Forged Risk (Aegis Group Task Force Book 2)

by Sidney Bristol

  On more than one occasion Evan and the others had gotten together to discuss whether it was in their best interest to remain a part of this Task Force, and each time they came back to the conclusion that if they left someone else would have to fill their shoes. After narrowly avoiding disaster a month ago, did they really want to entrust this kind of a job to a second string team from some other company?

  It was a wolf-by-the-ears situation.

  They couldn’t let go of the job, and they were risking their lives holding on.

  They were stuck in an increasingly dangerous situation.

  Maybe they’d get some answers today?

  They rode up the elevator in silence.

  The top floor of the office building was empty. Blue carpet covered the floor. The tinted windows provided an unhindered view of the surrounding city, save for a glass walled conference room on the north side of the building.

  Logan paced the length of the room, but was otherwise alone.

  The Evan and the others filed in and clustered around the coffee cart, pouring themselves a drink.

  “Any idea what we’re in for?” Jamie asked Logan.

  “None.” Logan stopped and stared back toward the elevators.

  Evan glanced over his shoulder and saw Tucker keeping pace with Agent Zora Clark.

  Agent Clark was not, in fact, a man. The Task Force’s assistant director was a statuesque black woman with short hair and a penchant for strong suits. She was as direct as she could with them be which Evan appreciated. She told them what she could and if she couldn’t she let them know her hands were tied.

  That was a connection that still puzzled Evan.

  Tucker had initially opted to not join their team. Then he’d shown up two weeks later with no explanation and joined in like he’d always been there. The most he’d told them was that he’d worked with NSA Special Agent Zora Clark several years ago. Evan had to wonder how closely they’d worked, but doubted neither Tucker nor Zora would share the details.

  “Ready to be spoon-fed some more bullshit?” Harper muttered and took a seat.

  Jamie took the chair next to Harper. “Five dollars she says the words classified in the first minute.”

  Harper shook his head. “I’m not taking that bet.”

  Tucker opened the door for Zora, ushering her into the conference room.

  “Morning, team. Let’s get started.” She stepped to the middle of the room and picked up a remote from the desk. With one push of a button the glass walls became opaque.

  “What about everyone else?” Evan glanced at the door.

  Most meetings included an entourage of CIA and FBI.

  Zora glanced around the room as if she were searching for the other people, brows arched. “I guess they missed the meeting notice.”

  Evan knew that wasn’t the case.

  Whatever Zora was going to tell them, she didn’t want it to be widely known.

  Did this have to do with the mole?

  “Diha is joining us remotely.” Zora pressed another button and a projector lit up one of the right most panels of glass, showing the image of a young Indian woman with a thick braid of hair wearing a white lab coat. Diha had a kind face and smiled often. “Morning, Diha.”

  Diha gave the room one of her shy smiles.

  “Bond Girl,” Harper called out with a grin. “How you doing?”

  Evan shoved Harper. It was obvious Evan him the attention made Diha uncomfortable.

  “We have a tight timetable,” Zora said. “You’ll leave in a few hours.”

  “Where are we going?” Jamie asked.

  “Ukraine.” Zora gestured to the wall and a map of Ukraine, specifically the area around Kiev.

  Evan froze, staring at the city where he’d been born. His memories of it were fuzzy, as if they belonged to a movie or someone else. About the only thing he’d taken from there was the language.

  “Ukraine? Hear that, Ukie?” Harper elbowed Evan. “You’re going home.”

  Evan shoved Harper’s arm aside but didn’t look away.

  “Why are we going to Kiev?” Logan asked slowly.

  Zora glanced from man to man. “Diha?”

  “One moment,” Diha muttered.

  A blurry image of an older man popped up. He was stepping up on a curb, his face turned toward the camera. It was clear enough to make out the man’s strong nose, intense, dark eyes and thin lips.

  Zora gestured to the image. “What I can tell you is that we are trying to locate this man. We know him by the name Obran. While we’ve known about him for decades, it hasn’t been until recently that we had that name. The only reason we know that name is because of Gazi Polat, so thank you for capturing him alive.”

  Which meant their last job and this one were connected somehow.

  Evan and the rest of their team had agreed that the Task Force was building toward something. They were going after someone or something, but no one had shared that with them. But this Obran was part of the picture.

  “Any of you remember about two years ago when the US sent a bunch of SEALs to Ukraine to run some training?” Zora studied them.

  That sounded familiar.

  “Yeah.” Jamie frowned. “There was that helicopter crash. Killed like six guys.”

  Evan nodded. Yeah, he remembered that now. His mother had called and dropped some story about how some cousins lived close to the crash site.

  “Two of those men did die,” Zora said. “The other four were presumed dead, their bodies too damaged to identify.”

  “Don’t tell me they’re who we’re after,” Harper muttered.

  Evan’s stomach sank.

  “This image is about six months old,” Diha said.

  A snapshot of four men walking shoulder to shoulder carrying duffle bags appeared next to four images of SEALs. At first glance there wasn’t anything similar at all about them. Noses were different. Hair colors and styles were different. But then he looked at their bodies, the shape of their arms.

  That was what broke the illusion.

  These were the same men.

  Zora gestured to the images. “We believe Obran helped fake these men’s deaths and set them up with new identities. We recently got a tip regarding Obran’s whereabouts. We want you to retrieve Obran so we can learn more about where these four men are now, who they’re working for, what they’re doing and why someone was willing to help them turn into new people.”

  Evan stared at the four faces, committing each to memory.

  Logan leaned forward. “What else can you tell us about Obran? Where are we going? What’s the plan?”

  “Diha, what did you find out about him?” Zora asked the other woman.

  “Ah, Obran. Yes.” Diha cleared her throat. “We don’t know much about him. Obran is more than likely an alias. I was able to identify intelligence that goes back about ten years, probably farther but it’s more of a stretch. It appears he has or had a family, but there hasn’t been anything on them in eight years. They are presumed dead.”

  “Our intelligence tip places Obran in this part of Kiev.” Zora zoomed in on the map, down to a few city blocks. She tapped the glass. “This picture was taken on this corner. Surveillance has spotted him in this area almost every day for the last eight days. We believe he is either living or working out of one of these buildings. Local support has been tasked with keeping an eye on him, but remaining out of sight. Once you arrive your job is to locate Obran and to take him into custody. We need him alive so he can tell us where these four men are. It’s important we talk to them.”

  Evan shifted in his seat.

  That wasn’t a lot to go on.

  “I’m keeping the circle tight on this,” Zora said, answering a question none of them had asked. “If they aren’t in this room, don’t talk about this to anyone, do we understand each other?”

  The mole.

  Evan glanced at the others.

  They were all thinking about it.

  The mole had kill
ed one suspect in custody and nearly got Jamie’s girlfriend killed. It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to think it might happen to one of them next.

  “I’ll have more information to you once you’re in position.” Zora tapped a few buttons and cleared the front wall of the images and maps. “For any support needs contact Diha directly. She is going to remain off site until we wrap this up. You will not be returning to DC with Obran. We have a facility in St Petersburg I trust.”

  Jamie leaned forward. “You want to send us to Russia?”

  “That doesn’t sound like a great idea to me,” Harper said.

  “That’s the point,” Evan said slowly as he rolled the situation around in his mind. “No one would expect us to go to ground there, what with the current political climate.”

  Zora merely nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  Why were they keeping Diha sequestered? To reduce the risk of the mole getting to her, too? Were they all at risk?

  “Do we get to ask questions?” Logan crumpled his empty coffee cup into a ball.

  Zora stared at him. “No. I’ve told you everything I can for now. Anything else I want to tell you is classified beyond your clearance. Your flight leaves in two hours. I suggest you prepare.”

  “I’ve sent my direct contact information to all of your phones,” Diha said. “Please do not hesitate to let me know how I can help.”

  “You’re the best, Bond Girl,” Harper said.

  Diha flushed and muttered something before the image flipped off.

  “Good luck and God speed, gentlemen,” Zora said then left the room.

  Silence descended on them as the walls slowly faded from opaque to clear. None of them said a word until Zora disappeared back onto the elevator.

  “Shit,” Harper muttered and leaned back in his chair.

  Logan pushed to his feet and paced around to the other side, as if he could see the elevator doors clearer from there. After a moment he turned and focused on Tucker. “What do you say about this?”

  Tucker shrugged. “We have our orders.”

  “Did she tell you anything about the…?”

  Tucker shook his head. “Agent Clark don’t tell me anything she don’t tell you.”

  Logan glanced over them.

  Evan didn’t have to look at Jamie or Harper to know that they were as unsettled by this latest job as the rest of them.

  They only had part of the picture. They might never understand all of it, but at the least they could do their job well. That was, after all, why they’d all agreed to stay on. They were the best men for the job which meant they had a plane to catch.

  Friday. Unknown.

  Felecia.

  That was a good name.

  She studied the combination of names.

  Felecia. Helen. Boyko.

  What would her life be like as Felecia? What life did she want to create for herself?

  She leaned her head back against the thin pillow. She could count the metal bars of her headboard through the down and fabric.

  As Felecia she’d have half a dozen pillows and a big, fluffy comforter she changed with the seasons. But she wouldn’t spend all her time in bed. No, there was a wide world out there to be seen and one couldn’t do that lying around in bed all day.

  Too bad her bed was the only comfortable surface provided to her during non-working hours.

  No, Felecia was a name for a woman who did things, saw places, bought her own damn clothes and got to go out to restaurants.

  Who knew?

  Maybe she’d even have friends or a boyfriend.

  She sighed and tucked the passport back under her mattress. Later, when the lights were out she’d hide it behind the loose brick where her father wouldn’t find it. Not that he was likely to say much about it, anyway. They were always changing names, wearing new identities. It was part of his way of life.

  Except she’d picked this name for herself. If she was going to escape, she didn’t want him to even think the name Felecia Helen Boyko.

  It was both an unusual and painfully normal name. She was taking a risk with the first name. Felecia wasn’t common. She’d just liked the sound of it. But the other two names were some of the most common according to her research last week while pulling new names for clients.

  She knew going with a Ukraine passport was also a risk, but her options were limited. Over the years she’d picked up a few languages, but she wasn’t going to pass herself off as anything except Russian or one of its border countries. Given how Russia was posturing now wasn’t a great time to have ties to that country. Ukraine was her best alternative.

  The chain attached to her ankle rattled as she stretched out her legs and the cuff dug into her skin. Soon enough it would rub her raw and then Dad would switch to her other ankle if it were healed enough. Which was all the more reason to move about.

  Maybe she’d go through her work out for a fourth time?

  If she was going to escape, she had to be strong.

  Working out exacerbated the issue of her restraints rubbing.

  Dad didn’t like to see her bleed or hurt. She’d figured out how to use that against him in the early days when he’d begun holding her and Mom against their will. Eventually she’d convinced Mom it was worth doing.

  That was how they’d gotten free of him the first time. He’d hated the sight of their blood.

  These days Dad was willing to let Felecia suffer to a point, but there was always a line.

  If she pushed him, if she made him change things up, would she have the chance to escape again?

  How long since she’d been outside? Since she’d been free?

  Felecia tipped her chin up and stared at the ceiling, counting off the weeks.

  Her father had brought her here eight weeks ago, but she hadn’t seen the sky then. He’d brought her here in a van with no windows, the front shielded by a curtain, in the dead of night. No, she’d lost count of how long it had been. But she still knew the exact day when her father had found her after her last attempt to escape.

  She’d managed to avoid capture for five weeks.

  It had been glorious, in a way.

  She’d hopped trains, hitchhiked, even stowed away on a boat all in an attempt to get away from her father. But he never let her go.

  Felecia’s mind jumped back to the beginning of her reverie.

  She’d called herself Felecia.

  Good.

  The name was sticking.

  At this stage in her life, she was used to assuming a new identity. She’d worn many of them over the years by necessity, either while hiding from her father or as a precautionary move while being his prisoner.

  Her life hadn’t always been like this.

  Once it had been simpler.

  She’d been young. Some of her earliest memories were sitting at her grandmother’s kitchen table, straining to hear the whispered words of the adults talking about her father. He hadn’t been in the picture then. She and her mother had lived with her grandparents. They’d been poor, and like many Ruska Roma there weren’t a lot of options. Felecia had begged for money in an effort to help her family.

  In her dreams back then her father was a wealthy man who would come and take them away from the hard life. To think, she’d been curious about who her father was, why everyone whispered about him, why her grandmother would smack her mom with a spoon and utter curses Felecia wasn’t supposed to hear if someone mentioned one of Dad’s names too loudly.

  She’d thought her father must be someone important or mysterious the way they talked about him.

  He wasn’t important to anyone except criminals and mystery was a way of life.

  Her father was, in short, a forger. A very good one, but a criminal nonetheless. And his life was consuming her, destroying her. Much like she assumed it had done to her mother, though Felecia didn’t know for sure. Would likely never know for certain what had happened to her.

  What time was it?

  Felecia glanced
at the clock.

  Early evening was a gray area. Sometimes Dad came back here after meeting with clients to do more work. Then some nights he stayed away.

  He’d been restless lately. It had been almost a week since he’d brought her groceries. She was scraping the bottom of her pantry to make meals for herself. All of this meant it was likely they’d pack up the shop and move again.

  That could be her opening, her chance to get away.

  One of these days she was going to escape him for good. She just knew it. And when that happened, she’d become Felecia. She had the passport ready and a small stash of cash. The paper trail to establish that life would be harder without her father’s resources, but she’d manage.

  She glanced up at the camera across the room with its wicked blinking light.

  Was he watching her now?

  Felecia took some perverse joy in knowing that from that angle, her father would only be able to see her head. He couldn’t have seen the passport or where she’d hidden it thanks to the privacy screen that hid the rest of the corner.

  She saluted the camera with her middle finger and slowly got to her feet, stretching still sore muscles. The strong survived. She wasn’t going to let this life destroy her. She was going to be her own woman away from all of this someday. Even if she had to commit a crime and get locked up in a real prison, it would be better than this. Anything was better than this.

  Felecia lowered into a squat, dove forward going into a push-up and summoned the energy to propel herself back to her feet.

  It was hard with the cuff and chain getting in her way and she was fairly certain she felt the first bit of blood soak into her threadbare socks, but it was all part of her plan. She shut her surroundings out of her mind. They were always the same, some industrial hell hole of concrete floors, walls and a forest of pipes and wires. Instead she summoned memories of green grass, blue skies, fluffy clouds and reminded herself that someday she’d get to walk barefoot again and worry about sunburns.