shoulder bag and checked it in a locker near the door.
Now, for a diversion.
Most of the stalls were occupied when she struck a match and carefully set fire to the crumpled paper towels in the garbage bin. Smoke drifted then billowed as the damp paper finally caught. Within minutes, the area was a haze of acrid gray smoke.
Women began to scream as the sprinkler system kicked in and water jetted down from the ceiling. Carly grabbed a newspaper from a chair and spread it over her head to shield her face, then pushed into the middle of the human stampede racing for the exit.
Her handler was pacing outside, anxiously monitoring the distraught women pouring out of the rest room.
“What the hell is going on?”
“Fire! Police! Call 911!” A woman in red beads and a Miami Dolphins T-shirt pushed him out of the way. In the chaos, Car
ly skittered past and walked calmly in the opposite direction.
A shuttle bus was loading only a few feet away, and she flew up the steps, the sodden newspaper still clutched over her head.
“Miami airport?” the attendant asked politely, eyeing her strange headgear.
“Absolutely,” she said breathlessly. “The sooner the better.”
McKay sat stiffly, every sense focused on the man with the gray hair.
William Grace was sixty-five, but he moved with the bristling energy of a man half his age. Retired from Air Force intelligence, he was currently on assignment with the NSA. McKay had worked with him before on highly sensitive missions, and he knew the man was sharp but low-key, with no shouting and no lip twitching.
The lights dimmed and a map flashed on the wall at the front of the briefing room. McKay made out Barbados, the Caymans, and then a zoom shot of Santa Marina.
No surprises there.
A photograph appeared beside the map.
“Some of you may recognize this man. His name is Nikolai Vronski, an ex-Soviet general with a background in satellite technology. He was something of a rising star in the 1960s, a man who evoked blind loyalty from his troops. With the 1980s came the Soviet decline, and Vronski eased into the free market, selling weapons, technology, and state secrets to anyone with a modem and hard currency.”
Grace tapped his pointer against his wrist. “For a few years he sold us military intelligence, but our people eventually found him to be a loose cannon and severed relations with him four years ago. Since then Vronski has
dabbled in international joint ventures in countries known for their political instability.”
A new slide clicked into place, showing the tanned and aquiline features of Nigel Brandon.
“This is the governor-general of the Caribbean commonwealth of Santa Marina.” Grace pursed his lips. “We have reason to believe that upon the return of the governor's daughter from a recent cruise, he and his family were taken hostage by Vronski and his men. Our intelligence indicates Vronski intends to set up a power base on Santa Marina, possibly for a high-tech counterfeiting operation involving U.S. currency.”
A ripple went through the room.
“Sir, have demands been presented?” McKay asked.
Grace studied the map. “None so far. Frankly, I don't expect any. Vronski doesn't want ransom; he wants Santa Marina as his playground. In any event, gentlemen, our government does not intend to let the situation progress to demands or barter of any sort.” His gaze traveled to every person in the room, settling finally on McKay. “Is that understood? Our job is to neutralize Vronski's operation and retrieve all hostages. There will be no barters, no trades, and no negotiation. Not under any circumstances. The official position is absolute on this point.”
Thanks to her ruse, Carly had finally managed to ditch the team of suits at the cruise terminal. She still had no idea what they wanted, but she doubted it was to set up a fourth for bridge.
With only a book of matches and a damp newspaper, she had outsmarted them. Score one for modern woman.
Hot and tired, she charged into the Miami Hilton, scanning the crowded lobby. When she was certain that no one was paying any attention to her, she relaxed her shoulders and pocketed her plastic key card. Heading to
the elevators, she passed a pair of professional women and an overweight man in a safari jacket with a shabby umbrella.
She considered calling the number Izzy had given her, certain that if someone was trailing her, McKay's partner could help. At the very least, he ought to be told about the situation, which would be the first thing she did when she got to her room.
Actually the second. She winced down at her new sandals, which were killing her. They would be the first thing she dealt with.
The elevator doors opened and Carly stepped in. The man in the safari jacket was still reading his newspaper when the doors closed. Carly was turning to press the button for her floor when the elevator chimed and the doors opened again.
Smiling, Sideburns got on right in front of her, along with his two friends. How had they found her so fast?
She tried to push past, but Sideburns hit the button and the doors closed.
“You can't do this,” she hissed.
“Looks like we just did.” The man to her left smiled thinly, sunglasses still in place. “Nice trick at the dock. Don't try it again.”
The elevator whined past the public floors down to the basement levels, where Sideburns produced a key that directed the elevator down to a restricted floor.
“What do you want with me?” Carly rasped, trying to stay calm.
“Later, Ms. Sullivan.” Sideburns fingered a cellular phone and spoke quickly. “We're here. West side near the service elevator. We've got her.”
“Later, what?” she demanded.
The elevator doors whooshed open. “You'll find that out soon enough.” Without another word, Sideburns and his stocky companion caught her arms and dragged her, fighting and kicking, to a dusty black sedan idling at the curb.
Carly decided there was no point in further struggle. “Where are you taking me?”
No one answered.
“This is kidnapping”
“Why don't you relax and enjoy the ride, Ms. Sullivan? We don't have far to go.” Sideburns spoke, just as before, and Carly decided he was the one in charge.
“I don't want to relax and I don't want to go anywhere. This is a crime”.'
Sighing, he sat back in the front seat as the car sped along gleaming canals facing palatial white homes. “Suit yourself.” With a shrug, he crossed his arms and appeared to go to sleep.
Carly was fuming and frightened but most of all she was confused. Had something happened to McKay? Had there been more problems on Santa Marina? If so, were Daphne and her father in danger?
She stared out at the bright, burning sky, battling panic and endless questions. Her hands were shaking and she took a hard breath, forcing herself to relax.
They had said it wouldn't be far. She swore that at their final destination, she would find someone who would give her answers.
Two hours later, the sedan pulled off onto a gravel road bordering what appeared to be an abandoned airstrip. Old Quonset huts rose like rusting skeletons beneath the baking sun as the big car purred past. The driver stopped at a fence that looked surprisingly new, and a man in uniform, bearing insignia Carly didn't recognize, emerged from a gatepost up the hill, waving them forward.
“Is this the place?” She sat up straighter as the driver stopped before a cluster of one-story prefab buildings. Sideburns stretched and sat up. “What place?” “The place you take everyone you kidnap.” He shook his head. “You've been one royal pain in the butt, Ms. Sullivan. I'll be glad as hell to get rid of you.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Carly snapped. “So where is the Gestapo?”
The driver turned around. “You've got the wrong country, the wrong century.”
“No, I haven't. Not if men like you are in charge.” She crossed her arms angrily. “Not that it matters. I won't say a word to anyone. Your little kidnapping effort has been pointless.”
“We'll see.” The driver moved around to open her door, then took her elbow when she resisted, depositing her roughly on the sidewalk in front of the largest of the buildings.
No windows, she noticed, her heart hammering. No cars and no other people. She glanced around and saw nothing but the road disappearing into a dense forest. The air was heavy with humidity and she felt sweat trickle between her shoulder blades. “I'm not going inside.”
Sideburns smiled thinly. “Of course you are. Kidnapped people do exactly what they're told.”
She gasped as she was shoved forward, propelled relentlessly toward a heavy, windowless door.
She drew a ragged breath, light-headed with fear. Who were these men? What could they possibly want from her?
She realized she should have been more insistent with her questions to McKay, bu
t the regret came too late. Now he and Izzy were long gone, despite all their promises of protection.
Obviously, the danger hadn't disappeared with the end of the cruise. They should have known that, instead of vanishing like smoke.
Carly was still struggling when the metal door in the main building opened and an older man in a gray turtle-neck and an expensive tweed jacket sauntered out.
He was carrying a pipe and shaking his head. “No, no, not like this. Let her go.”
The driver took a step back, as did Sideburns.
“Good to see you, Ms. Sullivan. I hope you enjoyed your trip.”
“Enjoyed?” Carly stood stiff with anger. “Being kidnapped, forced into a car and dragged to the middle of nowhere? That's enjoyable?”
The man waved his pipe at Sideburns. “Didn't you tell her she wouldn't be harmed?”
“Of course.” His lips flattened in irritation. “It didn't make any difference. She was hell-bent on making us the bad guys.”
The man in the tweeds shook his head again. “I take it you made their job difficult, Ms. Sullivan.”
“I did my damnedest,” she said flatly. Apparently, they didn't mean to tell their boss how she had given them the slip at the dock, or that it had taken all of them to get her into the car both times.
“Did these men harm you in any way?”
After a moment Carly shook her head.
“There, you see.” He was beaming, avuncular. “It's all an unfortunate misunderstanding. Why don't you come in and have some tea while we chat.”
Carly glared at him. “I'll come inside because there's nowhere else to go, but I won't talk to any of you, no matter who you say you are.” Faking the courage she didn't have, she marched into the building.
She was alone, held at some sort of guarded installation where anything could happen, with no idea who had ordered her brought here or why.
They wanted information. What would they do to her to get it?
McKay had told her not to trust anyone except Izzy, and logic told her if she talked they would have no further reason to keep her alive.
So she wouldn't talk.
Going Overboard Page 25
