Covert Network (A Jake Adams International Espionage Thriller Series Book 14)
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Almost a week had passed since Jake and Sirena had been involved with the shooting on the billionaire’s yacht at the Grand Cayman marina. They were still at the Ritz-Carlton, sharing a room with a king-sized bed and a nice view of the Caribbean.
Jake had just gotten word that the Gulfstream had landed that afternoon, and the crew needed to rest until the next morning before they could fly them to wherever Jake had in mind. And that was part of the problem. Jake had no real idea where to go. His home in Calabria, Italy had been burned to the ground. His extended family and his infant daughter were in Montana. And January was not exactly the best location to hang out in Iceland.
Sirena had decided to dump her apartment outside of DC. But she too was unsure of her future residence. She only knew that DC wasn’t the place for her. It never had been. She had only been there for her work at the Agency and on loan with some of the other alphabet organizations.
Night was setting in now, a warm breeze flowing in through their wide-open balcony French doors.
Sirena stood out at the railing, her white linen dress flowing in the breeze. Her raven black hair was more full and curly in the humid climate of the Caymans. She took a sip of her rum and glanced back at Jake. “Come on out. It’s beautiful out tonight.”
It sure was, Jake thought. He stepped out wearing only white shorts and a T-shirt, a fresh rum in his hand. “I could get used to this,” he said. “At night, of course.”
“There you go. We’ll sleep during the day and stay up at night.”
“That’s tempting,” he said. “But I’m sure Carlos doesn’t want to keep putting us up at the Ritz for much longer.”
“You saved his life,” she reminded Jake.
“We did.”
She sipped her rum, her eyes concentrating on Jake’s gaze. “Where do we go from here?”
They had asked each other this question all week. Part of this was a physical location, but deep down they both knew that it was also an existential question of their potential relationship. Jake argued that he was toxic to any woman. His track record proved it. But Sirena had called this notion anecdotal at the least and nonsense at the most.
Much had happened in the past few days. Tiffany Larsen had given up more information on their organization, which led to the intercept of a ship pulling into port in Hong Kong and the rescue of more than a dozen Hispanic girls. This raid also led to a shipment of Chinese girls and young boys that were being transported to Australia. The web of deceit and corruption had many strands.
Carlos Gomez was hiding out somewhere at one of his properties. Jake guessed he had commissioned a new yacht to be built, since he would not want to deal with the memory of those who had died on the one in the Caymans. There was still no definitive answer as to who had tried to kill the Spanish billionaire. Authorities were still trying to identify the men who had died in the attack. They only had the possible country for one of the men, and that was the submachine gun shooter from the pier, who had been identified as a potential French citizen based on the grenade tattoo on his left shoulder—a symbol of the French Foreign Legion. Of course, that organization allowed members from nearly any country. The local authorities had sent the man’s finger prints to the Foreign Legion, but Jake guessed they would never get a name from them.
Where did they go from here? He had pondered that question all week.
“How is your Portuguese?” Jake asked.
She drank the last of her rum and set her glass onto the wide railing. “No way in hell am I going to Brazil.”
“I agree.”
Sirena narrowed her eyes. “Lisbon? I hear Porto is nice. But I’m not a fan of the wine.”
“Think about an island,” he said.
“Madeira?”
Jake pointed his finger up. “Funchal has too many damn tourists.”
“The Azores?”
“Maybe. I like the climate better than here in the Caribbean.”
“Which island?”
“I don’t know. I’ve only been to Lajes Field on Terceira Island back when I was in the Air Force. But I hear Pico Island is nice.”
“Pico it is,” she said. Then she moved in and took his glass of rum from him. She kissed him passionately, unlike a simple friend with benefits.
Jake kissed her with equal vigor.
Author’s Note: Thank you for reading my most recent espionage thriller. I am currently writing a new series featuring the son of Jake Adams and Toni Contardo. Karl Adams is a new CIA officer determined to complete any mission, and knows he has big shoes to fill as he strives to build his own legacy.
If you like science fiction, please consider reading the first book in this new series by author Trevor Schmidt:
The Azure Key (the first book in the Corsair Uprising Space Opera Series)