Exposure

by Dee Davis

  Again the decor changed, this time superimposing a high-tech operations room over a stately British study. A fire burned merrily in an open hearth, the logs supported by large brass andirons shaped like lions. Above it, the tranquil English countryside prevailed in what could only be a J.M.W. Turner original.

  Across from the mantel, one would have expected tattered and extremely comfortable armchairs footed by hounds of some sort, but here was where the picture went askew. Instead, a forty-two-inch plasma screen adorned the wall, flanked by four smaller ones displaying various outside angles of the fortress.

  Below them rested an elaborate bank of computers, servers and monitors that even Bill Gates would envy. There were machines there that Melissa couldn't even put a name to, their functions no doubt off in the realm of Star Trek or Babylon Five.

  The fortress, it seemed, came with state-of-the-art security.

  And like all good fantasies there was a man behind the curtain. Or, in this case, perched upon a swiveling stool that was oddly twisted but no doubt ergonomically correct.

  The stool spun and a flop-haired boy-next-door face appeared, eyes narrowed slightly in speculation. "You must be Melissa."

  He said it as if he already knew her, and for a moment Melissa wondered at Nigel's discretion. But another look at the bank of computer equipment stilled that thought. This was a man who knew how to extract information. There wouldn't be much he didn't know.

  "And you must be Harrison Blake." Tit for tat. She might not know much about him, but Nigel had briefed her on the team's members during the helicopter ride, so at least she was fairly certain of who he was.

  "Guilty as charged." He smiled, but the gesture didn't quite reach his eyes, as if he hadn't quite decided what he thought of her. Which under the circumstances was probably more than fair. "Nigel says you've had a bit of trouble."

  "Something like that," she hedged, not willing to open up without knowing first that he was truly on her side.

  "You find anything?" Nigel asked.

  Harrison shook his head. "I've got feelers out though, so it's only a matter of time before we hear something. In the meantime, you'll be safe here." He gestured at the security monitors and Melissa fought against a wave of claustrophobia. The truth was she didn't really know anything about the people Nigel worked with. Other than the fact that he trusted them.

  Still, that had to count for something. She forced a smile. "I appreciate your help."

  "Not a problem." Harrison shrugged. "Besides, I haven't really done anything yet."

  "You will." Nigel clapped his friend on the back, ignoring the thread of tension hanging in the air. "Anyone else here?"

  "Madison and Cullen are on a conference call with the White House." He tilted his head toward a closed door in the far wall.

  "Cullen's here?" Nigel's brows rose in surprise.

  "Yes." Harrison nodded, underscoring the word. "He arrived shortly after we did. And I'll warn you he's none too happy about this little foray to the countryside."

  "It couldn't be helped." Nigel's gaze settled on Melissa, making her skin tingle.

  "I understand. And so does Cullen, fundamentally, or you wouldn't be here. But he's still concerned that Melissa's problems could pull us away from our primary focus."

  "I'm not going to let that happen." Nigel's face tightened with emotion, his face flushing with anger.

  "Hey, I'm with you." Harrison held up his hands in submission. "I just thought you should know that Cullen isn't thrilled with the intrusion." He shot an apologetic glance at Melissa.

  "Message received. But until I have a better idea what's going on, Melissa stays right here."

  She started to interrupt, to tell him that she could make her own decisions thank you very much, but then stopped herself. It wouldn't do any good anyway, and besides, for the moment, this was exactly where she wanted to be.

  "Besides, if I'm right we're going to find a connection between Melissa's troubles and our missing nerve agent. That's one of the reasons I brought her here."

  For the first time Melissa considered the possibility that Nigel had a secondary motivation for helping her. The idea didn't sit well, but she had to accept that it was likely true to some extent. After all, they were dealing with a crisis situation, and it was a bit coincidental that just when she was beginning to narrow down her list of possible culprits, someone had tried to take her out of the equation.

  "And until we rule it out," Nigel continued, "we've got to consider the possibility that the attack on Melissa was linked somehow to the missing R-VX and the insider at the UN."

  "If there is one," Harrison added. "You haven't found anything yet, right?"

  There was no condemnation in his voice. No emotion at all, so Melissa wasn't exactly sure why she felt guilty, but she did. "I haven't been looking very long. And these things usually take time."

  "Which is, of course, exactly what we don't have." A man walked into the room via the doorway Harrison had motioned to earlier. Cullen Pulaski. Her initial impression was that he was an enormous man, but in truth, he was only of medium height, almost short, with curling brown hair headed toward gray. His eyes compelled attention, though. Brown like his hair, they were hard like polished agate. Reflecting only what he chose to let others see.

  It was the depth of his gaze, combined perhaps with his stance, that made him seem bigger than he was. Sheer presence of personality. She suspected most people were a bit in awe of him. But she'd been around kingmakers before— many of them carrying loaded Uzis. So while she knew enough to be wary, she wasn't afraid.

  "I just got off the phone with Marshall." He dropped the name as if he'd been talking to his gardener rather than the President of the United States. "Paulo Salvatore has disappeared."

  Nigel frowned. "I thought he was being followed."

  "He was." Cullen shrugged. "But not by our guys. Turf war. The Spaniards won. Anyway, they lost him somewhere in Turkey. One minute he was there, the next off the radar completely."

  "So he's flown the coop?" Harrison asked.

  "Or he's dead." Nigel's tone was cold, as if the man's life wasn't worth anything at all.

  "It's a definite possibility, although to be honest I don't give a damn. What's important here is confirming what the hell he was doing in Turkey in the first place. We have reason to believe Paulo was up to something before he dropped off the grid." Cullen trailed off as he eyed Melissa.

  "Would you like me to leave?"

  Cullen's expression indicated that's exactly what he'd like, but Nigel intervened. "There's no reason for that. We're all on the same side."

  Melissa wasn't at all certain of that, but Cullen nodded his acceptance. "Nothing said here leaves this room, understood?"

  Melissa nodded.

  "Fine." Cullen moved to sit in a chair near the computer banks. "Harrison's encountered some chatter that seems to verify the stolen nerve agent was indeed transported across the Black Sea. If it's true, the logical exit point would be through the Bosporus Strait."

  "Istanbul." Nigel frowned, obviously considering the options. "And Paulo Salvatore was last seen in Turkey."

  "Yes." Cullen's smile was merely a shadow.

  "But there are any number of points of egress in the Black Sea. Some of them a bloody sight better for spiriting away chemical weapons than the Bosporus."

  "Sometimes the obvious choice is the least likely to be questioned." Cullen folded his arms over his chest, his expression inscrutable.

  "You've got something else."

  Cullen nodded. "Your killing Alberto was the final blow to the organization. There's nothing much left. But that hasn't stopped Paulo from trying to pick up the pieces."

  "So he's freelancing? I wouldn't have thought him capable of it."

  "Neither did the Spanish." Cullen's tone was dry. "Which is no doubt why they lost him. But before they did, they tracked him to a meeting."

  "In Istanbul."

  "Actually it was a few kilometers aw
ay in Izmit. According to the Spanish, he met with two Arabic men for about an hour yesterday."

  "Any idea who they were?"

  "No. The Spaniards botched the operation. The only thing they've got is some really bad audio and some grainy surveillance photographs." Harrison's disgust was apparent. "They claim there's a reference to chemical weapons, but nothing to definitively identify our particular package."

  "And the next thing we know, Paulo goes missing." Cullen's eyebrows lifted in supposition.

  "Handy coincidence. But even if the meeting was about the stolen warheads, there's no way Paulo has the network to move them. Not after what we did." Nigel's face tightened for a moment, and Melissa shivered at the look in his eyes.

  "I agree," Cullen said, "but intel supports the idea that he might have been acting as a middleman, a broker for someone who does have the necessary connections to transport the package."

  "The guy I've been hunting," Melissa said.

  "Exactly." Cullen nodded his approval. "There's no way to know for certain until we've gathered additional information, but it seems likely. Nigel's right, there's no way Salva-tore could move the nerve agent on his own."

  "But this is all speculation," Nigel said. "As far as we know these guys could have just been looking for arms."

  "Maybe," Harrison agreed. "But I've got a gut feeling it's about more than that."

  "When do you expect the photos?" Nigel's attention turned to Harrison.

  "Anytime. I'm just waiting for clearance from the Spanish officials." Harrison's smile hid the steel reflected in his eyes.

  "Don't mean to interrupt, but the helicopter just landed." The striking blonde from the ball entered the room, her smile dazzling. "Tracy's with them." She crossed the room to Nigel, her attention fixed on Melissa. "I'm Madison Roarke," she said, holding out her hand.

  Melissa took it, surprised at the depth of compassion in the other woman's eyes.

  "I understand you've had a bit of a hard time."

  "Yeah, I have." Melissa found herself smiling, surprised how quickly Madison had put her at ease.

  But then, Madison was a profiler with the FBI. Obviously the woman was good at what she did. Which seemed to be the case with everyone involved with Last Chance.

  "I saw you at the party last night." She struggled to remember the rest of what Nigel had told her. "You're married to Gabriel."

  "Right." Madison's smile widened. "And I'm Andrea's mother. I'm afraid between the two, I've sort of lost my own identity."

  Melissa very much doubted that, but she smiled anyway. "Is she here with you?"

  "No. She's with my father. He dotes on her, so I suspect she's having a marvelous time." A shadow passed across her face, and Melissa wondered at her ability to continue her work while raising her daughter, the two tasks seeming at complete odds with one another.

  "I limit the cases I take," Madison said, reading Melissa's mind. "But sometimes it's hard to say no."

  "We simply can't operate without her." Cullen put an arm around Madison comfortingly, and Melissa envied the ease with which they all seemed to support one another. She'd spent most of her professional life on her own, oftentimes among the enemy, so she'd never had the chance to form the kinds of bonds these people obviously had.

  "Cullen, if you weren't my wife's godfather, I'd swear you were trying to cut in on my action." Another impossibly large man strode into the room. This time the electric presence was backed up by the physical. She recognized him from the ball, and Nigel's description. Gabriel Roarke.

  He pulled his wife into a bear hug, and the naked love on their faces left Melissa breathless. Passion mixed with adoration was heady stuff.

  A second man followed the first. He, too, had a presence but, unlike Cullen and Gabriel, bis was entirely physical. Pantherlike in his grace, he moved with a stealth that hinted of assassin. She'd seen enough to know. There was an unmistakable stillness in a hunter. And this man had it in spades.

  "Payton Reynolds," he said.

  Nigel's friend.

  She met his gaze. Unlike Madison, his eyes held no compassion. This was a man who gave nothing easily. If she wanted bis trust, she'd have to earn it. And judging from the skepticism she saw reflected there, it wasn't going to be an easy task, but then she wasn't a woman given to shirking a challenge.

  Nigel had moved so that he was standing just behind her, his body heat wrapping around her, subtly protecting her, making her a part of the group by simple proximity. She appreciated the gesture but had no intention of hiding behind him.

  "I've heard a lot about you." She hadn't actually heard all that much, but it seemed an appropriate response.

  "I bet you have." Payton's smile was tight, a crooked little thing that was meant to intimidate. But then Melissa wasn't easily cowed.

  They stood for a minute more, each assessing the other, then Melissa broke contact, stepping back into the circle of Nigel's warmth.

  "Any word from Sam?" Harrison asked Payton, obviously trying to cut through the tension.

  "I talked to her this morning." He sounded frustrated, his examination of Melissa for the moment seemingly forgotten. "She's coming as soon as she can get things under control. There's a serial bomber in Oregon. She knows who it is, but hasn't got enough evidence to nail him. So I'm afraid it's a waiting game."

  Gabriel smiled conspiratorially at his friend. "If anyone can make the case, it'll be Sam. She'll be here before you know it."

  "Excuse me?" A statuesque black woman stood in the doorway to the operations room, her expression a cross between amused tolerance and exasperation. "I hate to interrupt this little soiree, but I didn't skip out on critical work just to listen to old home week. Unless I missed the boat completely, I believe there's some urgency involved?"

  "This is Tracy Braxton," Nigel said, his smile full of admiration. "She's one of the foremost forensic pathologists in the world. I thought maybe she could help us get to the bottom of what happened to you."

  Melissa frowned, then nodded, understanding dawning. "The blood."

  "Exactly." Nigel held up a gym bag with the her coat and clothes to underscore his agreement. "With a little luck Tracy will be able to help us figure where the blood on your clothes came from. Or at least narrow things down a bit."

  "Thanks for the vote of confidence." Tracy's grin was infectious. "First he thinks I'm godlike, and then he hedges his bets."

  "I'm afraid that's the way he sees all women." The words were out before she had a chance to think about them, and she immediately regretted the inference, but his friends only laughed, and to her relief, Nigel seemed unfazed by her pronouncement.

  "I'll also need a blood sample." Tracy was already pulling a syringe from the black bag she carried. "Would you like to do it in here or in private?"

  "A blood sample?" Melissa protested.

  Payton's glittering gaze landed on her, his expression still speculative.

  "Yes." Tracy nodded, apparently unaware of the subtext. "Nigel said that you might have been poisoned. I want to take a look at your blood as well as what's on your coat to see if I can find any trace elements that might confirm the fact."

  Melissa squared her shoulders. She hadn't anything to bide, and she'd be damned if she'd let Payton get to her. "Fine. I'll do it here." She stuck out her uninjured arm, already clenching her fist.

  It only took a minute. Tracy's expertise obviously extended to drawing blood, because Melissa hardly felt a thing. Or maybe she was simply too preoccupied with the fact that Payton Reynolds didn't trust her.

  The idea certainly didn't sit well, which in her books left only one alternative. She'd simply have to prove the man wrong. Not that she gave a damn what Payton Reynolds thought of her. But she did care about Nigel. He'd taken a risk bringing her here, potentially compromising their operation. And she wasn't about to let him down.

  So if Payton Reynolds wanted blood then she'd give him three fucking quarts.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

 
; "EVERYTHING IS ARRANGED?" Malik appeared relaxed, but his eyes were watchful, the bazaar humming with life, crowds ebbing and flowing around the small tables fronting the Turkish cafe.

  "We have agreed upon terms, but nothing can be done until payment is made." Khamis, too, watched the passersby, but other than the interest of a young boy at the next table, no one seemed to notice the two of them. There was a certain anonymity in crowds, and Khamis had always preferred hiding in the open.

  "So we wait." Waiting had never been Malik's strong point, and Khamis smiled.

  "On the contrary. We must move now. The diversion is in place. If the Americans are tracking us, they'll think the R-VX is moving through Istanbul. While they are busy scouring the city, our package will travel down the Sakarya to friends in Greece. And from there, on to the United States."

  "And what about us?"

  "We must arrive in America before the R-VX. From there final arrangements will be made."

  "You make it sound simple."

  Khamis's smile widened as he toyed with an almond blossom that had fallen from the vase at the center of the table. "Simplicity is nothing more than a state of mind. It helps to keep one focused—complications becoming mere triviality. Something to overcome and nothing more."

  Malik laughed as he sipped his coffee. "I have never pretended to understand you, my friend, but I do trust you. So if you say we must move, then so be it. I assume all the necessary arrangements have been made."

  "They have." Khamis tilted his head toward a small valise lying on the corner of the table, still idly twirling the little flower. "The briefcase contains documentation that will permit our entry into the country. Once there, all that will remain is to pay off our contact and await the shipment's arrival."

  "Our timetable is intact?" Malik narrowed his eyes as he contemplated the dregs in his cup.

  "It is. Although the change in plans has caused a slight delay, we shouldn't have to deviate from our original intentions. In a very short time the Americans will feel the sting of our mighty sword."

  "And your revenge?" Malik asked, his face tight with emotion.