by Misty Evans
“All in this?” Charlotte held up her wrist and examined the gold bracelet. “Handy.”
“Ready?” Miles said.
She stood and pocketed the passport. “Lead the way.”
“Call Beatrice,” Miles told Colt. “Everything you need is here in this house to run things. Schedules, assignments, etc. Anything you can’t find, ask Rory.”
They shook and clapped each other on the back. “God’s speed,” Colt said.
In the living room, Miles handed Charlotte her coat. He grabbed her go bag and his—he kept one ready to go in his truck—and headed for the doors on the ocean side of the home.
“Security cameras show no activity,” Colt said. “Clutch and Chevelle are outside keeping an eye on things. You’re clear.”
As Miles walked ahead of Charlotte, heading for the wooden boardwalk that would take them to the dock, she snagged his coat sleeve. “Where are we going?”
“To the boat.”
“I thought we were going to the airport.”
The crashing waves of the Pacific echoed in the night air. The normal fog was already rolling in. “We are, but it’s safer if we take the boat up to Greenbow. Trust me.”
Her face, already in shadows, tilted down. “Miles, you really don’t have to do this.”
He took her chin between his finger and thumb and lifted her head. “Yeah, that’s just it,” he said. “I really do.”
WHAT WAS THIS now? The SEAL and Carstons had snuck out the back of the house. They were headed for the boat.
He hadn’t been able to eavesdrop on them, the safe house protected by electronic interference. The neighborhood had grown quiet, the late nighters finally giving up and going to bed. Another man had arrived at the safe house and the three of them had been tucked inside one room for the past hour. Two more had set up guard around the perimeter of the house outside.
Carstons followed the SEAL down the boardwalk to the boat. Where were they headed? He’d lose them if they got on that boat.
Back in the day, drone technology had been in use by the military but mostly used to spy on America’s enemies. He’d been all in favor of arming the things and using them to take out those enemies. It was the first thing he’d proposed after 9/11 when he’d been asked to present his plan to find bin Laden to the president. The president had liked the idea; Norris’ boss hadn’t.
Eventually Predator drones were armed, and these days, every Tom, Dick, and Harry had some camera-only version they’d bought at the local big box store.
He had one too. Smaller than the ones on the consumer market, with a high-powered camera equipped with night vision lenses. Firing it up, he smiled at the low hum from the engine. Tapping a couple of buttons on his smart phone, he watched as the app linked with the drone’s onboard computer and gave him the all clear.
Another check on the two people moving to the dock, and he pocketed his binoculars. He patted the drone and took it downstairs and outside.
Flying was freedom. He envied the drone as it lifted off and hovered, waiting for his command. The engine purred, the camera engaged its night vision. MI6 had plenty of toys. Using the digital joystick on his phone’s app, he guided the drone toward the boat.
As the boat left the dock and sped north, Norris locked the drone onto his target. Then he went back inside to make himself some coffee and watch the images the camera fed back to his phone.
There wasn’t much to see, the boat’s profile occasionally breaking through the fog. He pulled up a map on his phone and scanned potential destinations the boat might be heading to.
If Carstons had convinced the SEAL to help her, they’d head for an airport. She’d lost her papers in the motel fire, but had probably gotten more. The organization the SEAL now worked for used private planes.
A quick inventory of the closest airports revealed what he was looking for. Rock Star Security had their own private wing at the Van Nuys airstrip.
He had Carstons. He had the SEAL she’d given the cross necklace to. If the two of them left the U.S., he’d lose them, even though he knew their ultimate destination.
All he needed was that necklace and for her to tell him where she’d hidden the intel on Bourean. He could give a shit about the crime lord, he was after bigger fish. The big fish that Carstons had on video.
For all he knew, she and the SEAL might be running for good. They might not be heading back to Romania at all, and then, where did that leave him?
Holding shit.
He couldn’t take that chance.
Loading his equipment into the backpack, he continued to keep an eye on the drone. The fresh coffee smell filled the house. He didn’t bother turning off the machine.
Back in his car, he set the phone in its cradle and headed north, debating whether to make a very specific phone call.
THE BOAT WAS actually a small yacht. Spacious, well-appointed, fast. No surprise, Miles drove it like an expert through the dark, foggy night.
He was focused on coordinates, wind speed, knots. Charlotte wandered off and found the galley.
She hadn’t eaten in nearly twelve hours. The cabinets held a nice assortment of food. Within minutes, she’d pulled together a peanut butter and marmalade sandwich. She washed it down with an orange soda.
The man called Shinedown had forged a birth certificate and social security card for her along with the passport. As of two o’clock that morning, she was now Charlene Smith, an official American citizen born in Topeka, Kansas. She’d have to work on her mainstream American English accent.
The bench she sat on was padded and comfortable, the engine noise a soft lullaby dulling her senses. Her eyelids grew heavy, the caffeine in the soda not enough to keep her awake.
Her chin dipped, her eyes giving up the fight. She dozed intermittently, flashes of memories and odd dreams mixing together and keeping her from full sleep.
Her exhausted body needed rest. As the boat rocked on the waves, her body relaxed more fully. The images flowing in and out of her mind turned to Miles and cold winter nights. She floated for a time in a pretty dream where the two of them lived in a real house. He was carving wooden animals for a little boy by the fire. She was knitting.
She’d never knitted in her life, but in the dream, she was damn good at it.
Outside the window, flowers overflowed window boxes. A dog lay on the porch in the sun.
The little boy turned to look at her, holding up his latest animal. His face was a much younger version of Miles’.
The boat lurched and suddenly Nicolae’s face, the blade of a knife, flashed behind her closed eyelids. Gone was the gentle, happy dream of life with Miles and their son. In its place, a monster came for her, slashing at her, laughing at the damage he wrought on her skin.
She jerked awake, heart pounding, breath rushing in and out of her chest. Panic raced down her limbs and she was off the bench and moving before she realized where she was.
The papers on the table brought her back to reality. Charlene Smith.
She was safe for the moment. She’d avoided Nico’s goons. Miles was helping her.
Miles. Her touchstone.
A cold, hard shiver wracked her body. She needed to see him. Touch him. Make sure this was all real.
Pocketing her papers, she focused on regulating her breathing. Then she grabbed two energy drinks from the refrigerator and headed to the bridge to find Miles.
He had the radio on and was humming along to some angsty rock ballad as he stood at the helm, his gaze going between his controls and the night view out the wide, wrap around windows.
She stood, mesmerized for a moment, taking him in. The short hair, the square jaw, the broad shoulders. He was real.
He glanced at her as she entered and stopped humming.
“Brought you a drink,” she said, handing him the cold can. By her calculations, he hadn’t slept in nearly twenty-four hours.
“Thanks.” He popped the lid and took a swig.
“Are you hungry? I co
uld make you a sandwich.”
“I’m fine.” His lips twitched ever so slightly.
“What?”
He glanced her way again. “Huh?”
“Your lips. You smirked.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. Is there something funny about me wanting to bring you a sandwich?”
His gaze focused on a gauge in front of him. “No.”
“Then what?”
“Nothing.”
She moved so she was mostly in front of him, plopping her bottom against the control panel and blocking half the gauges as she sipped the drink. She couldn’t understand why people liked these energy drinks. They tasted like balls to her. “Tell me what’s humorous about my offer.”
He half rolled his eyes. “You’re still, after all this time, trying to take care of me.”
“It was a simple offer of a sandwich. You’re risking your life for me, and I offered you a kindness in return.”
His stare intensified. “You sure that’s all it is?”
Her throat tightened. They had only spent six weeks together, under somewhat false pretenses, but he knew her better than most people ever would. No, I love you, you big dummy.
He’d made it quite clear that, while he still found her attractive, he wasn’t interested. Fair enough. She was trouble, right down to her toes. No man would willingly get involved with her knowing even half of what she’d done.
His eyes flicked away, out to the fog teasing the pointed bow of the yacht. “How did Bourean catch you after you left me?”
“I went back to him on my own.”
Confusion clouded his face. A muscle in his jaw jumped. “Why would you do that?”
“I needed to find out who Nico was working with to get those weapons—the ones he used to shoot down that plane and your helicopter.” She pushed off the control panel and turned to face the bow. “It didn’t make sense. The only reason I told him about the plane and the scientist on board was because I knew he had no interest in a nuclear physicist. My handler gave me the information. I’d been cleared by Vauxhall to pass it on to him. It gave me credibility since he could verify Dr. Alexander was indeed on that plane, but it shouldn’t have endangered anyone.”
“Yet it did.”
“Nico was just getting into weapons when I infiltrated his organization. He had a couple of locations in the mountains where he would meet sellers and buyers and test the products. I overheard two of his men talking about the place and a seller who had missiles. They were meeting him there. I hadn’t yet figured out where the location was, so I followed them, hoping to glean some intel. The road into the mountains was rough terrain and I lost them a couple of times. By the time I caught up, I realized they had set up a surface-to-air missile.”
She set her drink on a nearby surface, her stomach roiling like the waves outside the boat. “As you know, cell phones and other communication devices are pretty worthless in those mountains. A storm was brewing just over the horizon. There was nothing I could do to warn the people onboard the plane. Plus, by the time I got there, it was only minutes until they fired that missile and the plane came down.”
The details of that afternoon were etched in her mind, as fresh as if it had all happened yesterday. “I recorded the whole thing, then followed them to the crash site. The only way to stay out of sight was to use the tunnels in the mountains, so I hid and watched and continued recording. That winter, while you and I were stranded, I kept turning it over in my mind. Why shoot down that plane? I could see Nicolae wanting to capture the scientist and sell him on the black market, but there was little possibility shooting down the plane would leave the doctor alive.”
“He was alive. After the plane crashed, we were activated and they told us the doctor had communicated with them. Alexander made it to what was left of the cockpit and sent out a transmission.”
“I saw him. He was alive, but badly injured. He was calling for help. At first, I thought Nico’s men would take him. That Nico was, indeed, kidnapping the scientist. But one of the men used a piece of the metal wreckage to club the doctor in the head. I should have…” She swallowed hard. “I should have stopped them, but I didn’t realize they were going to kill him.”
She felt Miles’ touch on her arm. “You can’t blame yourself. If you’d tried to save Alexander, they would have killed you.”
“It all happened so fast. The bodies…the carnage.” She shuddered. “I got it all recorded. What happened with your team, as well.”
Miles’ features clouded. “We were just over the border.”
“You surprised them. They weren’t expecting a search and rescue team to show up so quickly. I was hiding in the caves, and right before your team showed up, Nico arrived and another truck with two men met him there. I couldn’t get a good look at them, but they seemed satisfied by the wreckage. They were shouting and laughing. I believed one of the men was a terrorist the UK and the US have been searching for for a long time.”
“What happened when we showed up?”
“Nico told them to shoot you down too. He was trying to impress his new friend.”
What happened next, they both already knew.
“What did you do with that recording?” Miles asked.
She rubbed her eyes, her arms. The energy drink’s caffeine made her nerves buzz. “Hid it. In the caves.”
“Did you ever retrieve it?”
His reflection in the glass windshield was faint, like a ghost. She glanced at his chest reflected there, the spot where she knew the cross lay against his bare skin. “That’s what we’re going back for.”
“Wait, the necklace opens a safe hidden in the caves?”
“Those tunnels and caves inside the mountain have been used for thousands of years by the local peoples as far back as the Romans to avoid invading armies, crisscross the mountains during winter months, meet up with secret lovers, escape slavery. There are trap doors, hidden rooms, treasure troves everywhere. But the caves are said to be haunted, cursed. Not many locals will venture into them anymore. A few Gypsies still use them, and people like me who don’t believe in curses or ghosts. A friend of mine helped me hide the video in a special safe located in one of the offshoot caves. That cross belongs to my friend.” She pointed at his collarbone. “When inserted in the slot, it becomes a key to open the safe.”
“Did you ever find out why Bourean shot down the plane?”
She nodded. “There were three men on that flight with ties to Syrian criminal syndicates. Men the Romanians—both the criminals and the politicians—wanted.”
“Crashing the plane killed them. Didn’t they want them alive?”
“It was a hit. No one cared about Dr. Alexander. They wanted those three Syrian mobsters dead. Nico got a new buyer for his weapons and a young girl in the trade, and he received a large reward from the government, if you can believe it, for taking out those Syrian mobsters. And I…I have to live with Alexander’s death on my conscious. With what happened to your men.”
Miles touched her arm, pulling her to him. “It’s not your fault. You were following orders from your handler.”
He was so sincere, so sure of her innocence. “If I’d done a better job of infiltrating Nicolae’s organization, I would have known what he was up to.”
“He’d never been in the assassination business until then, had he?”
“Not that kind, no.”
“Then you had no reason to suspect he’d suddenly blow up a plane to make some quick cash.”
Dr. Alexander’s death would always weigh on her. All the deaths that day. “It’s the terrorist. He’s the key to all of this.”
His face was close to hers. Too close. The night, the rocking boat, the danger…it all gave her tingles up and down her limbs.
Or maybe it was too much energy drink.
He released her, and she automatically took a step back, feeling a touch dizzy. She reached for a nearby chair and sat.
“You okay?�
�� he asked.
“It’s been a long twenty-four hours.” A long nine and a half months.
A cluster of lights to the east came into view, hazy in the fog. The eastern horizon was starting to lighten. Miles downshifted the boat. “Grab your stuff,” he said. “We’re here.”
Chapter Seven
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THE GULFSTREAM JET sat on the runway facing north, sunrise brightening the eastern sky.
The air in Van Nuys was a cool 67 degrees, raising goose flesh on Charlotte’s arms even under the shirt and sweatshirt.
Miles hustled her up the steps where a man in fatigues greeted them with Styrofoam cups of steaming coffee. “She’s all ready,” he said to Miles.
“Good.” Miles handed him their bags and sipped his coffee. “Megadeth, this is Charlotte Carstons. Charlotte, Megadeth.”
Charlotte exchanged nods and “nice to meet yous” with the man. “Thank you for the coffee.”
“No problem,” he said, ushering them into the plane.
The inside of the cabin was done in rich leather with dark blue carpet and matching curtains over the windows. The seats were white, the table tops as well.
Megadeth loaded their duffels in a compartment and shut the door. “Flight plan?”
Miles directed Charlotte to a pair of generously sized seats by an east-facing window. “New York first. Then London. Once we get to London, you’re free. I’ll take us on to Bucharest.”
Megadeth gave Miles a quirky smile. “No can do. Beatrice told me to stick with you for the entire ride. Said you needed someone to cover your backside.”
Miles set his cup on the table facing the chairs, seeming to ignore the last statement. “Go ahead and file the flight manifest. I want to look things over.”
“Don’t trust my evaluation of the plane’s readiness?”