“Take your coat off and pull your hair back.” Andy stood, crowding her back into the bathroom.
Carol sighed and gave up asking questions.
She shrugged out of her coat, then scraped back the hair that had escaped her ponytail.
“Stand here.” Andy gripped her shoulders and positioned her in the middle of the wall adjacent to the door.
He stepped into the bathtub, pushing his back against the tile.
“Ready?” he asked.
Carol sucked in a deep breath and exhaled, schooling her features into a pleasant expression.
Andy had a small camera in hand—from where she had no idea. The black bag? The flash nearly blinded her. She blinked, and in the time it took to chase the white spots from her vision, Andy had slipped past her back to the vanity.
She pivoted, resting her shoulder against the door, and watched him.
While the image developed, Andy flipped through the new passports. He opened one, discarded it, and got another.
Finally, he paused on one.
“Can you pass for a Jordan?” Andy asked.
“Sure?”
He stared at her for a moment too long.
“What?” She frowned.
“I’m not sure you look thirty-seven. You barely look over thirty.”
“Do we have other options?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“No.”
“Then I’m Jordan, a thirty-seven-year-old forensic accountant. There. How’s that?” She’d assisted in enough cover story collaborations that she knew what she could and could not get away from.
“And I am…” Andy pulled three of his passports out before choosing one. “Landon, thirty-eight, and a private investigator. We’re putting together material for a case back home, very private, can’t talk about it much. Gives us a reason to ask questions, though.”
“Sounds good. Where are we going to be asking questions?”
“Figuring that out,” he said slowly, his attention focused on the now-developed image.
It wasn’t Carol’s most flattering picture, but it was a bang-up job for a passport.
Andy peeled the clear, iridescent film covering the page up and fit the trimmed-down image into the spot where the picture went. He pulled a knife from his pocket, and using the flat side, smoothed the sheet down.
“Is there a hair dryer around here?” he asked.
“Yeah, in the bathroom.”
“Get it for me?”
She did as he asked, even plugging it in.
Andy took the dryer and turned it on high, aiming the air at the page.
She’d had no idea it could be that easy to fake a passport.
He finished whatever he was doing and handed it to her.
“This will only get us so far. It’s not a good job. It’s not going to get us home, that’s for sure,” he said.
“What are we doing then?”
“I’m thinking. If they knew how to find us, they might also know what my next move would be, so we need to do something else.”
“I know someone who could help us.”
“No.” Andy shook his head, dismissing her idea without hearing it out all the way.
“Do you have a better plan?” She gestured at the vanity. “That’s all that’s keeping us from going, isn’t it? Me having a passport?”
“I’m thinking.” His stony face said more than he realized. He was out of ideas and making it up as they went. Well, she had a plan. An idea at least.
“Look, give me five minutes and I can find out where Nate is. I haven’t spoken to him in over ten years—”
“No, Carol. Anyone you can think of, they’ll know about.”
“Do you have a better plan?” She threw her hands up, ready to strangle this man.
“Not yet.”
“Then let’s find out where Nate is and head that way while you think. He can be our backup plan if you don’t come up with something. No one would ever connect me to Nate in a million years.”
“Why do you think he can help us?”
“Because, friends of friends have mentioned him from time to time.”
“He’s connected to you, Carol. This is dangerous. For him and for us.”
“You don’t have a better plan. Whoever you’d take me to, whatever you’re thinking of but won’t say, you think they’d be a danger to us. Well, Nate would be on our side.”
“How do you know that?”
“He owes me.”
“But does he owe you enough?”
“I think so.”
Andy stared at her and she stared right back. This was a good plan.
“Fine,” he said after a moment of grinding his teeth together. “Here, use this. Five minutes, that’s all you get, and then we leave.”
He gave her a tablet from the bag.
Carol powered it on. The instant she connected to the hotel wifi Andy’s eyes locked on his wristwatch, counting them down to the second.
She lost no time searching for the international bank that Nate worked for. Using the sitemap, she searched employees and found one Nate Wickham. Where he lived, she didn’t know.
There were still three minutes left.
Carol took three steps and sat on the edge of the bed. She brought up an email client, created a new address, and plugged one of Irene’s many non-company emails into the recipient field.
Andy wanted them to be contained, but they were still part of a bigger team. They didn’t know what the others were going through, what was happening, and that had to end. She fired off a few cryptic lines and hit send.
“Time,” Andy barked.
Carol closed the email tab, leaving just Nate’s company profile page up.
“He’s managing a branch in Croatia, six hours away.” She turned the screen toward Andy.
She trusted Andy more than she thought possible, but there was a bigger game going on than what was going on between them.
Andy stared at her, never once glancing at the tablet.
Did he know about her deception already?
Carol’s insides quaked, but there was nothing she could do. What was done was done.
…
Saturday, Berlin
Georgia was ready for a few hours of actual sleep. She stepped off the plane and felt eyes on her already.
Tate.
He was watching her, looking for a weakness. Well, she didn’t have one. And it wasn’t her idea to go to Berlin, either. With the overcast weather and the hours drawing on, they couldn’t rely on the satellites to find Andy and Carol. They’d have to wait for the two to surface, and Berlin was as good a hub as any to wait for them.
Georgia strode through the airport, carrying nothing but her backpack with her out through security and to the curb.
A black car waited at the appointed spot.
Georgia slid in first, followed by Tate moments later.
The driver handed a tablet over his shoulder without looking at them. Tate snagged it before she could, which meant she had to press in close to the brute of a man to see the screen.
The team back home had put together a list. People and places Andy and Carol might have resources, connections, equipment.
“We can eliminate anyplace tied to Andy,” Tate said, echoing her thoughts.
“That’s not even half the list,” she muttered. How was this bitch so well connected?
“I recognize a number of these.” Tate grimaced.
Yeah, she was seeing it, too. Politicians, wealthy families, people who were people. Carol had a wide net of international influencers on the political field. It was concerning to say the least. That gave her options a normal person wouldn’t be able to exploit.
“Start with the ones we don’t know. Like this one.” Georgia clicked a name that didn’t ring any bells.
“No,” Tate muttered and tabbed to another unknown name.
By the time they reached the hotel they were down to three potential contacts. All black sheep,
people who lived in cities or countries that weren’t as strict to travel through. The question now was, which country did they head to, if any? With the winter storms blowing through Europe, travel was difficult. If they made the wrong choice, went to the wrong destination, they could be stuck cooling their heels while their prey got away.
Chapter Fourteen
Friday, DC
Irene peered into the darkened room.
Her sister’s breathing was shallow and even. Anna had the worst time falling asleep, and Irene straying from routine was not helping. She sighed and closed the door. Hopefully Anna would rest.
Every day she was doing a little bit better. The treatment and surgeries had saved Anna’s life, and for that Irene was grateful. If the worst came to pass, and Irene were out of the picture, Anna could get by on her own. She was far enough along with her recovery that she could begin to think about returning to work, or finding a new job. Irene could rest well knowing that Anna could still have a long, happy life.
Irene trudged into the living room of her apartment and sat at the little writing desk, staring at the wall. All that blankness the perfect projection screen for her jumbled thoughts.
This was the period when normally she’d communicate with her assets on the other side of the globe. Many of those channels were still open to her, but her access to the Company was not. Without that, she was an end point, not a connection. Until she was reinstated, she was useless. And that was a bitter pill to swallow. Her marriage had deteriorated, in part, due to her career coming first. Losing the baby had simply been the last straw. Since then…she’d been alone. Except for Anna.
And then Mitch happened.
Irene swallowed.
She hadn’t been fair to him, but he was a risk. One she couldn’t afford. Falling for another agent, especially the golden boy love child of a senator, was the worst possible thing for a woman with her colorful upbringing. It didn’t mean her heart listened.
Irene wasn’t a woman who caved often, but Mitch… He didn’t take no for an answer, and she’d been weak. Oh, it would be easy to blame that night on him, but the truth was, she’d reached for him the same moment he’d reached for her.
Where was Mitch now?
What was happening to him?
They’d neatly divided their ranks by separating Mitch and Irene from everyone else, what with Andy and Carol in the wind. They were vulnerable.
Irene hated this. The very idea that there were people in the Company who did not uphold what they were sworn to protect enraged her.
But what could she do now? They couldn’t blow the whistle, not without proof, and they didn’t have that yet, either. Just speculation.
Without Carol’s program they were the blind leading the blind. They needed a leg up, something—and soon. The walls were closing in on them.
Irene wiggled the mouse on her personal laptop and the screen blipped to life.
She spent some time browsing news sites and making notes out of habit. Eventually she did a tour of her inboxes, purging the junk.
One caught her eye.
The sender was just Bluebird.
The first time Irene had met with Carol was at a café called Bluebird. It’d closed not long after, but they’d had the best eggs.
She held her breath and clicked.
Did you know Bluebird nests are at risk from moles? The best way to protect them is with a strong repellant, which will be on sale soon from our new location. Stay tuned for more information!
Irene sat back.
“I’ll be damned,” she whispered.
Carol and Andy were on the run. They’d been found out, and yet the program would be—what? Finished? Ready?—when they got wherever they were going.
This was one of those times where waiting sucked.
There was nothing for her to do but sit on her hands and keep her house in order.
A knock at her door sent chills down her spine.
Irene powered off her computer and turned toward the door.
Whoever was on the other side knocked again.
They must have been buzzed in. She had no way of seeing who was out there besides the peephole, and that put her at a disadvantage. If someone wanted to kill her they could fire a few armor-piercing shots through the door.
Not answering was an option, but that meant if whoever was on the other side wanted to speak with her, they’d be coming through that door. People in the apartment put Anna at risk.
If Irene was going to die, she’d rather do it as far from her sister as possible.
She stood, pushed her shoulders back, and walked toward the door, her bare feet sinking into the carpet. She swallowed and stopped on the mat just inside the door, then peered through the hole at the man on the other side.
His upturned collar and hat were familiar enough to make her pause.
But—why?
Was he involved?
She unlocked the door and slid the chain off. She took a deep breath and pulled the door open, staring up into the face of a man she’d known professionally for nearly ten years.
“Director Scott…” She opened her mouth, words escaping her.
“May I come in?” His voice was rough, gravelly.
“Yes, of course.”
It was highly unusual for a senior member of the CIA to make house calls.
Irene closed the door behind him and twisted the lock.
He could be there to kill her personally, or something else entirely.
Director Scott turned, studying her with that cool demeanor she’d always admired.
“We have a mole problem,” he said.
Irene’s mouth gaped open and she stared at him.
“I think you know what I’m talking about. I need help fixing this. They’re ten steps ahead of us, always have been. You up for the job?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
…
Saturday, Croatia
Andy’s eyes were bleary, his knuckles hurt, his side ached, and he had a bad feeling something was going to go wrong. Then again, he always operated under the idea that eventually something went wrong. But this was…different.
He glanced at Carol’s sleeping form slumped against the passenger’s door. She’d promptly fallen asleep after they changed cars just over the Croatian border.
They’d made it. Four countries, one hotel, six cars, and over twelve hours of driving.
But who knew what was on their tail?
He hoped that her friend, this Nate guy, could help them. Carol needed a better passport. Andy’s motel job wouldn’t hold up to serious inspection, and at some point they would need to fly. For that they needed professional documents. Driving across Europe was marginally easier, but eventually someone with a good eye would ask questions. Andy didn’t want to leave her fate up to chance.
The streets in this part of Zagreb, Croatia, alternated from ancient cobblestones to pavement. A melding of the old and new parts of the city. Croatia wasn’t more than a blip on most people’s radar, but as far as cities went, the capital was as typical as it went. Modernization, growth, all of it.
Nate Wickham lived in one of the gentrified districts, stylish, clean, plenty of traffic. The old buildings were dressed up, remodeled, and decked out.
Andy peered up at a light-brown brick building.
There was a fire escape and the close proximity of the building to its neighbors meant that in the event of needing to flee, they could do so without going to the ground level.
If the CIA moles came after them, they’d do it with everything in their power.
Andy’s goal was to be here for as short a period as possible. Keep moving. Another day and they could work out a plan for accessing the algorithm’s results and go from there.
He turned the car down a side street and found a spot to park.
The streets were clogged with late afternoon traffic, people on their way home from work or school. Snow drifts piled high against curbs and in out-of-the-way
corners. He pulled into a newly vacated spot and shifted into park. With any luck they would beat Carol’s friend home. A look around and a shower would be nice.
“Jordan?” He placed his hand on her shoulder, avoiding her healing wound, and gently shook her.
“Hm?” Carol picked her head up off the window and squinted at him, the frown creasing her cheeks.
“We’re here, Jordan.” Andy doubted anyone was listening to them, but she needed to become used to answering to a name other than Carol.
“Really?” She straightened, blinking around them. “Well, I can give Nate a call and see—”
“His apartment is around the corner. Come on. You keep your gloves on?”
“Yes.” Carol wiggled her gloved hands at him.
“Good. Let’s go.”
They wouldn’t be coming back to this car, ever.
They got out in unison, a maneuver that had become somewhat practiced. Carol had the hood of her new jacket up and sunglasses on. Andy tugged the knit cap low over his face and pushed his sunglasses farther up his nose. He went first, Carol behind him, walking single file for two reasons. One, he was better able to lead where they were going and two, if they were attacked they presented only one target from the front and back. It wasn’t unreasonable to think that they could have already been flagged at the Italian, Slovenian, or Croatian borders. If he’d have thought Carol would pass for any other nationality he’d have done his best to get her another passport, but they could only work with what they had.
Andy circled the block, Carol at his heels.
Nate’s apartment building had one of those buzzers to allow guests in.
A woman carrying a briefcase strode straight at the double doors from the opposite direction, key in hand, gaze on the building.
Andy sped up just enough so they were a few strides behind her. He caught the door and they ducked in.
The woman never glanced at them.
Therein lay the problem with this sort of security. It was only so good as the tenants enforcing it.
“Come on, he’s on the third floor,” Andy said, pitching his voice low.
Croatia wasn’t a terribly popular American tourist destination. They needed to avoid as much attention as they could.
Carol nodded and together they climbed the stairs.
The historic touch of the original architects was evident in the way the windows were set into the wall and the materials. There were no security cameras and there were bars on the windows. Just enough polish, but still a touch rustic and rough.
Assassin Games (Tarnished Heroes) Page 20