by Dee Davis
The sound of Haverton's laughter filled his ears.
"All right then," Nigel said. "On my mark." He watched as the seconds ticked off the clock, and with a calm he didn't completely feel, ordered the team to go. "Move now."
The screen above him changed—the panel divided into four quadrants, cameras from each of the teams sending a signal. They crossed the grounds with no resistance, team one's camera revealing an old graveyard as they passed.
A guard appeared through a small garden gate in the south quadrant, but the team quickly disabled him, taking his weapon and rendering him unconscious. The same maneuver was attempted on the north side, but the man managed to break free and so had to be permanently silenced. Two down. Which, if their reconnaissance was correct, left only one armed guard inside.
Each of the four teams slipped inside the building, reconvening in the ritual prayer hall with no further incident. The room, like the building, was octagonal, with a balcony running its entire length. Shadows obscured the upper story from view, but the room was completely silent.
"The cells should be just beyond the door on your right." Nigel watched as the teams worked their way across the room, and through the door. The hallway here was narrow. Two team members stayed at the entrance on watch and the remaining six moved forward slowly, weapons at the ready.
The first cell was empty, as were the second and third. As they approached the fourth, a door ahead of them suddenly swung open, the third guard coming into view. He fired his semi, the volley of bullets whizzing down the hall, forcing the leam members to scramble for cover. A second gunman appeared at the far end of the hall and opened fire.
"There are two men," Nigel barked into the mike. "One straight ahead at the end of the hall, and the second behind door number six."
Silence held for a moment, and then the men swung into action, Haverton making a dash for the fourth cell, drawing fire, his partner right behind him, gun blazing. The man at the end of the hall fell clutching his chest, and his partner burst out of the sixth cell, firing haphazardly at the approaching Brits.
A man from team three took aim and shot, the guard dropping to his knees, his machine gun clattering against the stone floor as he fell.
Several long minutes passed, then Nigel's headphone crackled to life. "Everything's secure here. Both guards are dead, and we've only got minor injuries."
"And the package?"
"So far nothing." Haverton's team was methodically searching the cells again, but as each room appeared in the camera lens, it was maddeningly apparent that they were empty.
"Damn it." Payton slammed a hand down on the desktop. "They're already gone."
"Or were never there." Haverton's voice echoed in Nigel's ear. "We're not finding any sign that there was ever anything here. And the dead men are definitely Turks."
"So what are you saying?" Nigel asked. "We've been taken for a ride?"
"Looks that way. The building is deserted. We'll search the rest of the place just to be certain. But I don't think there's anything here to find."
"Report in as soon as you've finished the search." Nigel pulled off his headphones and threw them onto the table. "Bloody wild-goose chase."
"Maybe I got it wrong." Melissa's voice was soft, regret coloring her words.
"No," Gabe hastened to reassure her. "You didn't. I had both the CIA and Homeland Security study the chatter you identified and they all agreed with your assessment. The fact of the matter is that we were played. Either the R-VX was gone long before they led us here, or it was never at the monastery at all."
"Most likely the latter," Payton said, his face dark with anger. "Fucking terrorists."
"Well it isn't going to do us any good at all to sit around lamenting our inability to recognize a decoy," Madison said, as usual the voice of reason. "What we need to do is figure out where the R-VX really went. And intercept it before it gets to the States."
The headset crackled with life again and Nigel picked it up. "What's up?"
"We've got an ID on one of the guards. He's a Turkish mercenary. Not working for the Mevlevi. I'm guessing we'll find similar stories when we ID the others."
"What about the live guard—he saying anything?"
"Unfortunately, I'm afraid he won't be talking at all. He managed to detonate a hand grenade. There's nothing left but pieces. I'm just grateful he didn't take one of our men with him."
"All right then, get the hell out of there before the officials arrive. We'll work through diplomatic channels to smooth things over, but it'll be best if you're not found on premises."
"We were never here," Haverton said, signing off. Nigel had no doubt that he'd manage to get his team out without leaving anything behind to identify who had been there. George was a bloody ghost when it came to these kinds of operations.
"So we're back to square one," Melissa said, her frustration mirroring his own.
"Maybe not. Haverton said they'd ID'd one of the guards. Maybe we can figure out who the hell hired him."
"Sounds like my kind of challenge." Harrison was already typing away at his keyboard. "I'll get the info from MI6 and take it from there."
"Good," Nigel said. "And in the meantime, I think we'd do best to concentrate on possible entry points for the R-VX here in the U.S. The odds of finding it at sea aren't very good. But as you said earlier, Gabe, it's a lot harder to get things into the States these days, so that ought to limit the options somewhat."
"Still going to be difficult." Gabe sighed. "But I agree. And I also think we need to follow up on Melissa's work. Assuming that Celik either wasn't the real culprit or that he had a partner out there somewhere, there's still another perp. And considering Celik's diplomatic connections, and the fact that they implicated Melissa, I'd say the possibility of a UN traitor is pretty damn high. So if we can find the turncoat, we just might get lucky and get a bead on the nerve agent at the same time."
"I REGRET THE NEED for such rash action. But believe me, it was unavoidable." The man across from Khamis sat back, his face cloaked in the shadows of the darkened bar, his air of superiority more about posturing than reality.
Khamis held tightly to his control. Anger served no one but itself, and he had enough problems without allowing his own weaknesses to contribute to the turmoil. Malik was showing similar restraint, although Khamis could see the mounting frustration in his eyes.
"You have taken action that could compromise my mission. That is not acceptable."
The Russian shrugged. They were such an arrogant race. Khamis wondered what the man would say if he understood exactly what it was he was transporting for Khamis. It was tempting to tell him, to wait for his reaction, but pride destroyed everything and Khamis was not a man to give in to self-indulgence.
"Let me be sure that I understand," Khamis said, leaning forward, his seltzer water untasted. "You have arranged for the death of a Turkish diplomat, and attempted to blame it on what you believe is an undercover agent of some kind."
"She is CIA, I'm certain of it. And I haven't attempted to blame her, Mr. al-Rashid, I have succeeded. Not only that, I have killed her."
Khamis's stomach tightened at the pronouncement. God would not be so unfair. It was his right to obtain justice. His right alone. "But there is no body."
Again Alexi Kirov shrugged. "She was administered enough poison to kill an ox. She is dead."
"Then why has there been no talk of it?"
"The Americans are afraid. There has been much talk of late as to the inefficiency of their so-called Homeland Security. A rogue CIA agent in bed with a Turkish traitor is not the best news copy." The Russian shot a surreptitious glance at Malik, for the first time looking faintly on edge. "But it will eventually come out. These things always do. And in the meantime, they believe they understand what has happened. They blame Celik and the woman for a supposed network transporting stolen goods."
"Which means the UN will be under greater scrutiny than ever." This from Malik.
"No
. That's the beauty of my plan. I planted evidence that proves that Celik was operating the transportation network independently of the United Nations. The network was established using his diplomatic connections. The agent stumbled onto the operation but rather than expose him, she decided to ask for a piece of the action. Celik obliged her, and they worked together for a short time, but then she pressed for more, and when Celik refused, she killed him. The best lies are the closest to the truth. Don't you agree?"
"You said the woman was CIA. How can you know this for certain?"
"I had dealings with her handler. In a moment of weakness, he spoke too freely."
"And this man?"
"Is also dead."
"You killed them both?" Khamis raised a skeptical eyebrow, doubting the man had the fortitude for such a task.
Kirov shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. "I have connections. And when I have a need, there are Russians here who are ready to come to my aid. Your people are not the only ones who command that kind of loyalty."
"You dare to compare your thugs to the faithful? We serve Allah. The Organizatsiya serves only its greed." Malik leaned forward, eyes flashing, and the Russian scooted back in obvious fear.
Khamis held up a hand, and Malik leaned back, bis gaze still condemning.
"For your sake, sir, I'll choose to ignore your friend's outburst." Obsequiousness did not sit well with the Russian, and Khamis contained a smile.
Malik however was not amused. "I don't like any of this. The trail of blood is too wide."
"I assure you it has all been handled." The man bowed his head in Malik's direction. "The bases have been covered— to use the phrase of our American hosts."
"Surely there will be questions about the disappearance of two CIA operatives?" Khamis sat back, waiting.
"Perhaps. But none that can be answered. Maybe she killed herself in a moment of guilt. Maybe her handler did it? Or maybe she killed him. As long as the bodies are missing there is nothing to be done."
"And if the bodies are found?"
"The woman's will be damning. And the handler's will never be discovered. Trust me on that."
"Make no mistake. I do not trust you."
"But you need me." Kirov smiled, secure in himself again.
"I do not like it." Malik fingered the pocket of his coat, the outline of his handgun barely visible. "There is danger in risk always, but some odds are unacceptable."
Khamis considered the situation. Malik was right. But they'd come so far, the idea of backing out now seemed beyond comprehension. "You are certain that no one can trace the movement of the shipment?"
"I'm positive. I haven't survived in this game as long as I have without being careful. The shipment will arrive as promised. I can guarantee it."
"Do not make promises you cannot keep." Khamis's words held warning, but not surprisingly the man refused to take heed.
"There will be no problem."
Malik opened his mouth to protest, saw the look in Khamis's eyes and remained silent.
"Very well, we will expect delivery as promised. And you will inform us if things change in any way. If not, the consequences will be substantial. Am I making myself clear?"
The Russian's eyes narrowed as he met Khamis's gaze. Time passed as they engaged in a game of standoff. One minute. Two minutes. Three... Kirov dropped his gaze and Khamis smiled. "Then we have an understanding."
The man nodded, and stood up, his growing nervousness how apparent in every gesture. He reached out to shake hands, and Khamis obliged him, tightening his fingers until he saw a flicker of pain. With a final smile he released the Russian's hand and watched as he hurried toward the entrance to the pub.
"That may very well have been a mistake." Malik's words were soft, but there was an edge that Khamis couldn't ignore. "The man is a danger to everything he touches. He leads with his emotions, not his head."
Malik's words hit home, and Khamis frowned at his friend. "There is no comparison between that man and me. You know better than most how carefully I calculate everything."
"I am not questioning your abilities, my friend. But when the heart is involved, there is always danger of making mistakes."
"My heart is dead."
"No." Malik shook his head. "It is withered. Blackened, perhaps, but not dead. If it were truly dead then revenge would not be so sweet."
"Perhaps you are right." Khamis buried his face in his hands. He needed closure, had needed it for a very long time. And now was his chance, months of careful planning coming together.
"Perhaps it is better if we call this off now, before we have passed the point of no return."
"No." Khamis jerked his head up, the word coming out louder than he had intended, people in the bar turning with curiosity. "I'm sorry. I should not have snapped at you. But we must continue. The risk is minimal. And as soon as we have the shipment, we will remove the Russian from the equation."
"But won't that cause more questions?"
Khamis shrugged. "Perhaps. But there will be no way to connect it to us, and even if they do work it out eventually, it will be too late. The damage will be done."
"And your revenge? With this last act, you will finally be at peace?"
"American bombs took everything from me. My wife, my children, my heart." He pounded his chest, the gesture underscoring his words. "I will never be at peace. But at least I will know that they have been avenged."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE HOUSE WAS still, everyone in their respective beds. Only Melissa couldn't settle in and relax enough to sleep. A harvest moon shone through the window, the quiet of the countryside almost absolute.
It was beautiful here. Serene in an almost pastoral sense. If it weren't for the fact that someone was framing her for murder, she might actually enjoy this sojourn to the country. Of course, she wouldn't be here at all if it weren't for Celik's assassination and her subsequent poisoning, so the whole thought process was skewed from start to finish.
She sighed and turned away from the window. The room, like everything else at the safe house, was top quality. There was a massive marble fireplace, the coals banked and glowing, a comfortable leather armchair artfully angled to face both the bed and the fire. A mahogany four-poster the size of Manhattan made up with luxurious Italian linens completed the picture.
But despite the opulent surroundings, Melissa was still awake. A decanter of brandy beckoned, but she knew it would only enhance the feelings of melancholy that had been chasing after her all day.
Maybe she just needed a little air. Grabbing the leather jacket Nigel had rescued from her apartment, she headed out into the hall, moving with a stealth that was probably unnecessary but was as much a part of her as the color of her hair or eyes. The hallway was dark, and she stopped for a moment to regain her bearings.
Because the house needed to be impregnable, there were two security perimeters, one at the rock wall that surrounded the place and the other around the house itself. Since egress in and out was severely limited, Cullen had arranged for a courtyard. The cobblestone plaza reminded Melissa of small village centers in Europe.
She followed the left branch of the hallway, turning twice trusting her instincts in the dark, finally finding herself at the archway that led out into the cool night air. Water from the fountain splashed contentedly in the center, the pool surrounding it dark green with reflected pinpricks of light from the stars above.
A breeze danced across the cobblestones, dry leaves brush-ing against them with an almost lazy air. The simplicity of sound and motion was far more pleasing than the luxurious appointments of her suite, and she settled down on a bench near the water, closing her eyes, allowing the rest of her senses to soak in the beauty of the night.
The wind caressed her face, its cold fingers soothing her tired soul. So much had happened in such a short time. She rubbed her sleeve absently where it touched the bandage on her arm, her thoughts turning not to the danger surrounding her, but to the man who had r
escued her from it.
Nigel.
He'd been a shadow in her dreams for fifteen long years, but other than that she'd thought he was firmly relegated to her past. A lovely memory—nothing more. In reality though she'd obviously underestimated their connection. The chemistry between them was combustible to say the least. But sparks didn't necessarily mean lasting warmth. And she was at a point in her life where one-night stands had lost their appeal.
Even as she had the thought, she knew she was wrong. Nigel wasn't a one-night-stand kind of man and even if he were, given the opportunity she wasn't at all certain she had the strength to say no.
The idea of his mouth on hers, his hands moving along the smooth planes of her body, his penis hot inside her. It made her shimmy with need just thinking about it. Maybe all this overanalyzing was a bunch of crap, and what she ought to do was go find Nigel and scratch the proverbial itch. Put like that it was almost laughable, and despite the serious turn of her thoughts, she smiled, letting her hands trace the curves of her breasts, her mind giving in to temptation.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
The voice was straight out of her fantasy and she jerked to attention on the bench, searching the courtyard for its source. The telltale glow of a cigarette marked the spot, and with a heart-wrenching smile, Nigel stepped into the moonlight."Thinking of me?"
"Hardly," she said, knowing full well that neither of them believed her.
"Well, I was thinking of you." He flicked the cigarette away, his gaze heated, a predator sizing up its prey.
Melissa swallowed and considered moving farther away, but rejected the notion. He'd just follow her, and truth was, this had been inevitable from the moment she'd laid eyes on him at the embassy party. Might as well sit back and enjoy the ride. "What exactly were you thinking?"
"Well..." He paused provocatively. "You were naked..."
"Interesting." She smiled, standing up to close the distance between them. "I was just following the same line of thought. Only it was you who was naked."
"Boring fantasy, that," he whispered, his hands coming to rest on her waist. "I much prefer my vision."
