by Cliff Ryder
"Unfortunately, their backup spotted me, as well, and intercepted." Kanelo rubbed the back of his neck. "He was pretty good, too, for a white boy."
"So while the four of you were beating on each other, she scooted between you all and got on her original train? Where was your second team?"
"Well, here they are, so you can ask them directly." David leaned back in his seat, and looked around for any nearby police presence.
Robert and Tara piled into the SUV, and moments later they were moving north on Pancras Road, away from the commotion. The two-tone wail of European sirens could be heard in the distance. David tuned back in to hear Team Two's report, and learned that they had been barred from coming onto the platform once all of the commotion had started.
"Then we got the call to leave, so we did." Tara slumped back in her seat. "At least tell me we know where she's going?"
"Yeah." Cory navigated while calling another number on his phone. "Primary, this is M-One. We sighted target at the station, but the other team was there, as well, and she escaped in the confusion…Yes, we do know where — Paris, on the Chunnel train…A helicopter would be best, but it'll be close…Very well, we'll meet you there…M-One out."
He turned and scrutinized everyone in the passenger compartment. "David and Kanelo, get online and go through Facemaker at Primary for your two hostiles. Maybe they can come up with a jacket on these guys. We're going to France."
17
Who is this woman?
For Kate, it was the million-dollar question. And how is she able to waltz out from under trained professionals not once, but twice in the past twenty-four hours?
She patched into the virtual HQ, ignoring the slight headache that came with spending too much time in virtual reality. "Do we have anything yet on our target?" she asked.
"Still searching, ma'am."
Kate tried not to clench her fists in frustration. She thought that she had long ago gotten used to the interminable waits while their personnel and massive computer systems searched for that piece of useful intel in a vast, ever-changing ocean of information. And so she was always annoyed when her temper got the better of her, and she felt like going to the nearest computer and wringing whatever she needed out of it. Even though they knew where their fleeing target was — indeed, one of the virtual screens had mapped out the Chunnel route, as well as the speed of the train that was a few minutes from entering the thirty-one-mile-long underwater passage, with an estimated time of arrival at its station in Paris — every second meant that she was getting farther away.
Normally this wouldn't be a problem, since Kate had already scrambled agents from the French Room 59 Directorate to meet their target at the station. However, given her unusual ability to elude danger, Kate wouldn't have put it past her to manage to get by them, as well. And if she does, everyone goes back to shadowing and target-interception training.
A ping from her computer signaled incoming messages from the Midnight Team. Kate opened up two of them to reveal two faces, and a similar message on each one:
Primary:
Here's a picture of one of the men encountered in the St. Pancras Station. Hope it helps get a line on who we're up against. Good luck.
M-One
Kate studied both pictures as she uploaded them to their networked criminal-profiling program, which could draw on law-enforcement databases around the world for suspects, and got their man or woman more often than not. The full-frontal picture had been created with Room 59's imaging program called Facemaker, an advanced version of the computer programs used by police around the world to create pictures of suspected criminals. A witness selected the remembered features — eyes, nose, hair, distinguishing characteristics — and assembled a picture of their suspect. Facemaker then took the process a step further, and extrapolated a three-dimensional picture, with near photo quality, of the suspect's face. The result was a more recognizable picture, at least for computers, which made it easier for them to better match the points of recognition on a human face and get higher hit results on a jacket search.
Kate looked at one glowering face, for even though the program presented its subjects in a neutral expression, the heavy eyebrows and hooded eyes, combined with the strong nose and jaw, gave the man a decidedly unpleasant aspect. She hoped the computer would come up with something soon. God, I hate waiting.
Even as she did that, a part of her already had a pretty good idea of what they were going to find. With that in mind, she dialed a number.
"This is Samantha."
"Samantha, this is Kate. How goes it?"
"As well as can be expected. I understand there was a bit of commotion at St. Pancras Station this morning."
"Mmm, I'd heard that, as well." Kate didn't squirm in her chair often, but Samantha's matter-of-fact tone told her that the other woman had a pretty good idea of who had caused the disturbance. However, if she's not going to come out and say it, there's no need to elaborate. "I'd also heard that the suspect got away, unfortunately."
"Yes, it seems she's due more credit than we've been giving her."
"Funny, I was just thinking that. But the real reason I've called is that I have a line on the people who may be behind this — or at least one of the parties that's after her — probably to get back what they hired her to steal."
"She's a contract employee?"
"Surely MI-6 has had the same thought. No hackers go to this much trouble — take this much risk to go on-site and get access the only way they could — unless they're being paid incredibly well by somebody."
"You may have something there. So, who do you think it is?"
"Mercury Security," Kate said.
There was a pause. "Terrence's organization?"
"The same."
"I thought their cash flow showed they were nearly broke."
"Perhaps broke enough to go all-or-nothing on a data strike they could auction off bit by bit to the highest bidder, or get a blanket bid for the whole enchilada. It's not like we don't know people, or governments willing to spend that kind of cash to get what they want."
"True, too true. What do you intend to do about it?"
"Well, I was hoping that you'd be interested in serving both of your loyalties at the same time by agreeing to do a bit of fieldwork."
"Oh, God, you can't mean you want me to be a swallow."
Kate smiled wryly at the term. In tradecraft parlance, a swallow was an agent with the sole purpose of subverting a target using whatever means necessary, including sex. "Hopefully it wouldn't come to that."
"You're damn right it wouldn't — I can barely stand the man as it is, but to think of doing that…I'd better have the fastest acting sedative you've got available with me."
"And you will, along with plenty of backup. In fact, I'll assign Jake to the case — it would be good for him to get out in the field, keep his reflexes sharp. So what do you say — shall we set it up?"
There was silence on the other end as Samantha thought it over. "I'd do just about anything for my country, but I didn't know I'd have to endure a sacrifice like this."
"What, dining in a five-star restaurant with a handsome man who's at least charming on the surface? Every woman should have your problems," Kate said.
"No, they shouldn't — you've only had a small dose of him. Let me run this past my superiors here — they may insist on a joint op."
"That's fine. I like to think we play well in other people's sandboxes when we have to. Call me with particulars once you have the op in play. And Samantha — thank you. You're doing the right thing."
"I know, I know. It's just — I'm going to feel so unclean afterward. Ah well, for queen and country, as we say."
"That's the spirit. And if you need anything that MI-6 can't provide — although I can't imagine what that might be — let me know."
"I will, Kate. Thanks for passing this along. I'll be in touch."
Kate disconnected and leaned back in her chair, massaging her temples. She had
been up for the past twenty hours without a break, and it was starting to catch up with her. Just enough time to catch a nap before the team touches down in Paris. No, I'd better update Louis of what's coming his way — I'm sure he's not going to be happy. With a sigh, she dialed again, with only a brief, longing look at the bed a few feet away.
18
Maggie Britaine had seen plenty of movies where the heroine or hero, when faced with an enemy who had incontrovertible proof of his or her real identity, just shrugged it off with a smile and a careless remark that deflected the intended verbal thrust while preserving the air of mystery.
Real life, however, was much different, and her hand flew to her mouth as her eyes widened when she heard the man's astonishing revelation. She knew there was no point trying to pretend her name was Marlene anymore.
He sat back, smug and comfortable. "Yes, I'm afraid that while you evaded my partner quite effectively, I won the coin toss to pursue you onto the train if necessary. He was so sure that he'd be able to handle you himself…a mistake he won't make next time, I'm sure. Unfortunately, our employer will not be happy that he landed himself in jail, either."
Maggie only half listened to her new captor as he prattled on. The rest of her mind was already preoccupied with trying to figure out some way to escape. No weapons — not that I could shoot or stab him — and I'm sure he could overpower me without thinking twice. No, I'll have to come up with something else. She had never really been comfortable with violence — hence her career in computer crime, white-collar and oh-so-bloodless. But now she might have to get up close and personal with this guy to get away.
She tuned back in to his conversation, hoping to find something she could use against him. "…since there is literally no place to go for the next two hours, you might as well relax and enjoy the ride."
Maggie's eyes flicked to her laptop case on the seat next to her. "What if I was able to give you what your employer wanted right now? Would you let me go?"
The mercenary smiled. "I'm afraid it is too late for that now, my dear. My employers would be very disappointed if I didn't bring you back with me. Although perhaps I should hold on to your computer case for the time being."
"Why? As you rightly pointed out, I'm not going anywhere, and carrying this case would ruin the lines of that excellent suit."
The man appraised her, his eyes sliding up and down her lithe body. "At least you appreciate good fashion, even if you, ah, do not seem inclined to wear it."
"Oh, this?" Maggie let her fingers trail up the side of her leg, noticing his eyes dip down, drawn by the movement as she readjusted her skirt. "Well, I was trying to disguise myself after your goon squad came after me. Trust me, this isn't my usual attire." Crossing her legs, she let her hand float to his wool-clad knee, caressing it ever so gently. "Isn't there any other way I might persuade you to overlook this chance meeting?" While she spoke, she also slipped the small flash drive out of her pocket and wedged it into the crack between the two seats, pushing it down until it was completely hidden.
He laughed at the suggestion, right to her face. "Oh, you are delightful. However, I would save that gambit for any other men who might be interested later on. As for me, my tastes run in other directions. Your charms don't interest me."
"That certainly explains your excellent wardrobe taste." Unbelievable — just my luck to get caught by a gay mercenary, Maggie thought as she slumped back in her chair. "I could scream, you know. Get a conductor over here to investigate why a young, attractive woman is making such a racket."
The man removed a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. "Then I'd have to show him this, which says that you are my cousin, and that you suffer from paranoid schizophrenia, you have escaped a mental health facility in England and you're in my care while we seek treatment in Paris. And, if it comes to that, I would have no choice but to sedate you." He rattled a small bottle of pills at her. "But I'd much rather enjoy your company until we arrive. The choice, of course, is yours."
"Give me that!" Maggie grabbed for the paper, which rose out of reach as the man held it above his head. She sighed. "It would seem you have me neatly trapped."
"Well, you did elude us for almost an entire day — that is not something that many people can claim."
"You'll excuse me if I don't consider that to be a point of pride."
He shrugged. "You may take it as you wish. However, I can assure you that you would have been caught sooner or later — it was only a matter of time."
"Says you. I hope you don't expect me to be very sociable for the remainder of the trip," Maggie said.
Her comment provoked another eloquent roll of his shoulders. "The journey can be as pleasant — or as unpleasant — as you wish."
"It's very unpleasant already, thanks to the company."
"Alas, that I cannot change for you. Perhaps you might feel better if you were to eat something? You must be famished after all that running around last night."
Although Maggie wanted to say that she was just fine, her stomach rumbled loudly at the mention of food. "Sure, why not? Maybe I'll just get drunk instead."
"I would hope you might refrain. It would demean us both." He stood and offered her his hand. "If I may?"
She glared at him and pushed herself out the chair, grabbing her laptop case and slinging it over her shoulder. "And you can save the gallant act — you're nothing but a hired thug."
Although he let her walk ahead of him, he slipped a hand on her elbow, squeezing hard enough to let her know that any resistance would be punished. "My dear, it is you who are the criminal here. After all, you were the one who did not deliver what we had hired you to acquire."
"There wouldn't have been any problem if your company had not suddenly gotten cold feet about its reimbursement clause for expenses, which were higher than we had initially expected. But when we invoked the percentage-overage clause, suddenly you folks stopped returning our calls and sent out hired guns to kill us and anyone else who got in the way, conveniently avoiding paying us the second half of our fee, as well," Maggie said.
"I have no knowledge of how my superiors intended to recover what was ours. As for the terms of your employment contract, that is something you would have to take up with our contract attorneys. But you did sign our agreement, so I can only assume that you read it first."
"Yes, all seventy-seven pages of legal jargon. One wonders how clients in other nations fare when you hold them over a barrel."
"Unlike you and your brother, they usually have excellent lawyers on retainer to handle contracts like these. Once you are finished in our employ, I suggest that you avail yourself of a similar firm next time."
"Yeah, that's exactly what someone in my line of work can do — just walk into an old-money law firm and demand representation."
He shook his head in mock disapproval. "You of all people should know money can buy anything."
As they walked, Maggie looked at the various passengers they passed, hoping to find someone who might be able to help her. Well-dressed couples chatted and gazed out at the English countryside as it blurred past. A smartly dressed conductor passed by, and for a moment Maggie thought about accosting him, but a painful squeeze on her arm nixed that idea, almost as if her warden knew what she was thinking.
She huffed in exasperation. "At the very least, you could tell me your name, so I don't think of you as Mr. Asshole all the time."
"Fair enough. You may call me Carlos."
"Spanish? I thought you were from Greece."
"I have traveled all over the world, as I expect you have, as well."
"Here and there," Maggie said.
They walked into the dining car, where a large crowd of travelers clustered around a buffet table laden with steaming trays of food. The smell made Maggie's mouth water, and she suddenly realized just how hungry she was, in spite of her circumstances. No choice, so I might as well eat while I can — who knows when I'll get the chance again.
She got in li
ne and picked up a tray, plate and silverware, resisting the urge to whirl around and bash her captor in the head with it. The buffet ran to salad, pasta and what looked like chicken and beef dishes, so Maggie loaded up on the carbs while waiting for the elderly couple ahead of her to progress. All the while her mind created and discarded escape plans. Stab him in the eye with a salad fork and run for it? Hope he's allergic to the antipasto salad? Fake an epileptic fit myself? That last idea she held on to — it wouldn't be pretty, but would be an effective distraction at least. What she'd do after that, however, she had no idea. She didn't know if there were any medical personnel on board, and while she could hope for a doctor, if there wasn't one, she'd have to shake and tremble all the way to Paris.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the gentleman ahead of her. "Lucille, don't forget your purse — we don't want to lose your medications at the start of the trip."
"Thank you, Joseph, why don't you just hand it to me — whoops!"
As soon as she had heard the word "medications," Maggie had waited for the right moment, then lurched forward, her plate smacking into the overstuffed purse to send it and its contents flying. "Oh. I'm so sorry! Here, let me help you with those." She bustled around on her hands and knees, picking up containers and shoving them back into the woman's trembling hands, which caused her to drop them all over again, delaying everyone even more. Maggie knelt to pick them up again, using the confusion to slip a bottle into the waistband of her skirt. She picked up the rest of the woman's belongings, and loaded them into the voluminous bag, apologizing loudly all the while. The couple thanked her, then shuffled off to their table, while a server came out to clean up Maggie's overturned plate of food on the carpet.
Her mission done, Maggie turned to get another plate and go back to her seat, but was stopped by Carlos, who held out his hand. "Give it to me."