The remaining two structures were outside the walls. One looked like it could be a house, while the other an office building, or storage facility, or—what Alex thought most likely—barracks.
“Slavne Prison,” McElroy said.
Alex sat up. “I’m sorry. Prison?”
“Please, Ms. Poe, if you’ll just let me—”
“That’s where this woman is? In prison?”
McElroy hesitated before saying, “Yes, but—”
“What the hell?” Deuce said. He had managed to pile a couple of sandwiches on his plate and had stopped halfway back to his chair. “How are we supposed to get to her there?”
“If you’ll bear with me, I’m going to cover that.”
But Alex was already ahead of him. It didn’t take much brainpower to figure out McElroy’s plan. “This is a women’s prison, isn’t? You want me to go in. That’s why you need me.”
Before McElroy could reply, Deuce dropped his plate to the table, spilling one of the sandwiches off the side. “Whoa. Absolutely not,” he said. “This is not even close to a good idea. Alex, we’re done. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“You’ve already signed contracts,” McElroy said.
“So sue us,” Deuce told him, crossing for the door, not looking back until he got there. But Alex remained in her seat. “Alex? Come on.”
She didn’t move. She knew Deuce was right, that they should leave, but she kept thinking about that photograph of her father and El-Hashim. Kept visualizing it, thinking about all the years that had passed since she and Danny had last seen him.
“Alex,” Deuce said. “Hello? Let’s go.”
She still didn’t move.
Deuce frowned deeply now, then crossed to her chair and leaned in close. “You cannot possibly be considering this.”
“It won’t hurt to listen to what he has to say.”
Deuce gaped. “It’s a prison, Alex. A prison in a former Soviet country. Are you—” He paused and glanced at the others. “Can I speak to my partner alone for a moment?”
McElroy exhaled an exasperated breath. “Please make it quick.” He, Cooper, and the technician left the room.
The moment Alex and her partner were alone, Deuce said, “What are you thinking?”
“You know why I’m here. This woman, she spoke to my father.”
“Good for her,” Deuce said. “But right now she’s locked up in a goddamn Ukrainian prison out in the middle of nowhere. You think you’re just gonna slip in there and walk her out? I don’t know exactly how these dickheads think they’re gonna pull this off, but whatever their plan is, you and I both know it could go south about a thousand different ways.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry, Deuce. I shouldn’t have involved you in this.”
“What the hell are you talking about? It’s a woman’s prison. I’m not the one who’ll be walking into the line of fire. That’ll be all you. If something happens while you’re inside, I’m not going to be there to help. Father or no father, I’m not gonna let that happen.”
Alex knew he was only speaking out of concern for her—out of love, when it came down to it—but Deuce could never fully understand the sense of loss she’d felt concerning her parents. If there was a chance to ease her pain—and Danny’s, too—she had to consider it.
“I’m staying, Deuce. I want to at least hear what McElroy has to say.”
Deuce studied her for a long moment, then sank into the seat next to her. “Jesus Christ,” he said, staring at the ceiling for several more seconds. “Okay, here’s the deal. We listen to their plan. But if it’s as batshit crazy as we both know it’s bound to be, we blow this place.”
Alex could only answer him with a smile. This was a promise she couldn’t make and Deuce knew it.
He sighed heavily. “Fine.” Reluctantly, he rose again, hesitating like he wanted to say more, but whatever it was, he kept it to himself. He went to the door, opened it, and headed back to his seat without another word.
McElroy stuck his head in. “Are we a go?”
Alex nodded. “Let’s continue.”
Once everyone was back in place, McElroy pointed at the satellite image of Slavne Prison.
“As you so astutely pointed out,” he said, “the facility houses only female prisoners. What I was going to tell you before the interruption was that it’s a low-security facility that’s used both for women convicted of nonviolent crime and women awaiting trial.”
Deuce gestured to the image. “You call that low security?”
“I know it looks intimidating, but it’s been there since well before World War Two. At that time, yes, it was intended for higher-risk inmates, but over the years they’ve built better, more modern facilities for those purposes.”
“I’m sure it’s just like Club Med,” Deuce said.
McElroy frowned at him. “May I go on?”
Deuce didn’t object.
“Slavne Prison is designed to hold just under fifteen hundred inmates, all housed in one of these three buildings.” With a laser pointer, he circled the three identical buildings within the big wall. “The amount of prisoners changes daily depending on trials. Sometimes they’re actually overcrowded, but currently they’re running at about eighty-seven percent of capacity.” He moved the light to the perpendicular building below them. “This is the administration building. It’s also where the infirmary is. Here and here”—the light touched on two points along the edge of the admin building—“are the only two intended ways in and out of the facility.”
“Are there any unintended?” Alex asked.
Ignoring the comment, McElroy touched on the two buildings outside the wall. “These are housing facilities for guards and other staff.” He moved the pointer to the building with its own wall on the other side of the prison. “And this is isolation, where they keep problem prisoners.”
“And where, exactly, is El-Hashim?”
He pointed at the middle of the three parallel buildings. “Here, on the second floor.” He glanced at his assistant. “Barbara? Schematics.”
The map shrank down until it was the size of one of the smaller rectangles, then moved to an empty slot along the bottom. Replacing it in the larger screen was an architectural drawing of one of the prison buildings.
“Push in on the cell,” McElroy ordered.
The whole image swung to the side, revealing it as a three-dimensional file, then traveled through the outside wall into the main corridor that ran through the center of the second floor. There, it pivoted, showing one of the doors.
“The cells have a three-digit numbering system. The first number indicates building, the final two the actual cell. This is cell number 259. El-Hashim seldom leaves it.”
“How the hell do you know that?” Deuce asked.
“We have someone on the inside. An informant.”
“And does this informant keep a constant eye on—”
“Can we get to the meat here?” Alex said, cutting Deuce off. “The bottom line is that I’m supposed to go in, right?”
“Yes.”
“As what? A visitor?”
“Prisoner.”
Alex had known what he was going to say, but hearing it didn’t make it sound any less crazy.
“See?” Deuce said. “I told you.”
But Alex’s attention was still on McElroy. “Okay, so that’s how I get in. Now how do I get out?”
“Our informer.”
“Who is?”
“Code name Traz,” McElroy said. “Someone very well placed.”
“So why doesn’t he or she deal with El-Hashim?”
McElroy shook his head. “We’re not talking about an operative, and it isn’t someone who has El-Hashim’s ear. The contact is extremely concerned about being found out by prison officials.”
“Then why cooperate at all?”
“We have something Traz wants.”
“Which is?”
“I’m afraid that’s classified,” McElro
y said. “All that matters is that this contact is our eyes and ears. And once you’re inside and you’ve convinced El-Hashim to leave, Traz will facilitate the escape.”
“Why all the mystery?” Deuce asked. “Who is this person?”
McElroy shook his head. “One of the conditions Traz insisted on was that his or her identity remain a secret in case something goes wrong before Alex gets to the facility. Once she’s inside, Traz will reach out.”
“So, in other words,” Deuce said, “Alex goes in completely blind.” He looked at Alex. “You get that, right?”
“I get it. But if I were in this Traz’s position, I’d ask for exactly the same guarantee. You would, too.”
She sensed Deuce’s resistance, but he kept his mouth shut. What could he say? He knew she was right.
A small smile of satisfaction creased McElroy’s face, but Alex moved quickly to kill it. “Just because I can understand the reasoning doesn’t mean I don’t need some safety assurances of my own.”
“Of course. You’re wondering if any of our intel is trustworthy.”
“Gee, it’s like you’re reading my mind.”
McElroy turned. “Cooper, can you tell Ms. Fazakas to join us?”
Cooper got up and exited the room. Moments later he returned with a dark-haired woman who was a good four inches shorter than Alex and looked Eastern European, maybe in her late thirties to mid-forties.
“Ms. Poe,” McElroy said. “This is Ms. Fazakas. Ms. Fazakas, Alexandra Poe.”
The woman nodded hello, then reluctantly took Alex’s offered hand and shook.
“Ms. Fazakas spent the better part of two years in Slavne Prison. After we’re through here, she’ll give you a thorough briefing, but suffice it to say the contact at the prison is known to her, and was the one who helped Ms. Fazakas get out.”
Alex eyed the woman. She realized now that Fazakas was probably younger than she looked. Whether it was the time in prison or life before that, something had taken its toll on her. She looked worn, tired, and, if Alex was right, a little fearful.
Alex eyed her. “You think this Traz can do it again with me?”
“Escaping a prison isn’t an easy thing,” Fazakas said. “But if Traz says it is possible again, then I assume yes.”
“So how did you get out?”
The woman hesitated. “The prison has high walls and several guards, but security is lax at times. I was able to get out in a hidden compartment on a delivery truck. I doubt you will be going the same way, though.”
“Why not?”
“The compartment was barely large enough for me. As I understand it, there will be two of you.”
Alex looked at McElroy. “Do you know how we’re getting out?”
He hesitated. “Ms. Poe, as I mentioned before, Traz is very concerned about something going wrong, and has insisted the information not be shared with anyone on the actual mission, and I have to agree. If you are caught, it will be better if you have no knowledge of the escape route. That way, if we need to send someone in to rescue you, it will still be open to us.”
“That is bullshit,” Deuce said. “You expect Alex to walk into that prison and not know exactly how she’s getting out?”
McElroy ignored him and looked directly at Alex. “I’m asking for your trust. Everything is in place for when you will need it. And unlike when Ms. Fazakas escaped, you will have help on the outside.” He motioned at Cooper and Deuce.
Deuce opened his mouth to say something again, but Alex put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. She understood compartmentalizing information. She’d been in the army, after all. And as much as she might have liked to have a clearer picture, she couldn’t disagree with McElroy’s logic.
“Let’s assume I accept, and that there’s an adequate exit plan,” she said. “Can you at least explain how I’m getting in?”
“That’s the easy part. You’ll be arrested.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And then what? Wait around until they finally decide to send me to Slavne?”
“Of course not. We have planned out every aspect of the mission. Your transfer to Slavne Prison is already arranged. You’ll be sent there the same day you’re picked up.”
“Oh, the power of corruption,” Deuce muttered.
McElroy shot him a look. “It does come in handy sometimes. Most of the time, in fact.”
It was nearly half a minute before Alex spoke again. “So you have me in, and you have me out. I still see one big problem.”
“Only one?” Deuce said.
Alex ignored him. “Why me? Why in the world would El-Hashim listen to me?”
“Because the two of you already have a shared connection,” McElroy said.
“My father?”
McElroy nodded.
“Even if I used that, why would she believe me?”
“You’ll be imprisoned under a false name. As soon as the opportunity presents itself, tell her who you really are. She isn’t completely cut off from the outside world, and will have ways of confirming your identity. Once she does, play up that you’re there on your father’s behalf to help her escape.”
“You don’t even want me to point out the number of potential holes in that story,” Deuce said.
McElroy greeted the comment with a grunt. “Not if we keep it simple.” He focused back on Alex. “If asked, you know nothing about your father’s activities or his relationship with El-Hashim. You’re doing this because he asked you to, and nothing more.”
Could it work? Alex wondered. Maybe. But it seemed so—
You go see Dad. Danny, smiling and happy and hopeful. Then in words he hadn’t spoken, but still in his voice: Bring him home, Aleck. Bring Dad home.
She closed her eyes, resting her forehead on her hand, her father’s face from the surveillance photos front and center in her mind.
When she finally looked up again, she said, “All right, let’s start at the beginning. Tell me exactly how we’re gonna do this.”
*
MCELROY REMAINED IN the conference room alone after everyone else had left.
The briefing couldn’t have gone better.
Alex was in. As was, although reluctantly, her partner Deuce.
There had been a few dicey points during the discussion, but that was to be expected. It wasn’t an easy mission, by a long shot. But McElroy had been able to keep the conversation on track. He had even been able to smooth over the fact that he couldn’t tell them exactly how they were getting out of the prison. He hadn’t lied when he said Traz didn’t want anyone on the ground in Crimea to know the route in case they were captured and questioned. The insider had been very clear about that.
But McElroy had implied that he, himself, had been told. That was not exactly true. Traz’s fear extended to everyone involved on Stonewell’s side. And while McElroy would have preferred to know the details, the condition was one he was willing to live with in view of the potential reward.
That was why he was in charge to make the difficult choices. And in this case, it had definitely paid off. The mission was on, and he knew without a doubt that the abduction of El-Hashim would reap the information he needed to locate and finally capture Raven.
Yes. It couldn’t have gone better.
Chapter Eight
Bern, Switzerland
This was not their usual day for a meeting, nor their usual time. But emergencies happened, and this one, the woman thought, couldn’t be more urgent.
She sat quietly on the left side of a rectangular conference table as her colleagues filed into the room and took their seats. Three men, all with well-known faces, each one seasoned by circumstance, and a bit haggard after a number of sleepless nights.
The woman hadn’t slept much, either. Not since she had received the news. She was no stranger to the complexities of their situation, having spent the last five decades in the trenches with some of the most powerful men and women in the world, but this particular complication could destroy all of that h
ard work in an instant.
At the center of the table was a speakerphone with an encrypted connection, allowing the fifth member of their assembly to attend remotely. The connection was crystal clear, and she could hear him quietly breathing on the line.
As they settled into their chairs, the oldest of the men said, “All right, so where do we stand?”
To the world outside, he was a prominent banker. Cautious, conservative, trustworthy. But the more appropriate description was greedy. For it was greed that had brought them all together in the first place—a flaw, or perhaps strength, that the woman was more than willing to admit to. After all, wasn’t it greed of one kind or another that drove most human beings?
“Nothing’s changed,” she said. “My source tells me the Ukrainian authorities still have no idea who they have in custody.”
The banker nodded. “What guarantee do we have it’ll stay that way?”
“None, I’m afraid. Leaks are inevitable. It’s really only a matter of time.”
“That’s pure speculation,” the voice on the speakerphone said. At fifty-one, he was the youngest—and least seasoned—member of the committee. “And even if she’s compromised, I doubt she’ll say anything.”
The banker nodded in agreement. “He has a point. El-Hashim has been an extremely loyal and efficient operative. She knows what’s expected of her, and she’ll carry it out.”
“What she knows is too much,” the woman said. “I don’t doubt her loyalty for a moment, and I’m sure she’ll do everything she can to remain silent. But if the Ukrainians find out who she really is—and speculation or not, I believe they will—they’re bound to turn her over to the British or the Russians or, God forbid, the Americans.”
The mood around the table grew darker at the prospect.
“Once that happens, gentlemen, she’ll be out of our reach. And loyal or not, she’s only human. If they can’t get her to talk, they’ll outsource the job, and sooner or later she’ll tell them everything she knows.”
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