Her stomach growled, reminding her of the hours since her last meal.
Tate was inside the diner, taking his damn time schmoozing with the drivers while she watched the comings and goings.
If she had to guess, though, the diner structure was new, but the concept of a rest stop here wasn’t. The old path through the mountains predating the motorway would have crossed through this spot, following the now frozen river. Georgia was willing to bet that enterprising individuals had put down roots here to offer shelter and food to travelers.
Which meant there was a residence nearby.
She picked up the binoculars and peered through the trees lining the lot. The dense undergrowth and vehicles parked in tight made it hard to see much.
Someone knocked on the window.
Georgia let the binoculars drop to her lap and glanced at the driver’s side door.
Tate stood there, a paper bag in hand.
She pressed the unlock button and he climbed in.
“The owners are ex-KGB. We have to get out of here now.” Georgia lost no time shifting into drive.
“What? Did they recognize you?”
“Never seen them in my life, but I know the type.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if they could be followed. “There’s a guy working for them, he waited on me. I think we’re safe.”
“We need to get rid of this car.” Georgia’s mind shifted into list mode. If the diner owners were ex-spies, then she needed a new car. “They must be Andy’s contacts here. The ones helping him.”
“There’s a house behind the diner, maybe thirty or forty yards back down a stone path. Wonder if they could be there?”
“Maybe. What time does the diner close?”
“Nine.”
“Then we go back at nine fifteen and wait for the help to leave, then we take the owners out. If Andy and Carol are there, we end this. If not, they’re going to come to us eventually.”
“You’re right. Let’s dump this car and get a new ride.”
Finally, something was going right. If all went well, they’d have Carol and Andy taken care of before midnight and be back on a plane in no time.
…
Friday, CIA SPS Headquarters
Mitch focused on the beige wall across from him. They were in the security offices, still within the CIA headquarters. Before they scratched the surface, before he knew what was going on, that one detail might have made him feel safe. He knew better now. He could only hope that this investigation focused on what he’d done and not what they were helping Carol do.
He shifted in his chair, the chain attached to the handcuffs rattling against the metal, a cold reminder of where he was.
It had to be about Charlie.
He’d known all along that swapping out Charlie’s records would get him in trouble if it was ever discovered. Back then, Mitch had believed that he and Charlie were on the right side. That they were both concerned about the idea of a leak.
Hell, it’d been Charlie who pointed out the possibility of a leak to Mitch in the first place.
Was it intentional? Had Charlie set him up all along?
Charlie had always been a brilliant, forward thinker. It made working with him easy. Mitch could see how Charlie could get frustrated at playing a long, slow game. That he might have wanted an out, to go it alone.
There was something happening below the surface within the CIA that Mitch, and the others, weren’t aware of yet. He could feel the deep currents, see their impact on ops that should go according to plan, and yet fell apart like a house of cards.
He’d thought the key to it all was buried in Charlie’s history. That was why Carol had been working on picking apart Charlie’s life. Mitch was too close to him, too involved. She had distance and the ability to look at the situation objectively, see the patterns, where Mitch had turned a blind eye. Carol might be dead for all he knew. Which meant he and Irene might be all that were left to tackle this problem. Rand and Sarah had to be kept in reserve in case this ever went to trial.
Think.
Without Carol, Mitch needed to try to see the past through a new lens.
If Charlie was a double agent, a mole all along, why would he want to set himself up with an out? Why would Charlie fake his death? Killing himself only meant he was out of the loop. No new intel. Why would he do that? What did he hope to take with him?
Charlie had been killed in CIA custody. It was a high-risk situation to pull off a hit, and yet it’d happened.
Maybe Charlie was getting out. Trying to go solo. Whoever he’d worked with hadn’t liked that, so when he was caught they’d killed him to prevent—what? Charlie turning on them?
There were too many possible reasons for Mitch to feel confident about a guess like this.
The door to the interrogation room swung open and the head of Internal Affairs stared him down. Mitch had met him in passing a handful of times and appreciated his straightforward manner of tackling a problem. He might not like it as much now that it was aimed at him.
“Agent McConnel, are you related—”
“No relation.” He smiled because it was automatic. A heavy weight settled in the pit of Mitch’s stomach.
“Ah, I see.” The man closed the door behind him and tucked the file under his arm. Despite his baldness, he was young, and well dressed in a tailored gray suit. The dark-rimmed glasses were stark against his pale skin yet authoritative. “Has anyone offered you a drink? Something to eat?”
“No.” Mitch eased back into his seat.
He was tempted to call the man on his technique. It was, after all, standard interrogation protocol. They should know better than to use that on an agent, especially one backed into a corner like Mitch.
And yet…
It was better if people focused on him. Wasn’t that what he’d thought a few hours ago, sitting in the conference room? That it would be better for him to take the fall than the others? This way, it kept Irene safe. The others would be protected. If only Mitch could keep it together. He had to stick to his story, keep it simple. The devil was in the details after all. That was where they’d trip him up. He had to be very, very careful.
…
Friday, Switzerland
Carol’s body ached. Sweat soaked her clothes. Her muscles screamed at her. She’d stopped trying to look around and be aware of their surroundings. The only thing she’d seen was snow, trees, and branches right before they thwacked her in her face.
If anything was out there, Andy would have to handle it. She was doing everything possible to keep going. Oh, when they’d first set out she’d stared around her, marveling at the pristine stillness of it all. How majestic the mountains and unbroken snow were.
She’d never think nice things about snow, or winter, ever again.
Carol’s whole focus remained on putting one foot in front of the other, staying inside Andy’s footprints. Even that made for slow going. She couldn’t begin to fathom how hard it was for Andy to trudge through the snow, keep tabs on her, and remain aware to greater danger. What kind of training prepared a person for that? When she thought of SEALs, they were in the ocean, swimming, not trudging through solid form water.
A high-pitched whistle and the groan of wood broke the routine grunt and slush through snow.
Carol lifted her arm and ducked her head.
Andy seemed to forget she wasn’t as tall as he. She couldn’t bring herself to grumble at him, considering he was keeping her alive after all. The least she could do was stay on the lookout for branches.
She fended off another low-hanging branch with her forearm, narrowly avoiding another slap to the face.
Her shoulder twinged, a slight stab of pain slicing through her otherwise screaming muscle fatigue.
That couldn’t be good.
She pressed her palm over the wound. In preparation for this trek she’d sewn a triple-layer patch over the tear in her coat. It cut down on the chill sneaking into her coat. Granted, right about now she wouldn�
��t mind stripping off a layer or two.
God, were they ever going to get there? Or would they walk themselves to death?
Carol didn’t want to complain or ask for a break, but she also didn’t know how much longer she could go on like this. Occasional jogging and regular yoga kept her active, but not like this.
One more step, she chanted to herself.
Part of her regretted leaving the lodge. It’d been just her and Andy. She could have spent another couple days in bed with him, doing nothing but being held and holding him. But that wasn’t who they were. She couldn’t deny her responsibility to her friends, her team, just like he couldn’t turn a blind eye to evil.
Carol took another step, then went face-first into Andy’s back. He didn’t so much as budge. He did reach behind him, pressing her closer, while his body went stock-still.
Why had they stopped?
Were they there?
Was something wrong?
Did he see something?
Carol peered around them. The full moon cast a dazzling amount of light down on the snow, which reflected back, chasing away shadows. The trees stood as silent sentinels of the mountains, guarding their path while also providing shelter to their enemies.
Nothing moved.
But…what was that noise? It was distant, faint, and familiar.
She searched the shadows for what made him stop.
The snow ahead of them lay unbroken. Nothing stirred.
“What is it?” she whispered. Her voice still sounded too loud.
“The light isn’t on.” Andy curled his arm around her waist, guiding her to stand next to him.
“What light?”
“Look through that split in the trees. See the…what looks like darkness?” He pointed with his other hand.
Carol stared where he indicated, but all she saw were layer upon layer of shadows. Maybe that’s what he meant. There should be a light instead of so much pitch black.
“My contact should have seen the smoke from the lodge. They’d have left that upper-room light on if the coast was clear. Either something has happened, or we should turn back now.”
Carol stared at the spot.
How could their exit strategy be blown already? How on earth was that possible?
“If the diner is compromised it won’t take them long to start searching for the lodge, or something. This way.” Andy took her hand and veered to the left.
The sound was louder, more rumbling.
An engine.
A diesel truck, maybe?
“Are we close to the road?” she asked. It made sense now that she thought about it. This far up, the rumble would reverberate off the stone, distorting the sound.
“Yeah.”
Andy guided her, angling her toward the sound. He bent, and she followed suit.
She found reserves of energy she hadn’t known she had. Adrenaline was a wonderful thing that way. They wove their way through the trees, wading through thicker underbrush whereas before Andy had avoided it.
Carol peered through the trees, searching them just like Andy was, looking for a threat. Bit by bit she began to make out a two-story log cabin nestled between the trees.
All the lights were out.
Given that it was the dead of night, Carol wasn’t surprised.
But Andy was, and right now she’d put her life in his hands. If he was concerned, she would be, too.
They crouched behind a row of low bushes and peered at the house.
Carol licked her lips and leaned toward Andy, the better to keep her voice as quiet as possible.
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
Andy held up his finger.
She sat back on her heels, muscles grateful for some relief, and chewed her lower lip.
The road was to her left. The house in front of them. What else was there?
Two older model Land Rovers sat in the drive.
A shed was tucked almost under the trees closer to the rear of the house.
The drive slanted up the mountain and she could see something metal through the limbs of trees. A building? More sheds?
Andy’s arm tightened around her waist, drawing her closer. He pressed his lips up against her ear and covered her mouth with his other hand.
“Could be a trap,” he whispered.
She nodded.
“Stay here. I’m getting my bag from the shed. I’ll get one of the cars. If something happens… Run toward the road. Keep in the trees.”
He couldn’t be serious.
Carol leaned back, staring at him. He was serious.
She fisted his coat and rocked toward him, kissing his mouth.
If these were the only moments they had left, they had to count.
“Stay hidden. Stay safe.” Andy placed his hand on her shoulder and urged her down farther behind the bushes.
Carol hunkered down and watched Andy disappear into the barely there shadows.
They couldn’t survive this, could they?
Chapter Thirteen
Andy pressed his back to the tree and closed his eyes. The people after them were too good to be seen without intending to show themselves, but on a night this quiet everything made noise. Even the most careful mouse.
He’d been as quiet in their approach as he could, moderating his pace so that they traveled slower. Clearly even that was too fast. He could still hear Carol’s ragged breathing and a part of him felt guilty for pushing her harder than he’d realized. Mostly, he was worried that if he could hear her so could others.
There was no guarantee that anyone was expecting them tonight. They could be resting, prepping to set a trap tomorrow.
Was it too much to hope that the people after them were lying down on the job?
If they were here, they’d have had a fight.
Andy’s contacts might be retired spies, but they were tough as nails. The Russians trained some scary people in their time.
He tilted his head.
Still nothing but the occasional rustle of Carol’s coat.
No one was coming to investigate. No one was shooting at them yet.
The longer they sat here waiting, the more time they gave the opposition to get into position. If they’d taken the house they would be firing from a covered, elevated spot. Andy and Carol would be sitting ducks if they were caught out in the woods. He only had so many bullets and one gun.
Andy ducked around the tree and to the back of the shed. Most people wouldn’t situate an outlying building like this under the trees, but then again not everyone had decades of KGB activity to hide and enemies by the dozen.
By all rights the former spies should have killed Andy on sight the night they’d met, but they hadn’t. They’d traded intel, helped Andy on his way, and that was that. Two years later, Andy needed assistance and they’d begun working together. It didn’t make them friends, but even spies needed people to rely on.
The breeze picked up, gusting out of the east.
Andy inhaled, catching an all too familiar metallic scent that made his molars hurt.
Blood.
Fresh.
And a lot of it.
Someone had died here, or a large animal had been dressed recently.
Andy didn’t want to find out more. He needed to get in and out fast.
He bent, grasped the bottom corner of the shed’s siding and tugged. It slid back easily, well oiled from constant attention. For every bolt-hole and back entrance he knew about, he was willing to bet there were a dozen more. He crawled into the shed, grateful for his contact’s paranoia.
Andy groped next to the locked door, finding the flashlight by feel.
There.
He snagged it off the hook, clicked it on, illuminating the pitch-black insides of the shed. Bins of holiday decor and extra winter supplies filled the shelves. But that wasn’t all there was.
He snagged a few screwdrivers, wire cutters, and a knife from the tool shelves.
Andy didn’t know what was
in the other bags filling the rear shelves, just which one was his. He hauled the black duffel out from under others and set it next to the crawl space exit. He glanced around, but there wasn’t enough time to go poking about. Besides, who knew what else there was in here?
He grabbed the extra full can of fuel as well, then knelt on the ground.
The gun at his back was newly reloaded from rounds in the lodge. There were two more weapons inside the bag, but he was loath to use them unless he had to. Everything else would help them move from country to country easier.
He unzipped the bag, peering inside.
No surprises.
Andy took five seconds to breathe. Whatever happened next, he’d protect Carol with his life. If he had to, he’d kill her rather than let her fall into enemy hands. They weren’t dealing with law-abiding citizens. If Carol was caught, death would be a mercy. He hoped he could do it if it came to that.
He visualized the layout. From his position he’d circle to the left, using the shed and hedges as cover. It wasn’t much, but the deeper shadows would obscure his movements.
The diner was up the hill on the road, the lot empty.
What he wouldn’t give for someone to have left a perfectly good, functioning vehicle next to the road for them to borrow.
The only thing around was his contact’s Land Rovers. They were between the trees and house.
Therein lay the danger.
Anyone inside the house would have the higher ground and an advantage. But Andy would have another vehicle as buffer between himself and the person, or persons, inside.
He had to be ready to work fast, and for things to go terribly wrong.
Andy took another deep breath, hooked the bag over his shoulder, grasped the petrol can, and slid out of the shed. The wind whistled through the trees, just enough to mask Carol’s sounds and disguise his own.
He retraced his steps to the line of bushes and crouched in the shadows. There was still no movement inside, but the stench of blood was definitely stronger.
If he were going to take the house and retired agents, he’d do it when they were coming home from the diner, tired and ready to retreat to their home. He’d attack from behind, before they knew he was there.
If Andy would do it that way, then so would others. He wasn’t unique in their world, just thorough.
Assassin Games Page 18