Surviving Love: Saints Protection & Investigations

by Maryann Jordan

  “Well, it looks like her decision to run a wedding business from her Mountville Cabins was a good one,” Blaise noted.

  “Yeah, she’s busier than ever,” Jack agreed, walking into the kitchen and setting out the cinnamon buns Bethany had prepared earlier. “Monty, Patrick, and Chad are already downstairs.”

  Jude and Bart walked in next. Both former SEALs, the two large men immediately headed toward the kitchen counter, grabbing plates and coffee before heading downstairs.

  Cam, still yawning, came through the front door, scowling as the others laughed.

  “Damn, that baby keeping you up all night?” Charlie asked, taking in his clearly exhausted face.

  Blinking, he shook his head and replied, “We’ve almost got him sleeping all night. Thank God!”

  Together, they all headed downstairs to join the others in the hub of the compound. Once settled around the table, Jack nodded to Luke, who had fired up his and Charlie’s bank of computers, and now projected a photograph on the projection screen.

  “This is our new assignment, which will fall mostly under Marc. I’ve already briefed him on what will be needed but, as always, in case he needs assistance, we all need to be aware of the specifics.”

  The group studied the photograph of an older man on the screen as Luke began. “This is Dr. Kenneth Rhodes. To the public, he works as a professor at Louisiana State University with the National Center for Biomedical Research and Training. NCBRT provides training and research to emergency responders throughout the United States and its territories under the Department of Homeland Security Training Program. In addition, he is an expert in micro-organisms used in terrorism and is currently the head of a discrete government think-tank.”

  Jack took over, saying, “There’s an international bio-terrorism symposium going on right now in Fairbanks, Alaska. We’ve been asked to provide secure transportation for Dr. Rhodes from Alaska to D.C. The FBI and CIA have their eyes on the symposium and security is tight there, but they want to make sure he gets to D.C. to report to them safely…and under the radar.”

  “Sounds fairly routine,” Chad commented, looking over to Jack. “Is there something special going on?”

  Marc replied, “From what we’ve been told, the symposium group has been discussing antidotes for many of the micro-organisms that terrorists can currently get their hands on. But in the process, Dr. Rhodes is an expert in the antidotes for the micro-organisms that could be used for nefarious purposes, which makes him a target for terrorists, who’d like to interrupt his work.”

  “In the past, most terrorists used biochemical means to simply strike terror, not necessarily to kill a lot of people,” Charlie explained. “The intent was to interrupt business, trade, and bring governments to a halt trying to deal with the terror of possible threats.”

  “And now?” Bart prompted. The large blond leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table in front of him, his blue eyes scanning the group.

  “Now, the possibility may exist that with only a few micro-organisms, large groups of people could be wiped out,” Luke replied.

  “Think of the plague back in the middle ages,” Patrick said, shaking his head, looking over and noticing the grimace on the face of his brother-in-law, Monty.

  “Who’s going with Marc?” Cam asked.

  “No one,” Jack replied, immediately bringing the Saints to attention.

  Why nots and What the hells resounded from everyone around the table, but Jack silenced them with a raised hand.

  “The CIA and FBI have security at the conference taken care of, but they want Dr. Rhodes taken to D.C. privately by a secure plane. And,” he emphasized, “they want it done unobtrusively. No official plane. Once Dr. Rhodes is there they’ll escort him.”

  The others focused on Marc, whose slight smile was the only indication of any emotion on his impassive face. He looked around the table and shook his head slightly, saying, “Nothing new about the cloak and dagger from my CIA days.”

  The other Saints knew Marc was more than just a pilot for the CIA in his former career, but now had a little insight into what his role really entailed. It was clear he must have completed many such bait and switch missions.

  “It should be no problem,” Marc confirmed, his forearms resting on the table.

  “Nick Stone, our newest FBI contact, is finalizing the proceedings with Marc this afternoon,” Jack added.

  Monty chuckled and gained the others’ attention. “Sorry,” he said, still grinning. “Just wondering how long Nick’ll be able to stand staying with the FBI. At some point, it’ll drive him as crazy as it did me.”

  Jack leaned back in his chair, and replied, “He’ll be welcome here if he decides to make the jump.”

  “Not sure the straight-laced agent would be able to adapt to our…uh…particular way of doing things,” Blaise added, his smile matching the others’.

  “What? You all aren’t straight-laced?” Charlie asked in mock indignation.

  The others laughed, appreciating Luke’s fiancé fitting right in with their mentality.

  “So what are the rest of us working on while Marc is taking a scenic tour of Alaska,” Cam joked, still yawning.

  “We’ve got some security details to work on. I’ve just settled a contract for the security system for the ammunitions plant Dani and Evie work at.”

  Chad’s wife, Danielle, and Patrick’s fiancé, Evelyn, both worked at a munitions factory north of Charlestown. Several breaches in security had brought the company owners to the Saint’s door, asking for more thorough security.

  “Luke and Charlie will work on the computer end while several of you will be assigned to the installations. It’s a big job and will take over a month to complete, so we’ll be busy.”

  The Saints began their planning session as Marc and Bart moved to the equipment room to choose what weapons and supplies Marc might need on his trip.

  *

  Marc, Jack, Luke, and Charlie were now alone in the compound, the other Saints having left to work on their own assignments. Luke connected Nick Stone up on the screen for their video-conference.

  “Good to see you all again,” Nick said nodding curtly. His dark hair, neatly trimmed, along with his brusque manner gave him a military countenance.

  “What’s the latest?” Jack asked, getting down to business.

  “I don’t see that much has changed since I sent you the brief. The symposium has world leaders in bioterrorism, as well as government officials, DEA, NSA, CIA, and what the hell other alphabet soups you can throw out there, all in attendance. Seems the threat of bioterrorism has increased and countries are scrambling to get the latest information on how to protect themselves, as well as ensuring they have antidotes on hand in case something happens.”

  “Anything special happening on the horizon?” Marc asked.

  Nodding, Nick, grim faced replied, “Just found out that members of the Olympic security team are there as well. The next three Olympics are in the Orient—Korea, then Tokyo, and then Beijing. We dodged a bullet with the last Olympics, but there are rumblings that the next one may be a huge target. This makes Dr. Rhodes’ research invaluable.”

  Rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, Marc asked, “Can you send the latest itinerary to us so I can finish getting my supplies ready?”

  “Absolutely,” Nick agreed. “In fact, I’ve got it right here. I’ll send it to Luke and then you can let me know if you have any questions.” Looking straight into the camera, he added, “And Marc? I’ll be your point of contact for this mission. The agents in charge of the flight arrangements will let me know what’s happening and I’ll be in constant contact with you.”

  Nodding, Marc smiled. “Thanks, Nick. It’ll be good to work with you again.”

  The screen went blank and Luke began sending the latest itinerary to Marc’s tablet. Bart came out of the equipment room and looked over Marc’s shoulder. “You let me know what you need and we’ll get it packed into your plane.�
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  Looking over the itinerary, Marc said, “Looks pretty straightforward. I’ll fly up in two days, spend one day in Fairbanks at the same hotel as the symposium, rest, refuel, and then meet with Dr. Rhodes the next morning at the airfield. The FBI agent there will provide escort for Dr. Rhodes, so I won’t be doing that security. We’ll need to have a refuel break and the flight itself is about thirteen hours. I can do that, but they’ve also built in a break to be taken at my discretion.” He looked up and added, “They don’t specify where for security purposes, so I’ll choose and be on guard during that night.”

  Jack signed off on the paperwork and Marc stood and headed back to the equipment room with Bart. Pulling the basic emergency equipment from the shelves, he and Bart packed two duffle bags with flares, lighters, thermal blankets, MREs, along with several weapons. He looked over the cold weather gear. “Better grab some of that as well, since I’m heading north.”

  “Take the Kevlar since you will be doing some security outside of the plane,” Bart advised.

  Marc nodded and continued to pack two duffle bags. Picking them up, slinging one over each shoulder, he smiled and said, “Think I’m ready for anything.”

  Chapter 3

  Flying over the western mountains of Canada, Marc viewed a valley surrounding a lake. Thick, lush forests as far as the eye could see, separated by rivers but no roads. Thinking ahead, with the knowledge that he could fly a water-landing plane to land on the lake, he smiled in appreciation of the untouched nature. God, what would I give to be able to hike and camp there? Deciding he would consider this as a possible vacation spot for next summer, he checked on his flight controls. The trip so far had been easy. He’d flown from Virginia to Washington the previous day and now was flying north on the last leg of his journey to Alaska.

  A snow storm was predicted within a few days, but he and Dr. Rhodes would leave ahead of it and should be well away by the time the snow arrived.

  Several hours later he landed at Fairbanks International Airport, taxiing to the hangar he had been directed to. Knowing the FBI had cleared one for him, he pulled inside, with the doors to the large hangar closing behind him. Climbing from the cockpit, he observed as a man walked from an office to greet him.

  The tall man, with trimmed salt and pepper hair, stepped forward with his hand out as Marc’s feet landed on the concrete floor.

  “Marc Jenkins? I’m Kevin Pierce, FBI contact here in Fairbanks. Good to have you arrive safely.”

  Kevin’s handshake was firm but, Marc noted, was not used as a power play, something he had often faced in his days in the CIA when someone wanted to show whose dick was bigger. Nodding in appreciation, he replied, “Nice to be here too.”

  Walking alongside Kevin, Marc listened as the FBI agent ran through the details for the Fairbanks portion of the mission. “We’ve got you booked in the same hotel as the symposium, though you won’t be meeting Dr. Rhodes until tomorrow morning when you’re back here. But you can rest, relax, have dinner, just enjoy yourself tonight.”

  Marc turned toward his Cessna and began, “I’ll need—”

  “We’ll have you refueled by the time you get here tomorrow.”

  Nodding, Marc added, “I’ve got my own supplies and emergency equipment.”

  “Good, good,” Kevin smiled, “but we’ll have some things for you as well.”

  By this time, they had made their way to the dark-windowed SUV that screamed FBI, and Marc grinned as they climbed aboard. So much for not being noticed.

  The drive to the hotel was uneventful, affording Kevin the opportunity to keep up a running dialog about the area. “Fairbanks is the largest city in the interior of Alaska, but” he chuckled, “we’ve only got a population of about thirty-five thousand people. Not all that large compared to most major cities.” He perked up, adding, “But we are known as the coldest city in America!”

  Pulling to the front of the large hotel and conference center, Kevin let Marc off at the door and, as he turned to grab his overnight bag, Kevin called out, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.”

  With a mock salute, Marc headed through the massive glass doors, the blast of heat a welcome relief from the frigid air outside. At the registration counter, he checked in, receiving his room card.

  “We hope you’ll be very happy during your stay,” the efficient receptionist said. Her perky smile was firmly in place as she leaned conspiratorially over the counter toward him, lowering her voice to a whisper, “We have a conference going on and if I were you, I’d get your dinner a little early so that you can eat before all the others come into the restaurant.”

  Smiling, he thanked her and made his way to the elevators. Stepping out onto the eleventh floor, he walked quietly down the carpeted hallway to his room. Entering, he was pleased to see a king bed suite. Walking over to the windows, he looked out over the Fairbanks skyline. The sun had already dropped low into the sky even though the evening was still several hours away.

  Turning around, he grinned when his eyes landed on the plush robe lying across the thick comforter on the bed. No way that’ll fit me…even if I was a robe-kind-of-a-guy.

  Making a security sweep of the room, he found it clean before opening his bag, pulling out fresh clothes. Moving into the large bathroom, he stepped into the shower. The hot water sluiced over his body as he washed off the sweat, the travel fatigue flowing down the drain as well.

  Refreshed, he dressed for dinner in dark slacks and a pale blue dress shirt. Securing his room, he made his way back down to the hotel’s restaurant and lounge. His eyes traveled to the bar running along the wall and he noticed a woman sitting alone, her gaze raking over him. She was a beauty with blonde hair curling down her back and heavy makeup emphasizing her blue eyes and pouty lips. Her tight black dress had a slit up the side that bared her thigh, showing off a toned leg. She turned toward him, allowing the deep V of her dress to expose her impressive cleavage. She lifted her drink in a salute and her wink gave little doubt to her invitation. But the high maintenance look she sported did not appeal to him—not even for a night’s fun. Turning away, he heard a slight gasp from her, causing a smile to slip across his face. I guess she’s not used to someone turning away.

  Moving to a table near the opposite wall, offering a view of the whole restaurant as well as a bank of windows at the back, he settled into his seat. After the waitress served his drink and took his dinner order, a large group of people came in, all talking at the same time. Looking over, he observed the eclectic ensemble, sure he was seeing many of the symposium attendees.

  “Dr. Rhodes—”

  Marc’s head jerked around to see who was being spoken to, but a group of older men in suits, all with grey hair, were standing at the hostess station waiting to be seated, making identification difficult. As they walked past his table, he recognized Kenneth Rhodes. Silver hair. Goatee. Wire-framed glasses. Tweed jacket.

  Glad to have laid eyes on his mission, he turned back to his steak, now that the waitress had delivered it. The food was surprisingly good and as he finished he gazed out the window overlooking a park. The dark night now created a mirror effect with the glass and he noticed a woman sitting alone at a table nearby, her head in her hand. Glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone else had noticed her distress, he observed as the waitress approached.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?”

  The woman lifted her head and offered a wan smile. “Yes, I just have a slight headache.”

  “The reception desk will have some aspirin, if that will help.”

  The woman’s pained smile focused on the attentive server. “Thank you, but I have some medication in my room. I’ll take some as soon as I finish my soup.”

  The server nodded sympathetically and walked away. Marc, concerned, continued to keep an eye on the woman. She finished her light meal and stood, wavering slightly as she held onto the back of the chair. He rose to assist but she gathered her strength and moved past him, leaving t
he restaurant.

  Sitting back down he called the waitress over and nodded toward the now empty table, saying, “I believe the young woman was too ill to stay any longer and left. I’ll take care of her meal as well as mine.”

  “Oh, thank you,” the young server gushed. “I didn’t even notice she was finished. That’s very kind of you, but don’t worry about it. She gave us her room number to add it to her stay when she came in.”

  “Really, I insist.” Unwilling to look too closely at why he wanted to help the woman so much, he quickly settled the bills and walked back to the elevators, seeing the door just about to close. Throwing his hand out, he stopped the doors and stepped in quickly. To his surprise, the woman was in the elevator. She had a wet napkin from the bathroom in her hand and stepped aside so he could press his floor button.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, seeing the pain evident in her eyes.

  “I will be,” she replied softly as though it hurt to speak. “This will help.” She held up the napkin and pressed it to her head. “I get these a lot, but this one came on so suddenly, and my medicine is upstairs.”

  “Nothin’ worse than feeling sick on a trip,” he commiserated, then immediately wondered why he felt the need to continue talking to her when she clearly wasn’t feeling well.

  She was a head shorter than he was, neither short nor tall. Her brown hair was pulled severely back from her face and twisted into a bun. Black rimmed glasses were perched on her nose and a wisp of lipstick appeared to be her only makeup. Her unadorned white blouse was tucked into navy slacks, paired with a matching navy blazer. Completely different from the woman sitting at the bar, but she pulled his attention. Maybe it was how fragile she appeared, as though a stiff wind would blow her over. Sighing, he turned his gaze to the lighted numbers over the elevator doors.

  Marc noticed they were both traveling to the eleventh floor. As the doors opened, he held the door as she passed through. Walking side by side, she twisted her head, her eyes wide as she looked up at him. He noticed and quickly said, “I’m not following you, I promise.” Stopping at his door, he held up his room card between his fingers. “This is me. I hope you feel better.”