Fight Fire With Fire.

by Amy J. Fetzer

  His eyes widened and he grabbed the phone, dialing General Gerardo. The chairman of the Joint Chiefs answered on the first ring. “Agent Deets.”

  “I have it open and it’s as suspected, sir, weapon schematics.”

  “What is it? Sidearm, rifle?”

  “Sir, I’m too old to be facetious, but you really need to see this one for yourself.”

  Gerardo ordered him to the Pentagon and Nolan hung up, staring at the screen.

  “We’re in big trouble.” And it was already in the hands of a weapons dealer with Hezbollah ties.

  Jason knew he’d nodded off when a soft whisper stirred through his brain. He blinked and sat up.

  Odette stood beside him, her hand on his shoulder. “Is everything to your satisfaction?”

  “Yes, extremely.” He rubbed his face, then sipped water. She took a seat across from him and crossed her legs. She’d changed, her clothing more casual in black cropped slacks and a white top, her bare arms tanned and sculpted. “What do you do for the Professor?”

  “I’m his voice when he needs it,” she said succinctly. “When you’re ready?”

  “Now is good.” He wiped his mouth with the linen napkin.

  She stood, then a uniformed maid stepped through the wide doors and handed him a cane. Christ, the servant couldn’t be more than thirteen and wouldn’t look either of them in the eye. A moment later, the girl was gone, backing into the shadows of the house. He held the cane to the sunlight. The leopard carved into the handle was remarkable. “Thank you,” he said, then stood, testing it.

  “Join me, Jason. He’s eager to know you.”

  He followed her out of the house and kept the pace as they strolled down the gravel road to a cobbled path stretching across the manicured lawn. He glanced behind. Near his bungalow were more like it and he wondered if Barasa was in one. Did she offer him the same comforts? The bastard needed to die, preferably with Rahjan.

  “He is still here,” she said, and he glanced, flushing that she could read him so easily. “But neither will bother you again.” He hoped so.

  Ahead he saw another house in the distance, then beyond, nearer to the jungle, were several more buildings. Except for their size, they were identical, terra cotta roofs with covered porches. The setup reminded him of a village.

  He frowned at the children, following three as they ran across the lawn laughing.

  “He’s adopted them,” Odette said softly. “When they are of age, he sends them all to boarding schools in England and France.” She shrugged as if it bothered her. “He provides well in all ways. We are fortunate.”

  “Me especially,” he said. Man, this was some big money. How did they get electricity? Generators must be buried or he’d hear them. Then there was food, supplies, and fuel. “You must be self-sufficient here. No quick run to the store for milk and eggs, huh?”

  “Mostly imports. There are the gardens and fresh water through osmosis.” She gestured to a large fountain spilling water from the mouth of a giant cat. “Piping to all units.”

  “Running water is a luxury I don’t take for granted,” he confessed. Soaking in a tub full had barely made up for living in the slums.

  She touched his shoulder. “You will not lack here, Jason.”

  As they approached the largest house, a man sitting on the porch stood and descended the wide veranda stairs. Jason stopped and looked at Odette.

  “You recognize him?” she said, smiling.

  “Anyone in the scientific community would.” Now he understood the secrecy and destroying all trails. If even a suggestion of his involvement in the explosion in Singapore emerged, the law enforcement of every nation would descend on them.

  Jason walked forward, smiling. “Doctor Thibaut, an honor and a pleasure.”

  Haeger Thibaut was a philanthropist, a biochemist and a physician. And those were the degrees Jason could recall off the top of his head. Aside from specializing in genome research, he’d been nominated for the Nobel Prize years ago until moralists and critics compared him to Frankenstein for his groundbreaking cloning research with livestock that was commonly used today.

  Jason shook his hand and felt like a groupie to a rock star. Thibaut’s millions were in patents and wise investments, a portion in a Swiss bank account with Jason’s name on it, yet he didn’t wonder why Thibaut had secluded himself on the island. If he owned one, he wouldn’t leave either, but the admonishment from the scientific community sent him here. Jason knew how it felt to be ridiculed by your colleagues. He hadn’t seen the man in the news except when he held some benefit for an orphanage. Only the tabloids and media pried into the reasons behind his isolation because he’d donated millions and had adopted several children himself. Jason wondered if one was the maid in his suite.

  “Come my friend, get out of the heat.”

  He didn’t mean the porch and as they walked, a young boy trailed behind them with an umbrella on a long pole. The whole thing had a 40’s Caribbean vibe going, and Jason felt himself relax. They chatted about the advances in science and Jason knew he was slobbering.

  “So tell me, Dr. Vaghn, who tried to take you from Barasa’s men?”

  Jason glanced, and didn’t see any point in not answering. Donovan was dead and probably his entire team was, too. “That was my fault,” he admitted to a man he considered one of the greatest minds of the twenty-first century. “I knew they were watching. I didn’t know it would be that close or that it was Dragon One.” When Jason was finished giving the details, he waited for Thibaut’s reaction.

  He only nodded, looking thoughtful as his long thin fingers stroked his goatee into place. Then he looked up, tugged at his shirt collar and said, “Would you like to see your laboratory?”

  “Yes, definitely. A lab?”

  “I think you’ll be pleased.”

  They walked toward a building, and Jason thought if this is a lab, he was going to like it here. A copy in appearance to the other buildings, it had an orange tile roof and pale yellow walls with white trim, the porch shaded the wood door and dark wicker furniture. A plantation rocker like his mother’s rested near the door. Palms and coconut trees bent over the stone pathway, shading them from the heat. The boy with the umbrella waited at the end of the walk. Old world attitude for a modern man, he thought. They crossed the threshold and that’s where the similarities ended.

  Jason looked at Thibaut and smiled. Thibaut waved him in. “Should you need assistants, don’t hesitate to request them, but I know you prefer to work alone.”

  He glanced at the man. “What else do you know about me?”

  “Everything, Dr. Vaghn. I wouldn’t have solicited your assistance had I not known you were brilliant and worthy of the challenge.”

  Jason felt his shoulders pull back without will. His own father had never spoken to him like that. All he’d done was try to browbeat him into the family business of politics, he thought bitterly, and walked the corridors between steel tables and computer stations. At the farthest end, he stopped at a case with a glass front, then swung a look at Thibaut.

  “Where did you get that? How did you get it?”

  Thibaut smiled, the lines in his long face deepening. “Nothing is impossible with the right plan, Jason.”

  His gaze returned to the gunmetal-gray canister suspended inside the case. It was shaped like an hourglass, a titanium fortification between the two components. He should know. He designed the container. RZ10.

  It was dark classified. How did Thibaut even know it existed?

  Marina Bay

  Singapore

  Riley glanced up when a buzzer sounded, his gaze searching the condo for the source.

  “Here,” Safia said, walking to the intercom controls near the foyer. “I’m surprised it works.” She tapped talk. “Yes?”

  “Someone need a jet jockey?”

  Riley grinned. “Sam Wyatt.” Safia’s expression brightened and she rushed to the door with him. “Should I be jealous you’re
so excited?”

  “He was half dead when I saw him last.” She shrugged. Smiling, he threw open the door, but Safia slipped around him. For a second, she just stared.

  “Hi Sam. I’m Safia Troy.”

  Sam frowned, confused, then glanced at Riley. “Serbia Safia?”

  She looked over her shoulder at him, arching a brow and he smiled. “Unforgettable. Told you.”

  She yelped when Sam suddenly scooped her in his arms, hugged her tightly and planted a smacky kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, darlin’.” He set her down. “My wife’ll probably talk your ear off about it. Fair warned.”

  Riley waved them inside, but Safia held back to greet Logan.

  “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, his smile somber. “Thanks for helping find Sebastian’s killer.”

  She gave his arm a squeeze. “I want him too.”

  Sam and Logan unloaded their luggage, waving at Max, who was on the phone with Colonel Jansen last Riley checked.

  “Dragon Six is on the Changi airstrip, gassed to go,” Sam said, working his shoulders and looking around at the setup. “Chopper is on the roof.”

  “We’re waiting,” Riley said. “NMCC, Deep Six, Interpol, Scotland Yard, are all on alert and Deep Six has satellites tracking one phone number. The cryptologists have what we have.” Riley felt the helplessness and thought, with all this technology, they couldn’t find a stronger link than the woman in Red Shoes? “I bloody hate waiting for something else to happen.”

  “I can tap into the aviation network,” Logan said, crossing to the computers. “The language barrier might be a problem, but didn’t you say Barasa landed in Vietnam?”

  “On the ground for a few hours,” Riley said. “He didn’t leave the jet, but dinner was delivered.”

  Sam tipped his cowboy hat back, and said, “Some people just know how to spend their money.”

  “Like Viva?” Max said, winking at Safia and she looked at Sam.

  “She buys helicopters like women buy new wardrobes.”

  “Your fault for teaching her how to fly one,” Max said from across the room.

  “You try saying no to her, see where it gets you,” Sam said, his smile telling them he didn’t have a voice in the matter and didn’t care.

  “Helps that she’s loaded,” Riley said, passing Safia on his way to the kitchen. “Why isn’t she with you, anyway?” Riley came back with a six pack, handing them out.

  “In New Orleans with Sebastian’s sister,” Sam said, pinching off his cowboy hat and tossing it on a chair. “Jasmine and Sebastian have lots of relatives, but they were their only real family,” he told Safia. “Killian had to return home. Alexa can’t fly. She’s too far along.” Sam accepted the beer, smiling. “He’s so pathetic. Calls her every fifteen minutes, it’s a wonder she gets any rest.”

  “You know Alexa and I were trained at this together.”

  He nudged the air with his chin. “Riley mentioned it.”

  “When she delivers, I’d like to know.”

  Her lips curved in a smile Riley had seen before, the kind women exchanged that warned men not to even try to understand what was behind it.

  “I think you’ll be around.” Sam sipped his beer, hiding a smile as he walked to the printer, grabbed a sheaf, then dropped onto the sofa, catching up. Logan was at the computers, his fingers flying over the keyboard. Riley gauged Safia. She wasn’t accustomed to input and opinions.

  But Safia stepped back, her gaze moving over her condo and the men filling it. No one except Ellie had ever been inside. She preferred it that way, private, hers only, but realized she liked seeing people here, despite the reasons. There’s another first. Dragon One certainly cornered the market on tall and good looking, and while they couldn’t pass for brothers, the friendships were close, in each other’s lives enough to know how Viva Wyatt spent her money. A chopper wardrobe. She loved it.

  Riley moved up beside her, and she gravitated to him.

  “You have that ‘I need to do something right now’ look,” he said.

  She tipped her head, met his gaze. “That hasn’t been the wisest course of action so far, I’m not rushing in.”

  His brows knit for a second. “It’s not your fault. None of this is.”

  She shook her head. “Vaghn would be in U.S. custody and no one would have his weapons.”

  “They’d just find another one to sell. We’re assuming we brought it inside the station in the backpack.”

  “I thought of that. Motion sensors would have gone off if someone crossed the courtyard. The sensors inside would have detected it before we passed the key lock.”

  “I think that one had help,” Riley said. “Any enemies we should know about?”

  She scoffed. “Plenty, if they knew I was chasing them. I can’t be one hundred percent, but my cover is in tact.” She shrugged. “I’m inconsequential, Riley. I don’t get that close, just watch, listen, track, report. Maybe cause them some trouble, but Interpol makes the arrests.” She waved at the setup. “Dragon One is more involved than I’ve ever been.”

  Riley thought she underplayed her role, but dismissed it for the moment. “What were you doing before trailing Barasa this time?”

  “Tracking LAW rockets to Syria.” His eyes flared. She just shrugged. “Barasa was transporting them. They ended in a Hezbollah training camp.” At his look she said, “Yes, it was risky since females are worth less than a camel to those guys. I was disguised as a water boy, but I couldn’t get close enough before Barasa handed off the weapons.” She gestured to the screen waiting for the Deep Six connection. “Major Mitch Beckham destroyed the arsenal. I followed Barasa here.”

  Riley’s brows knit as he tried to find a piece he knew they were missing. “There are a handful of explosives that could have blown that wide a berth; It would take a lot, but they all need something to ignite it. A detonator, a match. The bigger that is, the wider the radius.”

  Safia hurried to a free computer and pulled up the satellite image of the station house. “About a five block radius.”

  “Yeah, but look how even that explosion is,” Max said.

  Almost a perfect circle, she thought. “Jansen said the RZ10 creates a vacuum and collapses on itself. But we saw a lot of debris moving outward. The blast pattern proves that. The RZ canister was stolen twenty-four hours before the station blast. It could have been used then, but Vaghn was still in hiding.” She looked at him suddenly. “You think there’s another player?”

  Max twisted on the stool. “I do.” Safia frowned. “It doesn’t add up. The map seller was killed by a hit and run. Then Webber runs from you and lies. Why run if you’re going to lie?”

  “Riley scared him.” They stared and her shoulders suddenly fell. “Okay, fine. You’re implying I was the target and we have a new suspect. But I haven’t a clue who it could be. If it was RZ used at the station, then the chemicals have to show up on tests. Forensics went in for it that morning. It should be done already.” She slipped on her ear mic and hailed Ellie. “We have confirmation on the substances?”

  “Negative. Homeland is stalling.”

  Safia frowned, glancing at the ceiling as if she could see above. “Go to Dr. Wylie, Forensics.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  “We’ve been down this road. It’s an order, Base.” She signed off and looked at Riley. “We don’t have time to mess around.”

  “Man, I thought Viva was impatient,” Sam said.

  Riley shook his head, pinching the air, a measure she thought was a little skimpy. Safia gave him a shove.

  “Found the plane,” Logan called out, twisting on the stool. “It landed on a little island in the South Pacific. It’s still there, but all communication to the island is down.”

  “Down?”

  “Like the dark ages. No in, no out. The piece of land is listed as unoccupied.”

  “So is this apartment,” she said and crossed to him. “Bring up the map, ple
ase.”

  Logan did, then transferred it to the flat screen. She stood back a few feet. “Micronesia? The Truk islands?” she said and looked to Logan.

  “Close. Palau. The outer rim. A scatter island. Five miles off any coast, international waters, untouchable. As for commerce, it’s useless. Half the size of Guam.”

  “Bridget took a side trip south of there, Sonsoral Islands,” Riley said. “Monkeys and sea shells.” He told them about the scare, the scratch marks on the archaeologist and they were well into a discussion when he noticed the incoming call warning was blinking.

  Logan turned away, worked the computer, then pointed the remote at the flat screen. “The Brass is calling. We’re live again, people.”

  With the team, she faced the screen. “Colonel Jansen.” She nodded and noticed the latest director beside him now. “Director.” Dr. Roger Shiplet was new at the job and while he’d run the gauntlet of senate hearings, she didn’t know too much about him. But when the director of the CIA got this close, it meant they were scared. She’d seen the damage, the lives taken. RZ10 was on the loose and she knew it would just get worse if they didn’t bag them all.

  “Dr. Black is dead, a suicide,” Jansen began and relayed a few details. “Baring the investigation, we have his computer and Deep Six is working to learn where the stream ended. In the meantime, cryptologists have unlocked the hard drive and the stream.”

  Their bleak expressions said nothing good was coming.

  Cale admired the ingenuity of the island. A sanitarium for the peculiar. There was little he could do but enjoy the comforts availed to him, and he couldn’t recall when he’d breathed unpolluted air. The scents surrounding him were incredible, a fruity fragrance lingered. This far in the ocean, the winds were stronger, keeping the muggy heat back where they left it in Singapore.

  Odette spared nothing, providing them with accommodations, clothing, and food. Servants catered and vanished. Cale felt like the wealthy socialites he’d seen on the Riviera where he was never welcome. Clearly, the Professor had amassed a wealth Barasa could only imagine possessing. He stepped off the porch and strolled toward the cobblestone paths, obeying the signs, a declarative prisoner now. He studied the buildings in the distance, tall palms and twisted pasir trees shadowing the roofs. He supposed Vaghn was somewhere over there happily creating weapons of mass destruction. He was eager to see this device that went undetected by Vaghn’s captors. The level of secrecy was annoying, and he’d done too much to be so uniformed, yet the money soothed that; half of his nearly spent.