“You goin’ somewhere we don’t know about?”
“Prague. This afternoon. I’m not sure what airport we’ll fly into. As soon as I know, you’ll have to work the necessary clearances to get my weapon through security at their end.”
“No problem. Anything else?”
“Not at the moment. Tell the boss I’ll see him shortly.”
“Will do.”
She flipped the phone shut and smiled an appeal to Luis. “I have to shower, pack a quick bag and get my assistant to work juggling my schedule.”
“So I heard.”
“Why don’t you fix breakfast for yourself? I’ll come downstairs again as soon as I’m dressed and packed.”
He shook his head and pushed back his chair. “You have much to do today. So do I. That includes,” he added, with a grin that showed a row of white teeth below his black mustache, “packing a spare shaving kit.”
The grin made Claire suspect she’d opened a door she might find hard to close again. But as Luis drew her against him, she shrugged aside the vague wariness the thought generated.
“I shall see you when I see you, querida.”
She returned the kiss, aroused by the feel of his mouth on hers, despite the multitude of tasks tugging at her mind.
Fifteen minutes after Luis departed, she’d showered and attacked her hair with a blow-dryer. A quick dusting of blush and a swipe of lip gloss sufficed for makeup before Claire threw a few things in an overnight bag.
The Baretta Px4 subcompact she kept in the nightstand drawer went into the special compartment sewn into her shoulder bag. She didn’t anticipate needing the firearm, but no OMEGA agent ever departed on a mission unarmed. And after last night, the added weight of the pistol felt comfortingly familiar.
Miraculously, rush hour traffic had thinned enough for Claire to arrive at her office just as her assistant was unlocking the door. She departed an hour later with an appointment to speak with Cardinal Tuma the following afternoon. The incredibly efficient Mae Thompson also reserved a hotel room and rental car in Prague before taking on the daunting task of rescheduling a week’s worth of appointments.
Claire drove from her office to OMEGA. While she was zipping down Massachusetts Avenue, Tom Fogarty called to advise her that an Air Force C-20 would be prepped and ready for her at Andrews Air Force Base at one o’clock.
“They’ve requested and have received clearance to land at Prague’s International Airport. The crew has instructions to stand by for a return trip.”
“Thanks.”
Fogarty hesitated for a moment. “Are you sure this trip is necessary, Dr. Cantwell?”
Obviously, or she wouldn’t be going!
“It’s a long shot,” Claire admitted coolly, “but worth checking out.”
“The problem is, I’m not sure how much longer I can keep a lid on this situation. The media has a way of sniffing things out.”
That was putting it politely. The paparazzi had hounded Claire unmercifully during her husband’s short captivity and subsequent execution. She knew all too well how tenacious—and how intrusive—they could be.
“If they hear rumors and start running stories on Stacy’s nightmares,” Fogarty worried, “the president may be forced into a decision. God knows, he’s got enough on his mind without this added worry.”
“Let’s hope it won’t come to that. Just hold the fort for a few more days.”
The urgency of the situation gnawed at Claire as she turned off Massachusetts Avenue and down a side street lined with chestnut trees still showing new green. Ordinarily, she’d park in the four-story garage on the next block. The garage gave onto a concealed entrance that led to OMEGA’s high-tech control center. Since time was at a premium this morning, she pulled up in front of the Federal-style brick edifice with a discreet bronze plaque beside the door identifying it as home to the offices of the president’s special envoy.
She was buzzed right in to Lightning’s office. He listened with a grim expression while she updated him on last night’s attack and her phone conversation with both the president and his chief of staff.
“Fogarty said he isn’t sure how much longer he can keep this off the airwaves,” she related. “He’s worried that a media blitz about Stacy’s condition may add to her stress, exacerbate the nightmares and force the president into a decision.”
Lightning drummed his fingers on the polished surface of his desk. He looked every inch the wealthy executive this morning in his Italian silk tie and hand-tailored suit. Only a handful of OMEGA operatives knew this multimillionaire had once picked pockets to stay alive.
His next comment indicated he’d been mulling over a possibility that Claire herself had kicked around in the back of her mind. “Do you think last night’s warning to back off could be connected to the situation at the White House?”
“I’ve considered that. No one outside the president’s tight circle of advisors and a handful of his personal staff are aware that I’m working with Stacy. But you and I both know this town leaks like a sieve. One of the staff might have let something drop in the wrong place to the wrong person.”
“A person—or persons—who would stand to gain if John Andrews did resign,” Lightning said tersely. “That could include any number of special interests who’ve already been hit, and hit hard, by the president’s wire-brush approach to re-prioritizing the budget.”
With that grim possibility forefront in her mind, Claire took the titanium-shielded elevator to the third floor. She stepped out into a world of computers, wall-size screens and banks of the world’s most sophisticated communications equipment.
Joe Devlin was on the desk again. “I’ll act as your controller while you’re in Prague,” he assured her. “Whatever you need, just contact me.”
“Will do.”
“I’ve arranged clearance for you to carry your weapon through Czech security. Also a list of contacts you might find useful over there.”
“Thanks.”
As soon as the communications technician on duty synced the list to her cell phone, Claire whisked back down the elevator and got into her car for the drive across the Potomac to Andrews Air Force Base. The base was home to the eighty-ninth airlift wing, which provided presidential airlift support via Air Force One, as well as a fleet of helicopters and smaller executive jets. One of those was standing by to whisk her across the Atlantic and back.
Claire showed her credentials at the front gate and again at the access point for the restricted area of the flight line. She hurried to the operations area to check in, fully prepared for a long flight.
She wasn’t prepared to find Luis Esteban in jeans, a crisp white shirt with the cuffs rolled up, and aviator sunglasses, waiting for her in the ops center.
Chapter 5
“Luis! What are you doing here?”
He gestured to the leather carryall on the floor beside him. “I’m flying to Prague with you.”
“When did you decide that?”
“After I spoke with Detective Waterman.”
His face settled into tight lines. Peeling off his aviator sunglasses, he hooked a stem through the open neck of his shirt.
“Waterman ID’d our attacker. His name—one of many he used—was Edward Porter.”
Frowning, Claire searched a mental database of her case files. “I don’t recognize the name.”
“You would not. He’s a professional killer. Detective Waterman indicated Porter may be behind a string of murder-for-hires. Until we know who hired him to attack you, you need someone to watch your back.”
She stiffened and wavered between acknowledging the truth of that statement and annoyance that Luis had taken it upon himself to do the watching.
“You should have consulted me. If in fact I do need backup, OMEGA can provide it.”
“That goes without saying. But I have a personal stake in protecting your so beautiful backside, querida. And in helping you uncover the cause of Stacy Andrews’s nightmares. The
y began in my country. Until we know how and why, his daughter’s condition may color how President Andrews deals with Cartoza.”
Perhaps not the president, Claire thought, but most assuredly his chief of staff. She hadn’t forgotten the terse exchange between Luis and Tom Fogarty on the White House lawn. She suspected Fogarty hadn’t either.
Everything Luis said made sense. Yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling he was pushing her too hard and too fast. Frowning, she made no effort to hide her displeasure as she concurred with something less than graciousness.
“Since you’re so determined to tag along, I won’t stop you. But we play this op by my rules. Understood?”
He hooked a brow at her tone. “I would like to think of us as partners.”
“I’m the one who has to report to the president,” she reminded him, with a touch of ice in her voice. “This is my mission, Esteban. We do it my way, or not at all.”
His dark eyes flashed with a temper to match hers, but he controlled it with an obvious effort.
“Very well. As long as you understand that you are my first priority, not your mission.”
She should have been more grateful for his concern. More appreciative of his desire to watch her back. But she’d made the shift from psychologist to operative mode, and she didn’t find his caveman attitude as amusing or as erotic as when he’d pulled it on her the other night.
With a curt nod, she strode past him to check in. The NCO manning the desk scrutinized her credentials and had her sign the manifest before making a request.
“We’ve got a couple of troops who need to get back to their base in Germany. We don’t usually add passengers on presidential support aircraft, but one of the men is scheduled to depart for Iraq with his unit next week. Would you mind if we put them on your flight?”
“Not at all.”
After adding the two soldiers to the manifest, the NCO escorted them, Luis and Claire out onto the tarmac. As Fogarty had promised, the Gulfstream III was prepped and ready to go. So was the five-person crew. The copilot and flight engineer were in the cockpit running preflight checklists, but the pilot had waited to introduce herself.
“Major Veronica Talbot, ma’am.” The trim, honey-haired officer held out her hand. Her grip was firm and no-nonsense, her smile quick and lively. “Our estimated flying time to Prague is twelve and a half hours, with a brief touchdown at Ramstein AB, Germany, to refuel and offload our other passengers. I’ll give you a better fix on our ETA once we get airborne.”
She paused and flicked a glance at Claire’s shoulder bag.
“I understand you’re carrying a weapon aboard. You and the ambassador both.”
Claire didn’t wait for confirmation from Luis. As she knew well, he didn’t go anywhere unarmed.
“That’s correct,” she said, answering for them both.
“Please remove the clip and make sure you don’t have a round in the chamber before you board. We don’t want to risk either weapon going off while we’re in the air.”
Claire had flown often enough on missions to know the drill, but she respected the pilot’s safety concerns. Sliding a hand into her purse, she extracted the Baretta. Luis bent and unholstered his subcompact Glock.
Once the security check was completed, they mounted the steps to an interior fitted with a conference table and plush airline-style seats. With the ramp raised and the four passengers strapped in, Major Talbot joined her copilot in the cockpit to complete their final checklist. Soon the Gulfstream’s twin Rolls Royce turbofan engines revved up to a high-pitched shriek. The jet rolled down the runway, gathering speed, and lifted off. Mere moments later, they were out over the Atlantic.
The presence of other passengers precluded any discussion between Claire and Luis of the reasons behind this flight. It didn’t, however, prevent the colonel from engaging the two military men in a lively conversation.
Claire reclined her leather seat and stretched her legs. As she listened to their exchange, she forced herself to let go of her lingering resentment at Luis’s high-handedness. Her mission was too important to allow negative emotions to cloud her thinking. Nor, she decided after considerable inner debate, could she allow the sensual heat this man stirred in her with a single touch to distract her.
She waited to inform Luis of that decision until they touched down at Ruzyne–Prague International Airport.
Although they’d made good time, with the stop in Germany and the six-hour time difference they landed at almost the same time they’d departed D.C., just a day later. Major Talbot taxied the military jet to the auxiliary airfield terminal reserved for smaller aircraft and parked in a spot outside the hangar that housed the Fixed Base Operations Center.
A wall of humidity hit Claire as she disembarked from the Gulfstream. Late spring had already transitioned to a hot, early summer in this corner of Eastern Europe. Feeling the heat, she turned to the pilot and held out her hand.
“Thanks for a smooth flight, Major.”
“Our pleasure, Dr. Cantwell. We’ll gas up and preflight for the return trip tomorrow morning, then go into crew rest.”
“You’re all set with a hotel?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The pilot handed her a business card emblazoned with the seal of the eighty-ninth airlift wing. “Here’s my cell phone number. Just call if there’s any change to the schedule. Per instructions from the White House, we’re at your complete disposal.”
“You have my cell number?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s on the manifest. Ambassador Esteban’s as well.”
“Very good. We’ll plan to depart tomorrow morning, unless something unforeseen occurs.”
Which it did, a mere fifteen minutes later.
Thanks to the clearance Rigger had arranged, Claire whisked through both customs and immigration with no questions about the weapon in her shoulder bag. Luis’s diplomatic passport afforded him the same preferential treatment.
After they’d tossed their bags in the trunk of the silver-gray Mercedes waiting in a reserved slot under Claire’s name, she called Cardinal Tuma’s office to confirm her appointment. Luckily, she’d made the appointment for late in the afternoon. With the detailed driving instructions the cardinal’s efficient assistant had provided, she’d be able to arrive at his residence right on time.
Or not.
When Claire reached the cardinal’s executive assistant, Father Milosec put a severe dent in her plans. “I regret to inform you, Dr. Cantwell,” he said in heavily accented English, “his eminence suffered a sinking spell this morning.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Extremely sorry.
“His doctor insists he rest for at least twenty-four hours. I’ve blocked a half hour for you at two tomorrow afternoon, if that is convenient.”
It would have to be. Masking her disappointment at the delay, Claire confirmed the time.
“I’ll be there at two o’clock. I hope his eminence has a restful night.”
“We hope so, too. Many thousands of faithful will keep him in their prayers.”
Disconnecting, Claire broke the news to Luis. “Cardinal Tuma is ill. We’re on hold until tomorrow. I’d better notify the crew we’re looking at a later departure.”
Major Talbot took the delay in stride. “No problem, ma’am. I can think of a whole lot worse places to spend some down time than Prague. We’ll notify our schedulers and stand by until we hear from you.”
“She’s right,” Luis commented when Claire relayed the pilot’s response. “There are far worse places to while away a few empty hours. Have you been to the city of a hundred spires before, querida?”
With a shake of her head, she backed out of the reserved slot. “It’s one of the few places I haven’t visited.”
“Prague will enchant you,” he promised once they cleared the exit and spotted the signs for the city center, “as it does all who visit the old town square or stroll across Charles Bridge at sunset.”
“We’re not here
to stroll or play tourist, Luis.”
The retort came out more sharply than Claire had intended. Blowing out a breath, she apologized.
“I’m sorry. It’s just…This delay concerns me. There’s so much riding on this trip.”
“Indeed there is.”
“Too much to allow our personal relationship to distract us from the business at hand,” she said deliberately. “I think we should take separate rooms at the hotel.”
She caught the glance he slid her and braced for a repeat of their somewhat heated discussion before they’d boarded the Gulfstream. Instead, Luis merely shrugged.
“Then it’s just as well my staff also made reservations at the Savoy.”
Claire wasn’t surprised the embassy staff had ferreted out her hotel. They interacted frequently with her office manager to coordinate schedules, theater tickets and dinner engagements. What did surprise her was Luis’s casual acceptance of separate rooms. She understood why when they checked into the elegant boutique hotel.
A member of the Leading Small Hotels of the World, the five-star Savoy was located in Prague’s Upper Town, only steps from the castle and the magnificent cathedral that dominated the city.
After negotiating the city’s narrow, twisting streets, Claire handed the keys to the Savoy’s valet with heartfelt relief. A doorman escorted her and Luis through ornate glass doors, into a lobby tiled in exquisite marble and lit by crystal chandeliers. Beginning to feel the effects of the long flight and six-hour time differential, she slid her passport and American Express card across the reception counter.
“I’m Claire Cantwell. I have a reservation.”
“Ah, yes. Welcome to the Savoy.” The dignified clerk included Luis in his warm smile. “And you, Ambassador Esteban. We have the Royal Suite all ready for you and Dr. Cantwell.”
“The Royal Suite?” Claire echoed.
“Yes, madam. The Cartozan Embassy confirmed the arrangements just this morning. You and the ambassador will be most comfortable.”
Seduced by the Operative Page 6