He stared directly, unaffected. “Not without alerting the perpetrator we were trying to identify.”
She featured tightened. “You bastard. Noble is the priority.”
“It isn’t my call.”
She was damn tired of that answer. “Think that’s a get out of jail free card? Don’t. He’s in the hands of a trained killer, and you have the nerve to act like it’s someone else’s problem? It’s all yours, Ross. I want that number and a name.” Though she didn’t know what she’d do with it, she had friends who did.
“I can’t reveal what I don’t know.”
“Then I’ll get it.” She held up the clean phone. “I want to talk to him. Today.”
His eyes rounded. “Out of the question. You know the rules.”
Screw the rules. “Perhaps I wasn’t clear about the gravity of this.” She swallowed, searching for calm and professionalism. “Your lies have put us here, Ross, and now people are dead. There are no more rules. The agency has the killer’s number and I suggest you share it and start tracking because without Noble’s knowledge or that translation, we may never understand this. Millions already spent, innocent people killed, and nothing? The boss will be angry and I want it to be with you.” Getting him in the money belt was the quickest route. Her only concern was Noble.
His brows knit, and he took too long to answer.
“Well?”
“I’ll arrange it when you get back here.”
“Not good enough.” She cut the line, and sat back, then took a slow deep breath before she jumped to her feet. “He is such an asshole.”
“He’s a government guy. What do you expect?”
“The truth.” She met his gaze. “Maybe to give a damn? Noble is missing, they’re all presuming he’s dead. Would you want anyone to give up on you?”
“Of course not, but they have the skills and manpower to find him. We don’t.”
She eyed him. “You underestimate yourself, DeGama.”
He frowned, looking a little afraid. “Olivia. No. We have a project that’s on a time clock.”
“So is Noble’s life.” She shot him a hard look. “We need leverage to help him. Use your skills. Get the big guy on the line.”
For a second, his features pulled so smooth, he looked like a teenager. “No. He scares me.”
“Man up and do it.” Then she strode to the cockpit and opened the cabin door. “Change of plans, guys.” The pilot and navigator twisted to look at her, frowning. “When we get to England, hang a left.”
FOUR
The Pentagon
1300 hours
Mitch Beckham wondered when his life turned into little more than being a janitor for his country. He couldn’t recall the last time he had a day off, or a conversation that didn’t involve national security. And forget about sex, he thought, navigating the halls of the Pentagon. Not even some wild, no-commitment fun sex. It left him irritated and a bit resigned as he entered the E ring and walked the long corridor to General Gerardo’s offices. The newly promoted three-star wasn’t going to be happy. Guess I should have just died to finish off this FUBAR mission. His black eye and broken nose said it all. And those were the obvious signs.
Mentally bracing himself for an ass chewing, he pushed through the polished door. The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee greeted him, and when the general’s admin chief saw him, she immediately picked up the phone to alert Gerardo.
“He’s expecting you, Major, but he has a guest. It will only be a moment, sir.”
She left her desk, and Mitch admired one of the hottest bodies in the Corps as she slipped past him to the silver coffee service. He deserved a smack in the head for imagining her in less uniform, he thought as she poured a cup, added a hint of cream, then offered the mug handle out.
“Have I been here that often you know how I take my coffee, Staff Sergeant?” He accepted the mug.
“It’s Gunnery Sergeant now,” she said, and he noticed the second rocker on her sleeve. “And yes, you have.”
He gave her a quick punch on her chevrons, and she arched a brow. “Wuss.”
“I figured you might be sore.” “Pinning” on a new rank was a painful tradition when the bars and chevrons were secured with metal spikes like on BDU collars. He had vampire bites, double holes in his collarbone from fellow marines smashing his lieutenant’s bars at his first wet-down. Then the Gunny lifted her short sleeve. Her upper arm was deep purple. He whistled softly. “You have lots of mean friends.”
“Love taps, and I punch back.” She smiled like the cover of a Playboy and sat behind her desk. “Sir.”
He took a seat, laying his briefcase aside to enjoy the coffee. “Thank you, Gunny.” He cupped the thick mess hall mug. “Ahh, it’s the little things I missed most.”
She arched a brow, but knew better than to inquire further. “Low threshold of excitement, I suppose.”
Mitch smiled.
“Welcome back, Major.”
“Thanks, Gunny. Good to be here.” To be anywhere. Let’s see…slowly rotting to death in a dark room, or quickly incinerated in an explosion? Not a tough choice, but he was glad he didn’t have to make it. All hail Dragon One, he saluted with a generous sip. They had great timing. That prison closet was a lousy end to a two-month hunt for Price’s and Kincade’s assets. Considering Adam Kincade had betrayed his country under the guidance of a truly conniving deputy director, Lania Price, the CIA was trying to plug a lot of holes. Mitch got some of the cleanup duty. Nasty work. He’d rather fight Taliban than deal with the assets of traitors. Taliban, he could predict. Former CIA with too much knowledge were impossible to trace.
Price dropped classified material in dangerous hands to see who’d bite, but Kincade was even dirtier. He used outside assets against their own people, undermined agents by withholding intel, and even sold confiscated Chinese weapons to an arms dealer. Their past assignments had to be dissected, one by one, and Mitch took it personally that Kincade did his best to kill Safia Troy. No, Donovan now. Mercs had a place, sheltering a load to a military already stretched thin, but Dragon One didn’t exactly obey the rules. Safia wouldn’t marry just anyone, he admitted. Riley had guts, no doubt about that, and part of him was a little jealous she let anyone that close because she shut him down, A-sap.
The door opened, and his Charlies were nearly a casualty as he stood abruptly. Gunny snickered, and he eyed her, setting the mug aside. Gerardo appeared, a civilian in a suit beside him. They shook hands and the man departed quickly, not sparing a glance. Mitch recognized him. An NSA geek, but couldn’t recall his name. Gerardo inclined his head and didn’t wait for him as he followed inside and closed the door.
“You screwed the pooch, Major.”
“Yes, sir. I did.”
“I read the preliminary, give me the details.” Gerardo slid behind the desk and leaned back in the chair. Leather creaked. “Now, Major.”
The ass chewing cometh, he thought, taking a seat. “I met with the asset in Gorzky and he arranged a meeting with the man named Agar in North Ossetia.” He glanced up. “My plan was to buy anything they offered. When I hinted at the schematics, they got jittery.”
“You should have closed up shop and left, Major.”
“Yes, sir. I’m aware.” Painfully.
“We can’t confirm Price stole the German schematics herself,” Gerardo said. “But her Cayman accounts say she made a profit. NSA can trace the money trail only so far, then it falls off the earth.”
He frowned. NSA couldn’t find it? Jesus. “That’s some creative financing.” The general agreed and motioned him to continue. “I pursued Agar, a former KGB informant, to Shatoy and met him in a restaurant. I was unaware of the mafia involvement.” Only his gaze shifted up. “They owned the place. One man they called Vlad, a supposed ex KGB official, arrived and everything changed. He’s angry, they’re not even talking to me, and guns come out. I escaped, tried to get to the Georgian border, and was taken prisoner when a villager gave me up. The in
terrogation was short, creative though. They wanted to know who sent me, what I knew.” Same shit, different day, he thought. “When they didn’t get anything, they left me there. With Vince Mills strapped to a large IED, apparently.” He looked up, closing the file he didn’t need to reference. “My guards were mafia hitters. From the tattoos, they’d done time. All executed while still armed.”
Gerardo’s features pulled tight. “That’s a big sweep.”
“No witnesses leaves no connections. I never saw Mills until after Max Renfield and Sebastian Fontenòt released me.”
“You’re lucky they did.”
“Yes, sir. Very.” He’d take the scolding, he deserved it.
“Dragon One’s involvement other than the rescue?” Gerardo flipped through his copy of the reports.
“No, sir. Not that they’ll tell me. They’re pissed.”
“We shut them down, that’s expected. I’m not fond of using mercs, ever, but they got the job done.” He gave him a stinging look that sent Mitch’s shoulders back.
“They would have persued.” Mitch was certain of it. He would have. “Do you want to bring them into this?”
“God no, they’ve cleaned up enough dirty laundry.” Gerardo scribbled on a note pad. “They know about the schematics?”
“No sir. I have Dragon One’s intel. They feel the kidnapping was for the sonar and a cleanup. You disagree?”
“No, but I don’t have the whole story yet.”
Neither did he. Lania Price covered her back like the pro she was and chasing down intel this old was nearly impossible. Searching for who had their hands on the classified German technology and what they did with it led him in different directions. The United States needed to be prepared for the possibility that whoever paid for the stolen plans built the horizontal launching system for ICBM missiles. For him, it was a given. The question driving him was, what did they build it in?
“Sir. Mills was convinced his kidnapping was a mistake, that they were after his wife for a listening-post transmissions. But anyone hunting intelligence has to know a former employee couldn’t access anything. Pass codes are individual and would be outdated. Even the storage system has changed since last year. Sorry, sir, but I don’t get the connection.”
Gerardo rolled a quarter over his knuckles, watching, then suddenly flicked his wrist and caught it in his palm. “I think Dragon One intervened faster than Mills’s kidnappers. We put up the money, but they had his family under protection before the kidnappers could work on his wife. Double threat. One will talk to save the other.”
He needed to learn to roll a quarter. “Neither had anything to offer that’s a threat, sir. Mills’s Navy career is long over. I don’t believe it’s significant, beyond the loss of the sonar.”
Gerardo shook his head, straightening in his chair. “You’re not thinking of what Vince or Anna Mills might have heard.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but that’s one helluva long shot. Does anyone remember what they heard someone else say over three years ago?” He could barely recall his last conversation with his family.
“I’m aware,” Gerardo said, not looking enthusiastic either. “But reviewing every transmission on Anna Mills’s watch gives us thousands of possibilities.”
And a lot of work, even with the parameters narrowed. “Why didn’t we go after this guy, sir?”
“Because you were in the same soup, MIA, and Lania Price isn’t cooperating.”
Mitch’s features tightened. Letting the guy die because he was on another op nearby was not a good strategy. “Intel that Dragon One was launching a rescue should have been passed to me. I could have done something. They had to have put Mills there before my meet with the asset, sir. If I’d known, I might have—”
Gerardo stopped him with a wave. “Don’t go there. We had our reasons. The priority was to keep you alive and this quiet.”
Considering he was staring death in the chops till D-1 showed up, that plan was a failure, and Mitch shouldered the guilt. He grabbed a file from his briefcase, offering it. “Maybe these will give us something. Pictures.”
Gerardo took it, looking surprised. “How the hell did you get these out of the country?”
He smiled. “Google mail. During my escape. That’s fifty-eight miles northwest of that meeting. I know they’re not great. I was evading. I sent them a second after I took them, then tossed the phone in the river before they captured me.” God. Just saying that stuck in his throat. He consoled himself that he was outnumbered and outgunned, but it didn’t soothe his pride. “Look carefully, sir.” He leaned, pointed to the photo that was a close-up of the rugged terrain, the river. His fingertip followed a hazy gray line. “That’s a damn straight line for being underwater.”
Gerardo drew his lamp closer, peering. “It angles. Looks thicker and taller nearer the mountain. A retaining wall?”
“I thought that, too. During pursuit, I paralleled the military convoy road toward Georgia. Or what’s left of it after two wars.” Shelled often like slaps from Mother Russia. “If there was anything to find, it’s destroyed now.”
Gerardo looked up from scrutinizing the photos. “The MiG. We got it.”
“Did Deep Six note the MiG dropped those on the return trip to Russian airspace?” Gerardo scowled. “I saw the release before the MiG was nothing but jet wash on the other side of the mountain. Probably killed twenty thousand people and wiped whatever was there off the map. The chopper was out of range when it hit. Dragon One didn’t notice.”
Gerardo scoffed. “Don’t count on it, Major.”
“Roger that, sir. Also when I was evading, on the Chechen side, I noticed the unpaved roads to that area weren’t rutted by military trucks. Too narrow a wheel span. All farm trucks, oxcarts.”
Gerardo lifted his gaze. “You don’t think they built it.”
Mitch shook his head. “A launching system isn’t small. We’d have seen something. The invasion of Georgia, the Chechen war, they could use the chaos to hide a facility in the mountain, but they also risked a bomb hitting. If they built it, then their cover-up is better than we’ve ever managed. My contacts inside Moscow say no. No troops, nothing.”
“And we tell them everything? Christ. I feel like I’m sitting here with my thumb up my ass,” Gerardo muttered, scrutinizing the photos, and Beckham wondered what he hoped to see. Finally, he gave up. “Send them to David Lorimer. He can go back and compare with sat imagery. Maybe we’re just looking in the wrong place.”
“Roger that, sir.” This whole case felt off track, but he kept that to himself. He didn’t have anything to back it up. Just a hunch and a lot of unanswered questions. “Orders, sir?”
Gerardo looked up, scrutinized him. “Stay in Deep Six and heal up, Major. You’re scaring the locals.”
Mitch smiled, then winced. His lip was split enough to need stitches. He was glad the general didn’t force him on leave. It brought too many questions he couldn’t answer.
“Immediately,” Gerardo said. “Dismissed.”
Mitch stood, saluted, and was at the door when the general said, “Glad you made it back alive, Mitch. I didn’t want to have to call your parents.”
“Thanks for holding off, sir.” Now he had some Russians to find.
Rossnowlagh, Ireland
Olivia drove in a wide berth around the little cottage, avoiding the neighbors and notice, but only getting a glimpse at the front before she circled behind the little Tudor house. No sign of anyone near. Nothing had changed since she saw it last.
“The police should have been here by now,” she said to Cruz on the other end of the phone. She wasn’t that far ahead after landing, renting this car, and finding a hotel to leave Cruz’s pansy butt behind. Not that he’d consider joining her. He had the backbone of licorice. She left her car in the glen, staring up at the back of the little house. “No police tape on the back door either,” she said, adjusting the wireless earpiece.
“All the more reason to stay back. Go
d, Olivia, what is it with you and authority figures?” Cruz said, his voice crisp in her ear.
With four older brothers? “We butt heads,” she said. “Agent Ross is very good at what he does, but he’s not my authority.”
“Tell him that. He’s called no less than four times.”
“Convince him to turn my old phone back on. If the kidnapper has Noble’s phone but no translation, then he’d contact us.” She needed to find something to barter with to get Noble back. She hoped for his flash drive copy of the translation so far.
“He won’t go for it and that’s if they really want it. You’re convinced Noble didn’t have the translation.”
“If he did, then why kill anyone connected to him for it?”
Witnesses dead or comatose were a pretty good testimony to how far these people were willing to go for the translation. Her conviction over that floundered constantly, but she couldn’t think of any reason to go after Noble. It’s all he’d been doing for the last months. For her. No, the leak was on her side. At least it was small group, but how anyone learned about the Irish translation or where Noble was at that precise time—well, she hadn’t figured that out yet. She really needed to talk to her director. He wouldn’t like this either, she thought as she neared the cottage, her legs burning from the climb up the hillside. She reached the back door. No footprints and the grass could use a trim, she thought as she flattened against the wall.
She inched toward the window, and felt incredibly vulnerable without a decent weapon, but couldn’t get one through West Knock or Enniskillen airport customs. She didn’t have time for Ross to make arrangements. Not that he would. This jaunt was unsanctioned, as Cruz called it. That never stopped her before, she thought, withdrawing the knife she bought in Ballyshannon. She rolled her eyes and ripped off the price tag. Amateur. An instant later, she heard a loud crash, then another.
Damage Control Page 7