by Fiona Quinn
“Shit, Lynx.” He pulled his hands down until they rested over his eyes. “Excuse my language.”
Lynx waited.
“I don’t have the words for this.” He pulled his hand away and looked her straight in the eye, then popped his brow. “A story teller who’s all out of words.”
“It cuts too close. Let me try. You feel like you have the right to touch her. That she belongs in your arms and in your bed.”
“Lynx, that’s uh—” Gator pushed up to a sitting position, leaning forward, a rare frown on his face.
“Not in a fun roll kind of way. It feels like you’ve already made a commitment to her and there’s a constant confusion on your part that she isn’t acknowledging the same level of connection. And the worst part about it is there’s a storm of some kind brewing. Something bad. Life threatening. And you need her to understand your connection one to the other or you may not make it through.”
Lynx stopped talking.
Gator sat very still.
Time passed.
“Yeah, if I were gonna tell it and be truthful to you and me both. That there puts it in a nutshell. Craziest thing I’ve ever felt. Overwhelming. I thought the level of energy that was zapping me was bad back in Tanzania when we were crowded into the hotel room getting the assignment. But that were just a tickle compared to what I’m getting now that Christen and me have met. I have to keep a sharp awareness. It’s true that it feels like I’ve known her all my life. This charade feels like I’m wearing someone else’s clothes around her. And since you said you’ve been wearing me all day, I know you know what I’m talkin’ about.” He lay his hand on his heart. “I’m sorry I’m in your space, Lynx. It’s not something I’m doing on purpose.” He took in a deep breath and let it out. “Is there anything I can do to bring you some relief?” He shifted around, worried lines crisscrossing his forehead. “Maybe some way for you to turn off our connection so I’m not bothering you?
“You a bother?” Lynx swished a hand through the air like she was erasing the idea. “If I’m wearing you, energetically it means I’m invested in this outcome. I’m glad to be here and doing what I can. You live in my heart Gator. You know that.”
Gator rolled his lips in and nodded.
“And could I if I wanted to? No. And can I tell you how to turn down the volume on what your experiencing? No. It is what it is.”
“The pieces – the flashes – they don’t fit together to give me anything actionable. I feel like I should be battling this out. But there’s no enemy to go after. None that I’m aware of anyways. And I’m gonna tell you, though I know you already know, something bad’s coming. Being out on Davidson’s Realm where we’re headed, without backup or egress and poor comms? It’s got me scared.”
“You?” Lynx scoffed. “You’re one of the bravest men I know. Striker owes his life to your strength and bravery. Time after time, Gator, you’ve been there for me and your team. You’ve got this. Whatever this is. And you’ve got me.” Lynx’s eyes glazed over with tears, her face turned pink with emotion. She felt it too. She knew. He was right, this was the end game.
“Thank you.” Gator gave himself a shake and a stretch as if coming awake. “The quicker I can figure this out, get the case sewn up, the quicker I can get D-day back in the skies where she belongs. And get me home. Make all these emotions go away. I’m pretty much hatin’ this.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Gator
Thursday, Ruffles Hotel, Singapore
A tattoo sounded at the hotel room door. Gator lifted his chin to Lynx then went to open it.
“Hey man,” Blaze said as he moved into the room and shot a glance to the computer. “Hey, Lynx. I just got my last person tucked into bed. Sorry I’m late.”
“No worries. Gator gave me the rundown on what’s going on for the next two days before you get to Davidson Realm. We’ll do our best to keep our communications open. I was about to share some puzzle pieces I’ve identified from conversations thus far.”
“Okay, shoot,” Blaze pushed the computer over to make space on the bed and flopped down, scrunching a pillow under his head.
Gator pulled up a chair, spun it around, and sat on it backwards. He crisscrossed his arms over the back, and let his chin rest on his forearms. Gator was relieved Blaze had come when he did and interrupted his discussion with Lynx, as cowardly as it felt to admit that.
Gator had dealt in the ether before. Mainly as an observer. Lynx could do some scary-assed shit with her psychic abilities. Gator hated to watch her when she went behind the “Veil” as she called it. She could meld with and become one with a victim, trying to figure out what was going on and how to get help onto the scene.
He’d stood by and watched her take the punishment while she saved life after life. It weren’t how he was raised. No man worth his salt would let a woman face a physical assault while he stood idly by, twiddling his thumbs. And that was what it had been.
Lynx seemed okay dealing with her sixth sense. Gator hated it. Hated the sensations. Hated the distraction. But most of all, right then, he hated that they’d both concluded that all this psychic noise had to do with Christen Davidson. Knowing danger was focused on Christen did crazy things to his insides. Just talking about it, and the volume got turned up in his own body. For relief’s sake—since there was no good coming of just talking—Gator was glad Blaze came in to serve as a buffer.
Lynx flipped through the pages in her hand and then stopped, her eye tracking from top to bottom. “I have a connection for you – Medved’ means bear in Slovac.” She looked back up at them. “That’s the Gregor Zoric guy’s nickname. The Zorics are a dangerous and powerful family. You know about the branch of the Zoric family that went after Lacey Stuart when Deep was trying to protect her from the Zoric assassins here in DC. But you’ve been on assignment since Jack jumped off the roof.”
“You made a Jack connection to Gregor?” Gator asked.
“Maybe. You know the story of how Jack went after Suz and hooked up with the Mossad unit in Brazil and Paraguay. Did you also know that when the Mossad took down the extremist’s camp, they discovered it was a group of Slovakians who were helping to fund the terrorists and run that training camp? Since then, several of our intelligence communities have been talking to Jack, including NSA, CIA, FBI, and interestingly, the treasury. The CIA and the Treasury happen to be our clients – they’ve made a connection between money laundering, offshore banking, and activities down in Paraguay. They’re trying to make the connection between Medved’ Zoric and the Paraguayan kidnapping.”
“And you think Gregor Zoric might be that Medved’ Zoric from Paraguay?” Blaze asked.
Lynx tilted her head back and forth as if weighing the idea. “Seems like we keep playing in the Zoric’s back yard. I’m going to call Special Agent Steve Finley and see if he’s willing to weigh in. Right now, we know for a fact that the Zorics are connected to Iran and Hezbollah and so Syria. Voila! I think that’s the Johnna Red connection.” She paused, looking up from her notes. “Speculation. Grain of salt.”
Both men nodded.
“Money to fund extremist activity is absolutely funneled to Hezbollah, through the Zoric connection. And drugs and art work are funneled back their way. These are business and economic considerations not driven by any religious connection, except where they find it useful as a tool.”
Gator shook his head. “Wait. That makes no sense what you were sayin’. It was an al Qaeda cell in Paraguay. Why was a Hezbollah sympathizer helping al Qaeda?”
“In Paraguay? That’s a very good question. We don’t know for sure what the terrorists’ affiliation was. They were operating under a black flag. Does that sound a little like something that you were telling me about in the Philippine article? That small groups were fighting unaffiliated but under a black flag?”
“Shit,” Blaze muttered.
“The Mossad and CIA are sharing the documentation that the Mossad gathered from the Paraguayan camp,
but it’s need-to-know. And we really have no need, outside of curiosity, to know. Al Qaeda was a guess based on the historic association that Osama bin Laden had in Paraguay, not from any concrete evidence.”
“Okay. Got it. Why are you bringing this up?” Gator asked.
“Suz and Jack both said in their hot wash that the guy who was being reported to over the satellite phone was called the Bear. Also, a note was intercepted that was being sent out from the Tanzanian prison camp the scientists were held in along with Meg Finley and Honey Honig. It mentioned Medved’ which, again, is Slovac for bear. Unfortunately, since Honey neutralized Momo Bourhan and his men, we have no new information, and no one to interrogate.”
“You think the guy here might be the same bear? I’d imagine that were kinda common as a nickname over in that part of the world.” Gator rubbed a hand over his jaw.
“I agree a thousand percent. I’m laying my thoughts out there in case it bubbled any connections or memories you guys had from Jack’s last mission. I’m keeping an open mind.”
“Gotcha. Grain of salt.” Blaze said.
“What else do you know about Russia and helium?” Gator asked.
Lynx reached for a pad of paper. “Let’s see, just ticking down some of my notes: Russia may be able to help the global markets catch up on their requirements because its gas reserves hold a higher proportion of helium and the fields are close to Asian markets. Uhm… Davidson’s on the records for helping to push US laws concerning the federal helium reserve, located in Amarillo, Texas, his home town. It’s the only strategic reserve of helium in the world. It’s also the main reason why the U.S. is the top global helium supplier. The government began privatizing its helium reserve in the 1990s. That’s when Congress decided private-sector demand for the gas had exceeded federal demand. They passed a bill to share public helium with private companies. The Department of Interior generates revenue from that sale of helium.”
“Davidson was involved in lobbying for that bill?”
“Yup. He’s been in the helium game for a while.”
“And we’re sure this is about helium.”
“Nope. But I’ve been trying to put the puzzle pieces of people at the party together and that’s the only configuration that makes any sense right now. Think of it as a hypothesis.”
“But why?” Blaze asked. “William Davidson’s looking like both the victim and the villain here. Which do you think it is? Did the CIA tell you? Is he an asset or a target?”
“You know what I know,” Lynx said. “For some reason, they think it’s best to keep us in the dark. We’re eyes and ears. We’re meant to data gather. And I’m putting it through the helium filter to see if it shines things in a new light.”
Blaze tightened his jaw. “Just between you, me, and the lamp post, that feels like a damned dangerous plan of action. I’ve had a cold tickle on the back of my neck since the hotel room in Tanzania. I couldn’t tell you why, but this mission has FUBAR written all over it.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Christen
Friday, Ruffles Hotel, Singapore
“My dad’s not going?” Christen sat on the bed, tugging on her hiking boot.
“No, I was talking with London last night at the cocktail party. She’s very excited. She’s here because her pee strip says she’s ovulating.” Johnna sent Christen a catty look, biting her lip to suppress the smile that twitched at the corners of her mouth.
“She said that?” Christen held up her hand to halt Johnna’s answer. “TMI.”
“London wants a baby. She thinks they made one yesterday, but she wanted to go ahead and continue to do the deed for the whole time the strip says she’s ripe—her words—so she’s sure that it takes.”
“Uh, okay. Thanks for that nauseating visual. The end result is we’re going to go on our little field trip, and Dad’s going to stay back and boink wife number five to see if he can make another kid. Awesome. Where does that leave the mission?”
“The mission is a go. We’re reconfiguring.” Johnna moved over to the window and looked out. “You have a better view on this side of the building.” She turned back. “I have a question about your dad.” She let the curtain fall back into place. “Has he been ill?”
“Not that I’ve been told.” Christen’s brows furrowed. “Why? What did you hear?”
“He told Daniel and Karl that he’s staying back to take a call from his doctor. Which is interesting. Either there’s an actual call coming in or he didn’t want them to know he’s seeding the next generation. Or both.”
Christen reached for her other boot. “Daniel’s the guy that looks like a fire hydrant? No neck? Lots of flash and show? Never speaks unless he’s off in some corner chatting into his shirt cuff?”
“He’s the one.” Johnna pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Needing to stay back for a doctor’s call sounds serious on the surface. My bet is that he never planned to go on the hike whether London showed up in heat or not,” Christen said, not ever imagining a sentence like that would spill from her lips or those thoughts form in that configuration. “I can’t see him hiking through the forest in high humidity. He’s not really a jump on a surfboard kind of guy.”
“Are any of these men?” Johnna was dressed in clothes specifically made for hiking in these conditions, loose, light, water resistant but breathable. The cloth was designed to protect against brambles and were chemically treated to keep away the bugs. She’d brought similar clothes for Christen so they were both dressed to be as comfortable as possible.
Hiking in new boots though, Christen thought, was going to suck. “Yeah these guys are going to be complaining turtles.”
“Complaining turtles,” Johnna snorted. “That’s so accurate.”
“Karl told me they’d have a staff photographer who’s going along.” Christen looped a double knot in her laces. “I believe the goal is to take interesting photos of them doing manly things in exotic places – the kinds of carefully-staged self-deprecating photos that can be used in board meetings to tell a parable of their machoness. Sort of like Putin riding horseback with his shirt off and doing judo on grizzly bears.”
“With his shirt off.”
“And his saggy man titties. Seriously. What is wrong with people?” Christen stood, now fully dressed. “I’m just saying this out loud now; I will not be fireman carrying anyone out of the rainforest. Security had better be bringing plenty of folding stretchers.”
Johnna stood in front of the mirror and re-tucked her t-shirt. “Back to my question. Do you think your father is actually talking to a doctor?”
“He’s never spoken to me about the state of his health,” Christen said, thinking just how weird it was to have a parent who was so distant when her other one—her mom and she—were so close. Christen and her mom shared everything. Except this mission. No, this one Christen would not get to tell her mom about, and she could let go of the guilt about that too. This mission was classified.
“We’ll know soon enough. We’ve got their phones and rooms bugged. Lula is staying back to track him. She told him she had her meeting today and asked to join him in the helicopter when he goes to his island where she’ll connect with us.”
“He agreed to that?”
“Yup.”
“So it’s just us.”
“Yup.”
There was the knock on the door and Christen opened it to the bellhop. She stepped back to allow him in, then pointed. “These two bags go with those being gathered for the William Davidson party. This smaller case will go with me in the car.” She handed over her key card.
“Very good, madam.” He bowed as she walked out of the room to find Blaze standing guard. His back to the wall. Christen looked around to see if Gator was there, wondering if he would still be tasked with Johnna and her safety or if he would be reassigned now that her father and Lula were staying back.
Christen was surprised that the idea of Gator not going along affected her so stron
gly. She would have thought she’d welcome the distance. As the three took the elevator down, disappointment flooded her system and pulled down the corners of her mouth. She purposefully set those thoughts aside by conjuring her friends Prominator and Smitty. Were they back on base and okay? Were the Deltas? She sent a little prayer their way.
When the elevator doors opened, the three were directed to a waiting limousine which would take them to the airport and their short flight to a private runway in Tarutung, North Sumatra, just south of Orangutan Haven. From there they would take Jeeps to the east and their trailhead. They had a ten-kilometer hike into the rainforest, stopping for a catered lunch in the headhunters’ village before continuing another four kilometers to the yacht. She wondered if Blaze wanted to lay bets with her on the party’s ability to get back out to the yacht on their own power.
Daniel was standing extremely close to Gregor Zoric. That Daniel was speaking to a human and not his shirt cuff was remarkable, and Christen did her calculated blink to take a picture of the interaction and then another to turn her video back on. At least she thought that was what she was doing. Hard to tell. A little more practice might have been good.
Blaze directed the women to a limo with the door standing open. He peeked in then opened his hand to indicate they should enter. Christen climbed in first and swiveled into her seat, where she located her safety belt. Johnna followed her in. Blaze stood protectively blocking their open door scanning three-sixty.
Still no Gator.
Karl, an extremely taciturn Indian man, and Nadir climbed in. Blaze made a final sweep then sat in the seat next to Johnna. With a tap on the partitioning glass, they were off.
Right away, Nadir caught Karl’s eye. “You read the news this morning?”
Karl tipped his head to the side, inviting more information.
