by Amy Jarecki
“What the hell is going on?” barked a bald man tying a sash around his bathrobe. “I’m Caleb Gruber, Head of Security.”
“You tell me,” said Mike. “Your power was cut and you’ve got six dead guards out there.”
“We what?”
Henri gestured with her Saint. “You can help us by assembling everyone in the mess hall including employees. We also need a manifest of each person attending this summit.”
Gruber didn’t budge. “And who the hell are you? This convention is top secret.”
“Aye,” said Mike flashing the appropriate credentials. “We have NATO clearance. You were just hit by terrorists. If you dunna cooperate, I’ll assume you are one of them.”
“Jesus.” The man looked stunned.
“No one makes any calls, texts or e-mails until otherwise authorized,” said Henri. “Move!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Henri wasn’t surprised to discover that Thomas Flynn was the only person attending the summit who’d turned up missing. And she knew Omar Fadli and his lackey, Melvut Amri, were behind the kidnapping—suspected kidnapping. She’d requested a download detailing every Nelson bill of lading for the past year. Her computer was running a database query to separate each one by its final destination. There was an outside chance at best but, maybe, just maybe a customer or shipment could be suspicious enough to lead them to Flynn.
Tedious work while operating on too little sleep and too much pain wasn’t a good combination for maintaining a calm exterior. Though she tried. Internally was a different matter. She felt like someone had taken her into the ring and beat the crap out of her. Someone who was as sadistic as Fadli. The bastard was probably hiding somewhere protected by radical militants while he laughed his murderous head off.
But Henri vowed she’d have the last laugh. She didn’t take kindly to being shot just as she didn’t take kindly to spending two years in the pen for a crime she didn’t commit. Exhausted beyond caring, she promised herself not to stop until that man was six feet under. And if Garth wanted to take her off the case, she’d quit.
After establishing an encrypted connection with ICE, she sat beside Mike and faced Asa on the screen. “There was a plane that blew past us. Our pilot said he came out of nowhere. Fox checked it out, but found no flight plan on record—no one should have been within three hundred miles. They were heading due north. See if you can pick anything up on radar, say, six hundred miles out or so.”
“Roger that. Scanning for noncommercial pigeons now—including north, northeast and northwest.”
“How the hell could they have gotten in and out so fast,” Garth asked, the screen filled with his angry face.
Mike shook his head. “If it was the same guys from Arusha, they could have flown in whilst we were driving to Dodoma.”
“The reason doesn’t matter. Flynn is gone and we have to find him.” Henri winced at a jabbing pain in her arm.
“Are you hurt?” Garth demanded like he was about to reach through the screen and strangle her.
“No, sir.”
Mike gave her a look, but said nothing, thank God.
“I want hourly updates until you figure out where they have taken Flynn. Christ, if this gets to the media before we find him, we’ll be facing World War Three.”
“We’re in lockdown here, sir. No cells, no internet.”
“Work fast. We have no time to lose. Over and out.”
“Wait,” said Asa. “Satellites show there are three northbound planes flying noncommercial routes in Eastern Africa.”
Garth grinned. “There you are, Rose. You see why I like technology so much?”
“I never said I didna like it, sir. I just prefer to not to use it in the field.”
“I want to know the destination of each of those flights ASAP,” said Henri clicking on the results of her database search. “Over and out.”
Mike leaned over her shoulder. “What have you got?”
She scrolled. “This is a listing of all ports Nelson has shipped into. Every location on the list should have a representative here—at least someone from their country.”
He scratched his head. “That sounds like a long shot.”
“Have you got a better idea?”
“I’m going to question the rest of the staff. There might be a leak.”
“You going to use profiling?”
“For starters.”
“Hey, ace.” She gave a cheeky wink. “That’s a long shot.”
“Touché.”
***
After questioning Nelson mine’s Head of Security, Mike was confident the man knew nothing about the disappearance of Thomas Flynn. Gruber brought all the employees who worked in the compound together—a total of twenty-four, including the kitchen staff, the cleaning staff, an IT guy, an activity director and four remaining security guards.
His racial profiling idea fizzled before it started. Thumbing through their paperwork, everyone was a native Tanzanian. Good for Nelson for hiring local. Bad for Mike’s op.
Of course, no one had seen anything or knew anything. They all looked scared.
He’d need to try a different tack. Something that wouldn’t be too obvious and alert a mole to what he was digging for.
He made a quick trip to the business office and printed out assorted pictures from the internet—an American flag, a man and a woman holding hands by a public fountain, a cross, a baby, a red sports car, the Star of David and a clock. They were random but there were a couple that might elicit the emotional response Mike was looking for.
Once ready, he had Gruber bring in each person individually.
Mike watched their eyes and asked them three questions: did you know the compound would be attacked?; has anyone in the past asked you about the security at the compound?; did you tell anyone there would be a summit including high-ranking international dignitaries?
Next, he took the pictures he’d printed and asked them to say the first thing that came to mind when he showed them each one. Mike had Gruber write down their answers in a tabular form.
Everyone said they didn’t know the compound would be attacked. No one admitted to giving out information on compound security, though there were a few eye shifts that Mike noted, and most everyone had told their families about the high-ranking dignitaries.
The interesting part was the pictures. Most associated Jesus with the cross and New York with the American flag. But there were two outliers. One gave mostly negative responses to all the pictures, but when he saw the Star of David, his eyes narrowed and he said, “Infidel”. The second man used the word “war”.
Those two gentlemen were escorted into separate rooms and secured to chairs with duct tape while Henri ran background checks.
Mike didn’t enjoy interrogation, but he was good at it. His particular method of martial arts had taught him how to inflict pain with little effort. And through the years, Mike had invented a few techniques of his own. Give him an exposed neck and his victim would be begging for mercy.
The first man, one of the off-duty security guards, admitted to being a former member of the Rwandan Patriotic Front. He was a militant with some radical anti-Semitic ideals. He was one twisted son-of-a-bitch. But by the time Mike was finished with the militant, he was convinced the man had nothing to do with the murders of the guards and the suspected abduction of a nuclear scientist.
The next guy proved much more difficult to crack and he was a bloody groundskeeper. His name was Dia Turay and he swept the compound’s footpaths for a living. Sweat bled from the man’s every pore as Mike drilled his fingers into the points on either side of the man’s head where the jaw and skull meet.
“I am a soldier of God!” Turay shouted. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“You would die to protect terrorists?”
“You will not kill me.” The man cackled in a high pitch. “You are an American.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, mate.” Mike twisted his fingers,
pushing harder and the damned toad passed out just as Henri walked in the door.
She crossed her arms. “Wonderful. It looks like he’s full of valuable intel.”
“Wheesht. He’ll come around in a minute.” Mike took her into the corridor. “What have you dredged up on your end?”
“Nelson’s shipping to three locations not represented by diplomats attending the summit—China, Greece and Israel.”
Mike smirked. “I think we can count out Israel.” He scratched his head. “China?”
“I found it odd, too. It’s not like them to climb in bed with a terrorist organization, but stranger things have happened.” She clasped her hands behind her neck. “All three countries are members of NATO.”
“So, that doesna rule anything out, then.” Maybe her shipment idea is off. “Have you heard back from Asa?”
As if on cue, Henri’s phone buzzed. “Hopefully, she’s got the info now.” She moved back to the office she’d been using and scratched the information down on a pad. After she hung up, she looked at him and smacked the paper with her pen. “The northbound planes landed in Rhodes, Saudi Arabia and Cairo.”
“That narrows it down considerably.”
“Rhodes is part of Greece.”
“Yeah, but Greece? That doesna make any sense. They’re fast allies with the EU and the US.”
“We’re talking terrorists, not countries. For that matter, Syria is a fast ally with the US and they harbor a lot of terrorists.”
“Not to mention Saudi Arabia.”
“True, but Nelson Mines hasn’t shipped uranium to the Saudis or the Egyptians.”
“But according to your manifest, they’ve shipped to Greece. Where? Rhodes?”
“Athens. But that doesn’t mean the uranium wasn’t offloaded onto another boat. As a matter of fact, if it was, it would have been easier to avoid a customs inspection.”
“Shite.”
Henri inclined her head toward the makeshift interrogation rooms. “So what does Mr. Turay have to say?”
“He’s not talking. But he kens something.” Mike held up a finger. “I’ll need your help.”
She blew out a sigh and nodded. “Let’s hop to it before I fall asleep on my feet.”
“We can sleep after the op.” He led her back across the hall and prepared for another round with Dia Turay who had regained consciousness.
Mike placed the man’s hand on a cutting board, splaying his fingers and applying enough pressure to the ulna nerve to cause excruciating pain. He inclined his head to Henri who was holding a hunting knife with a shiny new blade. “This here’s my partner. She’s not as kindhearted as I am.”
Henri scowled. Jesus, she was perfect for the part. Her mean face even made Mike’s spine snap to attention.
He took a Sharpie and wrote China, Greece, Israel, Saudi Arabia and Egypt on Turay’s five fingers. “See, I’m making it easy. I’m not even asking for cities. I’m asking for entire countries and it will take us days if not months to drill down from there, but all you have to do is give me a country.”
“Fuck you.”
“Sorry, mate, that’s not one of the options I’ve given you.” He motioned to Henri. “Let’s eliminate China.”
A low chuckle rumbled from her throat as she slowly drew the blade over Turay’s pinky—not hard enough to sever the finger, but a warning that told the asshole they were serious. Blood seeped through the slit and pooled under his hand.
The man jolted, trying to tug his hand away, his feet thrashing. “Damn you to hell! They went to Greece. That’s all I know. Fuck you!”
After giving Mr. Gruber orders to hold Dia Turay until he could be picked up and convicted by Interpol, Henri and Mike headed for the Gulfstream.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Seven hours to Rhodes,” Luke announced before he closed the door to the cockpit.
After they were airborne, Henri looked to Mike while she unbuckled her seatbelt. “I’m heading aft.” She didn’t invite him to follow, but there was no need to turn around to know he had.
“Seven hours to sleep,” he said, his voice close enough to send a thrill down her spine.
“I’m ready to drop.” She was...aside from the tingling all over her body. He was driving her insane. She had to get a grip on her feelings, compartmentalize and shut them down before she ended up in so deep, she’d be hurt. They’d agreed not to get serious. Hell, Henri hadn’t been serious about anyone since her first tour in Afghanistan and that hadn’t ended well. And she reminded herself for the umpteenth time the affair had practically ended her career with Delta Force before it started.
Pure and simple: continuing the romance with Rose was a bad idea.
After being dragged through the gutter and enduring the hell of prison, her self-esteem was still too fragile. Not that she’d ever let anyone know how much she doubted herself. Henri had spent so much of her life being rejected she’d built up an external wall that people couldn’t penetrate easily. Hell, she’d been rejected by her father. Her people looked at her as a half-breed freak, and then to have her military career crash and burn while she endured the humiliation of a court martial, it was no wonder her psyche roiled in the depths of hell. No, she couldn’t handle a relationship letdown right now. And that’s where this thing was headed. There was no other place it could head. Sooner or later, Garth would find out and that would be the end of it. Just like her CO had given her an ultimatum to end the affair with her heartthrob or quit Delta Force. Why did work always get in the way? Why was the op always more important than happiness?
Exhausted beyond rational thought, she headed for the shower. A quick duck under a spray of warm water ought to clear her mind as well as her unwelcome female urges. She didn’t say anything, just slipped into the miniature bathroom and locked the door.
It had been two days since she’d been shot. She’d slept a little in the car on the way to Dodoma but that didn’t count much. Combine that with their late-night intel gathering in Arusha and she hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in seventy-two hours. No wonder she was a wreck.
Henri peeled off her clothes and the field dressing and examined her wound in the mirror. She’d done a good job of ignoring it, but the sight of her bruised and swollen flesh brought on throbbing pain. When she stepped under the shower, she cried out with the toe-curling sting.
The sound must have been loud because in two seconds, Mike burst through the door. “You all right?”
The problem aside from the fact he’d ignored her privacy even though she’d engaged the lock? He’d stripped down to his boxers.
God save her, the man should be a fitness model, not a spy. His shoulders barely fit through the doorway. His chest put GI Joe to shame. And his abs? A six-pack of growler-sized pure steel.
“Fine.” Henri braced herself against the wall as he strode toward her with his mammoth thighs flexing with each step. God, her knees turned to mush along with her resolve.
“Mind if I join you?”
She shook her head and blinked. “The door was locked.”
“That’s the thing about airline lavs. They’re all fitted with external unlocking devices.”
Yeah, she knew it. But she could still say no. Until he dropped his shorts.
A rush of scorching need gushed to her vagina. Her clit felt like it would shatter with a single swipe of that thick shaft when he slid it between her legs. By the time he stepped inside, his cock was standing at attention and was the first thing to touch her.
Henri licked her lips, forcing her gaze to meet his eyes—eyes filled with the same ravenous hunger that thrummed through her breasts, her heart, her crotch. His breath caught as he pulled her against his naked body while hot water cascaded around them.
His lips plundered hers with hot, tonsil-probing passion. She met him with equal vigor, unapologetic and seductive. Every thought of trepidation melted from her mind as she gave in to the intensity caused by the frenzy of emotion pooling between her legs.
“You clean enough?” He asked, lifting her up and urging her to wrap her legs around him.
“Mm hmm,” she managed to sigh into his shoulder.
Her breaths came in ragged gasps, making him wild. They’d both been pushed to the edge of their endurance. Working beside her and not being able to have her had amped up the predator deep inside—aroused the woman-seeking beacon always on full alert just below his belt. Soaking wet, he lowered her to the bed and climbed between her thighs. Taking his weight onto his elbows, he stared into those liquid chocolate eyes. “I need you, lass.”
She sank her fingers into his ass with a quick nod, her lips parted just enough to look like sex served up on a platter. He watched her as he slid his cock up and down through the slick cradle between her thighs.
Gasping, Henri arched and swirled her hips, capturing the tip of his cock with the hottest, tightest pussy on Earth—or above Earth. Christ, in the entire freaking universe. Moaning, she sunk her fingers into his glutes and guided him deeper. Throwing his head back, he filled her with his length only stopping when he hit her wall. Tight, ribbed muscles clenched around him, milking him as he forced the frenzy to ebb and reveled in the turn-on of being buried inside the only woman who had ever made him want to possess her. That’s right. Possess.
“Faster,” she sighed into his ear as her hands dictated the tempo.
He wasn’t going to last long with her in control. His cum boiled in his balls, demanding release. “I want you to come first.”
“I want...” With a deep gasp, she rolled him to his back, working her hips in a fierce rhythm. God, she was on fire.
Mike nearly lost it when she threw her head back with a rush of erratic tremors squeezing him, begging for his release. But he’d found his second wind. With a growl, he the reversed rolls and took control, shifting her legs over his shoulders and pushing inside to his root. Lowering his head, he joined his mouth with hers dancing with her tongue while he slammed his cock in and out, deeper and deeper. The pressure mounted. He clenched his bum cheeks to make himself last. He arched and bellowed, too damned close...Yes! Yes! Oh, God, yes! His mind exploded with the power of his orgasm.