by Juno Rushdan
With her heart stuck in her throat, Maddox couldn’t respond.
They walked down the hall with Amanda chatting about how she sometimes missed her ex but was ready to find someone new who wouldn’t mind a ready-made family. She was lucky to have little Jackson—the cutest boy with a heart of gold. One day, the right guy would come along and fall for them both. If anyone deserved love and happiness, it was Amanda.
Maddox peeled off with a wave and went into the conference room. While she poured a cup of coffee, the demands of the job settled back on her shoulders.
She dropped into a chair and reviewed the compiled data on Novak and the freelance contractor jobs accredited to him. All high profile, tough shit to pull off. One job stood out. A hit on a female assassin in Prague. In fifty-plus contracts, only one had been a woman. No children. He seemed to have some sort of code.
Remember this mercy. Icy spiders crawled in her belly, and she shuddered.
No collateral damage was another trademark of Novak’s. Even the car bombing at a casino in Philadelphia—only Callahan and his guards had been killed. A less-skilled operator would’ve taken out innocent bystanders as well.
Over and over in his file. Complete control, one woman, no children. It meant something important about him, but what?
Cole strode through the conference room doors, holding up a newspaper. His features were laced tight with determination. “The Post we took from the Ghost’s room. One section was missing. This one. Events section for the weekend.”
“The auction was moved up a day. Novak’s original plan might’ve been conceived expecting to get his hands on the weapon today, Friday night. Maybe he wanted to use it at an event over the weekend, since he’s waited and didn’t deploy it already.” She grabbed a highlighter and flipped open the paper.
Potential targets had already been highlighted with notes beside each one giving an approximation of how many people would be in attendance.
“You did this?” She blinked one too many times.
“I can do more than crack skulls.”
“I know you can.” He’d graduated summa cum laude from Georgetown and had been working on a master’s in architecture at MIT before their lives went to hell. He could do anything. Maybe even leap tall buildings in a single bound. “I’m just surprised.”
“As a member of the band, I’ve got to carry my weight, right? I wanted to be helpful. To you.”
More dreadful heat warmed up long-frozen cold spots. “Thank you.”
Gideon peered up at her from the monitor, but she avoided meeting his eyes.
The conference room door swung open. Castle led the way. In tow were Reece, Harper, and Cutter.
Harper held two folders clutched to her chest and sat on Maddox’s left side with her gaze lowered. “I was gone from my desk for ten minutes, thirty-seven seconds.” Her tone was hushed. “The time allotted for a break during an active operation is fifteen, but it was still my fault Novak got away. I’m sorry. I’m the best analyst here. You didn’t have to assign Daniel the threat matrix. I’m more than capable.”
Folding her hands, Maddox dug for the right diplomatic words. “It’s not a reflection on your ability to do your job. It wasn’t fair to ask you to work around the clock without help. You need to be able to go to the bathroom, eat, sleep. We all need breaks.” Cole’s admonishment rose in her memory and she shook off the rising irritation. “We wanted to keep the footprint small on this. It’s my fault, not yours. You’ve been doing a great job.”
Harper reared back, surprise washing over her face. “O-okay.”
Maddox glanced up to find Gideon staring with the focus of a microscope. His sharp gaze bounced between her and Harper.
The hairs on Maddox’s arms raised. She ran her tongue over her teeth, unsettled by the intense look that made him appear as if he were chiseled from dry ice. Cold and untouchable. One would never guess that when he let loose and cracked a smile or laughed, women in the vicinity dropped their wet panties. And he used that smooth charm like any other weapon in his arsenal.
After Maddox gave him a thumbs-up and a head nod, his attention shifted. Odd, he wasn’t friends with Harper. No one was. He never interacted with her—he went out of his way to avoid her. So far on this mission, he’d barely spoken five words to the girl.
Harper handed Maddox both folders. “The first one is everything I could find on the death of a man in Costa Rica who we suspect was Kassar based on the wife’s statement taken by police. The second file is the additional information about Novak’s military record. I’ll brief everyone in a moment. Also, we don’t have enough of his disguised face to run the image through facial recognition.” Harper stared at the conference table as she spoke.
“But we tracked the taxi he took from the hotel,” Cutter added.
Harper’s gaze zeroed in on Mr. Gung Ho. “I tracked the taxi while you sat looking over my shoulder.” Her shaky voice was a notch above a whisper. “I discovered the auction and I’ve been working this mission from the beginning. We wouldn’t have this operation if it wasn’t for me. You’re just latching on midstream.”
Seeing Harper riled up was a first.
Cheeks flaming rosy red, the analyst pulled her lips inward as if she wanted to swallow them. She tilted her head down. “The taxi gave us nothing. He was dropped off at Union Station.”
The bastard. Maddox had assumed that after Novak lost them at the Metro, he would’ve headed for Union Station—the most practical place to escape—but there hadn’t been any sign of him on the street. For him to deliberately take a taxi from the hotel to Union Station, when he must’ve known they’d later track it, meant he was toying with her.
Harper and Cutter stared at one another like they were about to rumble, armed with notepads and laser pointers. Although Cutter was in his late twenties, fit, and had hand-to-hand combat training, Harper seemed fired up hot enough to claw out his eyes.
Territorial wars in the Gray Box weren’t uncommon. They were a small outfit, most of them were as close as family, and no one was in this for glory—Cutter not included. But everyone wanted to make their mark. On this case, Maddox didn’t need the waters any muddier.
“Harper, you need analytical backup on this, but the record will reflect you’re point analyst.”
“Okay,” she said in a low voice, sounding appeased.
Yes, the woman would get the glory of a win or the disgrace of a failure. A more cunning analyst would’ve preferred a blurry line.
“I reached out to the Albanian Army,” Harper said, “like Maddox asked, and tracked down a retired colonel who had been friends with Novak. They enlisted around the same time. During the Kosovo War in May 1999, Novak’s family was being transported in a refugee convoy.” Tapping a digital button on the glass smart table, Harper brought up an image of a truck convoy in a woodland area. “The men and women had been separated. Wife and daughter in one vehicle, son in another. A U.S. aircraft attacked, acting under incorrect intel that it was a Yugoslav military convoy. Fifty people were killed, including his wife and daughter.”
Harper stared at the screen rather than making eye contact, fidgeting with her pearls as she spoke at high speed. “NATO and the US issued an apology for the airstrike, amongst others. We made a lot of mistakes during Operation Allied Force, including the accidental bombing of a refugee camp. Novak was so vocal about his hatred for America and the unnecessary, brutal loss of innocent lives that he was discharged.”
“He wants vengeance,” Maddox said. “This is personal for him.” A vendetta fueled by grief complicated the hell out of the situation. “Deploying the bioweapon in the nation’s capital would suit Novak’s motives perfectly. Where do we stand on a threat matrix?”
“We’ve got a shitload of threat scenarios to comb through,” Castle said. “He picked a prime spot with that hotel. Easy walk to the White House, National M
all, National Gallery of Art, National Portrait Gallery, Capital One Arena, Washington Convention Center. Hell, there’s even a Walmart Supercenter.”
“Great.” Maddox chugged more coffee. They could find him. They just had to be smarter.
Castle and Harper went through the threat matrix, detailing various scenarios. Cutter chimed in at every opportunity to offer his two cents, garnering a death stare from Harper.
The Ghost most likely had already picked his target, with a possible contingency site. They had to separate the wheat from the chaff.
It’d only take one piece of information, the right one, to steer them to whatever Novak was planning.
While listening to the threat scenarios, Maddox reviewed the information on Kassar’s death. What Harper had found substantiated her hunch about Novak’s personal code. Kassar’s wife and daughter were found bound but otherwise unharmed. It fit. Novak valued the lives of children, had a tendency not to kill women, and avoided unnecessary loss of life.
Understandable, considering what had happened to Novak’s family. She fingered through the new file on Novak, stopping on the date his family had been accidentally killed. May 26, 1999. The anniversary of their deaths was just over a month ago.
She was close to something, felt it in her bones, but what?
Hours had passed by the time Castle and Harper were done and Cutter had finished his litany of interjections. Maddox’s stomach was clawing like an angry cat for food. She should’ve taken up Janet’s offer to bring in dinner. As much as she wanted to eat, they had to cross-reference the events section in the Post.
The weekend leisure guide that’d been missing from Novak’s paper could possibly indicate when and where he planned to act. There was also an equal chance he’d wait until the heat died down, but who’d want to tote around a biological weapon any longer than necessary?
Facts about Novak and dates from the file cycled in her mind. She turned back to the page regarding the accidental bombing of the civilian convoy. America had acknowledged the mistake and issued an apology with deep regret on June 29, 1999.
Novak didn’t have the opportunity for his revenge to coincide with the anniversary of their deaths, but this was the next best thing.
Tomorrow was June 29.
The knots in her gut tightened. The date was significant enough to outweigh Novak lying low, but it was best not to draw too much attention to it. Their leak might give the Ghost a heads-up. Better to seem as if they were simply following procedure. They were focused on time-sensitive, high-profile events anyway.
“On the calendar for tomorrow,” she said, “a concert at the National Gallery of Art, summer cinema series at the Washington Convention Center, comedy show at the Capital One Arena, and charity event at the Hirshhorn Museum.”
“And there’s a heads of state dinner at the White House,” Harper added.
Too many pieces of the puzzle. They needed to issue a warning order, a precautionary message giving only the essential elements of information to help the FBI and Secret Service to take the necessary safeguards.
Sanborn waltzed into the conference room. “How’s it going?”
“It’s possible Novak might deploy the weapon sometime this weekend,” Maddox said. “We’ve picked key locations as possible targets, but we have to issue a warning order, running through the DNI’s office down to the Secret Service and FBI.”
“I’ve already given the Secret Service an unofficial tip-off.” Sanborn sat at the head of the table. “I’ll make it official when I make the calls and issue the warnings. Narrow down the threat matrix as much as possible. Then get food and rest. Hit this hard at the crack of dawn.”
Famished and fatigued didn’t skate across the surface of how she felt, but they had to press on. She rubbed her temples, sneaking a glance at Castle. He gave a subtle shake of his head. He must’ve been thinking the same thing.
“Sir,” Castle said. “Maddox and I’ll disseminate the message and make the calls.”
“No need to tack on extra hours of work. Use the time to refuel. You’re useless running on fumes. I know for a fact that you, Maddox”—Sanborn pointed a stiff finger at her—“got three hours of shitty sleep in the break room last night. Castle”—that finger swung to her brother—“you came back at zero five hundred, which doesn’t have you sitting much better.”
“You know a lot,” Cole said. “You ever leave this place? Or do you live in your office?”
“Where I live and how much sleep I get don’t matter. Nor are they any of your business, because I’m the one responsible for these operatives. You’ll go home and get rest. That’s an order.”
“Castle and I are staying to make the calls.” This mission wasn’t going to earn her any brownie points with her boss. “That’s our responsibility.”
No one outside their circle of five could be trusted.
“Give me the room.” Sanborn’s tone turned to molten steel. “Except Castle and Maddox.”
The room cleared.
Sanborn let the door shut, his flinty gaze cut between them.
“It’s pretty darn clear you’re keeping something from me. There were discrepancies in the after-action reports from the auction. Minor things. Enough for me to get the impression something was omitted. Then you asked Willow to go directly to you with any updates. A straightforward by-the-books request, I assured her.”
Of course Harper would’ve gone to him, but on its own, the request wouldn’t have raised a flag.
“Now this unusual insistence to issue the warning order.” Sanborn stood, pressing his knuckles against the table, his face a thundercloud. “Taken as a whole, this reeks.”
In the bloated pause, Maddox refrained from looking at Castle.
“Someone better start talking, or this conversation is about to take an ugly turn you’ll both regret.”
“We need autonomy on this one,” Maddox said.
Narrowing his eyes, Sanborn visibly tensed, his mouth thinned. “Why?”
“This is a tricky situation with the Ghost,” she said. “For us to bring this guy in, this is how we need to do it.”
“Not sufficient for my blessing. Try again.”
“If it wasn’t mission essential,” Castle said, “we’d never leave you out of the loop. Never.”
Sanborn folded his arms, drawing in a deep breath. “If I’m not in the loop on everything and this goes wrong, you two would take the heat, alone. Career-ending heat.”
Their jobs, being members of the Gray Box, were for many of them the only things left in their lives worth fighting for. Sanborn was testing them.
“Roger that, sir.” Castle nodded with a grave expression. “Understood.”
Sanborn eyed Castle, his prize protégé. The air pressure in the room rose, and the stare became frighteningly intense. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Trust was a commodity they couldn’t afford to waste on the wrong person. She wanted to bring him in on this. Sanborn was loyal to his people and his country. But they couldn’t take the chance. Needed to be textbook about how they proceeded.
“Topaz,” Castle said.
The codeword for a prior operation a few years back, where Knox and Castle had gone so dark, Sanborn thought they might’ve gone rogue. Their after-action reports—which were need-to-know, leaving her clueless about the specifics—had explained their reasons.
“This is similar to Topaz,” Castle added.
The silence was deafening as Sanborn weighed everything.
“We’re tip of the spear, and sometimes, we have to operate outside every box to get the mission done. Request granted. But—” Sanborn stabbed the table with a finger. “Do. Not. Fail. And once this is shaked-and-baked, you owe me a debrief with crystal-clear transparency. If I’m not one hundred percent satisfied with your mission-essential explanation, you won’t be fired.
You’ll both be disavowed.” He strode out of the room.
A sinking sensation swept through Maddox. If you were disavowed from the CIA, MI6, Mossad—take your intel flavor of the day—a black ops program might scoop you up. To be disavowed from a deep-black off-the-books unit was to virtually cease to exist. No work history. No 401(k). You became nobody with no past. The only thing worse was a whitewash—where you literally ceased to exist.
“Don’t,” Castle said.
She looked up at him. “Don’t what?”
“Second-guess this. The minute you do is the minute we give Novak battleground advantage.”
Novak already had too much working in his favor. Castle was right. Yet again. “Topaz?” To say more, to ask the question burning her tongue, would insult her brother.
“The op had nothing to do with a leak.”
All she needed to hear. “I’ll write up the warning order. You start making the calls.”
Chapter 23
Vienna, Virginia
9:56 p.m. EDT
Holding a bag of Chinese takeout, Cole picked the lock to Maddox’s door. The pungent smell of shrimp lo mein and Peking duck prodded him to hurry. Fifteen seconds.
Yep, he was just that good. In truth, it was his Z-wave gadget doing the work, but after the shitty day they’d had, he was taking the credit.
He set out the containers of food in the kitchen and rummaged for a wine bottle opener. Bingo. Of course she had one. He opened a robust bottle of Brunello and searched for a decanter. Score, yet again.
Candles strategically placed in the living room sat untouched, collecting dust and purely decorative, but he lit them anyway. He slipped off his jacket and holster, aching to scrub off the grunge from the day.
Using her shower would smack of presumption. But the wretched smell of his body offended his own nose, and the last thing he wanted was to turn her stomach during dinner.