by CW Browning
But it was the last folder on the drive that riveted her attention. Viper scrolled through detailed descriptions, emailed instructions, and deposit slips for payment for both the hit and run attempt on Stephanie and the car bomb planted on her car. Billy also had detailed documentation on the attack on Michael, with notations of how much he had been instructed to pay the four participants and corresponding money transfers into his account. Alina read with interest the email from Regina to both Billy and Jason, telling them to make sure to get Michael's laptop and make it look like a robbery. Billy had also somehow landed copies of emails between Regina and Art Cosgrove, of the Secret Service. Alina was sure Michael would be interested to know that Regina was really the one guiding his investigation, not Art.
The laptop dinged, breaking the silence in the living room and alerting Alina to the fact that her copy of the files from the external hard-drive was complete. She leaned forward, glancing at her watch with a yawn. It was about time for breakfast in Egypt.
Alina smiled slightly as she encrypted the copy of the files and zipped them into another encrypted file. Her contact in Egypt was about to get a surprise with her morning coffee. If anything happened and Viper failed, her contact would make sure Charlie got the encrypted file. She sent the file through the secure server and sat back, stretching her arms high above her head. Standing up with another wide yawn, she picked up her empty water bottle and wandered into the kitchen, setting it on the counter before opening the back door and stepping out into the night.
Leaning against the worn wooden banister, she stared out into the pitch darkness, the night alive with music around her. Owls were hooting in the trees, crickets were singing loudly everywhere, and a soft breeze carried the scent of the forest as it brushed against her face. Alina breathed deeply and felt her muscles relax on her exhale. The night was perfect and peaceful, soothing away her stress and surrounding her with its comfort. Tomorrow she would start stalking Regina. Her connection to the White House and the resulting protection made things tricky, but Viper was confident that she would find a way to get the woman out of her comfort zone. If she could do it with foreign national leaders, she could do it with Regina Cummings. Alina smiled slowly in the darkness.
After all, this was exactly what she had been trained to do.
Raven appeared out of the darkness and landed on the banister next to her hand. Alina smiled at her bird and lifted her hand to stroke his head. Raven bobbed his head, blinking his shiny eyes and staring at her intently. She let her hand fall away from his head and he bobbed it once more before launching off the banister again. Alina heard him land a few seconds later on the overhang above her head. He was going into the bedroom to settle down for what was left of the night.
She turned to go back into the cabin, closing the door and locking out the night. She flipped the light off in the kitchen and headed down the short hall to the living room. Alina was just passing the couch, on her way upstairs to bed, when her laptop made a familiar noise.
Viper smiled slightly as she went up the stairs. Her contact in Egypt had received the file. Her insurance was in place.
Blake watched as Michael pressed end on his cell phone and dropped it onto the bed next to the open carry-on bag.
“Who's Damon Peterson again?” he demanded from where he was leaning against the door jam.
“The missing DHS agent who was helping Ms. Walker and her partner three months ago,” Michael answered, turning toward the dresser.
“And why do we care about him?” Blake asked, sipping his beer and watching as Michael grabbed a change of clothes from the dresser and stuffed them into the bag.
“I don't,” Michael retorted, “but Art wants me to go Peru and bring him back. Now.”
“Do you think he knows something?” Blake asked after a moment.
Michael glanced at him before he disappeared into the master bathroom.
“Art thinks he does,” he called from within the bathroom. He reappeared a moment later with a black shaving kit in his hand.
“No offense, but so far Art hasn't impressed me with his intelligence,” Blake muttered as Michael dropped the shaving kit into the carry-on and zipped up the bag.
“None taken.” Michael picked up the bag and his phone and turned toward the door. “I think it's a wild goose-chase. Damon Peterson is no more a DHS agent than I'm Peter Pan.”
He brushed past Blake and headed down the hall, Blake trailing after him down the stairs.
“So we think he's working with Viper?” he asked.
Michael glanced over his shoulder.
“I'm sure of it,” he said.
He dropped his bag next to the front door, glanced at his watch, and went down the hall toward the kitchen. Blake followed with his beer.
“Then why is he in Peru?” he asked logically. “Viper's here. Isn't she?”
“Only God Himself knows where Viper is,” Michael muttered, grabbing his half-empty beer off the island in the kitchen and lifting it to his mouth. Blake perched on one of the bar stools and frowned thoughtfully.
“How did Art find out Damon was in Peru?” he asked. Michael shrugged.
“He wouldn't say,” he answered. “If he's still there when I get there, I'll be shocked.”
“You think he's running?” Blake asked.
Michael shook his head.
“I don't know,” he muttered, finishing his beer and turning to set the empty bottle into the sink. “I just don't know.”
“Did Art say what reason to give to detain him?” Blake asked. Michael's lips twisted.
“National security,” he answered grimly.
Blake stared at him and shook his head.
“This isn't a wild goose-chase. It's a witch hunt,” he said.
Michael's eyes were troubled when they met his.
“I know.”
“Well, I'll take care of my part here.” Blake finished his beer and got up to put his bottle with Michael's in the sink. “I'll contact you as soon as I have something.”
“I appreciate that,” Michael said as they walked back toward the front door. “I'm sorry to drop all of this on you and then fly away.”
Blake laughed.
“No worries,” he answered, stopping at the door and turning to face Michael. His eyes were alight with a new sparkle. “You were always good for keeping it interesting,” he added, holding out his hand. Michael grinned and grasped his hand.
“You be careful,” he said, growing serious. “Everyone involved in this mess ends up with a bulls-eye on their back.”
Blake's eyes met his and he nodded briefly, his jaw hardening.
“It won't be the first time we've had targets on our backs,” he replied. “It's never ended well for the people who put them there. This time won't be any different.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Damon sat at the table in the back corner of the hotel bar and stared at the handwritten note in his hands. After a long silence, he slowly lifted his eyes to the young local man sitting across from him. The man shivered at the look of icy fury in his eyes.
“This comes from your brother?” Hawk asked softly in Spanish.
The man nodded nervously.
“He sent me to you as soon as he heard you were here,” he answered.
Hawk stared at him for a moment with those glacial eyes before folding up the note and slipping it into his pocket. He lifted the pint of beer in front of him and sipped it, watching the man across from him fidget.
“Your brother is a good friend, Marcus,” he finally said, setting his glass down.
The young man visibly relaxed and managed a smile, revealing a missing tooth.
“He says the same of you,” Marcus replied.
Hawk nodded and reached out to pull a small notepad toward him. He ripped the top page off the pad and placed it on the table before scrawling a quick note on the paper.
“Take this back to your brother, with my thanks,” he said, folding it and handing it to Marcu
s. “Tell him I won't stay in the city. I'll be gone by morning.”
“Si, Señor.”
The young man stood up and turned to leave the bar without a backward glance. Damon watched him go, his eyes narrowed. Santiago was his closest contact in Lima, and his younger brother was as loyal as they came. When Marcus came to the hotel looking for him, Damon knew that something was wrong. Santiago never sent Marcus unless the situation was serious. Hawk sat back and sipped his beer again. The anger that had been simmering since yesterday, waiting to boil over, was now even closer to the surface.
They wanted him dead.
That was the message tucked into his pocket from Santiago. There was a price on his head high enough to attract most of the mercenaries and assassins worldwide. They were coming after him now.
Damon stared across the dimly lit restaurant, his eyes on the door. The bounty had been issued two nights ago, but the word had gone out this morning that he was in Lima. Santiago wrote that two mercenaries from Brazil were already in the city looking for him. He could delay them by sending them into the country, but there would be more.
Damon sipped his beer, his eyes remaining fixed absently on the door to the bar. He would leave the city today and go into the mountains until he decided on the best course of action. He wasn't staying in Peru. Viper may have got him here, but she couldn't make him stay.
Viper.
Hawk frowned ferociously. Obviously her contact in Egypt had alerted her to the bounty on his head when she spoke with her that last night. Harry told him that he and Viper were trying to protect him, and now Hawk knew just what they were trying to protect him from. When Regina couldn't get to Viper through Stephanie, she had come after him.
Damon set his beer down and crossed his arms over his chest, sitting back in his chair and glaring at the door. He set aside his anger with Viper for the moment and focused it on Regina Cummings instead. She was ruthless in her pursuit of Viper and, while he understood that Viper had witnessed a very inconvenient meeting between the Vice President of the United States and a terrorist leader, Regina's viciousness indicated that there was something more. For the life of him, Damon couldn't think what it could possibly be. The broken leg wouldn't warrant such spite...would it?
Hawk was still pondering the question when a large shadow filled the door of the bar. He noted the height and military bearing even as he raised his eyes to the newcomers face. His blue eyes met hazel-green ones across the near empty bar, and Damon recognized the Secret Service agent instantly. The two men stared at each other for a moment, weighing each other silently, one suddenly amused and the other cautiously curious.
Michael studied what he could see of the man seated in the shadows at the back of the bar. He had his back to the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, and he was staring right back at Michael intently. He looked perfectly at ease in the wooden bar chair, his legs stretched out comfortably beneath the dark, scarred table. In fact, Michael got the absurd impression that he was suddenly amused.
He turned to the bar with a frown and ordered a beer in Spanish, aware that the man in the corner never took his eyes off him. Once he was handed his beer, he turned toward the table in the back corner, noting the big shoulders and thick biceps as he moved closer. He sighed inwardly. If it came down to a fight, Damon Peterson would clearly be able to hold his own. Michael suddenly hoped his diplomacy wasn't as tired as his body was right now. The last thing he wanted was a fight with this brute on less than three hours of sleep in the past thirty-one hours.
“Mind if I join you?” Michael asked in English, stopping at the other side of the table.
“Not at all,” Damon replied.
Michael pulled out the chair and set his pint down on the table. Hawk watched him, his blue eyes glinting in the dim light. Viper's gunny was larger and more solid up close and in person. He moved with precision that told Hawk he would make a worthy opponent in a fight, and he suddenly hoped the gunny would pick one. He needed a good fight to blow out some of this anger and frustration.
“You're a hard man to find,” Michael told him, seating himself.
Hawk silent as Michael studied him, sitting back in his chair. The man before him exuded powerful confidence. This was a man who was capable of handling himself in any situation, and right now he was perfectly comfortable facing a federal agent across the table in a little hotel bar in Peru. Michael smiled.
“Is your name really Peterson?” he asked softly.
“No.”
“I didn't think so,” Michael murmured, sipping his beer. He grimaced slightly and set it down.
“Who do you think I am?” Hawk asked, his voice soft and dangerous.
“Does it matter?” Michael asked.
Damon studied the agent before him and saw the look of sharp intelligence in his eyes. He knows exactly who I am, Hawk thought in surprise. He's already put it all together.
“How did you find out?” he asked, dropping any pretense and uncrossing his arms.
Michael watched as Damon sipped his beer, his demeanor calm and disinterested. Yet, Michael had the impression that he was being tested.
“Do you want the long version or the short version?” he asked dryly.
Damon raised an eyebrow slightly and his lips twitched.
“Short,” he answered. “Long versions bore me.”
“A Navy SEAL was shot to death on my front porch and something had to link him to Viper,” Michael told him, sipping his beer again. “I was halfway here before the light bulb went on. The connection wasn't a something, it was a someone. Someone whose name only showed up once in connection with Jason's unit.”
“I'll have to look into that,” Hawk murmured. “It shouldn't have shown up at all.”
“Don't worry.” Michael smiled slightly. “It won't show up again.” Hawk glanced at him sharply and Michael shrugged. “It was the least I could do for you.”
“Why are you here?” Damon asked after a moment of silence. “Did she send you away too?”
“Is that why you're here?” Michael asked in surprise. Hawk stared at him silently and he sighed. “No. She didn't send me. She's disappeared again. I was sent to bring you to Washington for questioning.”
Hawk sat back, his face impassive.
“How did you find out where I was?” he asked softly.
“My boss's boss sent me,” Michael answered, watching as Damon's eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together into a hard line.
“So, that's her game,” Hawk murmured grimly, the anger surging toward the surface again. Send the Secret Service after him as well and, if the mercenaries didn't get him, she would.
“Who's game?” Michael repeated.
Hawk looked at him and Michael was confronted with icy fury in the cold blue eyes.
“Regina Cummings,” Damon replied coldly.
Michael's eyebrows soared into his forehead.
“Regina?” he repeated in surprise. Damon noted the genuine surprise in Michael's eyes before it was almost instantly replaced with understanding. “Of course!” Michael exclaimed. “That explains almost everything!”
“Well, you've clearly figured most of this mess out,” Damon observed in grudging respect.
“I knew someone close to the White House was responsible for everything,” Michael said quietly, leaning forward. “Regina is the VP's right hand. What does Viper have on her?”
“Not her,” Hawk told him softly. “Her boss.”
He watched as Michael sat back, stunned. Hawk finished his beer and set the empty glass on the scarred table, waiting for Michael to work through what he had just heard. Michael lifted his beer and drained it two swallows.
“This is not good,” he muttered, running his hand over his short hair. “Do you realize what you're saying?” Michael leaned forward and lowered his voice even lower. “You're saying the Vice President of the United States committed treason, not only aiding and abetting a terrorist on US soil, but actually bringing him here!” he hissed
.
Damon returned Michael's stare impassively, his arms crossed again, for all the world looking like he was bored out of his mind. Michael sat back in his chair, hitting the chair back with a thud, and stared at him while his mind raced. He had realized it had to be someone pretty far up in the pecking order in Washington, but Michael had never once considered the possibility that the guilty party was the Vice President himself.
“Well, no wonder they want Viper silenced at all costs,” Michael finally said, breaking the silence.
“Nothing is ever easy with Viper,” Damon murmured, his lips twitching.
“Does she have proof?” Michael asked sharply.
Hawk met his gaze squarely, all traces of humor gone.
“We have proof,” he replied. Michael nodded shortly.
“I'll need to see it,” he said.
“Oh, you will,” Hawk promised, his voice still soft and laced with danger. “Don't worry.”
“You don't understand.” Michael leaned forward. “If you have proof, I need to see it now. My orders are to take you in for questioning. If what you say is true, then you're in just as much danger as she is and I need to protect you.”
“Do you really think I need your protection?” Hawk demanded, his eyes lighting up with laughter. Michael grinned in spite of himself.
“Ok. Poor choice of words,” he admitted. “Let me put it this way, I can't help you, or Viper, if I don't know the full facts.”
“You already know the important facts,” Damon pointed out, “but, in the interest of clarity, I'll fill in the holes.” Damon uncrossed his arms and leaned on the table, waiting for Michael to lean forward to listen. “Two years ago, Viper was assigned to eliminate Johann Topamari. She followed him to Cairo, where she saw him walk out of a private meeting with Senator Ludmere. Ludmere saw her. She disappeared after that, went on hiatus, and wasn't heard from again until three months ago, when Johann appeared on US soil.”