by Ronie Kendig
Another image splashed over the screen. “Who is this man?”
Cassie drew in a breath and swallowed it just as fast. Gearney. She couldn’t reveal that. It’d break her cover.
“His name”—Brie Hastings stared through the feed, eyes on Cassie—“is one that she is probably not allowed to mention. Because she’s not with DIA.”
Cassie wet her lips as she met the captain’s gaze. “Can we talk—privately?”
Her ears rang with the silence and the tension as dense as sandstorms. Beside her, she felt Sal shift to look at her. Cassie’s chest heaved with the effort of trying to maintain a confident posture. But the adrenaline squirted into her throat, forcing her to swallow hard.
“You’ve been lying to me? Again?” Sal whispered, his words barely audible over the thrumming of her pulse.
Captain Watters folded his arms over his chest and held her gaze, not answering. Not moving. Finally, “No.” He pointed around the room. “These are my men, my brothers. We’ve let you into our meetings and briefings, but you’ve concealed from us a key piece of intelligence.”
Cassie said nothing. The situation had progressed beyond something she could salvage. The men here were trained to rout lies and analyze intelligence and responses. They would know—did know—that she wasn’t who they believed.
“Andra, give it to us,” Sal said, his voice soft but stern. Angry.
Cassie maintained eye contact with the captain but kept her peace.
“Lieutenant Walker, how about we tell you what we’ve been able to figure out.” Watters nodded to Hastings.
The woman let out a heavy breath, glanced at Titanis for an affirming nod, then opened a file of her own. “The man you met with is a spy known as Vasily Litvenko—”
Vasily?
“—who was born in Serbia but raised in South Korea when his mother married a South Korean.”
Cassie almost laughed. When had military intelligence gone so horribly wrong?
“His most recent aliases,” Brie continued, “include Elias Jennings, Eric Gearney, and Edward Gaines.”
Frozen at hearing his name in the middle of the list, Cassie couldn’t process what this meant. No. This couldn’t be right. “Call General Phelps.”
Captain Watters squared his shoulders, apparently recognizing the name.
Naming him was her only recourse. Her get-out-of-jail-free card. It meant her career as an operative ended right here. But she didn’t care. Not about those things. If this was true—and it couldn’t be—she’d been working against the very people she thought she’d been helping.
I’m a traitor.
Watters’s face went stone cold as he nodded to the MPs. “Please remove Miss Walker to the detention area.”
EAMON
You sure about this?”
The hint of uncertainty in Brie’s voice turned him toward her. They were by the front door, still in the safety of their condo but on the verge of making some risky plays. She would attempt to tag Nianzu or his basement friend. Eamon had the task of getting to the penthouse condo of Meng-Li and planting bugs in adjoining walls. “If you aren’t, then we need—”
“No.” She drew in a slow, long breath. “I’m good. Just shedding lastminute jitters.”
“We can wait.”
“No,” she said. “Raptor’s been hit one too many times, and SOCOM is vulnerable after the CECOM attack.” She nodded. “Just have to remember why I’m doing this.”
Eamon touched her shoulder. “We’re wired up together. I’ll hear everything.” Though he wouldn’t be right with her, he’d be in the same building. Somehow, that thought didn’t even give him the comfort he’d intended to provide.
“There will be a dozen floors between us,” she muttered with a jut of her jaw toward the door. “But I appreciate the heroic sentiment. Let’s go.”
Eamon let her out then followed, locking the door behind them. He headed to the stairs, telling himself not to look back. Not to double-check that she was okay. At the quiet intoning of the lift car arriving, he turned and met Brie’s gaze just seconds before she entered the lift. As he pushed into the stairs, he told himself not to take any meaning in the fact that she’d been watching him. She probably just turned because he had.
Stop reading into things.
He headed up six flights, cutting off into a sublevel of the penthouse where generators, Internet, electricity hubs, and general maintenance areas for the penthouses lurked. A heavy steel security door barred entry. To the side hung an access panel. Eamon went to work with a handheld device that worked through the security protocols.
As the seconds fell off the clock, he pushed his mind to what would happen once the door unlocked. Security cameras would automatically activate—Meng-Li was obsessive about security. It was a wonder the man didn’t have an armed guard here.
A buzz snapped Eamon’s nerves like a tightly wound guitar string.
He pocketed the device and reached for the handle. According to the research Brie had done, the security cameras were aimed toward the middle and around the control panels of the Internet and electrical grids.
He pushed inside, hugging the wall. Though he moved with his head down, Eamon roamed the room with his eyes. Weapon up, he swept along the perimeter until the panel stood ten paces to his nine o’clock.
Walking sideways and keeping his back to the camera, Eamon sidled up to the panel that held the cabling for their Wi-Fi. A map tucked in the pouch velcroed to his arm, he worked quickly, piggybacking a device that would allow the data to stream to his system in the condo but wouldn’t interrupt the flow for the penthouse. Undetectable was the idea. He worked quickly then sidestepped back to the wall, once more hugging it. Reaching up, he planted listening devices, thankful his six-five height made the feat possible. Brie wouldn’t be able to reach the ceiling beams.
The roaring din of the AC units grew as he got closer. Just a few more… He hoped Brie was doing okay because he wouldn’t hear a cry for help right now anyway. As he tiptoed to place the final one near the beam of the floor in the bedroom, Eamon heard something. He turned. Noticed only darkness and the compressed sound of machines and the garbling of pool water.
But no… something wasn’t right.
He snapped the bug in place and quickly made his way back to the wall. He flanked right. Scurried along the outer perimeter.
A weight plowed into him. Slammed his face into the cement wall.
Eamon bucked, throwing his elbow backward to nail the man’s face. But the bruiser caught his arm, twisted it, and rammed Eamon back into the wall. He might not be as tall as Eamon, but the guy had a bulk not to be messed with.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
In English.
The realization forced him to look over his shoulder.
But the attacker hiked up Eamon’s arm and pressed his hand against his neck, straining the tendons in his shoulder and neck. Eamon growled through the pain that forced him to stop fighting.
“I said”—he pushed harder against the arm—“what are you doing here?”
“I heard you the first time,” Eamon bit out.
“Then you might want to give some answers, hot shot.”
“You’re American.”
“And you’re not.”
The attacker flipped Eamon around.
He swung out, ready to pummel this man and get away, but the attacker anticipated it. Cut him off and jammed his forearm under his throat, crushing the air from his lungs.
Eamon knew how to break this hold. He’d been trained. But when he saw the green eyes, he stilled. “Candyman.”
“What’s it going to be, Man From Oz? Do I end you or do you tell me why you’re here?”
This didn’t make sense. Not one iota. Candyman working against them? That made him an enemy. That made Eamon’s next move necessary.
“Don’t.” Candyman growled, pushing up into his face. “I see it in your eyes, Aussie. I see your readiness to cut me down.”
Eamon tapped his arm, indicating his willingness to talk.
Candyman eased off.
“Burnett sent me here.”
“Burnett’s dead,” Candyman hissed and let his arm fall away.
“Just because a senior officer dies or leaves doesn’t mean the mission is abandoned. Or maybe you forgot something about loyalty once you got out.” When the pressure lessened, Eamon shoved his arm away and took a step back. “Meng-Li Jin is the primary suspect in the attacks against your brothers-in-arms. Or do you already know that—?”
“No!” Candyman’s shoulders rose, the threat screaming through his posture. “You don’t get to put this off on me. You’re here, on private property that belongs to Sajjan.”
Eamon rubbed his neck and stretched it, making sure to emphasize how Candyman had gone against someone who had once been on the same side with him. “Sajjan. First-name basis.”
“He’s my wife’s stepfather. I think that gives me the right to use his name. Now—”
“Does it also give you the right to change loyalty? Why aren’t you with Raptor?”
Candyman looked ready to eat him alive. “I’m walking out of here. But if I find you snooping around here again”—he shook his head and shrugged—“no promises on how it ends next time.” He started toward the doors. “Clear out, Titanis. Game’s over.”
“It’s not over till someone wins. Are you helping Meng-Li win? I thought you were a Green Beret. An American patriot.”
Candyman pivoted. Fists balled. “There are things you don’t know about. Things that make what you’re doing here deadly for everyone involved.”
CHAPTER 20
Kandahar Airfield, Afghanistan
2 April—1340 Hours
I gotta say—it’s buggin’ me that she didn’t defend herself or argue,” Hawk said.
Sal slid a mean look in his direction.
“What?” Hawk lifted his arms in surrender—and cringed, his face twisting in a knot of pain. “I’m just sayin’—if you’re innocent, you scream it all the way to holding.”
“Unless you can’t,” Sal heard himself say.
“What do you mean?” Titanis settled cozy-close to Brie Hastings, his big Oz shoulders pressed to hers, as the two leaned in to the camera of the live feed from Takkar Towers.
“I mean,” Sal said, wondering why he was defending her, “when we’re taken captive, we’re trained to say only certain things. To not give information or defend ourselves.”
“So, you’re saying she’s one of us?” Hawk snorted.
With a quick shake of his head, Sal grunted. “I’m saying, whoever she is working for trained her well—trained her not to give away intel when she’s scared or questioned.” He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. And he certainly didn’t like it.
“Brie—get ahold of Phelps.” Dean waited as Hastings left the room then went to the table. “You want to tell us what you two were talking about out there?”
Sal could more than relate to Cassie’s silence right now. “Not particularly.” But that wouldn’t do, and he knew it. “Suffice it to say, she and I have a past. It wasn’t pretty. Still isn’t.”
“You still soft on her?”
Sal met his friend’s gaze and held it. Dean’s question wasn’t about Sal’s love interest with Cassie. He was testing the waters of brotherhood. “My loyalty is to the team.”
Dean nodded. “Good to know.”
But Sal had recognized the name Cassie flung out there. “Who’s Phelps?”
“That’s the bugger of it all,” Dean said. “He’s the Associate Director for Military Affairs.”
“Is that supposed to mean something?” Hawk asked.
“It means were in a crapload of trouble,” Harrier finally spoke from the corner. “He’s working in conjunction with the CIA.”
“More spooks!”
“Hold up,” Sal said. “CIA? But you just accused Andra of working with a foreign intelligence service.”
“I named the man she met with,” Dean corrected. “I wanted her to explain it.”
“But if you knew she was working with spies, you also knew she couldn’t talk openly, yet you called her onto the carpet in front of us and outsiders.” Sal met Riordan’s gaze. “No offense.”
“I called her onto the carpet because she’s putting us at risk. If she’s doing it now, did she do it earlier—is she the reason the base was attacked? The reason Burnett was killed?”
“Burnett put her on the team!” Sal shouted.
“That’s a lot of anger for a guy whose history with her is ugly,” Titanis said.
Ignoring the statement would only add fuel to it, but Sal had no idea how to respond because he didn’t know why he was so angry. Something in him didn’t want Cassie to be this person. But after all her lies, why should he even care? “I knew her, yes. And that’s why I’m saying something isn’t right. Andra—”
“I thought her name was Cassandra.” Hawk shrugged.
Biting down on his aggravation, Sal huffed. “Lieutenant Walker and I might have our differences”—a nice way of putting it—“but she’s not the type of person to—”
“Get someone killed?” Dean’s words held challenge and understanding. A knowledge of things past. “I need to hear you say this woman is 100 percent trustworthy. That we can put our lives in her hands and you’d be comfortable with that.”
The next breath burned Sal’s lungs. His defense of her fell away with the potent reminder of Vida’s death. She had admitted she wanted Vida out of the way. He’d called her a killer. All these years of blaming Cassie and holding her responsible… He couldn’t respond. What he’d felt, the names he’d called her, had been colored out of anger—at her, but also at himself.
Dean lifted his head as Sal stood there, considering the demand. Fighting himself. Fighting to understand what he felt and why he felt it.
He’d loved her. Slept with her. Apparently, even fathered a child with her. Yet he couldn’t stand before his band of brothers and defend her? At her core, she was a decent person. He knew that. Believed it, once he dug past the crap and heartache piled between them.
Grumblings sifted through the room as his silence lingered, objections growing louder on a tidal wave of hesitation.
“What if she has intelligence we need to bring down Jin?” Is that the best you can do?
“So what?” Hawk held up his hands. “We’re supposed to sleep with the enemy because she might have intel that helps us? What if our assistance helps her?”
Sal balled his fists.
“Hawk.” Dean locked eyes with Sal. “Easy.”
“Naw, man. She’s been lying, so how do we know where that stops? How do I know the bullet I ate wasn’t her fault, that she isn’t working with the enemy?”
“Define enemy,” Sal said. “Even if she’s working for the South Koreans… she’d still have intel we can use.”
“If you can get it out of her.” Hawk had a pinecone up his craw.
“I can get it out of her,” Sal snapped.
The door flung open and Hastings rushed in, her freckled cheeks flushed. “Phelps is here.”
Dean turned to Sal. “With me.”
“What happened?”
Cassie came to her feet as the stoic voice rang through the cement cell. “General Phelps.”
“What happened, Walker?” He motioned to her cut-up face. “And that?”
“Sir, they saw my visit to Takkar Towers as an attempt to sway Kiew Tang from Meng-Li Jin. I think they tried to have me killed.”
“Say what?” He scowled at her then at his aide. “What is she talking about?”
The lanky uniformed major shrugged. “No clue, sir.”
Phelps rubbed his jaw as his gaze scraped over her. “Walker, you went MIA six weeks ago.”
“What?” Cassie frowned. “No, sir. I’ve been right here, working my assignment.”
“What assignment?” Phelps growled. “We’ve been trying to track you down an
d reestablish contact for the last six weeks.”
“Sir. You sent me here, had me work with Burnett.”
“Yes, then you were ordered to return to D.C.”
She drew back. “I received no such order. After we determined Meng-Li was involved, I was assigned to Raptor team. It took me longer than it should have, but I finally figured out I was put in place because of my longstanding friendship with Kiew Tang. Gearney has had me working on that since.”
“Gearney?” Phelps’s eyes had a laser-like effect to them, narrowing in on her, slicing her words apart like a heat-seeking missile. “Walker, maybe you should start from the beginning.”
Cassie gripped the bar, Hastings’s words ringing through her brain like a brass gong. “Sir, I confess I’m pretty unsettled right now. Gearney—does he work for us?”
“Depends on who your ‘us’ is, Walker.” The major, a handsome man with salt-and-pepper trimming his dark hair, smirked. He had a thick chest and his name patch read PENNER. “When did you get first contact from Gearney?”
Her stomach threatened to hurl its contents on the lieutenant general. She took a step back, reaching for the small cot. “Back when Raptor was hunting down the source of the cyber attacks. As my new handler, he told me the network had been compromised and not to trust anything that came through normal channels.”
“And you believed him?”
“Watching elite special operators getting blown up by supposed communications from their own people—yes, sir. I believed that completely.” Cassie warned herself to calm down, slow her breathing. She’d done nothing wrong here. “He gave me a new phone, told me to report in weekly.”
Phelps sighed heavily then pointed to the cot. “Why don’t you tell us what you know?”
“So, he doesn’t work for us?”
With a shake of his head, Phelps again pointed to the steel-frame bed. “I’m afraid not.”
Cassie dropped onto the mattress, springs digging into her thighs. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I can’t believe it. First time in the field and…”
“I’m pretty sure Gearney saw you as a soft target for just that reason—your first time out.” Major Penner didn’t sound condescending, but somehow it still came across that way. “You were gung ho on proving you could handle the mission, as any fresh blood would be.”