SLEEPER (Crossfire Series)

by Gennita Low

  “I’ve a feeling you were disappointed after your meeting, like you expected your niece to be less beautiful and more normal.”

  Greta rolled her eyes. “Please. You’re making me out to be a very shallow woman, Gunth. Beautiful women don’t make me jealous. As for normalcy, I haven’t been around normal people enough to know what that is.”

  Which was a lie, of course. She’d the best neighbors where she’d lived in the States, even though she’d mostly kept to herself. They had been typical Americans with their two-car garage and three kids in school, their little backyard barbeques and the family dog, their family reunions during Easter and Thanksgiving that had filled the street with cars. They’d even invited her because they’d felt sorry for a lonely old woman.

  She had, at first, scoffed at their stupidity, that they couldn’t see who she really was. Then she’d congratulated herself for her excellent disguise, that she’d wormed herself into their hearts. Her dacha, when she went home, would be so much better than these little cookie cutter houses and their Ken and Barbie lives. She would own more interesting things than—she glanced around Gunther’s study—the latest electronic gadget.

  But she’d grown to like her neighbors after some years. They were her source of entertainment when she was bored. Sometimes the kids had reminded her of her nieces and nephews.

  One of whom was dead now, killed by a damn SEAL. Another who was using her husband’s privileges to steal weapons to sell to the highest bidder. That irked Greta. She would never steal from her country. Talia didn’t seem particularly bothered by that fact.

  “Everyone’s doing it, Auntie,” she’d drawled. “Look, I’m not a scientist pimping my brain out to the highest bidder from other nations. I’m not even one of those who is selling our Russian girls to European and Asian bordellos. I’m sorry I didn’t aspire to be like Dragan, whom you approved of so much.”

  Greta pursed her lips. Of course she’d known about Dragan’s big moneymakers—sex slaves and drugs. These had been the things that had financed the illegal arms business.

  Ah well, maybe Talia had a point. She was young and independently wealthy. Greta should feel proud. So why did she feel vaguely irritated at the fact her niece didn’t seem to need her help?

  “So do you think you can get along with her long enough for us to get possession of the item?” Gunther interrupted her reverie. He lifted a pearl-handled pistol that was cradled on a stand and handed it to her. “She still has value.”

  “And how much value do I still have to you?” Greta mused. And vice versa, she wondered silently.

  Gunther smiled, his lips disappearing under his mustache. “You have tremendous value, Greta, what with your excellent knowledge of the U.S. Intel system. I’ve always been a bit envious about that fact. There you were, in that place, the CIA shrine, surrounded by all that juicy information. I’d have given anything to be able to hack into their system from the inside.”

  A geek who wanted to be a bad boy. Greta had met one or two before, even at the CIA. They were malleable as long as one fed them what they wanted, which was high-tech wizardry with which to play. An idea started forming. She rubbed a loving finger across the antique pearl handle of the pistol, admiring its luster.

  “I do like parts of your plan, but there are some parts I think are absolutely horrendous.”

  Gunther’s smile widened. “Be my guest. I’d love to hear your opinions.”

  “I think it’s a mistake you veered from the original plan, which was for me to be the one to handle the explosive device. After all, I sent it out to my nephew. All I had to do when I left the States was to find the exact cache of weapons at which it was dropped. By involving Llallana Noretski, you’ve gotten yourself into trouble as well as lost the weapon, too.” She paused to gauge his reaction. With his arms folded, one hip leaning against his study desk, he looked curiously amiable, as if he were enjoying a class lecture. “Second, I thought your trying to undermine my operation extremely narrow-minded and unwise. I am, as you keep insinuating, an old lady just wanting to have a bit of fun before retiring. Yet you wanted me to look bad to HQ. That was disrespectful, and, frankly, after all these years of dealing with you, a bit immature. Why did you prevent me from getting Llallana Noretski the other night at the club? It’d taken me months to locate the damn woman, even with the offer of a reward, and now she’s disappeared again.”

  Gunther straightened up and pulled out his cigarette case from his pocket. “It’s a nice long story, so you’d better sit down at the desk and be comfortable.”

  After she’d done so, he leaned over her shoulder—a little too close, she thought to move the keyboard toward him. She didn’t say anything as she watched him punch in some commands.

  She hadn’t typed in a while. God, how she’d hated being a secretary, slave to the keyboard. Sure, most of the information she’d procured had been very important, but she’d had to handle hundreds of boring and mundane things in between. She kind of missed it, she supposed. After all, that office had been efficiently run by one of the best assassins-turned-double-agent. She smiled at the thought.

  Gunther clicked the mouse to open a file. “Some time ago, I was advised to look at a classified file out of a bunch of folders given to me from one of our network operatives. The person who called wanted me to read about an old CIA experimental program called Project Precious Gems. It was a fascinating read. On the surface it was an operation that extracted a group of young women and children who had been kidnapped from various parts of the world—you know, the ones your nephew used to buy up for his business.”

  Greta gave him a sideways look. Was he poking fun at her or being sarcastic? He pointed at the screen, so she returned her attention to it. There were thumbnails of photos and a very familiar red Classified on the heading. During the past ten years, she’d seen and handled hundreds of documents that had looked like that.

  “These are the subjects they extracted,” Gunther continued. “Like I said, the extraction was just the surface story. The CIA, while rehabilitating them, decided to use them as test candidates for their new sleeper cell project. It seemed these young girls, who had undergone tremendous mistreatment by the sex traders, were prime candidates because of their emotional damage. The CIA, in essence, was looking for people with strong hatred and a need to channel that emotion. With brainwashing methods and, later, hypnotic implantation with certain commands—voilà!” He snapped his fingers.

  Greta frowned. “Human elements planted in the midst of normal society where they live quietly till they’re activated for a special assignment. We’ve seen plenty of that, even in Russia, where Chechen”—she stopped, then continued slowly—“women appeared to be detonating themselves in high-profile places. Llallana Noretski—”

  Gunther clicked on one of the thumbnails and the photo enlarged. The face of a very young girl with dark hair and eyes stared back solemnly at Greta.

  “Llallana Noretski,” Gunther said. “She’s one of the sleeper cells. Can you imagine, Greta, a collection of young girls who could take out hordes of UN soldiers while they caroused in Europe? And the wonderful chaos and scandal it would cause when it’s traced back to a CIA sleeper project gone awry?”

  CHAPTER 15

  At least I have one answer, Lily mused as she stared at the ceiling. It wasn’t the luxurious bed that had given her that wonderful sleep the other night. If it was, she should be happily in la-la land, floating in that place far away from her present problems.

  Instead, she was tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable, as if the bed were filled with marbles instead of feathers. All the while, her internal radar was focused on the man in the media room. He’d been in there an hour already. Had to think, he’d said…couldn’t he think in here?

  She sniffed. Maybe not. She knew she wouldn’t be able to think if he here in bed with her. Every time he came within a few feet of her, her whole body lit up like Christmas lights.

  Lily grimaced grimly. Ch
ristmas. She probably wouldn’t be celebrating Christmas this year.

  “Hey, no last-minute rushing to buy presents,” she said humorlessly. Not that anyone would be buying her any. By then, if everything went according to plan, the girls would be gone, and she would be…

  She turned over and punched the pillow. Morbid thoughts at night. That ought to put her to sleep so much easier.

  What was Reed thinking about? She’d offered him all that reward money. Wasn’t that incentive enough? He could be far, far away from here by Christmas, too, whooping it up with his new life.

  Lily rubbed her eyes wearily. A new life. How ironic. They’d given her a new life and new identity, and look where she was now.

  But I didn’t know!

  She smiled wryly at the fierce denial. No one would believe her—not Amber, not Hawk, and especially not Brad, who’d been attracted to her. There had been something between them, something that had called to the Lily inside her to free herself. Yet, in the end, she hadn’t been able to. She hadn’t liked the things the voice had been telling her, that her friends were—

  Lily frowned. Something just clicked that she hadn’t remembered before. A voice. Cell phone calls. She jolted up suddenly.

  She remembered a phone call! No, she remembered two. Was it two?

  “What’s the matter?”

  She looked up, startled. She hadn’t heard Reed coming in. She shook her head distractedly as her mind chased after the snatches of conversation in her head.

  Reed turned on the table light and sat on the side of the bed. “Lily?” he prompted, frowning.

  She shook her head again, waving a finger to him to give her a moment.

  Everything in the room became blurry as she fought to concentrate.

  Things fall apart. A male voice had said that. Wait, hadn’t she heard that line recently? She frowned, raking her hair carelessly.

  All relationships must be severed. Only the girls. You know what will happen to the girls. What will happen if you don’t do this and save the girls, Llallana? Answer me.

  “Things fall apart,” Lily muttered, then pounded the bed with excitement, repeating it louder, “Things fall apart! That’s it!”

  She looked up to find Reed watching her like a hawk. He must think she’d gone mad.

  “What about things falling apart?” he asked calmly, his eyes probing her face. His hands reached for her. She suddenly realized that she was trembling so hard he had to steady her.

  Lily started to explain, then closed her mouth. She couldn’t tell him. Where would she start? And what would she say? Something like, “Well, Reed, I was programmed by the CIA as a sleeper cell, you see, with these embedded commands in my brain. Anyway, for some reason, they wanted to steal a weapon that could hide a bomb from this bad guy, Dilaver, and so they activated this subconscious trigger that makes me listen to them.

  “Then they had me betray a few friends of mine to Dilaver so I could make a grand escape to finish my job, which was to go to this big political summit and detonate a bomb and kill everyone at that meeting. Only, one of my friends somehow got hold of me and did something to stop me—I can’t tell for sure—but this big explosion never happened. And now everyone’s mad at me—my friends who also wanted this weapon, my enemies who had this weapon, and the CIA who had—”

  She started to laugh hysterically. “—who had this device in the first place and lost it,” she gasped out, then realized she’d said the last part aloud. Falling back against the pillows, she laughed so hard her sides hurt. All the while, Reed sat there, his face strangely expressionless as he watched her.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” she told him in between chuckles.

  “What doesn’t?”

  She shook her head again. “If I tell you, you’ll be just as confused as I am now and tell me I’m certifiably insane. Then you’ll probably refuse to do what I asked of you earlier.”

  “Lily, you aren’t making sense either way. But I like the way you laugh.”

  She sniffed and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. They were damp. “That wasn’t laughter. That was hysteria.” She accepted the tissues he handed her and blew her nose hard. “Oh God, Reed, my life’s a mess. But you know what? I suddenly feel a lot better.”

  “Good.” He tilted her chin. His lips were gentle against hers. “I’m glad.”

  It didn’t matter that she could be angry, sad, or even freaked out. All he had to do was touch her and everything immediately became less important. One look. One touch. And dark, long-suppressed desire would surface. This time she would reach out for it.

  She wanted the kiss to be longer. She was so tired of running away, fearing that she was a danger to people she cared about. She probably still was, but she’d had no contact with any phone all these months. She was very sure now that it was through the phone and not by person. She had proof.

  Nikki Harden had said that same line the other day…“Things fall apart,” she’d said, when they’d been talking about weapons. And nothing had happened. Lily had even said the line aloud and it hadn’t invoked that dreaded feeling of doom she remembered experiencing during those days. She hadn’t gone off the deep end and rushed away to get the weapon.

  Those damn men playing with her brain had made sure she wasn’t triggered by random sentences that might contain the line from the poem. They must have set it so that she could only be triggered through electronic means. Something easy, like a phone call.

  She slid her hands up Reed’s arms. “Kiss me again,” she said. There were no embedded orders to kiss this man and make love to him. “I like the way you kiss, besides other things.”

  His lips quirked. “I’m glad to know that.”

  “Reed,” she said, pulling on his arm. “Come to bed. I need you here tonight.”

  She was tired of lies and lying to him. She would like one night in which she could remember her emotions as being real, that it was Lily Noretski the woman who wanted this man, and not Lily the savior of all female victims seeking vengeance for her kidnapped sister. There had never been any sister; the missing sister was actually herself. Those damned assholes who had raped her mind had channeled her anger and hatred through lies, making her forever look for someone who didn’t even exist.

  They’d taken away her past and tainted her future. She wasn’t going to let them control her anymore. One way or another, she would find what was real and what was programmed.

  Lily smiled up at Reed, her hands caressing his shoulders as she urged him closer. All these feelings she had for this man were real. That was why she’d found so much pleasure in his touch, why she wanted him to touch her all the time. Before, she’d always had to be the one in control, and she’d never been able to find real joy in intimacy. If her emotions got too involved, some warning signal always sounded, ordering her to push away.

  But not with Reed. She couldn’t get enough of his touch. And she hadn’t wanted to be in control.

  Tonight she wanted to experience lovemaking with no thought of her past and future. “Are you going to refuse me this as well?” she asked, and it felt so good to know she could tease and mean it. “One night with me might change your mind.”

  Reed leaned forward and trapped her against the pillows, his strong arms on either side of her. “That’d never happen,” he said. “I wanted you the first time I saw you, but there were too many things happening that got in the way.”

  “Not tonight, Reed,” she told him. She slid lower down the pillows, her hands pulling at his T-shirt. “Let’s have nothing between us tonight. We’ll let things happen tomorrow, but right now I’d like to make love.”

  “Make love,” he echoed.

  “Well, we’ll fuck afterwards,” she said, grinning. “Do you know I haven’t seen you naked since you bathed me in the bathroom?”

  “I thought you only saw me naked when I dropped you on the bed.”

  She blinked, then bit her lower lip, trying to look chagrined. “Oh.” Oops, she ha
d said she was tired of lying. “Well, I peeked earlier. Do you always call out the parts of your body when you’re washing?”

  The intensity in his gray eyes curled her toes. He had a way of looking at her that made her heart zing around inside her like a balloon losing air.

  “It’s so I don’t miss anything,” he said, climbing onto the bed now, straddling her body. He pulled his T-shirt over his head and threw it onto the floor. Her eyes were drawn to his wide shoulders and muscular chest. The man was…hot. “Now that you’re fully awake, I think I’ll have to do it all over again, just to make sure. No, I’ll take care of the shirt myself, just like before. You must lie here quietly while I concentrate.”

  He slipped his knee between hers, nudging her thighs apart. She gasped at the intimate contact.

  “I really love your penchant for not wearing underwear,” he said approvingly.

  He pushed the T-shirt higher. She lifted her arms over her head, helping him. Even before the shirt was off, his head dipped and his mouth covered her right nipple.

  The position of her arms pushed her breast higher and she gasped again when he cupped her other breast and gently squeezed. His weight trapped one of her legs, while his knee pushed her other one, nudging her open. It was a vulnerable position, similar to when he’d had her in the shower. But he didn’t touch her as he paid attention to her breasts, kissing his way up her neck, moving his knee as he did so, pushing her legs still further apart.

  “Wrap your leg around me like you did when we tangoed,” he said. “That’s it.”

  He gave her that devastating smile, telling her he’d known even then how much she’d wanted him too. How appropriate. The tango—the mating dance, where the woman opened herself sexually to the man.