With No Remorse

by Cindy Gerard

  By design, all eyes would be riveted on her stunning beauty. She was back in international-celebrity mode but it was very clear to him that beneath her meticulously applied makeup and her game face, she was as tense as piano wire.

  That made two of them. Though they’d planned for every possible contingency, their run-through had been only on paper. The team didn’t have the luxury of practice runs for this op. They were prepared for all the known threats, but it was the unknowns that were driving him crazy. That, and the fact that once he and the BOIs left the aircraft, what happened to Val was out of his hands. Even knowing that she had a basic grasp of how to fire the Glock 19 tucked inside her black leather clutch, and that a GPS transmitter was sewn into her bra, he was damned edgy.

  Once she was out of his sight, her safety fell on Santos, Carlyle, and Waldrop’s shoulders. Broad shoulders, he reminded himself. Capable shoulders. He had to let them do their job so he could do his.

  All three men were dressed the part of professional, hired muscle in dark suits, white shirts, and ties. Only a practiced eye would realize they were carrying concealed; all three wore shoulder and ankle holsters. Luke was also betting that Waldrop’s Bowie was strapped on him somewhere. And because of their security-guard status, no one would question their earpieces and throat mics or suspect that in addition to communicating with each other, they could send and receive commo to the BOI team.

  “Lock and load, boys and girls,” Nate said from the seat ahead of him.

  Because transporting even legitimate firearms was tricky business, the BOIs had packaged their equipment as medical aid and stowed it in the cargo bay with the humanitarian aid supplies. Tink, being the smallest team member, had already shimmied in and out of the cargo bay through a hatch designed for electrical maintenance. She’d dug out only the arms and ammo they could carry concealed on this first leg of the mission.

  Luke unbuckled his seat belt and glanced out the portal as the jet taxied toward the waiting throng.

  Besides a good fifty media mongers lined up with their cameras and booms along a security rail set up by airport security, several dignitaries decked out in ceremonial garb stood in a receiving line for a meet-and-greet photo op.

  The circus had definitely come to town.

  “Remember,” Luke said, absently nodding his thanks as Crystal handed out khaki coveralls to each team member. “You stay within two feet of Santos, Carlyle, and Waldrop at all times.”

  “I know,” Val said, touching up her lip gloss.

  “You are never to leave their side.”

  “I know,” she repeated as she tucked away the tube. “I know what to do. I know what’s expected.” She shot him a smile. “I’ll take care of me. You take care of you, okay?”

  God. She was so gorgeous, so determined, and so out of her element.

  If she was scared, she didn’t show it. But even though they’d taken every precaution to ensure she wouldn’t be anywhere near the action when the fat hit the fire, he was damn scared for her.

  “You take your photo ops, you stay on task, we make the last delivery, and you’re gone. Santos and the guys will drive you back to the plane. The pilot has orders to wait for you, then immediately go wheels up.”

  She hadn’t much liked it when she’d found out she was leaving Sierra Leone without him. He hadn’t much cared. He wanted her out of here yesterday.

  “Be careful,” she whispered, the look in her eyes telling him how afraid she was for him. “Please, please, be careful.”

  “You forget, Angelface, careful’s my middle name.”

  He was determined to leave it at that—until she touched her fingers to his face and whispered a tearful good-bye, and it hit home that this might be the last time he’d ever see her.

  He dragged her into his arms and kissed her like there was no tomorrow, because, damn it, there was a real chance there wouldn’t be.

  “Stay safe,” she whispered against his lips.

  Both of them jumped when the rumble of the opening cargo bay door reverberated through the floor of the plane.

  Showtime.

  In a few minutes, the team would don workman’s coveralls and ball caps, tuck their weapons inside their uniforms, and step into their roles as delivery boys and girls and truck drivers. While Val did her celebrity ambassador thing and Chamberlin did his U.S. senator shtick, the BOIs would fade into the background as part of the crew overseeing offloading the humanitarian supplies—along with their own weaponry.

  If the information Chamberlin had fed Joe was accurate, a quartet of trucks would be rolling onto the tarmac any moment to receive the goods from the 737.

  “According to Chamberlin,” Joe had told them earlier, “Ryang’s arms shipment arrived via a coaster—a small, shallow-hulled ship,” he explained when Crystal held up a hand. “It rendezvoused off the coast with Ryang’s freighter earlier today. From the coaster, Ryang’s guns and ammo, packaged in containers labeled MEDICAL, SCHOOL, and CANNED GOODS, were then loaded onto the four trucks.”

  The BOIs had gotten their own personal weaponry past Dulles security by taking a page from Ryang’s play-book.

  B.J. had done the research on the trucks. “The transport vehicles are open-bed trucks decommissioned from the Sierra Leone military fleet several years ago. The drivers are local day laborers. They have no clue what they’re carrying.”

  Nate glanced at Rafe. “You handle the drivers. Pay them off. Convince them we’ll get the trucks back later tonight—whatever it takes to ensure they keep their mouths shut and just go away. Then make certain our personal gear gets on the first truck so we can access it ASAP.”

  From that point on, they would follow the protocol established on the very first aid mission six years ago—a protocol that had repeatedly enabled Ryang’s buyers to pick up their “merchandise” without generating any attention.

  “Quick huddle.” Nate tacked a map up on the bulkhead wall. “One last run-through. Three stops—the church, the school, and the hospital.” He X’d each location with a marker. “Each stop equals a photo op. Val and Chamberlin pass out a token number of boxes, make nice with the good people, the press get their shots. Then Val and the senator head back to the airport, and we take it from there.”

  While Luke hated that Val would be out of his sight, he’d be damn glad at that point to get her out of the mix.

  “By design,” Nate went on, “the rest of the aid—which conveniently includes Ryang’s illegal weapons—stays on the trucks and we deliver it to a warehouse north of the city, ostensibly to be stored for distribution at a later date.” He marked the location of the warehouse on the map.

  “What has always happened next was that the trucks pull out and the warehouse is locked up. Nobody’s home. A little later, Ryang’s buyers roll in, collect their weapons, roll back out, and no one’s the wiser. Foolproof plan.”

  “It was until today,” Gabe said grimly.

  Because the BOIs, playing the role of mercenaries would be waiting for Ryang’s men.

  If all went as planned, the team would not only prevent the exchange from happening, but also smoke out the big buyer and contain him—alive, preferably, but dead worked if he wanted to play rough.

  “Any questions?” Nate asked the group as he tucked a pistol into an underarm holster, then zipped up his coveralls to hide it.

  “Only one.” Reed looked annoyed as hell when Crystal handed him his coveralls. “What’s with this khaki crap? I specifically requested blue to match my eyes. All right, people, ’fess up. Who dropped the ball on this one?”

  Eyes rolled because they were all used to Reed’s attempts to cut the tension before a dicey op.

  “It was you, Tink?” He made a tsking sound and grinned wickedly when Crystal gave him a long-suffering look. “Well, then, I guess we all know who’s goin’ get punished when I get her home, don’t we?”

  “Do you suppose maybe you could focus on the mission?” Nate grumbled as he stepped into his coveralls.
/>
  “Focusing, Si—”

  Crystal clamped a hand over her husband’s mouth. “Shut. Up. Just shut up.”

  27

  The primary airport for both domestic and international travel was located in the coastal town of Lungi, which was separated from Freetown by the Sierra Leone River. For Luke’s part, there might as well have been a river separating him from Val as he stood on the tarmac, the sun blazing down like a ton of hot coals. He watched her through his dark glasses. She was posed in the 737’s open hatch, and, despite the oppressive heat, looked cool and collected as she waved and smiled for the press piranhas crowding the metal rails airport security had positioned at the foot of the airstairs.

  He checked the GPS—a cutting-edge unit Nate had access to before it had even gone into production because he had test-driven it for a friend who was eager to get it on the market. He was receiving a signal from her bra transmitter loud and clear.

  He tucked the palm-sized unit back in the chest pocket of his coveralls and glanced up at her again. Chamberlin stood in the shadows behind her. As much as he hated the bastard, Luke had to give him credit. He was holding up his end of the charade and had cooperated on all counts.

  “Valentina! Over here!”

  “Perfect! That’s it. Big smile. Fantastic! You’ve never looked better, babe!”

  “One more shot. Look this way! Yes! Hold it right there, okay?”

  “Christ,” Gabe grumbled. He stood beside Luke at the bottom of the airstairs. “Like goddamn sharks in a feeding frenzy.”

  Luke’s thoughts exactly. He didn’t like that Val was so exposed. But he did like the way Santos and Carlyle were stacked in front of her while Waldrop held a position behind her.

  He had to let them do their job. He had his own part to play.

  “Just got a call from Brown,” Nate said, ducking under the wing of the plane. “Says he located a nice big bird. He’s standing by if we need him.”

  “Good to know,” Reed said and fell in step behind Nate as he headed for the trucks.

  Luke lingered for a final look at Val. He slid his dark glasses to the top of his head and watched her, her smile radiant as she waved to the crowd that included, in addition to the press and several lower-level dignitaries, the man Luke recognized as the Sierra Leone minister of commerce, Siaka Bai M’boma.

  Beside him, Joe glared at M’boma, his jaw clenched, his fingers balled into tight fists. Because it was uncharacteristic for Joe to show any emotion, Luke felt a curl of alarm. “Problem?”

  He’d started to think Joe hadn’t heard him, when the big man gave a slight shake of his head. “No. Everything’s peachy.”

  Yet the simmering rage in Joe’s eyes was hotter than the heat boiling up from the tarmac.

  “Let’s just get this done,” he said and followed Nate to the trucks.

  “What’s with Joe?”

  Luke glanced over his shoulder at Gabe. “Don’t know. He’s pissed about something.”

  Ever since he’d boarded the plane in D.C., Joe had seemed distracted. More brooding even than usual.

  Luke glanced back to the plane. Val was just beginning to walk down the airstairs.

  “She’ll be fine.” Gabe clasped a hand on Luke’s shoulder.

  She had to be fine—because Luke had finally come to the irreversible conclusion that he was not finished with this woman.

  Logical or illogical, good or bad, he’d decided there was no way in hell he was going to let Valentina Chamberlin walk out of his life.

  When this was over, they were going to have a little talk. Strike that. They were going to have a big-ass talk.

  But first he had to get her out of this dangerous country safe and sound.

  • • •

  “You are watching the news feed?” Ryang pressed the phone to his ear as he sat in front of the flat-screen TV in his Macau apartment.

  The international press had been providing news coverage for the past five minutes of Valentina and Senator Chamberlin as they waved from the hatch of a 737, then waded through a reception line of Sierra Leone dignitaries on the tarmac at the Lungi airport.

  “I am watching,” Augustine Sesay confirmed. “As always, I appreciate both your competence and the confirmation that my delivery has arrived, and that the path is clear to pick up the shipment. As agreed, I will wire payment for the balance of the cargo within the hour and our deal will be completed.”

  “Forgive me, General.” Ryang flicked off the TV. “If you would indulge me for a moment, I wish to offer a proposition that you may find appealing.”

  Ryang waited through a short silence before Augustine Sesay spoke again. Augustine had taken up the torch after his grandfather, Issa Sesay, head of the defeated RUF political party, had been convicted of war crimes and sentenced to life in prison close to ten years ago.

  For six years now, Augustine had been stockpiling weapons, secretly reassembling an RUF military force, and making grandiose plans to stage another military coup against the now democratic nation of Sierra Leone.

  That his efforts would be fruitless was without question. The young hothead would wage his war, quench his thirst for blood, and would eventually be crushed by a superior national military.

  But Sesay’s fate did not concern Ryang. He’d made his money from men such as Sesay. Tyrants in training, religious zealots, drug cartels. He cared nothing for their success or failure. Ryang’s only interest in Sesay now lay in what the self-appointed general could do for him.

  “Speak,” Sesay said finally.

  “I wish to forgive the balance of the payment you owe me for the shipment,” Ryang said, dangling his bait, confident that Sesay would pounce like a tiger on raw meat.

  “In exchange for?” Both distrust and curiosity colored the general’s tone. No gift came without cost in their business. And no business deal was ever struck without careful manipulation.

  “In exchange for facilitating the untimely deaths of the American woman and the senator.”

  Ryang had given this much thought. Admittedly, his anger with the woman and the senator over the trouble they had caused him had been the impetus for his decision. Upon further examination, however, there was much merit to having them both eliminated.

  “They have been useful pawns for the cause,” Sesay continued. “Why would you choose to dispense with two such valuable tools?”

  Ryang chose his next words carefully so that Sesay could grasp the import of his proposal. “Chamberlin has become a problem. It’s become clear to me that he’s in the process of developing a conscience. I am concerned that he may no longer be controllable. If he were to divulge our activities . . . well, it could drastically affect our business dealings and bring me unwanted attention on an international front.”

  “And the woman?” the general asked after another thought-filled pause.

  “The woman also knows too much,” Ryang said, working to control his rage toward this pampered Western princess who had cost him the lives of four reliable assets and forced him to have two others eliminated for their bungled job in Cuzco. “She is aware of the leverage I hold over Chamberlin. If she is not killed, I have no doubt that she will make my involvement with the senator public. Again, this would place all of my business transactions under increased scrutiny. I would be forced to suspend shipments. Consequently, your arms supply will dry up.”

  Sesay didn’t need to know that Ryang had already decided to cut ties with him. He was already in negotiations with a new buyer with even deeper pockets.

  “This is a very risky endeavor,” Sesay said after measuring the weight of Ryang’s proposal.

  “Which is why I’m forgiving the balance of your payment. It is not a paltry sum,” he reminded the general. “No doubt you have numerous uses for that much capital.”

  Like feeding your troops, Ryang thought acidly, although Sesay would doubtless find more self-serving outlets for the unexpected windfall.

  “This would be a delicate operation,” S
esay said slowly.

  At that point, Ryang knew he had struck a bargain. “I’m certain you will figure something out. I have only two conditions. You must act now, while they are on the ground in Sierra Leone. And you must kill them both immediately.

  “I need your answer now. If you would rather fulfill the terms of our agreement with cash, so be it. I’ll arrange an alternate solution to my problem.”

  “No. No, that won’t be necessary,” Sesay said quickly. “Consider it done.”

  Ryang breathed deeply, well satisfied with the way this conversation had gone. “Very good. I’ll expect to be watching new and tragic news footage when the deed is done.”

  He disconnected, then absently set down the phone while he contemplated Valentina Chamberlin’s fate. His only regret was that he couldn’t personally watch the life drain out of her body.

  “He broke into a smile when Cho ran into the room. “Hello, my little flower. For me?” he asked with surprised delight when she handed him a paper covered in vibrant watercolors that she’d splashed on the page with a child’s joyous abandon.

  Cho’s smile was the light that guided his life. “It is very beautiful. As beautiful as its creator,” he said, lifting her onto his lap and glancing adoringly at his wife, who stood in the doorway with an indulgent smile on her face.

  The trip from Lungi to Freetown was generally made by water. Since taking a ferry across the waterway wasn’t an option for this size of convoy, they had to drive to Freetown via Port Loko.

  Five hours later dust and heat and the smell of despair seeped in through the open window as the four-truck convoy lumbered through the noisy, crowded city with Rafe and Luke in the lead. B.J. drove the second vehicle; Reed rode shotgun. Gabe and Crystal were next—Nate specifically broke up the married couples to avoid inherent emotional combat decisions—and Green sat behind the wheel of the last truck with Nate on lookout beside him.