by Kim Baldwin
“I’m sure you haven’t sold it. If, on the other hand, it has been destroyed…” He paused such a long while TQ thought the line had gone dead. “You will meet an equal fate,” he finally said.
“I don’t destroy anything of value.”
“Then I sincerely hope we have similar tastes. I will be at your Connecticut Avenue address within the hour.”
“I look forward to our meeting.” She kept her voice calm, but her heartbeat accelerated further with the knowledge that he knew about her D.C. office and would be here soon.
“I probably needn’t mention this,” he said, “but should anything happen that might delay my timely return home, I have given orders to release all the information I have on you.”
“I meant to ask you earlier,” she replied. “How did you know I was in Washington?”
“There is nothing I can’t find out.” The line went dead.
She immediately dialed the number of her high-level contact in the FBI. She had to know who she was dealing with, obviously a worthy adversary. Pierce had considerable money—evidenced by his private jet and whatever priceless artifact she’d taken of his—he had power enough to find her and destroy her, and he was smart enough to ensure her devastation should anything happen to him. Although she admired smart people, she would not allow anyone to checkmate her at any game. “I need information and I need it now,” she told her contact.
“What can I do for you?” he replied at once.
“Tell me who Montgomery Pierce is.”
“Give me a second.”
TQ heard him clicking away at a computer.
“I have quite a few with that name. Can you give me more?”
“In his sixties, I think, possibly CIA.”
“I can’t access the CIA without—”
“Don’t, can’t, and won’t are unacceptable. Now search, before I personally take your father’s liver back,” she yelled.
“Give me a moment.”
“Make it a fast one.”
“I found a Montgomery Pierce with a military record, born in 1950. Stationed in France for three years. He left the military in 1974 to become a lawyer in New York, and then…” He paused.
“Then, what?” TQ snapped.
“His career ended in 1988. After that, nothing.”
“You mean he died?”
“No, I mean he disappeared,” the contact said.
“No one disappears. He’s not a ghost. Was he married? Children?” TQ hoped she could find something to at least scare Pierce.
“Neither.”
“Parents? Siblings?”
“No siblings. Says here he was adopted.”
“By?” TQ rolled her eyes. “It’s like pulling teeth.”
“Sorry, but it’s just that his record is very vague. It doesn’t say who adopted him or what happened to him.”
This sounded like her man.
“Aren’t you people supposed to have everyone’s records?”
“Unless someone higher up deleted or classified them,” he replied, “in which case access is denied.”
“When are records deleted or marked classified?”
“If someone is an Agency NOC.”
“A what?”
“A non-official cover for the Agen…CIA, or…”
“Or what?”
“Or if someone is considered very significant because of their covert work for the benefit and safety of the United Nations,” he said, “and when they are essential links between the USA and other countries. Their identity is then considered high-level security.”
“Who has access to that level?” TQ checked her watch. Time was running out.
“Interpol. And before you ask, even if I could access their records, information like this is not kept on an electronic database for security reasons. Cooperation with people like him is unofficial, and treated as such.”
“Which means what?”
“They work to make companies like the FBI, CIA, KGB, MI6, and you name it look good. They go above and beyond any law and answer to no one. Nobody cares how they get the job done, as long as the said companies can claim the glory and reap the media benefits.”
“Who pays them?”
“Whoever hired them.”
“In other words, these people are contractors,” TQ said.
“Very similar.”
Maybe Kennedy had talked, after all. “Do you have the address of a company called the EOO?”
She heard him type again.
“Most money-grubbing private companies like Xe advertise everywhere and are easy to find. Others…” The line went quiet again.
“What?”
“Like the EOO are not. Says here the address is classified.”
“Not even a state?” she asked.
“Not even a country.”
“I need more.”
“I’m sorry,” he said nervously. “But I simply don’t have access.”
“Try harder.”
After a long silence and a deep sigh, he replied, “I’ll do my best. Just give me some time. I can’t promise you any—”
“I’m going to be in a meeting shortly. Fax me whatever you find.”
TQ hung up. “What are you up to, Pierce? And what did I take from you?” She was screwed if she couldn’t deliver what this man wanted, and even then she wasn’t sure he’d keep his word, or let her live, for that matter. “But I decide when I die, and today is not the day.”
Chapter Thirty-six
Washington, D.C.
Jack tried not to throw up as she crawled to the concrete wall of the basement and propped herself against it. Her leg was bleeding profusely again and she left a wide swath of blood on the floor. TQ’s two assholes had made a sport of kicking her where she’d been shot, and then one sat back as the other began to punch her relentlessly in the stomach.
She coughed up blood, the steely taste making her even more nauseated. Since they hadn’t hit her in the face, she was probably bleeding internally.
“Take a break,” the guy sitting said to his friend. “Where’s the fun if she passes out?”
“I guess,” the other replied. “It’s time for lunch, anyway.”
Relieved she could catch her breath, Jack rested her head against the wall as soon as they left. She badly needed something to wipe the terrible taste out of her mouth, and her T-shirt was too filthy and drenched in blood. She stuck her hand in her pocket in search of a tissue or anything at all and pulled out the folded note Dratshev had given her.
With effort, she focused on the words. Your cat is safe. Come home. 19 8 1 4 5. In disbelief, she read the note again, then once more. It was Pierce’s handwriting and code; he was telling her Cass was safe. But how? And how did this note end up with Yuri? Did Pierce know about TQ?
Jack didn’t care how he had gotten the note to her. Cass was safe, and that was all that mattered. “Fuck.” She let her head fall back again with a thump. If she’d read the note earlier, she’d be halfway back to Cass’s arms by now, planning how to get rid of TQ once and for always.
She stuck the note in her mouth when she heard approaching steps and chewed.
“We’re baaa-ack,” the Hulk sang. “Ready for round three?”
Jack no longer had to worry about the door opening any moment and Cass being pushed through it. Her only fear when they’d started to punch and kick her had been that TQ would bring Cass in as punishment, to make Jack watch as they…
She couldn’t even bring herself to think about it. At least now she knew Cass was safe. She didn’t have to worry that her own death would eventually lead to Cass’s as well.
TQ was going to make her suffer for everything she’d done to her and her brother. And then she’d sit back with a cold glass of wine and an even colder smile as she reveled in Jack’s slow death. But Jack had been down that road before. She knew the drill, and she’d sworn she’d never let herself go through that kind of pain and humiliation again.
Cass was a stro
ng woman, stronger than Jack ever was and ever would be. She’d suffer the consequences of Jack’s death, but she’d be alive and free to live a better life, without the constant threat of Jack’s past catching up to them.
The decision was made. She had to give up. Not because she had nothing to live for, but because she had everything to lose if she didn’t. “I’m sorry, baby, but you’re better off without me,” she mumbled.
The two men stared at her. “What?” the smaller one asked.
She swallowed the note and smiled. “Hey, assholes, miss me?”
*
Burke, Virginia
Once in the cab, Shield dialed Pierce’s cell.
“Who’s this?” he asked sternly, not recognizing the number.
“29041971.” Shield used only her code, not her name, which told Pierce she was on an unsecured GPS line. “Where are you?”
“Minutes before landing,” he replied.
“I’m headed your way.”
“I have a van waiting outside. Meet me there.”
“Roger that.” Shield hung up. “Take us to Andrews Air Force Base,” she told the driver.
“Are they coming to get us?” Ryden asked, excitement in her voice.
“No. We’re going to meet someone.”
“And then?”
“Back to Washington.”
“Are you serious?” Ryden looked shocked. “What are we going to do there?”
“I have to take care of something. You’re going somewhere safe.”
“Without you?”
“I have to help my employer get one of our own back. TQ is keeping her captive.”
“You mean the woman who helped us?” Ryden asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s crazy. TQ…Rothschild…whoever is going to kill you.”
“Trust me, I’ll be fine,” Shield said. “The four of us stand a fair chance.”
“Chance? You said yourself she owns an army.”
“And we own the know-how.”
Ryden nodded vigorously. “I’m coming with you.”
“No, you’re not. We’re professionals and—”
“I can help.”
“How?” Shield smiled.
“I really don’t want you to do this.”
“It’s my job. They’re my people and I have to help them.”
“How about me? I mean—”
Shield grabbed her hand. “I’ll come get you from the Washington safe house when it’s over, but you have to promise to stay put until I get back or someone from the EOO contacts you.”
“Another safe house?”
“This one’s in use and secure.”
“I thought your people were supposed to come get us,” Ryden said. “Take us back safely. When was that plan abandoned?”
“There’s a lot going on.”
“Which means you don’t matter? I mean, forget me. They probably think I deserve whatever I get, but aren’t they supposed to care for your safety?”
“I offered to help them,” Shield said. “The plan was to stay with you and wait for pickup, but I can’t sit back and do nothing.”
“That’s your problem,” Ryden replied. “You think you need to please everyone.”
“That may be true, but it’s who I am.” After a long silence, Shield turned to her. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, okay?”
“It’s not me I’m worried about.”
Ryden was nervous about coming face-to-face with the people who knew about her deception. They could have her arrested. Would this nightmare never end?
When they got to Andrews, Harper paid the cab driver and led her toward a dark van. She spoke in low tones with the driver, a thirtyish tank of a man in a business suit, and then opened the back door for her. This van was very different from the stripped-down one TQ’s people had used. It was a luxury model, designed to transport celebrities or high-level government officials, and was as well equipped as any limousine, with a minibar, tinted privacy windows, and a DVD player with surround sound. Instead of the typical front-facing seat arrangement, the back held two wide, plush bench seats facing each other, with enough room for four on each side.
As they sat side by side on one of the benches, Ryden noticed a long, large, black duffel beneath the seat opposite. She wondered what it contained but didn’t dare ask.
They didn’t have long to wait. A few minutes later, two men and a woman joined them.
The first in was a sixty-something man in a business suit tailored to minimize the paunch above his belt. He had thinning blond hair, a pasty complexion, and deep creases in his face that gave him a permanently dour expression. At first glance, he seemed not at all the type to be heading into the lion’s den that was TQ, but when she looked a little closer, she could see he was a formidable presence. Despite the bit of thickening around his waist, he seemed otherwise very fit for a man his age—the muscles in his biceps stretched his suit coat ever so slightly—and his eyes held a strength and resolve few men could match.
He greeted them. “Shield. Ms. Wagner.”
Ryden caught the curious way he addressed Harper, but now wasn’t the time for explanations. Probably a nickname he’d given her, she guessed. Appropriate for a bodyguard.
An attractive young blond woman in her late twenties was next into the van. She was dressed all in black—boots, trousers, and a turtleneck sweater. Behind her, another man in a suit, this one also in his sixties, maybe younger. With his copper-colored crew cut, streaked with gray, chiseled features, and lean, muscular physique, he looked like a career soldier out of uniform.
The trio took the bench seat opposite and the van got under way.
“Both men are my employers,” Harper said, avoiding their names. “Lynx is a colleague.”
The man with the light hair, sitting in the middle, seemed preoccupied, his focus entirely on either his watch or the road ahead. His face was tight with worry and impatience.
The other two practically gawked at Ryden.
“TQ must’ve spent a fortune on your transformation,” Lynx said to her.
“I guess.” Ryden looked away, her cheeks warming from the intense scrutiny. “I never cared to ask.”
“Dead ringer,” the guy with red hair said. “Even your voice is the same.”
“We have to drop her off at the Washington safe house,” Harper said.
“I don’t know about that,” he replied. “Not that TQ is likely to run, but I don’t want to give her too much thinking time.”
“Who knows what that sick mind will come up with,” Lynx said.
Ryden would probably be better off in a safe house, but for some reason, she felt more secure staying close to Harper. “I don’t want to cause more problems than I already have. If you think I can wait for you in the van, that’s what I’ll do.”
“We need to get to Jaclyn ASAP.” The light-haired man checked his watch again.
“What’s the plan?” Harper asked.
“We threaten to destroy her, make public who she is, if she doesn’t give us Jack.” The blond woman—Lynx—who’d initially looked like a model on a photo shoot or something, transformed before Ryden’s eyes as she spoke about the woman who’d helped them. Her tone of voice, steely determination, and rigid posture—she looked coiled tight and ready to pounce—were sure signs of her underlying strength and lethal capabilities. “If she has so much as touched a hair on my woman’s head—”
“I will kill her with my own hands,” the fair-haired man said.
So Lynx had a thing for the mystery woman, Ryden realized. And the man in the middle had some vested personal interest in her as well, apparently, judging from his vehement response.
“I wouldn’t trust her.” Ryden took a chance and spoke. “She’s…she’s the deadliest-looking predator I’ve ever seen, and that’s including the Animal Planet channel.”
“We know better than to trust her, Ms. Wagner,” the light-haired man said seriously. He looked at Harper. “Shield, you’ll
get your orders when we reach our destination.”
“I don’t mean to put anyone down, and I’ll be the first to admit I owe Harding my life, but what’s this really all about?” Harper asked him. “She faked her death years ago to join the other side and, from what I understand, wants nothing to do with us. Yet, you not only let her live when treason is punishable by death, but you also come running to save her.”
Valid question, Ryden thought. Although this Jack woman had saved both their lives, something was definitely very dangerous about her.
“It’s complicated,” Lynx replied, while the fair-haired man stared at the wall behind them, absentmindedly tapping his fingers on the edge of the seat. The closer they got to their destination, the more his anxiety showed in his face and body language.
Harper sighed. “Either way, I’m here to get her back, and for the record, I like her.”
The man in the middle—obviously the guy in charge—sure was acting strange, Ryden thought as she studied his face. He certainly didn’t seem like the average employer worried about a subordinate. More like a guy in a hospital waiting room, fretting about the condition of a loved one.
“Mister…” Ryden looked at him until he turned to face her.
“Yes?” His eyes met hers.
“Jack is a very strong woman.” Ryden hoped that would help him relax. Though she didn’t know him, or what the connection was between him and the woman they were headed to rescue, she felt for the big man. His paternal behavior indicated he clearly cared about Jack.
He didn’t reply, and they drove the rest of the way in silence, the tension so palpable Ryden could hardly breathe.
Traffic was still light in the heart of the capital when they reached their destination and the driver parked at the curb. He remained behind the wheel while the others got out, all but Harper, who hunched down in front of Ryden.