Double-Cross

by Meredith Fletcher

  “We will continue in that capacity,” Novak said, “while we follow through on this mission. Our primary mission is to keep Agent McLane’s team alive and in good health while they follow through on their assignment.”

  “That assignment is going to be risky,” Riley went on. “We’ve got limited resources, a definite risk of exposure, and know for a fact that our intelligence sources have a leak.”

  One of the SEALs raised a hand. He was young and lean and earnest. “How exposed is the operation going to be, Agent McLane?”

  “For the most part, we’ll maintain a stationary post,” Riley answered. “However, going into the situation, we’re going to attempt to take down a Russian agent who is probably guilty of arms dealing with the Kemenis and, possible, the Q’Rajn. We expect a lot of resistance to that part of the plan. If we’re caught.”

  “Take down?” one of the SEALs asked. “Do you mean, terminate?”

  “No. I mean we’ll take the woman into custody.” Riley nodded at Howie, who tapped buttons on his keyboard.

  The monitor at the front of the conference area juiced and filled with an image of the mystery Russian woman. Unfortunately, the SEALs thought Sam was the one on the screen. They turned to look at her.

  “Wrong woman,” Riley said. “Everybody makes that mistake.” He looked at her, then changed his focus back to the SEALs. He pointed at the image on the screen. “We haven’t identified this woman yet, but we know she’s working with a Russian SVR officer named Sergei Ivanovitch.”

  The images on the screen changed again, showing Ivanovitch in a montage of scenes around the Eastern European countries.

  “Ivanovitch is currently stationed in Berzhaan with orders to prove that the CIA is delivering weapons to the Kemenis,” Riley went on. “We’ve confirmed that through Intel networks. Until a few days ago, no one knew Ivanovitch was in the area.” He frowned. “Be advised that Ivanovitch is not above doing whatever it takes to prove that the CIA has dirty hands in the arms deals taking place in Berzhaan. If Ivanovitch finds you, he will compromise you and this mission.”

  “Is that why the Russians had plastic surgery performed on the woman you showed us earlier?” another SEAL asked. “To compromise the CIA’s presence there?”

  “We don’t know,” Riley answered. “Our first stage of this mission is to take this woman and allow Agent St. John to pass herself off as this woman for a few hours. When she’s successful, we can plant a computer virus in their machines that will give us a second look at some of their incoming and outgoing communications. Hopefully by then we’ll know more about the Russian activities in Suwan.”

  “Sir,” another SEAL spoke up, “you’re talking about putting your agent into a guaranteed hostile situation. We can’t protect her there.”

  “No,” Riley said. “We can’t. But if things go wrong, we will go get her.”

  “Second thoughts, St. John?”

  Sam glanced up from the sandwich she was making in the jet’s small kitchen area. Riley stood in the doorway to the kitchen area. Concern touched his face, but Sam guessed that he was probably worried about the success of the mission, not her. He’d come back to Langley to get her because she was a better means to finish his mission in Berzhaan. She made herself face that fact, and she embraced it. Getting used for something had been a way of life for her for a long time.

  “I’m fine,” she said. She finished assembling the sandwich, then took out a knife and cut it into triangles. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but eating and sleeping were important factors in living through a bad situation.

  “You look tired.”

  “Look,” Sam said, unsheathing steel in her voice, “you don’t have to worry about me. I didn’t crack for two months while Mitchell kept me sequestered away.”

  “You didn’t crack because you didn’t have anything to tell. You weren’t guilty.”

  Then why don’t you cut me some slack? Sam wanted to know. But she didn’t ask the question. Instead, she said, “I’ll come through with what I’m supposed to do.”

  “What you’re supposed to do,” Riley growled, “is infiltrate a top-notch SVR unit that is trying to undermine CIA ops in a foreign country with an undeveloped oil field. That’s a lot of responsibility.”

  “Is that what this is about, McLane?” Sam seethed. “That I might screw up your mission?”

  “Damn, but it’s hard to talk to you.” Riley crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t have to take on the world by yourself.”

  “I’m the only person I trust,” Sam said. “While I was locked up, I looked around every day. I didn’t see anyone else locked up with me.”

  “One of your problems is that you don’t open up. You like being the loner.”

  Being the loner is safest, Sam thought. Memory of how Riley had turned her away filled her stomach with shards of glass. The thing that hurt her most was how much she’d gotten into the role of seductress. Everything had felt so right, so natural, like some of the chemistry Darcy and the others had talked about from time to time. Sam got as angry with herself as she was with him. She’d been the bigger fool. She should just get over it and be done with it.

  “I open up just fine,” Sam said. “A lot of times I’ve found the results just aren’t worth the trouble.”

  Riley took in a deep breath.

  “I’ll get my part done,” Sam said. “You still haven’t made a believer out of me that the Cipher is in Berzhaan.”

  “If he’s not there, Ivanovitch’s team will know how to get in touch with him.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “After you and Howie ID’ed the hit off the coast of Turkey, Howie dug into who would profit from the murder. Turns out that one of the brothers is deeply in bed with a Russian investment company. He’s a compulsive gambler, and they’re blackmailing him. Agency Intel knew about that, but no one put the brother’s death into the mix. Until you and Howie developed the investigation, everyone believed the man’s death was accidental.”

  “What company?”

  “It’s a front for the Russian Mafiya,” Riley said. “A shell company. The investors are Russian organized crime members with an eye toward expansion. Howie’s efforts turned up some possible links to American organized crime. A meeting of criminal minds.”

  Sam considered that, not surprised. Since Russia had declared Communism dead after the Berlin Wall fell in 1989, the whole country had gone into the business of free enterprise. Crime families there had already made giant strides in the black market, drugs, white slave trade, and illegal weapons sales.

  “The day of the murder,” Riley went on, “one of the criminal families the CIA has been monitoring regarding arms sales moved a hundred thousand dollars into a private account in the Cayman Islands,” Riley said. “Howie lost the trail there, but the money was obviously a payoff for the murder.”

  “That’s thin,” Sam pointed out.

  “You’re the one who brought up the fact that Intel has placed the Cipher in Berzhaan lately. Seems like that angle bears investigation.” Riley shifted.

  “There’s more,” Sam said.

  Riley crossed the room and helped himself to a cup of coffee. Then he leaned a hip back against the counter. “Sergei Ivanovitch is more of a wild card than we thought.”

  Sam took a bite of her sandwich. For the first time she saw how tired Riley was. The last week hadn’t been kind to him, either.

  “Ivanovitch has been linked to the crime families,” Riley said. “One of the double agents we use for information has indicated that lately Ivanovitch has decided to use his position to influence events in Berzhaan to help the Mafiya gain a foothold in that country.”

  “For the oil?”

  Riley nodded. “The oil is a big draw for anyone. But Berzhaan is something of an open market. Gain Prime Minister Razidae’s trust and confidence, and you can move a lot of product through the city. Any kind of product you want to move.”

  “Does it matter
whether Ivanovitch is there for the Russian government or the Mafiya?”

  “Yeah, it does.” Riley squinted and didn’t look happy. “He’s in the same boat you are, St. John. He doesn’t trust anyone. He’s going to be looking ahead and over his shoulder at the same time. Someone like that, they’re going to hurt someone before they even know it.” He paused. “If we’re successful in putting you inside Ivanovitch’s operation, you’re going to be stepping inside a viper pit. The only plus we have is that you look so much like the woman in his operation.”

  Enough to fool Ivanovitch? A cold chill slid down Sam’s back. Even if she could make herself up to look like her doppelganger, there were a thousand things that could go wrong. Maybe even a million. Any one of them was enough to get her killed.

  “You still don’t know who the woman is?” Sam asked.

  “Not yet. We will. We’re going to flip a source in Suwan that Intel has identified as one of the assets Ivanovitch has had in the city. We’re going to own him. Then we’ll find out enough to get this operation up off the ground. In the meantime, we know where to find the woman.”

  Riley turned to rinse his coffee cup out in the sink. For the first time Sam saw the days-old bruise that still lay faded and yellow under his cheekbone and across his nose. Before she could stop herself, she reached out to touch his face.

  He turned into her touch so that her hand lay along his face. His gaze consumed her, stirred up those memories that had haunted her for the past week. She throttled those feelings and took her hand back.

  “Where did you get the bruise?” Sam asked.

  “The woman,” Riley answered. “Like I said, she’s good at hand-to-hand. That’s another thing the two of you have in common.”

  One of the Navy SEALs stepped into the kitchen area, then quickly stopped. “I’ll come back later.”

  “No,” Sam said before Riley could point out that nothing was going on between them. “I was just leaving.” She gathered her plate and bottle of water and did just that, returning to the main conference room where Novak’s men continued briefing on the mission.

  Sam took a seat at the back, listening but not hearing. Seated in the middle of the men, she was effectively alone. She’d learned how to do that in public school before she’d gone to the Athena Academy.

  Riley came out of the kitchen area, gazed at her for a moment, then took a seat near Novak. The briefing continued and Sam tried to keep from thinking that the plane was hurtling through the night toward certain death. She just hoped whatever disaster waited ahead didn’t take any of them. Let it be someone else’s death, she thought. Someone like Rainy’s killer.

  Chapter 14

  “T here she is. I’ve got her.”

  Sam stood in front of a shop a block from the hotel where the mysterious woman who looked like her was staying. Sam put a hand to her face to cover her communications. She wore a radio earplug to stay in touch with the rest of the team.

  “Which way?” she asked.

  “North.”

  Sam turned and started walking, threading through the tourists and shopkeepers scattered along the street. Cross streets surrounded the hotel as if it were the center square of a tic-tac-toe board. Down the street fronting the hotel, the main drag was apparently into the shopping area where Sam was. North was toward the Old City, and it was also toward Riley McLane.

  “I’ve got her,” Riley said.

  “Careful,” Novak advised. “Everything we’ve seen on her suggests that she’s decisive, quick and deadly.”

  “Affirmative.”

  Sam put more haste in her steps. Twilight closed in over Suwan, bringing up pools of neon lights where the city had started a slow conversion to Western decadence. There were few of those, but that was where most of the tourists went in the evenings.

  They do not head into Old City, Sam told herself. Not for any good reason.

  “This might not be a good time to pick her up,” Riley said.

  “We might not get another chance,” Sam said. “She could vanish and we’ll never have this opportunity again.”

  “I know.”

  Howie Dunn had broken into the hotel’s guest records and discovered the woman had been staying for more than two weeks. She was also a frequent visitor under the name Elizabeth Harris and had traveled to Suwan a number of times. Looking back over the times, Howie had discovered matches to several instances when incriminating evidence against the CIA had been discovered, or when the Kemenis had gained increased firepower, causing more damage to government buildings and carrying through assassinations.

  “It’s your call,” Novak broke into the communications link. “We’re in position.”

  “She could be heading for a meeting with someone,” Riley said.

  “I’m not going to get inside their organization without meeting people,” Sam said. She put more effort into her stride.

  “She has a point,” Novak replied.

  “Damn it,” Riley said. “I know.” He paused. “You’re ready?”

  Sam knew he was talking about her. “Yes.”

  “Then let’s do it.”

  Sam reached into the shoulder bag she carried and closed her fist around the S&W .40-caliber pistol there. She slid the safety off with her thumb and stepped across the street.

  Riley’s heartbeat picked up speed as he saw the woman walking toward his position. Even knowing that she wasn’t Sam St. John, that she was a Russian agent whose real name they still didn’t know, he couldn’t believe the similarity. They even had the same kind of aggressive walk, complete with a hip roll that was mesmerizing.

  “Watch her,” Riley advised the young SEAL who flanked him. They stood in the alley outside a small café that had been constructed in the building’s basement. A nearby window stood a little above ground level. “She’s deadly at hand-to-hand. Don’t underestimate her.”

  The SEAL grinned. “I was top of my class in unarmed combat. And I’m more than twice her size.” He stood leaning against the building, arms crossed over his chest. “The trick will be to take her down without hurting her.”

  “She knows me,” Riley said, turning away from the approaching woman.

  “It’s okay. I’ve got her.”

  In the multi-paned café window Riley watched the grayed-out reflections of the young SEAL approaching the Russian agent. His stomach tightened. The woman was stepping into exactly the kind of trap he was going to push Sam into in just a short time.

  “Hey, Elizabeth,” the young SEAL said in a pleasant voice.

  Riley watched as the woman swiveled her head up in the SEAL’s direction. She smiled, but the effort never reached her eyes.

  “Bill,” she said, veering toward him, acting surprised and puzzled at the same time. “Is that you?”

  It was a good act. For a moment the SEAL must have questioned if he had the right woman, because he hesitated.

  At that instant Riley knew the wheels had come off the operation. The woman hadn’t been fooled for a moment. He started to turn, reaching for his pistol at his waistband.

  The young SEAL was caught flatfooted. He hadn’t been disarmed by her smiling approach so much as he had by her delicate appearance. With the SEAL standing between the woman and himself, Riley couldn’t see exactly what she did, but the SEAL jerked back, his face suddenly a mask of blood. Then he flew backward and crashed into Riley. Outweighed by the bigger young man, Riley went backward as well. Both of them crashed through the café’s window and went down across a table in a shower of splintering wood and shards of glass.

  Riley shifted the SEAL’s unconscious bulk from him and tried to get his feet under him as the café’s patrons scattered. The woman looked at him through the window. Interest showed on her beautiful features but no fear. Riley knew she had to be trying to figure out who had given her up, and how much the CIA knew.

  “Man down,” Riley called over the earplug. He pointed his weapon at the woman. She moved immediately, as elusive as a ghost. “Man do
wn. Confirm?”

  “Affirmative,” Novak’s calm voice replied. “How bad?”

  “He’s still breathing.” Riley clambered through the window. “She’s getting away. I’m in pur—”

  The woman hadn’t run. She stood just to one side of the window. When Riley turned to face her, she kicked the pistol from his hand, then, in an extension of the same movement, kicked him in the face hard enough to drive him back against the window frame.

  “You should have stayed away, Special Agent Riley McLane,” she said in a voice that sounded so much like Sam St. John’s. “Now we’re going to have to talk more intimately.” She reached out and caught hold of his hair, yanking with enough force to cause agonizing pain. She was surprisingly strong.

  Riley surged up from the café, intending to bowl her over before she could set herself. Instead, she dodged to one side and swept his legs out from under him with one foot. He went down hard, smashing his chin against the paved surface of the alley so hard he almost blacked out. The coppery taste of blood flooded his mouth. He struggled to focus his double vision.

  “Why did you come here?” the woman demanded. She still had hold of his hair. She glanced around quickly.

  “We’re coming,” Novak said. “Close the perimeter, Red Team. Close the perimeter.”

  There were eight points of confrontation spreading out from the Hilton, a circle set within a circle, all designed to stick with the woman and overwhelm her. If Ivanovitch had put anyone on the woman to back her up, the SEALs wouldn’t have been able to get that close to her.

  Curious men and women lined the two windows of the basement café. Heads poked out the broke window. None of them, Riley saw, belonged to the young SEAL.

  Riley tried to get up. The woman pushed his face back into the alley floor. Pain exploded throughout his skull.

  “No,” she chided. “Now that you have begun this little sortie, we’ll do things my way. Answer my questions or I’ll snap your neck.”