Turn the Tide

  Too many cooks in the kitchen ruined the dish every time. “Who did you put on her?”

  “Howe Fuller. He’s using his German alias of—”

  “Helmut Fuchs.” Sanborn knew the former asset.

  Images of hellish torture flashed in his mind. Most of the Company’s interrogators and cleaners were good, decent people who used compartmentalization, sessions with the Agency therapist, or too much booze to handle the ugliness of the business. Most lasted two or three years before rotating to something else.

  Howe Fuller, a twisted man who had no conscience, showed no mercy, and had been a cleaner for a decade before the CIA fired him. He was the personification of evil, and Lee had unleashed him on Ashley.

  Sanborn’s palms itched. “There’s a sanitation team in play. Early.”

  “They were cleaning up in Munich. We need to be the only ones who have this. We can’t have BioGenApex re-creating it.” He drained his glass and poured another two fingers of Glenmorangie Grand Vintage Malt. “They’re in Berlin now. With Howe.”

  This wasn’t a wrench thrown in the works—it was a whole toolbox tossed into the game. “This violates our agreement.”

  “The president is worried about who she’s talked to, whether she’s shown anyone what’s on the drive. Everyone who’s been in contact with her is a liability. To calm his nerves, I authorized the team to mop up things early.”

  Sanborn bristled but pasted on the perilously soft smile of a man who measured his words before speaking and poured his will into winning. “I won’t abide it. These are my people.” And he would do whatever was necessary to protect them.

  Lee’s ruddy complexion deepened in color. “The girl betrayed you. What do you care if she catches a bullet in the back of the head?”

  “She’s mine. I’ll deal with her as I see fit.” He’d eviscerate her with words, fire her, banish her. Not have her cleaned. “The rest of my team isn’t a liability. You would have the drive by now if you hadn’t interfered. I won’t let anything happen to them.”

  No one jeopardized the lives of his people arbitrarily. Ash was still his until he knew why she went rogue, and Logan had never stopped being family.

  Lee frowned, relaxing his once-lean body. “The president is standing up a new agency. A 9/11 initiative that’s taken well over a decade to bring to fruition.”

  “Relevance here?” Annoyance seeped into his tone.

  “It’s something special, a radical approach. Totally off-the-books with a deep, black budget never meant to see daylight. Freedom to operate on foreign and domestic soil. Beholden to no other agency, no oversight council of politicians unqualified to weigh in on covert operations, bypassing the bureaucratic red tape. Tip of the spear. Nothing else like it. We’re calling it the Gray Box.”

  Intelligence and direct action rolled into one organization without the territorial quibbling between the CIA and DoD was precisely what the republic required to fight the new war on terror—necessary but dangerous. That type of agency could only be created by skirting the United States Constitution.

  Gut instinct told Sanborn everything was about to go sideways. He braced himself, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it did.

  “Ellery had lunch with MoneyPenny.” An old nickname that Penny had never found amusing. “I hear you’re retiring. But this situation presents an opportunity for us to help one another.”

  This was an ambush, long in the making—Ellery had lunch with Penny a month ago—and he’d walked right into it. Foolish Ashley had unwittingly provided Lee a golden opportunity.

  “The president wants someone so fluid with black ops they know when to use a scalpel and when to bust out the sledgehammer. He wants a meat-eater,” Lee said, a term referring to a person with Special Forces experience on missions that’d been violent and bloody. “It’s a lot of power, enough to corrupt the wrong man. A solid moral compass is a prerequisite. The president and I only trust you to handle it. We get the thumb drive, and you agree to five years running the Gray Box. Groom a successor, maybe Knox. I’ll convince the president to spare your guys.”

  After Sanborn lost his son, he’d tried to fill the hole with the brave, honorable people under his charge. Those closest to him knew his ferocious loyalty to his team.

  Lee knew.

  Sacrifice came with the life Sanborn had chosen, but five years to save them—hell, six months—would snip the tenuous strings of his marriage.

  “She’ll leave me,” he said. “If I don’t retire in June, she’ll divorce me.”

  “MoneyPenny will stick by you.” Lee, twice divorced and on his third wife, waved a dismissive hand. “I’m offering you an empire. Handing you a crown. What you’ve always wanted.”

  Lee was too blind to see the difference between wanting the ability to get a tough job done and being power-hungry. Sanborn had never wanted to rule an empire, only to safeguard the nation and keep his people breathing, something that had always taken priority over Penny.

  She’d given him twenty-three years and a beautiful boy killed serving his country. Endured his sudden vanishing acts and his double life filled with secrets he couldn’t share. In return, he’d given her sleepless nights worrying if he was dead or alive, the chore of caring for his team, the burden of holding a spouse’s hand as they arranged funerals, the heartache of attending their kids’ birthday parties reminding her she was a mother who no longer had a child.

  They were supposed to travel the world, start a new chapter that they defined together.

  “Penny bought a house in St. Barts.”

  Lee gave him an incredulous stare. “What the fuck are you going to do in St. Barts? Go stir-crazy after a week? If Penny leaves you, maybe it’s for the best.” He waved his glass around as if conducting an orchestra. “You need a woman with a job and life of her own who won’t bust your balls out of boredom. Not a debutante who was born with a silver spoon in her mouth and thinks charity work is real work.”

  Penny always suspected Lee was jealous of him. Envious he’d earned a full scholarship to Harvard, made monogamy an idyllic inspiration, kept his former commando physique in defiance of age, and had a skill for this dark art others sought to use. There were plenty of wheeling-and-dealing privileged Lees in the world, but only one Bruce Sanborn.

  She’d warned him one day Lee’s benevolent acts and platitudes would come back to bite Sanborn on the butt. Well, that day had arrived.

  “You have a gift. A scary, crazy gift for covert ops.” Lee’s cheeks were beet-red from the alcohol and proselytizing. “Talent such as yours is a terrible thing to waste. Say yes to the kingdom I’m offering. Be the hero and save your folks. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To save them?”

  Sanborn’s gaze fell to the tumbler locked in his death grip. Astonishing the crystal hadn’t shattered. He set the glass on the desk, scotch sloshing. Slipping his hands in his pockets to keep from throttling Lee, he went to stand in front of an oil painting, but only saw the face of Penny. They’d fallen head over heels for each other so fast.

  Lee was still wheedling in the background, but Sanborn heard Penny’s lilting laugh, saw her smile brighter than sunshine.

  The days they’d never share, the promises he’d never keep, the dreams they’d never fulfill together—the nights she’d spend comforted by another—stretched inside him like a yawning grave.

  “I need you.” Lee’s voice was sharp with urgency. “Someone I trust, who’ll do the right thing with the Gray Box. Your conscience would be the compass with full authority to deny any mission. Think of the good you could do free from the Agency. I know how displeased you’ve been with them since you lost your boy. Such a shame, real tragedy what happened to him.”

  On his son’s first CIA mission, fresh out of college, wet behind the ears—

  No. Don’t think of it. He wouldn’t let Lee use his son’s death against
him too.

  “I have the ear of the president and Howe on speed dial. I can fix this situation for your people like that.” Lee snapped his fingers. “It’s a no-brainer.”

  Penny never faulted him for channeling his fatherly affection onto his team. She would understand why he had to make this choice. Even forgive him for it. And she’d leave nonetheless to have a life with someone who’d put her first.

  “If my people are spared…I’ll do it.” His heart sank into oblivion.

  “Fantastic!” Lee’s boisterous enthusiasm was a slap in the face.

  Sanborn looked over his shoulder. “All my people, including Ashley.”

  “Of course.” Lee’s eyelid twitched as he nodded. The son of a gun was lying. “I’ll speak to Howe—I mean, Helmut while he’s playing this role—but anything that may have already happened doesn’t nullify our agreement.”

  “I’m getting on a plane to Berlin and bringing my team home. If anyone gets in my way, I’ll put two bullets center mass and one in their forehead. Do you understand?”

  “Sure, I get it.” Lee’s eyes darkened. “Guys like us, we’ve got to do what we’ve got to do. Right? But let’s not forget we’re friends.”

  Friends crashed through Sanborn, tumbling in his gut. The contents of his stomach curdled.

  “If you ever interfere with any of my operations again, or deign to send a whitewash team after my people without notifying me first—with justified cause—you and I will not only cease to be friends…” Sanborn let that dagger dangle for a breathless moment. “But I’ll make it my life’s mission to ruin you. Turn you into fodder for the vultures of the media and watch them pick your bones clean.”

  Lee flinched, his tan, red face blanching. He gulped the rest of his scotch like it was a glass of courage, met Sanborn’s gaze, and nodded.

  Chapter 10

  Berlin, Germany

  Sunday, March 6, 12:05 p.m. CET

  The history-stained Reichstag loomed in front of Logan. He looked up at the building that resembled a small castle, where the Nazis had made their last stand in WWII.

  Where he would make his stand to get Ashley back.

  Sunlight winked across the striking glass and steel dome, reflecting a prism of color. He climbed the stone steps alone to the entrance of the building, home of German parliament.

  A vigorous security check and droves of visitors at this popular tourist attraction made it the perfect public spot for the exchange. Advanced registration for entry was required, which Logan had done online. Whoever took Ash would have to show an ID and wouldn’t be able to bring weapons inside.

  If Glasses attempted a double cross, security would respond in seconds at the first peep of gunfire, and the German police would swarm in minutes. Neither side wanted such attention.

  He took the elevator to the expansive roof terrace. The breeze resembled something of spring with a kiss of warmth. He strolled inside the dome and ascended the multilevel spiraled walkway to the apex. A dazzling inverted cone of mirrors shimmered in the natural light in the center of the dome, with the helical ramp coiled around it.

  Parliament held court several stories below.

  He glazed over the spectacular three-hundred-sixty-degree view of the city, too focused on the positions Mike and Ethan had taken up outside. One close by on the ground. The other taking a higher vantage point with a sniper rifle trained on the entrance.

  Knox was probably having a conniption wondering where they were. His assistance on this would’ve been good—four men versus three—but he never would’ve gone for the trade.

  Logan chose a view of a park with the TV tower in the background as the position to make his stand. He rubbed the tense muscles at the back of his neck. Minutes ticked by. During the nerve-racking wait, he visualized getting through this. A future with Ash. Making her his wife, if she was serious about having him.

  You really are an idiot. Her words warmed his heart. She was serious and did love him.

  They just had to get through this alive.

  “They’re here,” Mike said over the wireless comms device in his ear. “Eyes on Ashley. Good God.” The horror in Mike’s voice chilled his blood. “Don’t freak, Logan.”

  His pulse ramped up, throbbing in his veins. Discreetly, he lifted his wrist to his mouth. “What do you mean?”

  “They worked her over. It’s not pretty. Don’t lose it when you see her. Better yet, don’t even look at her. Stick to the plan. Two are going inside with her.”

  “We agreed on one,” Logan said.

  “Yeah, well, if they’re reneging on that, more’s to come. I’ve got two more out here.”

  “I count four more,” Ethan said.

  Logan pictured Mount Everest. He’d climbed it once to prove to himself that he could—clawed up one foot in front of the other to the top, right before he joined the Agency. On his toughest assignments, no matter what he encountered, he channeled Everest.

  Formidable. Brutal. Cold. Immovable.

  He needed to remember how to be Everest. For Ash.

  Two men were on either side of Ash, coming up the flat helical walkway. Huge sunglasses covered half of her bruised face, and she wore different clothes.

  Bracing to see her up close, he stared at Glasses, focusing on his milk-of-magnesia-colored skin and russet-brown hair, reining in the urge to smash his skull.

  Everest. I am Everest.

  They stopped a few feet away, and Logan looked up at her face.

  His heart locked in his chest. His whole body contracted painfully. She had her head lowered in a docile manner, looking broken with no will left to fight. His Ash was always up to argue, debate. She was the most willful, determined person he knew—or had been until she fell into that man’s clutches. What had they done to her?

  Icy anger roared through him with the same force as the one-hundred-mile-per-hour winds that battered the summit of the tallest mountain in the world.

  “I need to authenticate the product,” Glasses said in perfect unaccented English, holding out his unbruised hand.

  He hadn’t been the one to beat Ashley, but Glasses was responsible for her suffering.

  Logan pulled the thumb drive they’d found in the altar of the only St. Jude Thaddeus church from his pocket and handed it over.

  Glasses opened a laptop and stuck the drive in. Smiling, he typed something on the keyboard. Then he handed the computer to the other guy. “Übertragen. Zehn minuten.”

  The man nodded, taking the laptop. Glasses whipped out a gun with an attached suppressor. Slipping a wool scarf from around his neck, he draped it over the weapon and held the 9mm low, pointed at Ashley’s side.

  Logan controlled his breathing, steadied his pulse, sharpened his focus.

  There was no reaction from Ash, no cringe, no flinch, no sign anything registered. Was she drugged? She still hadn’t moved, besides the slight rise and fall of her chest.

  He looked back at the outline of the gun, the muzzle jabbed into her ribs. His gaze dipped lower. Then he saw it, Ashley’s hands clenched into his fists, the faint tightness in the set of her mouth, her eyes trained on the laptop’s screen.

  She was thinking. And waiting. Planning to do something.

  Whatever it was, he needed to give her an opening.

  “How did you get that past security?” Logan gestured to the gun.

  Glasses flashed a BfV badge. His smile broadened. “The intelligence service walks on water here.”

  The robust security of this place was utterly useless to Logan and Ashley now. The guards wouldn’t touch Glasses.

  “The agreement was we’re free to go,” Logan said, “after you had the drive and verified it.”

  “You’re free to hit the bricks whenever you like.”

  Such an American expression for a BfV officer, thought Logan.

&n
bsp; “But not her.”

  The sudden chill of fear was like an ice cube slipping down Logan’s spine. He’d die before leaving her behind. They were going to get out of this together somehow. They had to.

  Logan dropped his calm facade and stormed forward. The gun swung away from her toward him.

  At the same time, Ashley lunged as if snapping out of a spell, snatched the thumb drive from the USB port of the laptop, and took off down the ramp.

  Glasses spun in her direction with the H&K raised. Logan grabbed the collar of his jacket and jerked him into his companion with all his might.

  Both men stumbled, off-balance.

  Glasses was the biggest threat, even though he wasn’t the larger of the two. Logan seized the man’s gun arm and spun into him out of the line of fire, putting his back to Glasses’s chest. He knocked the weapon free, rammed an elbow into the man’s ribs, then followed through with a vicious back fist. Glasses pinwheeled from the double blow and crashed to the floor.

  People screamed, scattering away from the mayhem.

  Whirling, Logan kicked the second man in the torso. The guy careened into the steel balustrade with such force he toppled over the side. As he grabbed hold of the railing to keep from falling, the laptop flew into the air, spinning and spinning before it plummeted.

  Glasses leapt up, grabbing the gun, and raced down the walkway after Ash.

  Logan took off behind him, but the wiry man was quick and the distance between them stretched.

  “Two black sedans stopped out front,” Mike said over comms in his ear. “Government plates. My guess is BfV.”

  Just now showing up? If Glasses was really BfV, his backup would’ve already been here. But if he wasn’t with the German intelligence officers outside…then who were these guys?

  ***

  Berlin, Germany

  Sunday, March 6, 12:45 p.m. CET

  Ashley bolted off the elevator and dashed outside onto the landing of the stone steps. The freezing wind snapped at her face, and she drew in a lungful of crisp air.