An Affair of Vengeance

by Michele, Jamie

  “McCrea! Do join us. Jean-Marie has just taken all of our money,” called Claude.

  “I highly doubt that.” McCrea walked closer to the table. “Can I get you anything from the wine cellar?”

  Pierre-Louis smiled broadly. His teeth were white and straight but looked too hard, as if they were made of ceramic. Capped. “Please do. Something for a perfect summer afternoon, s’il vous plaît. Did you notice the naked women?”

  “Hard to miss.” McCrea nodded at the men, who returned his gesture with smiles, before he walked to the staircase at the corner of the courtyard. His plan was to make it perfectly clear to all that he’d gone down to the basement. He’d hide his intentions in plain sight. So far, so good.

  A cavernous chill swept up from the lower level as he neared the stairs. He resisted a shiver and jogged down. He hurried along the corridor until he faced the heavy wooden door of the wine room, and then entered and sneezed once, fiercely.

  Burgundies, merlots, and cabernets crowded the first few rows. He ignored them, looking for something light. He found the whites and selected a recent vintage sauvignon blanc from the Loire Valley, a crisp, elegant wine that would go unappreciated by the drunken magnates in the courtyard. With the bottle tucked under one arm, he headed back to the door, but saw a small group of whiskies in the corner and had to stop. May as well grab one now, for he’d surely want it later. Quickly, he grabbed a moderatequality single malt that wouldn’t raise any eyebrows but would clear his head and satisfy at least one of his sensual longings. He had little hope of satisfying the other, at least not while he and Evangeline were on this mission. Afterward, perhaps…

  He stopped himself from thinking further. There was no afterward, not for them. Not if she knew what was good for her.

  With the two bottles in his left hand, he left the cellar, then paused and listened. He saw no one, but eyes were worse than useless in darkness—they were deceptive. He never relied on his vision in situations like this. Ears were much more reliable. But he heard no footsteps or voices, not even any breathing. He discerned that he was entirely alone in the dimly lit corridor.

  So he turned to his right instead of heading back to the stairs and up to the courtyard beyond. His real destination, of course, was the storage room in which he’d found Evangeline the previous night. She’d found something interesting, and he was pretty sure it’d been in one of those big file cabinets.

  His tiny lock pick, one of the few tools that he always had with him, made quick work of the door and he was inside in seconds. Newly airborne dust lent an abandoned feeling to the large room and he struggled not to sneeze again.

  A shadowy space, but pale daylight coming in though a tiny window at the far side lit his way to the file cabinets well enough. Metal chilled his fingers as he pulled open a drawer. Hanging folders, lots of them, one for each month of the previous year. The next drawers were similarly arranged.

  Which month would she have been most interested in?

  The one in which her parents had been killed. December, almost eight years ago.

  He found it and glanced through. A bill for electrical service for a warehouse in Arles. He memorized the address before looking at the next page. Shipping manifests for five tanks destined for Eritrea. Then a dry-cleaning receipt. Next, a memo requesting the transfer of two hundred assault rifles to someone in Afghanistan. Jumbled but fascinating stuff, especially when viewed as part of a pattern. If this was the sort of thing Evangeline found last night, he hoped she’d taken lots of pictures. No way either of them could risk stealing any paper. He felt gratitude for a partner with the forethought to hide a camera in her shoe and the courage to use it. He needed to talk to her, find out exactly what she’d taken photographs of. They might have enough evidence to cement a search warrant, which meant they could leave today, before their situation became untenable.

  Satisfied, he flipped over the last few documents in the file, hardly looking at the contents, but stopped when he saw a familiar name written in a familiar hand.

  His brother’s.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MCCREA’S STOMACH CLENCHED.

  His brother’s signature marked the bottom of a transfer order for a small quantity of a powerful explosive called Semtex to that warehouse in Arles he’d seen mentioned elsewhere in the file.

  Semtex. Bad stuff. But it was just a transfer.

  He steeled himself for more malevolence as he flipped the page. The next document was a printout of an e-mail sent by Aaron to Krai. In it, Aaron described a “problem we cannot ignore any longer” that he would “take care of” during an upcoming trip to Arles.

  Numbed, McCrea turned the e-mail over. Something was stapled to it: a big black-and-white photograph that captured the chaotic aftermath of an explosion in what looked like an outdoor market. French-language signs hung above the shops. The destruction appeared to center around the splintered remains of a small, dark car. The mouths of the onlookers were gaping in horror, clamped shut in shock, or wrenched askew in pain. Dozens were injured; some had lost limbs. Several bodies looked too bloodied to be alive any longer. If anyone had been inside that car when it had exploded, they were nowhere to be seen.

  The aftermath of terrorism, no doubt. He’d seen dozens of such pictures during his time with SOCA. But this one was different. This one closed his throat, because the progression of paperwork was hard to ignore. The delivery of the explosive Semtex ordered by his brother. Aaron’s description of a “problem we can’t ignore.” Then, a demolished car in what should have been a peaceful setting.

  The photograph and e-mail together led to one unavoidable conclusion: his brother had been responsible for killing whoever had been in that car.

  His heart fell to his knees.

  Her parents. Damn it to hell, but it fit like a glove. Krai may have wanted her father dead, but his brother had been the one who’d made it happen.

  The realization struck him like a blow from the inside. He leaned against the file cabinet, wishing it weren’t true, wishing that he could crumple the evidence and thus erase the deed. But the facts were as stark as the photo in his hands. His brother had killed Evangeline’s parents, as well as seven others, and injured many more, judging from the looks of the bloodied bystanders in the photo. McCrea had devoted himself to atoning for his brother’s sins, but now, faced with this new evidence of evil, he wondered if the scales were too heavily weighted against him. Could he ever make up for this?

  He shut the drawer and exited the room, bottles in hand, but his mind heavy on the discovery. He made his way into the courtyard, where he found Krai sitting at the poker table with the Frenchmen.

  “I gather you’re bringing refreshments,” Krai said with a grin. “What did you find?”

  “Sauvignon blanc,” he said and placed the bottle into the ice bucket.

  Kral turned it around to read the label. “Oh, that’s a lovely vineyard. Excellent selection. But you wouldn’t mind leaving it here with our friends and joining me in my office for a moment? We have much to discuss.”

  “Certainly.”

  Together they headed for the stairs.

  “Evangeline is charming, my friend. Simply delightful,” Kral said as they headed up. “I can see why she has swept you away.”

  “I am not swept away.”

  “Not swept away?” Kral chuckled. He led the way down a closed corridor and opened a door at its end. “I would be. No, I am. Evangeline possesses all that a man could wish for in a woman, does she not? Beauty, intelligence, and an honesty that pierces the soul of even the most enigmatic of men. Even you, I think.”

  “She has no interest in piercing my soul,” McCrea responded, wary as he followed Kral inside the room, which smelled of leather and cigars. “She’s a child. New things fascinate her. Give it a week. I won’t be new to her much longer.”

  “Perhaps not. Or perhaps you are exciting enough to keep her attention for many years to come. And if you don’t, would you mind if I did
my best to keep her occupied?” Kral walked under a mounted boar’s head to sit behind the polished expanse of a large desk.

  McCrea’s ears burned as he took a seat across from Kral. “As you wish. Would you care to have her now?”

  “No, no. Good God, man! How easily you discard her! Quite fascinating how coldly your heart beats.”

  “My heart isn’t involved. You want her, you can have her.”

  Kral leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk and linking his fingers together. Sunlight pouring through the window cast a strange halo effect into his blond hair. “I am so pleased to hear this, for I have troubling news. Your friend Evangeline is not who you think she is. I have known for some time that she is a CIA honeypot working out of Marseille. That is where you picked her up, no? Marseille?”

  It took all of McCrea’s training to hide the surge of adrenaline that flooded his body. He merely lifted an eyebrow, feigning moderate interest. “I met her in Marseille, yes. What makes you think she’s CIA?”

  “I need not explain myself to you. I should have thought you’d be grateful for the revelation. But if you don’t trust me, you are welcome to leave. These doors are not locked.” Kral shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him either way, but the eager crinkling at the corners of his thin-lipped mouth told McCrea that if he left, his body would be riddled with holes before he got two steps from the main gate.

  So he kept silent. He and Evangeline were burned, and badly. Their old mission was a failure. Time for a new plan.

  Kral laughed, breaking a thick silence. “Oh, I don’t have to tell you how I know, but I’ll tell you anyway. It’s just too delightful to keep to myself. You see, I knew her father. We were colleagues, though on opposing sides of an impassably wide aisle. Any newspaper search can tell you that; there’s no point in hiding our animosity. He passed away along with his dear, precious wife, and I merely took care to ensure that their lovely daughter did not suffer in their absence. It took some doing, of course, to locate her. She’d changed her name, as CIA agents do, but she’s nothing if not memorable.” He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a photograph. “Once I put out feelers for her, it wasn’t long before she was located. Your pretty little lover should have thought twice before coming into my backyard.” He slid the picture across the desk.

  McCrea caught it. It was Evangeline, no doubt about it, though she was several years younger in the photo. He tossed it back on the desk. “So you know who her parents were, and that she’d changed her name. She’s probably just looking for a bit of anonymity.”

  “And she just happens to hook her claws into a piece of meat coming to my table?”

  “I met her before I’d been invited here by you. She couldn’t have known I’d come here.”

  “Unless you’re working with her. But I digress.” He picked up a pen and tapped it rapidly on the desk. “Now, I was very angry when I first realized that you’d brought an intelligence agent into my home, so angry I thought I might rip your head off with my hands when I saw you.” He slid down in his chair and giggled.

  McCrea waited. He thought, oddly, that he was in a room with a murderous child, one who had the power of life and death in his small, shifty hands. He wondered if Evangeline was already dead, and his mind emptied of all else but the urge to shove a pen into Kral’s heart and watch him die. The need was animal, primal; he didn’t know if he had the power to hold back. Fear, anger, and disgust mounted within him.

  Aaron had been like that; he couldn’t be the same.

  He prayed for strength. He prayed for her to still be alive, so he’d have a reason to hold the animal within him at bay. He had to stay coherent enough to save her.

  Kral, still chuckling, righted himself. “But then I realized what a convenience it is to have a traitor in our midst. Fate has brought this Evangeline to my door with you. She provides a simple test: will you pick her, or me?”

  McCrea hoped Kral couldn’t hear the blood rushing like a river in his ears. But he clung to his words, for if Kral wanted him to kill her, then she must still be alive. “You can’t think that girl is a threat to you.”

  “Oh, but she is! I never underestimate a woman. I use them to my advantage. Could the opportunity be any more perfect?” Kral lifted his hands palm up, giving thanks. “Your lovely new girlfriend is a CIA officer. Not only will you have the chance to prove that you aren’t aligned with the CIA or any of its various and sundry allied agencies, but you’ll also prove that you value me over a woman. A very delightful and charming woman, even if she is a lying whore.”

  Kral enunciated the final insult with exquisite diction, but McCrea didn’t care what he called her, not right then. His anger meant that she must still be alive, for there would be no test if she were already dead. The vise around McCrea’s chest eased a fraction.

  “If you kill her,” Kral went on, “not only will I bring you to my warehouse and give you those missiles you so desperately need, but I will accept you into my brotherhood with open arms. I’ll tell you everything. Everything. And the money! Oh, my. You have no idea. You, too, will be richer than you could ever have dreamed.”

  “I’m no killer of women. There are better men for the job. Ask me to do something I’m good at. Steal from her. Lie to her. Cheat her. Betray her.”

  “Oh, come, come! It’s not like a McCrea man to tell me he won’t kill someone. No. It’s an assassination or nothing. You must shed your honor and relinquish your decency. No one lasts long in this business unless they let go of their righteousness, and you have too much of that yet. This assignment will cure you of it. And if it doesn’t, you’ll die. It’s a very straightforward proposition.” Kral slammed his fist on the desk. “And before you imagine that you can walk away from me, ask yourself whether or not I’m likely to let you run around Europe selling Stingers underneath my nose without giving me a substantial cut. No. You work for me, or you do not work at all. For anyone. And seeing as how the cheetah can’t change his spots, I don’t think you have much choice, do you?”

  The threat hung thick and noxious in the room, as if suspended in the hazy sunlight. There was no choice but one. McCrea nodded once, acquiescing.

  “It will be done.”

  Nothing in his demeanor on their walk led Evangeline to believe that she’d be driving out of the compound alive. The man was crazy. Utterly batshit, and paranoid to boot.

  And she’d gone rifling through his personal storage vault.

  She collapsed on the pillow-topped bed in the suite, cursing herself for being so damned determined. He’d left highly incriminating documents to rot in an unsecured room but was neither lazy nor stupid. Did she really think he had no mechanism for monitoring it?

  Or maybe he just had no intention of letting anyone go once they’d aroused his suspicions.

  The bedroom door slammed open.

  She bolted upright, wrenching her neck in the process. McCrea stood in the doorway looking as composed as a department-store mannequin, but his clenched jaw revealed distress. He saw her and exhaled.

  She massaged her neck. “Did you think I wouldn’t make it back?”

  McCrea’s mouth opened wordlessly, and then snapped shut. He raised a finger to his lips, gesturing that they should be quiet.

  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “You...?” He gestured vaguely around the room. Asking if she’d checked it for bugs when she’d returned.

  “Yes. Now get over here and talk to me.”

  He advanced to her side and knelt down on the floor next to the bed. “We’re leaving today. Now.”

  “Leave? Again? Are we going to have this argument every time we see each other?” She started to rise but paused midlift. “Wait. You said ‘we.’ Until now you’ve only wanted me out. Why are we leaving now?”

  His hand on her knee nudged her back to the bed. “Kral’s given me an assignment.”

  “What is it?”

  “A test of loyalty.”

  “What? How?”


  “He’s ordered me to kill you.”

  The skin on her neck prickled. She grabbed his hand. “Me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? Did he give you a reason?”

  “He said he knew your father, and that he’d been keeping tabs on you since his death. He believes you’re CIA. His reasoning isn’t airtight, but it doesn’t matter. He thinks you’re an enemy.”

  Her face grew hot. “He mentioned my father?”

  “He did. I don’t doubt what you believe. He knew your parents would be killed.” His head shot up, and he gave her a quick, pained glance before dropping his chin again. His fingers entwined with hers. “We have to get you out of here.”

  “I won’t leave.”

  “You will, if I have to carry you out on my back.”

  “No,” she whispered, leaning down to his ear. “I’m not just some girl you picked up in a club. I wanted this just as badly as you did. I’m with you until the end, and this has to end with us. He can’t be allowed to live free any longer.”

  “It’s too late. There are too many of his men here, and only one of me. He wants you dead. I can hold them off for a while, but I can’t kill them all. I can’t protect you now. I’m sorry. This is the way it has to be.” His shoulders slumped, and he dropped his hand from her leg.

  “We won’t make it out alive if we try to run from him.”

  “We’ll sneak you out first. I’ll follow.”

  “If I leave, you’re a dead man.”

  “I’ve always been a dead man.”

  Evangeline caught a whiff of whiskey on his breath. For all his icy self-control, he’d resorted to alcohol to calm his nerves. Slowly, she realized what he planned to do. “You intend to die here, don’t you?”