Turn the Tide

by Ruggle, Katie

  Chapter 8

  Berlin, Germany

  Sunday, March 6, 3:35 a.m. CET

  Logan sat at the table in the safe house, holding his head in his hands. Struggling to breathe. Aching to put a fist through the wall. He’d failed to protect her, to keep her safe.

  Knox held the satellite phone, updating Sanborn. Mike typed on a laptop in front of him, searching for answers, SIGINT chatter, anything to explain who had Ash. Ethan stood at the window, staring at the street as if expecting armed men to come storming in any second.

  “I understand the situation,” Sanborn said over the speaker. “There are other forces at work here that you don’t know about. Sit tight. Give me eight hours, and I’ll be in Berlin. We’ll get Ashley back, I swear it. I need to go speak to the D/CIA.”

  The call disconnected.

  Eight hours? Ash didn’t have eight hours.

  “Why does he need to speak to the director of the Agency?” Logan asked. “This is his op! What other forces are at work here?”

  “I don’t know.” Knox leapt to his feet, raking a hand over his hair. “We have eleven hours left before the Agency is supposed to take further action.”

  “What further action is the Company going to take?” Logan asked.

  The question was a little late, but prior to this moment, he hadn’t wanted to know. Part of him still didn’t. The odds were good that body bags would be involved.

  Knox shook his head, resolved not to speak on it. “You know as much as I do about what’s happening.” Glancing over his shoulder, he cast a glare that could freeze the room.

  Too bad Logan was hot enough to spew molten lava. He kicked his chair back with a screech against the hardwood and stalked up to him. “If there’s something going on in Berlin, the chief of station will have intel. Find out. Or so help me God, I will set this city on fire while waving an American flag, shouting your name and CIA from a bullhorn!”

  Heavy silence settled in the room, pulling everyone taut.

  “All right,” Knox said finally, his face hard as flint. “Stay here. Figure out what church Ashley stashed the thumb drive in. It’s our only bargaining chip to get her back.” Grabbing a set of car keys, Knox hustled out of the safe house.

  There was no way Knox would give up the thumb drive to save Ash. Pretend to, make whoever took her believe that he would, sure, but when push came to shove, he’d let Ash die before handing it over.

  She’d gone rouge, betrayed the Agency. Betrayed Sanborn, the greatest sin one could commit. She was expendable.

  Logan looked back and forth between Mike and Ethan. He’d not only worked with them on numerous missions, but they’d been his family. So tight that their ties had been interwoven like a web. He was godfather to Mike’s little girl, Lizzie, and had been best man in Ethan’s wedding.

  These were once his battle brothers. They weren’t management. No need to play head games and toe the political line like Sanborn and Knox.

  They said what they meant and meant what they said. Salt of the earth.

  “Now that the babysitter is gone, who is up for helping me get Ash back?” Logan asked, cutting straight to it.

  Mike and Ethan exchanged wary glances.

  “Sanborn and Knox both think it’s best to wait,” Ethan said.

  “What if they had Kimberly?” Logan asked Ethan. “Or Melissa?” He looked at Mike. Both men would move heaven and earth for their wives. “Could you wait eight hours? Ash is one of us. She made a mistake, yeah, but she was ready to fix it. She doesn’t deserve whatever those men are going to do to her. And you both know it.”

  “You’re asking us to defy Sanborn,” Ethan said. “Oppose Knox. They’ll rip our balls off if we move without their say-so.”

  Logan folded his arms. “Do you still have a pair?” He dismissed Ethan’s scowl and continued. “If we were talking about the woman you loved, I’d be there for you, guarding your six, fighting beside you.” Turning to Mike, he gritted his teeth. “Look at what I’ve given to the Agency.” He waved a hand at his face. “I’m not giving up Ash too.”

  Mike rubbed his jaw. Ethan lowered his head, edging toward the table.

  This was a huge request, with major repercussions if things went south. For them to even consider it spoke volumes.

  “Please,” Logan said. “I’ve never begged anyone for anything in my life. But I’m begging you both: either help me find her, or get the hell out of my way when I do.”

  Neither man said anything for a beat, staring at him, considering the request.

  “If it was Missy,” Mike said, “you’d be there for me. Without question. I’m with you.”

  Ethan sighed. “Screw it.” He dug into a black duffel bag and handed Logan a Glock 17. “No battle brother of mine should have to beg for my help. I won’t leave you hanging.”

  “How do we find her?” Mike asked.

  Logan searched their eyes, confirming their sincerity in the earnestness that shone back. They were dedicated professionals, loyal to Sanborn and Knox, and feared the fallout if this went sideways. Only a fool wouldn’t. But with a flip of the coin, the scales of luck tipped in the wrong direction, and they could’ve just as easily been Logan. Damaged from a mission and cast aside. Caught in a terrible position with a horrible choice.

  In the end, they were men who would choose love over duty too.

  “Ash has a burner phone,” Logan said. “If we can get them to answer it and stay on long enough—”

  “I can trace it,” Mike said.

  Ethan folded his arms. “What if they’re not on long enough for a trace? Or don’t answer?”

  Always a glass-half-empty type of guy.

  “Then we cut a deal. Ash for the drive. Worst case, I leave a message. They’ll check her phone for information to use against her.” Giving up the drive for Ash was a big gamble, and there’d be repercussions, but she was worth the risk.

  “We need the drive.” Mike sat back in his chair, wiping his brow with his palm. “There are more than fifty churches in Berlin. How do we find the right one?”

  Logan drifted to the window and stared out into the night. Ash didn’t do things arbitrarily. She wouldn’t have picked a random church. It would’ve been one she went to as a child or that held significance.

  Yes, it is an impossible cause, Ash had said.

  Logan touched his pendant, rubbing the cool metal between his fingers. “Mike, how many churches of St. Jude are there in Berlin?”

  Hunched over the laptop, Mike typed furiously. He looked up with wide eyes and a grin. “One.”

  Hope eased the ache in Logan’s chest. Hang in there, Ash. “I need one of you to take this damn tracker out of me.”

  ***

  Berlin, Germany

  Sunday, March 6, 4:44 a.m. CET

  The layout of the CIA station, a SCIF—sensitive compartmented information facility—embedded within the U.S. Embassy, hadn’t changed since the last time Knox had been here. Same drab carpet and stuffy cubicles. At this hour on the weekend, the office was waking up and only a skeleton crew was in.

  He stopped someone passing. “I need to speak to the COS. Adam Lipinski.”

  “Sorry,” the young guy said. “He’s at a conference in Norway. Won’t be back for two days. But you can talk to the DCOS.”

  A fifty-fifty chance how this could play out with a deputy he didn’t know.

  “There she is.” The guy pointed to the hall leading to the main admin offices. “Cynthia Fairchild.”

  A dormant hatred jackknifed awake, burning in his gut before he even saw her. Clenching his jaw, he spun on his heel. Their gazes collided.

  Her fiery-red hair was swept up in a chignon, and in the wee hours of the morning, she looked impeccable in her gunmetal-gray sheath dress. Eyes the color of a rainy sky cut away from him, and she strode into an off
ice with her head held in a regal manner.

  He took his time walking down the hall, strategizing, reining in his fury and swallowing his disappointment in her. “Cynthia,” he said in the doorway, measuring his tone.

  “Knox.” She stood behind her desk like a warrior ready for battle.

  He closed the door and strolled to face her.

  “I trust you’re not here on vacation, but I can’t help you,” she said, jumping the gun.

  If she knew why he was there, then he was in the right place for answers.

  “A three-monkeys mandate came down for the station,” she said.

  They’d been instructed to see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. Basically, don’t get involved in whatever was happening in the city, and more importantly, don’t talk about it.

  “My people are at risk,” he said. “Lives are on the line—”

  “Lives are always on the line,” she interrupted. “Nature of the job.”

  “I see you’re still a cold-hearted bit—”

  “Insults won’t get you information.” She folded her arms. “I prefer honey to vinegar.”

  Same old Cynthia. She could shove her preferences where the sun didn’t shine.

  “Let’s skip this tête-à-tête. I don’t have the time or the stomach to bear the sight of you much longer.” He spat out the bitter words. “What do you want in exchange?”

  She strutted to the front of her desk, hips swaying. Most men fell over themselves in her presence, enthralled by her seductive powers. Knox had only stumbled once.

  “I tell you what you want to know, and you’ll owe me.” She shrugged. “Simple.”

  Deals with the devil were never simple, but that’s what it boiled down to in this trade. Scratching someone’s back, giving a pound of flesh in exchange for something else.

  Information was a priceless commodity, and Knox was in no position to haggle. “Fine.”

  “Yesterday morning, my counterpart at the BfV was waiting in the lobby when I arrived. A biotech company in Munich, BioGenApex, had intellectual property stolen. The BfV claim it’s a matter of national security. They’re crawling over this like cockroaches searching for crumbs.”

  Knox took a seat and crossed his legs, keeping his temper at a simmer. “And?”

  “Last night we received notification that a whitewash has been initiated, along with instructions to stay out of the team’s way.”

  A chill moved through Knox’s stomach. A whitewash was only supposed to happen in the event they couldn’t find Ashley and the thumb drive before the deadline.

  He rose, unable to contain the upsurge of apprehension. “How long until the team arrives?”

  Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. “A sanitation team is already here,” she said.

  He froze. “How can you be certain?” Langley wouldn’t give the station that information.

  She grabbed a remote, turning on the television in her office, and put a hand on her hip. The sheath clung to her curves, displaying her figure, but he dragged his gaze to the news. Something about the death of another scientist, Jonas Hoffmann.

  “Bodies are piling up in Munich.” She gestured to the screen. “Ten employees from BioGenApex. All suicides and accidents.” The hallmark of a whitewash. “Hoffmann’s secretary was hit by a car. Everyone connected to some special project is dead, except for one scientist who is missing.”

  Cleaners, sometimes referred to as plumbers, were on the ground. Knox’s team was supposed to have more time. Maybe the cleaners were only sanitizing Munich, preparing to come to Berlin in the event Knox failed.

  “The D/CIA is early on this. Did Langley say why—”

  “The notice didn’t come from Langley. It came from the White House.”

  His chest tightened.

  “Knox, you should know, the BfV plan to find whoever stole from BioGenApex and make an example out of them. They’re gunning for blood on this one.” She stepped closer, dropping her arms to her side. “I know you’ll question my sincerity, but be careful. I hope you make it through this.”

  He believed her emphatically. He owed her, and the devil wanted him to live so she could collect her due.

  “Knox. Good luck.”

  He’d need it. They all would.

  Chapter 9

  Berlin, Germany

  Sunday, March 6, 5:27 a.m. CET

  Flesh struck flesh, again.

  Helmut adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose and raised his palm, signaling enough. Bruno stepped away from the woman, wiping off his bloody knuckles with a rag.

  She had withstood the humiliation of being stripped and interrogated naked, waterboarding, and an impressive beating without cracking. Much more would break her jaw, render her unconscious. Helmut needed her lucid and able to speak.

  The best method for her was pain doled out over a long period of time with no sleep, interspersed with white torture—extreme sensory deprivation and isolation. She’d been well trained, but everyone broke…sooner or later.

  Helmut savored the pleasure of drawing out the torment, but his boss had made it clear time was of the essence. He had to retrieve what she stole, then dispose of her.

  He lowered to one knee beside the black tarp where crude tools were laid out. Selecting a mallet and some nails, he went to the table and sat across from her.

  She stared at him, bloodied, hurting. No fear. The fierce constitution of a bear. Anything less would’ve been a disappointment after the vigorous pursuit she’d forced him to undertake.

  Helmut set the mallet in front of her, followed by four three-inch nails.

  “Where is it?” he asked in German.

  She glanced at the nails.

  “Bärchen.” Little Bear. “Last chance,” he sang.

  Her gaze flickered back to him. Not a peep. No whimpering, no begging. Professional as hell.

  Smiling, he nodded to his colleague. Bruno untied her left wrist. As soon as her hand was loose, she twisted free of Bruno’s grasp and elbowed him in the groin. He hunched over with a grunt from the unexpected blow, and she slammed his head into the table. Bruno dropped to the floor.

  Helmut was out of his chair, ready to take action, but there was no need.

  After she spit on Bruno, she placed her own palm to the table and met Helmut’s gaze. Fierce determination blazed in her eyes. “Let’s get on with it.”

  “Schiesse. Widmung,” Bruno said, climbing to his feet.

  Commitment indeed.

  Helmut placed the tip of a nail on the back of her hand, over mid-palmar muscle between two metacarpal bones, and picked up the mallet.

  There was a difference between training to withstand pain and actually enduring the agony. Agony that turned your soul inside out had a way of rearranging one’s priorities and principles to make the pain stop.

  A long, brutal day was ahead. If he wasn’t pressed for time, he’d enjoy this immensely.

  The door opened, and someone else from the team walked in, holding a cell phone. “It’s hers.” He pressed a button on the cell and handed it to Helmut.

  “I have what you want,” a man said over the phone in a voicemail message. “Give me Ashley, and you can have the thumb drive. I’ll tell you where and when.”

  Today wouldn’t be quite so long after all. Helmut set the mallet and nail on the table.

  “Get her cleaned up and dressed,” he said to Bruno. “Food and water.”

  Helmut would turn over the girl for the drive. But once the transaction was completed, he couldn’t allow her to keep breathing. Orders.

  ***

  The White House, Washington, DC

  Saturday, March 5, 11:48 p.m. EST/ Sunday, March 6, 5:48 a.m. CET

  The D/CIA, director of the Agency, had put her cards on the table, not wanting to get in Bruce Sanborn’s cros
shairs. Had sworn on her children’s lives that she hadn’t violated their agreement. Twenty-four hours for him to fix this mishap.

  As far as she was concerned.

  Nothing more needed to be said. The D/CIA’s deliberate choice of words had been enough. She wasn’t responsible for sending cleaners in early. So, he’d come to the last place with answers, the West Wing and office of the national security advisor, after trying him at home first due to the late hour.

  Sanborn sat across from Winthrop Lee Pomeroy III, holding a scotch he’d yet to take a sip of. They’d been roommates at Harvard and remained friends, despite Lee’s track record of messy dealings and backstabbing to further his career.

  Lee came from old-world money and high-powered connections. His first wife, then his fiancée, queen bee of Washington, DC, had introduced Sanborn to the love of his life, Penny. In a small way, he owed him his happiness. The only brightness in his otherwise dark world.

  Out of respect for their friendship, he’d endured two tedious minutes of baloney pleasantries, but his patience was threadbare. “Why are you meddling in my op, Lee?”

  “Whoa. This isn’t your op.” Lee had thinning blond hair, muddy-green eyes, and a Floridian tan regardless of the season. Ruffling feathers was his hobby, You have to crack a few eggs to make an omelet his motto, but he had a knack for mending the right bridges on his climb up the ladder of power. “It’s the president’s op. He wanted insurance on this.”

  “What insurance?”

  Lowering his pink face, Lee reclined in his chair. “I have a former Agency asset on retainer, does work for me.” He took a swig of scotch. “I put him on your girl at the very beginning. Just to make sure things went smoothly. If she was caught, he was to neutralize her before she talked. If she got her hands on the data, he was to make sure she transmitted it. He suggested breaking into the safe house and taking her go-bag to hinder her from running into a worst-case scenario. Not that it stopped her. We couldn’t afford a screwup. This administration has a lot at stake here.”

  Lee had a lot at stake here.

  “As soon as your girl accessed the drive at the safe house, Langley notified me. When we reached the twenty-minute marker and she hadn’t begun uploading the data, I green-lit my guy to take action.”