Consummate Betrayal

by Yungeberg. Mary

  Chad waited a few moments, watching the changing emotions, still holding the phone at his friend’s ear. “You finished?”

  Rowan dragged empty eyes to meet his and replied in a weary voice. “Yeah, I’m sorry. Thanks for your help. If you don’t mind, I’m going to check out for a while. It’s been a long day already.” With that, his soon to be ex-colleague closed his eyes and appeared to drift immediately to sleep.

  * * *

  Doctor Steve Anderson sat in his tiny office, gathering his file on Rowan Milani. His sister Georgia had called from northwest South Dakota. She lived with her husband Frank on a 20,000 acre, windswept ranch abutting the Cheyenne River Indian Reservation, where they raised cattle and buffalo. Shaking his head, he smiled to himself. To him, it was the middle of nowhere, but they called it God’s Country and loved it. A couple times a year he visited, usually for a prairie dog shooting party, but only in the summer. Winters were brutal.

  Georgia was a registered nurse and Frank a retired surgeon who’d served as an Army doctor in Desert Storm. Now they operated a medical clinic on the edge of the reservation. Georgia wanted copies of all the information he had, all the tests they had done, as well as the CT scan on special agent Milani. In addition to nursing, his sister freelanced for a disparate group of magazines. She planned to research what had happened to his patient while in CIA custody for a possible magazine article.

  The CT scan results lying on his desk caught his eye and he lifted the top film to the light, squinting at the images. No, it couldn’t be, they wouldn’t have missed that, would they? He shoved his glasses up and concentrated, realizing with dismay that according to his own CT scan, Rowan Milani had torn rotator cuffs in not one, but both shoulders. Why hadn’t he complained about the pain? It had been over a month and the man had to be suffering. Clutching the film in his hand, he headed out the door.

  * * *

  Rowan lay with his eyes closed, body rigid. When he’d told Ralph and Chad it would be forty-eight hours before he could be extracted by his colleagues, he hadn’t known what had already transpired. Michael had been beside himself. Why the hell haven’t you called? You have no idea the mess you’re in. The Imams on the Islamic websites are issuing fatwas calling for your public beheading. Muusa Shemal has those two CIA agents in his back pocket. They’re going to execute an extraordinary rendition right here on American soil and send you to Torah Prison in Egypt. Then the Muslim Brotherhood plans to auction your sorry ass to the highest bidder.

  We’re already in Sioux Falls. We’ve been here for three days getting organized and it’s going down tonight. The CIA is going to take you, but we’ll be there. It won’t happen like they think. We’ve reconnoitered and we have our own plan in place, so be ready, my brother.

  While he lay there sweating and thinking about extraordinary rendition, Egyptian prisons and beheading, he shivered. What if the CIA agents got there before Michael and Gabriel expected them? Ainsley had told Ralph the CIA planned to move him in two days, but he must have been lying. Was Ainsley in collusion with the CIA or with Muusa Shemal? He didn’t know and he’d never been more frightened at his complete helplessness.

  A hand touched his shoulder and he started violently, opening his eyes to see Doctor Anderson frowning at him. Concentrating on getting a hold of his crashing emotions, he deliberately slowed his breathing and hoped he could speak. “Doctor Anderson, I’m sorry, I have nightmares sometimes. Did you want something?”

  The doctor looked relieved and then disturbed. “Mr. Milani, I have discovered something we regrettably missed on our first examination the morning you were admitted.” Flourishing what looked to him like some kind of X-ray, Doctor Anderson continued. “You have torn rotator cuffs in both your shoulders. The tear is worse on your right side and it requires surgery. You must be in terrible pain. Can you move your arms or are they too weak?”

  The kindhearted doctor was a distraction he didn’t need. He’d suspected from the stinging pain and the increasing weakness in his arms that he’d injured his shoulders while hanging from the meat hook. “Yes, the pain is noticeable. My arms are fairly weak, but I figured it would diminish over time.”

  Doctor Anderson shook his head. “Unfortunately, this pain is not going to diminish. I’d like to schedule surgery for tomorrow morning to repair the tear on your right shoulder. We should have caught this much earlier and I apologize.”

  Gazing with no interest at the doctor, he nodded. “Tomorrow morning sounds fine and no apology is necessary.” Affecting a tired smile, he closed his eyes, not caring whether the doctor stayed or left.

  * * *

  With burgeoning dread, Rowan watched as Ralph and Chad walked into his room late in the afternoon. Ralph looked at him and frowned. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s going on? Care to enlighten us?”

  He shot them both an implacable stare. “Here’s what’s going to happen tonight. I don’t know what time, but probably when the hospital calms down, when they think we’ll be most vulnerable…”

  Ralph interrupted querulously. “What are you talking about? I thought it would be forty-eight hours before your boys showed up.”

  Frustrated with his friend, he took a breath and started again. “Things have changed. My colleague informed me that Shemal is planning an extraordinary rendition, with complicity from his two thugs. They will deliver me to Torah Prison in Egypt and then turn me over to whichever organization can pay the most. I guess beheading is their goal.” Gazing from Ralph to Chad, he stopped talking. Under other circumstances he would have laughed. Ralph sat in his usual chair, slack-jawed. Chad leaned against the window, his mouth a perfect O.

  “We have to wait and allow them…” Sweat trickled down the side of his face and his stomach rolled. Grimacing, he continued. “We’ll let them take me, but my colleagues are in place. They won’t get far. I’ve been assured of that.”

  Ralph responded first. “Rowan, there is no way I will sit by twiddling my thumbs while all this happens.” The older man paused, an expression of utter horror on his face. “I have seen and felt the results of letting those thugs take you.”

  He looked at Ralph, irony twisting his lips. “I feel your pain, but there isn’t any other option. We’ll play it cool, let them haul me out of here, and my guys will intervene. They’re already in town. They have a rendition of their own all set up.”

  Chad coughed quietly, cleared his throat and added his two cents. “Rowan, with all due respect to what you’ve been through, what Ralph means is this. We’ve lived through the horror of finding you, afterwards.” Chad looked at him, revulsion darkening his face. “Neither of us can allow you to be placed in those same hands again without being involved.”

  Shaking his head, he looked helplessly from Chad to Ralph. “We don’t have any other option. As we covered earlier, I will not allow your careers to be shafted on my account.”

  Chad snorted. “Again – with all due respect, my career is mine to manage as I see fit. Let me second my boss here.” Chad tilted his head in Ralph’s direction. “We will not allow you to be hauled off by those two, ever again.” His friend shoved off the window where he’d been leaning, pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and flipped it open. “Give me the number and let’s call your colleagues. We’ve just joined their team and its best we let them know, before all hell breaks loose around you again.”

  Ralph sent him a triumphant smirk. “You taught him well, Rowan. Now don’t start your stubborn shit with us. Give him the number. We don’t have a minute to waste.”

  Enraged, goaded beyond reason with his inability to make them listen and understand, he shook his head again. They would sacrifice themselves and their careers, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. But then, there wasn’t much he could do about anything. He closed his eyes. If anything happened to either one of them, he couldn’t live with it.

  A feather light hand touched his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looke
d up into Chad’s hard face. “The number Rowan, don’t waste time. We’re in this with you whether you like it or not.”

  Staring intently at Chad, he repeated the number and watched him punch it in. “Just say Ghost Rider, that way they know you’re with me. Then say whatever the hell you want.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Derek stood outside the Operations office of Legacy Airlines on the far side of the airport ramp, enjoying the unusual spring warmth and sharing a smoke with Marta while they watched a glistening white jet taxi noisily down the runway. Turning onto the taxiway, it headed toward the Fixed Base Operator, connected to the commercial area of the airport by a paved one lane road meandering past the control tower to the section of tarmac reserved for private passenger craft.

  He couldn’t help admiring the jet. Its aerodynamic lines and big engines bespoke power and prestige. Who in the world with a jet like that was flying into Sioux Falls, South Dakota? Marta gave him a quizzical look. “What kind of jet is that? It’s gorgeous, and I bet it’s a fast sucker.”

  He nodded. “You bet your butt it is. That’s a brand new Gulfstream G650 and she is damn fast. That baby hits mach point nine-five at full throttle.” He stubbed out his cigarette with his steel-toed boot and wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Want to get a closer look?”

  Marta tossed him a seductive smile, took the last drag on her cigarette and pitched the butt off her fingers. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  He laughed. “Let’s go. I was on my way to baggage claim, but that can wait. Lost bags don’t hold a candle to that.” He jerked his thumb at the jet, which had been parked and chocked, the fuel truck already making its way toward it.

  Marta tapped her watch. “We gotta hurry, though. I’ve got an hour before the next turn gets here. I’m training a new gate agent, so I need to walk him through our procedures before that aircraft arrives.”

  “Sure, that sounds good to me.” Grinning at Marta as they roared and bounced across the tarmac on an ancient tug, minus the baggage carts he’d unhitched, he pulled up and parked next to the main hangar. Gazing reverently at the jet, he watched as two crew members, uniformed in pristine white stepped carefully down the aircraft steps, met by two tree-trunk sized men strolling toward them from the main entrance of the customer lounge.

  Marta gripped his arm and stared at him, eyes wide. “Those two men, see their jackets, can you read the backs? They say Federal Agent, right? I saw them on TV, the morning they took special agent Milani out of that warehouse. I think they’re the CIA agents who arrested him. I remember, because they’re so big. It didn’t make sense that he would give them much trouble.”

  Adjusting the NWA ball cap, Derek squinted at the two men walking across the tarmac. “Yeah, I saw that too. I bet they’re here to transfer him. Wasn’t there an uproar about taking him to D.C., but they couldn’t because of how badly he’d been injured?”

  Marta nodded and gave him a sly smile. “It’s been all over the local news. Does Dani know about this?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Heck if I know. Ever since I told her she shouldn’t be associated with Rowan Milani, she’s given me the cold shoulder. Besides, she spends every spare minute at the hospital.”

  * * *

  Michael Cristo looked at Gabriel Hernandez and nodded. Gathering the brochures they’d been gazing at unseeingly in the customer service lounge, he stood up and stretched. Dressed in casual attire that implied affluence, from the soft, battered leather jackets to the large gold watches and Gucci loafers, he and his colleague appeared as nothing more than two businessmen collaborating on the flight services offered to well-heeled travelers. Sketching a vague wave at the customer service staff, he and Gabriel headed out of the building to the parking lot and into their rented Dodge Durango.

  One hand on the wheel, he kept the Durango at a controlled distance as they followed the black Suburban in late afternoon traffic. The two men in the front seat dwarfed the two sitting in the back. No wonder Rowan had been on a stretcher. Watching the debacle on TV, he’d known that his friend was in deeper trouble than if he’d been in a hostile country. Shaking his head, he glanced at Gabriel. His companion looked grim. “So what do you think? Those two are the jerks who damn near killed Rowan.”

  Gabriel stared at the black Suburban for a moment longer and then turned his way. “Amigo, don’t let me get carried away tonight, eh? After what they did to Rowan, in my book they don’t deserve to live. It will be difficult not to break their necks.”

  He scratched the back of his head and gave Gabriel a sideways glance. “And therein lies our problem. Some enemies, you just can’t kill to get away from, and that kind usually has considerable reach…such as the CIA and FBI.”

  Gabriel frowned, but didn’t reply. Instead, he cracked his knuckles and slid lower in the seat. Smiling to himself, he hoped Gabriel got the chance to mete out some justice to the two CIA agents. But now, he needed to concentrate. They were here to deliver Rowan out of the hands of the FBI, CIA and the crazy Egyptian who’d started the whole mess, and they would accomplish that, no problem.

  Waiting for his friend to call, he and Gabriel had grown frantic, compiling damning information and intelligence from numerous sources inside and out of the country. Muusa Shemal intended to remove Rowan permanently and had expended great effort and many dollars in the insane venture. Well, they’d make damn certain their friend disappeared. He snorted softly. The crazy bastard would never find Rowan and they’d make sure he remained safe.

  Digging in his jacket pocket, he retrieved his phone. He needed to call their flight crew to tell them about the jet they’d be piloting later in the evening. Jerry Reynolds and Bryan DeMuth would be ecstatic. The two pilots, along with him and Gabriel comprised the elite support team that backed Rowan on covert assassinations. Together the five of them had safely completed many clandestine operations.

  Jerry and Bryan had served together in the Air Force and were still partners, sharing ownership of a company they called Business Jet Express. The two men had flown thousands of hours in Gulfstream and Learjet aircraft and he knew they’d have a blast flying the aircraft he’d just seen. The Gulfstream G650 was the crown jewel of the CIA’s fleet. He figured the jet would be a nice gift to Rowan from the CIA for their complicity in destroying his life.

  * * *

  Ralph looked up as Doctor Anderson stepped into Rowan’s room. The doctor looked uneasily from Rowan to Chad and then focused on him. “Ralph, I received a disturbing phone call just minutes ago. Do I understand correctly that Mr. Milani is going to be transferred to Quantico Marine Base this evening by the CIA, at the request of the president?”

  Casting a sardonic glance at Chad, Ralph addressed the doctor. “Steve, nothing surprises me anymore. We’ve been laboring under the apparently false assumption that transport would take place later in the week.”

  The doctor stared, a look of dismay on his face. “I spoke with Mr. Milani earlier. We discussed the fact that he needs surgery – soon.”

  Ralph raised his hands. “What – another surgery? Did I miss something here?” What a surprise that Rowan would keep quiet about something he needed.

  Steve nodded at him, urgency in his eyes. “Yes, he tore both rotator cuffs during the, uh…accident and he needs surgery right away.”

  He shot the doctor a rueful look. “I’m sorry, but that’s not going to happen. My hands are tied on this one.”

  Steve appeared nonplussed, frowned at him and then turned to Rowan. “Mr. Milani, it has been my pleasure to treat you and help in even a small way with your recovery. I wish… Well, I hope for the very best for you in the future.” Before any of them could reply, the doctor turned and walked out the door.

  * * *

  Rowan closed his eyes as the doctor left, the kind words only increasing his frustration. Ralph and Chad were stupid and stubborn. They had no right to endanger their lives and careers on his behalf. He’d nev
er been angrier at either of them. This kind of situation often spun out of control, and anything could happen. He needed to prepare his mind, but he was consumed with worry for his colleagues. Ralph and Chad conferred quietly and then he heard them leave and shut the door.

  As the door closed, he opened his eyes and gazed bleakly out the window, catching the glow of the sinking sun and wispy clouds tinged pastel pink and blue. Turning away, he coughed. His chest hurt and chills wracked his body. In spite of his rage, or maybe because of the energy it drained from his body, he drifted off to sleep. When he woke, street lights gleamed in the darkness beyond the window. His chest hurt worse, he was sweaty with a fever, and his teeth chattered.

  Lying helpless in the hospital bed, he waited with shivering apprehension until he heard heavy footsteps approaching. The door opened and closed, the light switched on and the two hulking agents grinned at him. They wore their navy blue Federal Agent jackets, CIA credentials prominently displayed. Fierce hatred overwhelmed him as he struggled with the specter of the two men who had cost him so much. Lucien stood next to the bed, resting massive hands on the railing, making him shudder.

  Towering over him, the big man glared, malevolence in his eyes. “I hear you need shoulder surgery after our last chat. My colleague needed surgery too, after you shot him.” Lucien reached out and grabbed his right shoulder. Frowning with the effort, the agent prodded until he found the spot he wanted and then dug in hard with strong fingers. Fiery pain shot down his arm. Dizzy, Rowan drew a sharp breath and closed his eyes, back arching as he clenched his jaws to keep from crying out.