“She talked to me,” Trent admitted sheepishly. “She set me straight.”
Viktor raised a brow.
“She told me to mind my own business.”
“I agree.”
“Hell, you have to understand my position,” Trent argued. “Reesee’s a tough nut, but she’s been hurt before by someone like you.”
Viktor tensed, not sure he wanted to hear this, but he couldn’t help himself from asking, “How do you know the person was someone like me?”
“She has a good head on her shoulders—a good douchebag meter—and she doesn’t put up with bullshit, so I don’t usually have to worry about her getting hurt by some asshole.” His voice turned harsh. “Except that one time a couple of years ago. She’d just gotten transferred to the clandestine service. I think it was some guy from the black ops team she worked with. Like I said, someone like you.”
Or it was me, Viktor thought grimly.
“Look man, I already said too much,” Trent said. “I just have to trust her when she says she knows what she’s doing this time. Whatever happened to her back then fucked her up.” Trent shrugged. “But it made her what she is today.”
Hardened. Snarky.
“Marissa’s one of the best black ops team leads I know,” Viktor said, but underneath his bland statement, a rush of emotions plagued him—one of them was guilt. The knowledge that he had a hand in stripping the innocence from her and inadvertently shaping her into a woman more suitable to his world.
So now that her brother and one parent were on board with their relationship, Viktor was curious what her father had to say.
The smell of cigar smoke reached his nostrils even before he approached the ornately carved doors of the study. The assistant announced his arrival.
Trenton Cole was a tall man, but years behind the doors of boardrooms, and nothing more, had aged him prematurely. His forehead was creased permanently with frown lines. His mouth was pinched at the corners. An expensive sweater stretched over a more-than generous beer belly. But his eyes were watchful. Shrewd.
“Cigar?” Cole offered. “Brandy?”
“Brandy,” Viktor said.
Marissa’s father walked over and poured the amber liquid into a snifter, and then handed it to Viktor.
“Please sit,” Cole said, even as he walked over to a window and stared outside.
“I’d prefer to stand,” Viktor replied. “I doubt our conversation will take too much time.”
Her father turned around to face him. “You’re not what I want for my daughter.”
And there goes the opening salvo.
“I’m listening,” Viktor said.
Exhaling in irritation, Cole continued, “I’ve accepted that she will never run the business, but I was hoping she’d marry someone who would. Unfortunately, I don’t think I could bribe you with money to leave my daughter alone. You make more than enough with your little enterprise to tide you over until Marissa gets her inheritance.”
What. A. Prick. Viktor thought angrily.
“I surely hope you’re not insinuating that I’m with Marissa because of money,” Viktor said in a bored voice.
“Don’t try to deny it.” Cole’s nostrils flared. “We’re talking billions. I have to protect what I’ve worked for all these years, so I’m taking drastic measures.” He paused, as if it was hard for him to say the next words. “I’m cutting her off if she continues to see you. She has a trust fund that I have no control over, but that’s only ten million dollars. I’ll offer you twenty million now to leave her. No more. No less. And you agree tonight or the offer is rescinded.”
Viktor thought briefly what the prison sentence was for breaking the neck of your woman’s father. He methodically tossed back the brandy and set the empty glass on the table, regarding Marissa’s father with a chilling gaze. It never failed to put the fear of God in people. His eyes had seen too much death and suffering. The eyes of a killer. The eyes of someone who would destroy anyone who would try to come between him and the woman he loved.
Trenton Cole’s eyes widened in a moment of uncertainty, swallowing a lump in his throat.
Viktor took a slight step forward; the older man took a step back.
“Are we done here?” Viktor said softly, a ripple of menace coating his words.
“Now see here, Baran—” Cole sputtered.
“No. You—see—here,” Viktor said, cold fury taking over. “The only reason I haven’t snapped your neck is because I love your daughter, and even if you’re her dick of a father, I have to show you some respect. But I’ve taken men down for much less than the crap you’ve just spewed out. So, I repeat. Are—we—done—here?”
Cole’s mouth hardened into a thin line and he nodded jerkily.
Viktor turned around and stalked out of the study. He ran into Marissa a few paces out the door. Her face was furious and battle-ready.
“Trent told me that Dad—” Marissa hissed. He grabbed her hand and dragged her down the hallway into an alcove.
Viktor realized he was breathing hard from unspent anger.
“What did he say, Viktor?” Marissa asked nervously.
“You need to know, Iz.” Viktor said, his voice raspy like sandpaper. “My gut tells me you won’t give a shit and you’re not leaving me. But I’m telling you now, sweetheart, if you fucking break up with me over this, I’m not letting you go anyway. I’m fighting for you, even if the person I have to fight is you.”
“You’re not making any damned sense.” Her eyes flared impatiently. “What did my father say to you?”
“He’s cutting you off.”
“He’s disowning me?” Marissa said in confusion. “Kinda archaic, don’t you think? It’s not like I talk to him much nowadays—”
“No. Your inheritance,” Viktor snapped. “You stay with me even for another night. Billions. Gone.”
“And he thinks I care?” Marissa’s voice got louder. She was positively shaking with rage. “What else? And don’t leave anything out, big guy. Because you’re foaming at the mouth. He must have done something unforgivable, like offering you money.”
“You know your father too well,” Viktor drawled, relief crashing over him.
“Oh, God. How much?”
“Twenty mil.”
Marissa laughed. “Well, I’m glad I’m worth more than—”
Viktor couldn’t help it. He hauled her against him and kissed her roughly, not caring if anyone, including her father, walked in on them.
After a few minutes of intense lip-lock, Marissa pulled away and stared up at him with all the emotion he wanted to see in her eyes. Total acceptance of what they had, of him. “Take me home, big guy.”
Home. Viktor couldn’t agree more.
*****
Stuart Kwon’s phone buzzed with the call he was expecting.
“He wouldn’t take it,” Trenton Cole muttered from the other line.
Stuart smiled without mirth. Either Viktor Baran didn’t like being blackmailed or he truly cared for the girl.
“That’s too bad,” Stuart replied. “You understand that this will null and void our contract.” The contract having to do with oil tankers being owned and managed by Cole Nauticals.
“I still don’t see how Viktor Baran’s company would threaten the interests of Exetron Oil,” Cole argued. “They deal with corporate security and fraud, and we have nothing to hide. All our dealings are by the book. An alliance with AGS would actually increase the confidence level of our business partners.”
“There are some concerns that AGS is involved in espionage for the CIA,” Stuart said carefully. Trenton Cole was on need to know, and the man didn’t know that Kwon knew Marissa Cole worked for the CIA. “As a Russian company, those allegations are troubling.”
“Look, I’ll try to reason with Marissa,” Cole said.
After he ended the conversation with Trenton Cole, Stuart used his secure phone to contact Owen Reed.
“Baran’s relationship with Ms. Cole is more serious th
an we anticipated,” Stuart told his henchman.
Reed was silent for a beat before saying, “We could exploit the situation.”
“Threaten one of them or make them work against each other,” Stuart agreed. “We need to provide a catalyst. Are you in position?”
“Waiting for the word, Mr. Kwon.”
“Do it.”
Stuart ended the call. Suddenly his need for revenge against Viktor Baran, and to some extent Marissa Cole, had become clearer. Everything depended on how much one cared for the other, and judging from Baran’s rejection of Trenton Cole’s bribe, Stuart might have found a crack in the AGS’s top man’s armor.
*****
They were a few minutes from Viktor’s house when Marissa received an urgent text message from Yeager to meet up at Langley. The bottom finally fell out, Marissa thought grimly.
“What is it?” Viktor asked. He maneuvered the BMW into a U-turn to head to CIA headquarters.
“FBI agents raided Reed’s apartment. They were gassed,” Marissa replied tersely. “No info on casualties.”
“Fuck,” Viktor muttered just when his phone buzzed.
“Baran . . . we just got the news . . . I’m heading to Langley, right now. Send Edmunds or Stark to the scene and make sure they suit up in protective gear—no exceptions. Got me?”
They arrived at Langley in twenty minutes and cleared security in another five. Allison was already in the briefing room with Yeager, the widescreen replaying FBI footages of the attack.
“This is being passed off as a gas leak for now,” Yeager told them. “The casualties are limited to federal agents, so we are able to keep this off radar. Two agents from the FBI, one from DHS were declared dead at the scene. Another three, I believe all from FBI, were able to take atropine.”
“Why weren’t the other agents able to take their atropine?” Marissa asked.
“According to the initial reports, three assailants wearing protective masks jumped them when the canister released the toxin.”
“I don’t get the whole point in this. Why would they lure agents and waste a canister?” Viktor interjected.
“We don’t have anything,” Yeager said. “With some of their lead agents down, FBI is requesting the CIA to step back in. Work in the background of course with AGS taking the lead, since you guys are already familiar with the case.”
“Who tipped them off?”
“There was an inter-agency bulletin on Reed and Logan. A Loudoun County police officer called it in to the FBI this evening. Federal agents swarmed within the hour. About forty minutes ago, they got confirmation of the apartment unit and they went in.”
“Doesn’t sound right,” Baran mused. “Has anyone talked to the police officer who called this in?”
Yeager shook his head. Viktor pulled out his phone and made a call.
“Stark. You on the scene? . . . I want you to talk to the police officer who reported . . . What the fuck? He’s missing? . . . shit, they’ve been set up. He’s probably the same guy who gave up the apartment number info . . . Our best bet for a lead is the surviving agents. Find out which hospital they’ve been taken to and see if you can debrief them. AGS has point on this.”
“Dead end,” Viktor said, hanging up. “This is pissing me off. We’re being stringed along like puppets. The feds put me back on this case, Yeager, I’m seeing it to the bitter end. I’m not handing it off to the FBI or DHS whenever the whim suits them.”
“Understood.”
“Uh . . . I think I got something,” Allison announced. She looked pale and unsettled as her eyes shifted between the three occupants.
“Well, speak up, Guthrie,” Marissa said.
“Stuart Kwon received a call from the U.S. about five minutes before the tip came into the FBI.”
Marissa grinned triumphantly. “Are you saying our man slipped up?”
“No. The call doesn’t incriminate him.”
“Well, if Reed or one of his thugs called him,” Marissa’s voice trailed off. “You couldn’t trace who was calling?”
Allison was normally straight to the point and her hedging was making Marissa nervous. “Spit it out, Allison.”
“The number of the originating call belongs to Trenton Cole,” Allison said. Marissa felt the floor shift beneath her feet. Her analyst added on a whisper. “Your father.”
Marissa sank into the nearest chair. Viktor put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
“I know their companies do business together, but I don’t think my father—” Marissa choked. Not her father. He wouldn’t have anything to do with terrorism and blatantly harm the homeland.
“Do you have a transcript or a recording?” Viktor asked.
“Recording. The NSA was keeping tabs on Kwon after Marissa put in a request. Playing it now,” Allison announced, regret in her voice.
Marissa slowly expelled a sigh of relief when she heard her father’s part in this mess. He was a pawn. Viktor was feeling another thing altogether. He started pacing, a sure sign of his rapidly deteriorating tether on his temper.
“Son of a bitch.” The expletive ripped from Viktor’s throat with such savagery, Marissa was almost thankful Kwon was not in the same room right now. “This whole attack was to get the AGS and CIA back into the game. His manipulation of Trenton Cole wasn’t intended to break up Marissa and me, but to gauge the extent of our relationship, and he got his fucking answer.”
Viktor looked at her with a proprietary gleam. “He’s going to try and fuck with us. We have to remain vigilant.”
Marissa nodded, unable to speak, still rattled that her father was dragged into this.
“Would it be better if you two cooled it off for now?” Yeager suggested.
“And have her open to another attack?” Viktor snapped.
“I can also provide her protection, Baran,” Yeager shot back. Her normally cool-as-cucumber boss was beginning to lose his temper, too. She needed to make a stand now.
“I’d rather have Viktor watch my back. No offense to the CIA,” Marissa said. “It only makes sense since we’re deeply involved in the case. Even if Viktor and I pretended to cool it off, Kwon is too smart to buy that. Hopefully, his fixation on getting his revenge on Viktor will prove to be his downfall. We have to play it smarter than he does.”
“We will,” Viktor stated resolutely. “We most certainly will.”
*****
Viktor trudged up the steps to go to the mezzanine level to his office. It was already 4:00 a.m., and he had sent Tim and Nathan home after reviewing files the FBI had transferred to their database servers. Jack, Maia, and Derek conferenced into the briefing, making it known that they were on board to help in any capacity. Jack was eager to get his hands on Owen Reed after Viktor had revealed that the man was the sniper who nearly killed Maia. As for Derek, he was probably doing this for Sophie because Matsuda was a close friend. Regardless of their individual reasons for wanting in on the mission, all of them were patriots, and there was a threat to the country that must be addressed.
Marissa was in Viktor’s office working online with Allison to track the call that initiated the attack earlier. They had traced the phone to the provider and were waiting for the company to release the name of the store where the phone was purchased.
Pushing the door to his office open, he found Marissa stretched out on his couch with the laptop sitting on her thighs. She was fast asleep, snoring lightly, her back leaning against the arm of the couch. He massaged his chest, feeling a spasm jolt the muscles underneath. He was pretty sure that muscle was his heart.
He sat down quietly beside her, his woman mumbling in protest when he lifted the laptop away.
“Shh . . . sleep, kitten,” Viktor murmured. Setting the laptop aside, he toed off his shoes and pulled off his jeans, and proceeded to unbutton his dress shirt. He left his undershirt on and stretched out beside Marissa. Thankfully, his couch was long and wide and he was able to shift her lower, so her whole body was on the couch. He tucke
d a throw pillow underneath his head and pulled Marissa half on top of him, resting her face on his chest. Hugging her tightly, he closed his eyes, knowing that they would need all the respite to face what was ahead.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Marissa had worked with Allison for hours waiting for their query to come back from NSA’s Signal Intelligence (SIGINT) database, feeding it different parameters like first dates and last dates of calls, numbers called, and so on. They refined their search to signals within a ten-mile radius of the attack. Their patience paid off when several telephone identifiers were returned. It took a while for the provider to give them a list of locations where the phones were purchased. Surveillance footage from these locations were picked up this afternoon. The hope was to identify either Reed or Logan and maybe the vehicle they were using.
Tim tried to track the telephone identifiers this morning, but they were offline and probably had been dumped for a new device. The first call made on the phone they were tracking occurred the day after the chemical weapon attack at the Cinemaplex. The last call was made right before the tip-off to the FBI from the supposed Loudoun County police officer. The cruiser was found this morning, no sign of the officer who was assigned the cruiser.
Allison came in to the AGS datacenter this afternoon to pour over the surveillance videos with Maia who was assigned datacenter duty until she regained her strength.
By 7:00 p.m., tempers started to flare as Tim and Allison bickered over their methods of cutting through the surveillance recordings. Maia was sitting back, letting the two analysts duke it out, but she was beginning to look impatient as well.
“I can feed the discs through my facial recognition software,” Tim argued. “It would certainly cut back on the time.”
“That’s a half-ass way of doing it,” Allison fired back.
“To you maybe, but it’s worked for us—”
“I wonder how many leads you’ve lost because of this—”
“Our success rate speaks for itself—”
“And what success rate is this?”
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