Dead Reckoning

by Ronie Kendig

  “Very diplomatic, Mr. Jaxon.”

  He smiled.

  “So. Where to now? Arc de Triomphe?”

  He cast a rueful eyebrow toward her. “Didn’t you hear? Moreaux approves of you.”

  She spun toward him, the seatbelt tugging against her. “That was it! I was right. Anubis man was the contact.”

  A chuckle rumbled through his chest. “One of them. Why do you think I bought the trinket? Your first mission, so to speak, and you sailed through it.”

  “One?” Shiloh paused, her exhilaration tempered. “How many contacts were there?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Absolutely!”

  “Three.”

  Mumbai, India

  “They are in Paris.” Ali Abdul mopped his brow.

  “Then that is where you should be.”

  He pounded a fist on his desk. “No! I must be here. There is a large meeting with the UN tomorrow. I already have men in place to take care of these two.”

  “Good. Or your wife and children will pay for your mistakes.”

  “There is no need for that.”

  “You gave them the female agent before we got what we needed.”

  “She did not have any information.”

  “But you let them march in there and steal her right out from under your nose! You have let me down for the last time, Ali.”

  “Be patient.” His breath hissed out. “The committee has already begun investigating the president, once he is … distracted, I can gain full access to the codes.”

  “That should’ve happened last week!”

  “I will not fail!”

  “Then kill these two or you will be next!”

  Paris, France

  She glanced at the five-story building, grey and darkened by age and the elements, and wondered how things would go inside, where she would take the lead. Captain Miller had explained the way things worked—that only she could ask the questions if they wanted answers. She supposed that's why Reece let her talk to the primary contact in the Louvre.

  She studied the French Ministry complex, the dark alley on the right, the police car parked on the opposite corner and then the building again. Why did it look like something straight out of a late-night horror flick? She licked her lips. “What do I say?”

  “We went over it on the plane. You’ll do fine.”

  Throat cleared, she braced herself. “Right.” Considering the half-dozen security cameras poised over the street like vultures, they were most likely being watched. She wiped her hands down her jeans.

  “Shiloh?”

  She glanced at him. Warmth and strength flowed from his beautiful eyes into her soul.

  “You can do this.”

  She nodded. Her attention drifted back to the foreboding building. Why was she so nervous?

  Because this was her first gig. The first time her effectiveness decided her fate. She had learned enough about Moreaux to know that if she didn’t ask the right questions, they’d get nothing but fluff . As Reece said, they wanted the goose, not the down.

  “Ready?”

  Before she could answer, he climbed out of the car and shut the door. She groped for the handle. Panic beat an unsteady rhythm in her chest. If she couldn’t even get her door open, how could she pull this off ? Unwittingly talking to a stranger in the Louvre was one thing. Entering an official's territory to extract information … What on earth was she thinking?

  Her door swung open. Reece's hand flashed into view. She drew up courage she didn’t think she possessed, took his hand, and climbed out.

  Reece reached around her and shut the door as he whispered, “I believe in you.”

  His soft words skidded along her cheek and into her heart. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and siphon off as much strength as he’d allow.

  They crossed the threshold into the office building. Marble floors rushed into bullet-proof glass and a large reception desk. To the right, an enclosed waiting area, secured with the same heavy glass and secure-locks, greeted them. A sign read welcome in French and English.

  Reece gently nudged her forward. She strode toward the window. Half-tempted to smile, she opted not to change her expression lest the security personnel deem it artificial and prevent her entrance. Closer, she spotted a man in a uniform with a machine gun tucked into the crook of his arm.

  “May I help you?” the woman at the desk asked in French and then English.

  “Yes, I’m Joselyn Hayes,” she repeated what Reece told her to say. “I have an appointment with Deputy Minister Gerard

  Moreaux.” She inched aside so the woman could see Reece. “My assistant, Mr. James.”

  “One moment, please.” She pressed a few buttons, spoke into the phone. Then she motioned Shiloh to the waiting area. “If you will have a seat, Minister Moreaux will be with you in a moment.”

  The lock on the door to the waiting area disengaged.

  Seven minutes and a mound of tension later, a woman in a business suit escorted Shiloh and Reece from the secure sitting room. They followed her through a series of doors and security checkpoints until they were finally ushered into an octagonal office with rich, dark paneling.

  “The minister will be with you soon.” She left and closed the door.

  “I—”

  “Nice office, isn’t it?” Reece shifted away and studied the bookcases. Intently.

  Shiloh straightened. This wasn’t the place to say anything they didn’t want someone to overhear. They should look casual, comfortable, at ease. “I’d like to see the tower before we leave.”

  Surprise glinted in Reece's ocean-blue eyes. “It's overrated.”

  The door opened. A tall, dark-haired man entered. The air swirled, carrying with it a thick, heady cologne. Behind him the door seemed to move on its own and shut tightly. “Ms. Hayes, I’m Gerard Moreaux.” He clasped her hand and planted a kiss on her cheek.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see us.” Shiloh again turned to Reece. “My assistant Simon James.”

  The silent handshake between the two men said more to Shiloh than words. He didn’t like or trust Reece. Was it because of what Captain Miller said—Reece was a spy?

  “Ms. Hayes, please, have a seat and tell me how I can help you.” The man had a grace and style about him that seemed to shout his Parisian heritage.

  Somehow, Shiloh knew not to mince words. “A friend gave me a gift.” From her purse, she withdrew the coin Baseer had given her. “He said to see you about it.”

  “It's a nice piece.” He clapped the box shut looking completely unaffected or impressed. “I’m not sure what this has to do with me. I’m sorry.”

  Shiloh's heart sped. “But, he gave me your name.”

  He handed it back, his expression almost stricken. “My apologies, mademoiselle, but I cannot help.” Pearly teeth shone through a conciliatory smile. “My duty is to help the citizens of France and monitor foreign relations. Unless you have a problem there, I am afraid I cannot be of assistance.”

  Remembering Reece's tutelage not to let the man easily refuse her, she nudged the box back to him. “My friend gave me your name.” She and Reece walked a fine line, not wanting to test the minister's patience lest they end up arrested. “I believe this coin may be the link between life and death.”

  The minister's face sat like stone.

  Reece folded his arms, a hint to keep going.

  “There is an old story I’ve heard about pieces like this.” Shiloh took the coin and ran her finger around the gouged edge. “Of silly skirmishes over gold pieces where a man's family is threatened and his own breath cut from his throat. Sometimes, a man's son is blamed as well, and his life taken too.”

  Something changed in the minister's eyes. Had they widened? Or maybe dilated? He lifted the box and bounced it in his hand.

  She held his gaze until she was sure she’d made her point that Khalid and Baseer were dead. Then she let out a laugh. “Silly folktales. It's a good thing our count
ries are more … civilized. Heaven knows the U.S. would not tolerate such actions.”

  He lifted a black pen from a cup, twisted it, then set it into an acrylic base. Without a word, he strode to his floor-to-ceiling bookcase and picked up a decorative pen set. On a wooden base, the two gold pens stuck out at forty-five degree angles. Moreaux removed the pens and pushed a nameplate on the front. Two trays popped out from the base. Striding toward her, he set the coin in one tray, then glanced at her. “Your hand, mademoiselle.”

  Though tempted to check with Reece, Shiloh lifted her arm, which felt like an anchor.

  Warm and firm, his hand guided hers to the contraption. He pressed her index finger against the velvet pad. A blue light strobed beneath her flesh. When it glowed green, he released her, replaced the scanner in the canister and returned to his desk. The leather chair whooshed against his weight. “The room is secure. You have two minutes, Mademoiselle Blake.”

  Hearing her real name voiced in this foreign office sent fiery darts down her spine.

  Reece leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Another sign. Get on with it.

  Shiloh turned to the minister. “Baseer Khan was gunned down right in front of me. So was his son—my fiancé— Khalid. When Baseer gave me the coin, he told me to come to you.”

  “Allah's Sword of Justice.” Moreaux tapped the edge of his desk as he quirked an eyebrow at Reece. “Your friend is no doubt familiar with it.”

  Reece nodded.

  “As a youth, Baseer joined them thinking it was a pledge of loyalty to his country. When he realized the truth of their ways and tried to get out, they threatened his family. Over the years, they dragged him deeper and deeper because of his knowledge and skill.”

  “We have reason to believe Ali Abdul is working with this group.” Shiloh tucked her chin, hoping he would confirm or deny that.

  “Ali is an ant,” he spat. “No, the man you want is Osman Sajjadi.” Moreaux eased forward, the chair squeaking as he did. “And I suggest you leave Paris immediately. If he learns you are here, we will all die.”

  21

  SOMETHING WAS OFF. REECE PUSHED HIMSELF UPRIGHT. WHY WAS Minister Moreaux anxious to get rid of them? “What's the rush?” His question broke protocol, but he didn’t like the power the man wielded.

  Minister Moreaux uncapped a crystal decanter and poured a crimson drink into a bourbon glass. “Ever been to the Louvre, Mr. James?”

  He wanted them to know he’d had them followed. That they’d been flagged from the moment they landed at the airport.

  “Or perhaps Sainte-Chapelle?” He replaced the decanter and turned to Shiloh. “Have you ever had a chocolate waffle, Mademoiselle Blake? Delicious, especially with a walk down the Seine.”

  Stiffening, Reece mentally plotted a path out of here. Why had he thought this would go well? He listened to the hall for footsteps. Was there a hidden camera? Trouble was coming. He could feel it.

  “What's your point?” Shiloh rose to her feet, bringing Reece up with her.

  Moreaux considered them both for a moment. He then lifted a black remote and aimed it at the far wall. An oak panel slid back and revealed a large plasma television. The screen sprang to life.

  A newscast blurred before them. The airport. A reporter … Images of Shiloh and Khalid splashed over the TV, confirming the minister's warning. Shiloh moved toward the screen. Reece could almost hear her frantic heartbeat. It felt like a grenade detonated.

  She pointed. “T-that photograph was taken at the governor's ball last year—in San Diego!” She spun around, eyes wide. “How did they get that?”

  Moreaux clicked off the television. “The coverage started about an hour ago. No doubt when you walked through the front door of the Louvre your picture was captured, and now Interpol knows you are here.” He frowned and shook his head. “They’re probably already on their way.”

  “Who's on their way?” Shiloh's voice pitched.

  Moreaux went on. “Baseer was more than my friend. He was my cousin by marriage.” From his briefcase, he ripped open the lining and removed a wafer-thin object. “By midnight, I will be dead. This is what you will need to bring down Sajjadi.”

  Reece stared at the piece, momentarily wondering if it was a tracking device too. “Why now? You know we’ve been after him for a decade.”

  A sad smile bled into his somber countenance. “I had assets to protect, but now they are dead. Our organization lived in the shadows of death. Like Anubis.” His dark eyes moved to Shiloh with meaning. “Don’t hold it against Khalid. He only meant to help his father.”

  Not good. Reece snatched the piece. “We’ll be on our way.”

  “Wh-what do you mean? I don’t understand.” Shiloh's words tumbled out. “Hold what against him?”

  “Thank you, Minister,” Reece said, hooking hands with her. “We’ll show ourselves out.”

  She jerked away, her brow knit tightly. “What do you mean, Khalid only meant to help his father? Help him what? It was Baseer. Khalid wasn’t involved.”

  Pity stole the place of sadness in the minister's expression. “My cousin never wanted you to know. He hoped to disconnect himself and start a family with you. For Khalid's sake, I’m telling you now before you find things in your search or see it on the news.”

  “No …” Shiloh took a step back, shaking her head.

  Moving in to break her line of sight on the minister, Reece locked eyes with her. “We’ll sort it out later. Let's go.” Though she met his gaze, she wasn’t looking at him. He could tell her mind wrestled with the devastating blow about Khan.

  Reece cupped her face. “Shi?”

  She blinked.

  “With me?”

  A disconcerted shake and nod shouted her bewilderment. She touched his arm before giving a stronger nod.

  “A bit intimate with the operative, aren’t you, Mademoiselle Blake?” Moreaux cast suspicious glances between the two of them. “Is this how you honor—”

  “Thank you for your time, Minister.” Reece grabbed her hand again. He’d drag Shiloh out rather than let this Frenchman fill her head with doubts.

  “Khalid was my best friend. Nothing will change that, Mr. Moreaux.” Conviction infused Shiloh's words as she stole one more glance at the screen. “I won’t stop until his name is cleared. I don’t care what you say, he never would’ve done the things his father did!”

  Moreaux hesitated, then inclined his head toward them. “Thank you.”

  Only then did Reece realize the man only wanted reassurance that the sacrifices his family made weren’t in vain. Shiloh, a woman who had captured the heart of his nephew, gave him hope. Of course he wouldn’t trust a covert operative.

  Shouts echoed through the hall. Heavy thuds pounded the floor.

  “You should go.” Moreaux used the remote once more and opened a hidden door. “Down the stairs. They’ll take you to the alley.”

  Behind Shiloh, Reece stepped into the tight quarters of the stairwell. He glanced back.

  Tears glossed Moreaux's hazel eyes. He looked at Shiloh, then Reece. “Take care of her.”

  Thud! Thud! Thud!

  “Go!” Moreaux slid the door shut.

  Crack! “Where are they?”

  Reece frantically motioned Shiloh down the stairs. She sped over the concrete steps. The stairs dumped into a short corridor. At the end of the hall, beams of light slipped in under a door.

  They raced toward it.

  Voices devoured the cement coffin.

  “Out, right, left, left,” Reece shouted as they burst into the alley. He kept pace with her. This pursuit rang eerily similar to the foot-chase in Mumbai. Just as there, being captured here meant absolute death.

  Shiloh broke right down another alley where a group of dogs snarled and barked at them.

  Behind them, a barrage of yelling shattered the noisy normalcy of the city.

  No more than two feet ahead, Shiloh banked left. She slipped and yelped. Reece grabbed her arm and dragge
d her back into motion.

  The slight change in her speed worried him.

  One more left. If they could make it to the apartment, they could hide out. It was the only safe place. The safe-house had too many connections. They’d be found there. The very reason he’d refused to go back to their car. The reason he’d switched their baggage so the police would only find a duffel full of clothing and ambiguous items.

  Concrete burst out. He ducked. “Almost there,” he shouted to Shiloh, sensing she was losing her resolve.

  As he rounded the corner, several pieces of data pelted his mind. The tail end of a car sticking out past the corner. The shadow of a man stretching into the darkened alley. The quiet.

  Reece grabbed Shiloh and yanked her into a corner. “Shh.”

  She nodded, pain smearing across her sweaty brow.

  He motioned to the side and led her into a storefront. They worked their way through the quiet shop and out the back door. Up a flight of groaning iron stairs.

  “Where are they?”

  Frozen, Reece held a hand up, staring down between the black diamond grate underfoot. Shiloh pressed back. Cement dribbled down.

  A half-dozen figures drifted through the alley like ghouls haunting the living. Angry words shot back and forth. They were almost in the clear. Thank God nobody—

  “There! On the fire escape!”

  Reece dove into Shiloh, knocking her through the broken window. They landed with a thud—she yelped and arched her back. Without time to assess her injury, he pulled her to her feet. “We’ve got about fifty yards. Can you make it?”

  “Yes,” she ground out, her face pale even in the darkened room.

  He nodded, wishing he could erase her pain. Later. They hurried through the building. Voices and slamming noises played hide and seek with them.

  Finally, they slipped through a door into a furnished flat. Reece gently turned the lock. They jogged to a back room. To the matching bookcases flanking a tall window. He lifted the window seat, revealing a very cramped space. “Get in.”

  Shiloh sucked in a breath. “You’re kidding.”