by Ronie Kendig
“I’ll help.”
“No.” Dru couldn’t have that. “I’m telling you only as a courtesy. You know the sensitive nature of what Leif’s embroiled in. Now that he’s rogue—”
“Rogue?”
“MIA,” Dru hastily corrected, lifting a hand to placate the former Green Beret. “That’s his status until we know more. Regardless, we have to be extremely cautious.”
He would make sure Leif’s status remained Missing In Action to ensure nobody turned this against the former SEAL. What had been done to Leif, what he’d tried to undo for the last nearly half-dozen years—none of it had been his fault. He’d entered the program after many of his team died. A mission and friends Leif no longer remembered, thanks to the extensive Neiothen rewiring.
“You know I have connections,” Canyon said, more than a little warning in his tone. “If my brother’s not back in a week—”
“Your brother left of his own accord. What do you suggest—”
“Drug his butt and drag him back!” Canyon roared. “And if you don’t, I will.”
“It’s not that simple.” Dru shifted, and he saw a storm move into the eyes so like Leif’s. “Please—hear me out.”
“I’m hearing, Chief,” Canyon retorted. “But I’m not hearing a lot of good. My brother is in trouble, and he might know it, might not. He trusted you to find the answers, to dig it up and set him free.” His jaw muscle popped. “And you didn’t do it.” He cocked his head, his voice raw. “You. Didn’t. Do it.”
For every pound of suspicion, Dru had had only an ounce of proof. Never enough to bring down those responsible. Only enough to be dangerous—to himself and to those responsible, but mostly to Leif. Dru hated this. Hated what he’d had to do. When the truth hit the proverbial fans, Leif would bury him.
“You know what we’re dealing with. The size of the brass and the power of the influence behind it means we’re walking a tightrope. If we come out swinging without—” The det cord was in his hand, and he could either blow himself or Leif into oblivion. “I—”
“Enough,” Canyon said, backing toward his car. “All this time, you’ve been the keeper of secrets, and it’s gotten us nowhere. I’ve let you play that game. But no more. You know more than you’ve shared. The ball’s in your court, Director.” He pointed at Dru. “Find him. You have one week, or I’ll muster every connection I have to bring you down and my brother home—alive.”
* * *
RESTON, VIRGINIA
Being back in America without Leif was strange. The jet landed a full day after he vanished. Iskra understood why he’d done it. When Hristoff was hunting her, she felt safer and more confident on her own, pretending she didn’t care about the child left in his care every time he sent her on a mission. It made sense that Leif would slip away without a word before anyone could stop him, because each of them surely would have.
When they entered his loft, her daughter ran to the industrial refrigerator, where he stocked yogurt drinks for her, but then Taissia paused. As if she, too, sensed the depressing gloom of his absence. “Where’s Leif?”
“He is . . . working.” Iskra veered to the coffee table and set down a small souvenir from the amusement park while Taissia chose a drink. “Okay, let’s go. We’re late for dinner with Tala and Mrs. Dani.”
With a yogurt mustache, Taissia turned, eyes molten. “Are you leaving me again?”
“No,” she lied, not having the emotional capital to deal with her daughter’s distress on top of her own. “We are just having dinner. They were very nice to invite us over.” But she knew Leif’s older brother had questions. So did she. And she was not going to sit around and do nothing. Somehow, she guessed he knew that, too.
The drive was too short to prepare answers. Typically, she avoided encounters like this, but she had always sensed Canyon knew more about Leif’s past than he had let on. So she would let him work her for information, and she would return the favor. She pocketed a small jamming device to ensure they weren’t spied on.
In the driveway, Iskra eyed an unfamiliar car, and a steady uneasiness grew in the pit of her stomach. Who else was here?
She gripped Taissia’s hand and strode up the front path. The door flung open, and an ever-rowdy Owen Metcalfe grinned before speeding back down the hall. “Mom, they’re here!”
Taissia darted after him, heading toward Tala’s bedroom.
Abandoned by her own daughter! Mustering internal fortitude, Iskra stepped inside and locked the door behind her.
Dani rounded the corner with a smile. “Hey,” she said, waving toward the rear of the house. “Come on back. Canyon said he wanted to talk to you—he’s in the living room. I have to get some packing done.”
“A vacation?” Iskra asked, worried Dani was going to be unavailable.
“Ha,” Dani said with a laugh. “I wish. Work trip—couple weeks.”
Iskra’s heart fell a little. This meant she had no babysitter for Taissia.
“I’d better get to it.” Dani nodded toward the back of the house. “The guys are back there. Holler if you need me.”
Guys. Was Leif here? Had he come back? Her heart stuttered at the thought, and she hurried in that direction.
A deep voice carried heavily through the house. Definitely not Leif.
In the living room, Canyon chatted with a slightly older man. “Iskra.” He came to his feet. “Glad you could come.” He motioned to the older man. “This is my brother Stone. He’s in town through the weekend.”
Taller than Canyon and Leif, Stone was definitely a Metcalfe with those blue eyes and that intensity, but his blond hair was darker and shot through with red and silver. He was broad-shouldered and commanding as he angled toward her. “Iskra.” He nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
Shaking his hand, she smiled. While she might be conjuring trouble where there was none, it just seemed too thick with tension in here for this to be a casual get-together.
“I’ve heard a lot about you.” Stone had a powerful presence that said he was used to being in control. “You were with Leif in Taiwan?”
Iskra snapped her gaze to Canyon. “You told him?”
“He’s my brother, Leif’s—”
“He’s not cleared regarding this—”
“Iskra, listen.”
“You just killed him!” she hissed, feeling a deep dread in the pit of her stomach.
“I think that’s unfair,” Stone said, his voice like rocks in a tin cup. “Not to mention quite an accusation against those who’ve known Leif his entire life.”
“Perhaps you have been in the same family, but have you really known him?” She glanced between the brothers. “Because his action doesn’t surprise me—”
“We didn’t say it surprised u—”
“But what does surprise me is neither of you respecting that this is classified intel and discussing it where anyone can hear,” she said, looking at Canyon. “Unless you’ve cleared this house and room somehow.” Silence confirmed her concerns. She activated the jamming device she always kept with her.
“I know you care about Leif,” Canyon said in a placating tone, “so I’ll shoot straight. I’ve given Iliescu one week to find Leif before we”—his gaze hit his brother—“interdict.”
She drew up, stunned at his words. “Idiocy!” So much for bleeding him for information. What they knew wasn’t worth the time.
“You’re intelligent, Iskra. I’ve always known that, and it’s one of the things Leif admired about you. Tell me you haven’t questioned why Dru, the CIA Deputy Director of Operations, hasn’t shared more intel.”
She swallowed.
“Because he does have more intel.”
Her pulse tripped over his words. “You know that?”
“Know? Yes. Prove?” He gave a cockeyed shake of his head. “I have a gut instinct that more is happening than we’re being told, and I won’t let my brother be a fatality of whatever maneuvering is involved.”
“So you’re just go
ing to go out there and . . . what?”
“Find him. Bring him home.” The Metcalfe men were clearly used to hitting life head on.
“Dead,” she amended.
He scowled.
“Because that is what will happen if you go out there uninformed.”
“Then inform us,” Stone said, irritation in his posture.
“This is insane.” She could not believe this. “This is about you—your egos.”
“Or is it yours, Iskra?” Canyon squared his shoulders, and his brother anchored up next to him. “Do you think you’re the only one who can help him? Why wouldn’t you want every resource thrown at finding Leif?”
It was hard to breathe. “Because I know who we are up against. I have fought these people for years.”
“And lost,” Canyon challenged. “Each time, right? I mean, that’s why you’re here in the States, with my brother, with Dru. Right?”
Her pulse hammered with indignation and rage.
“I’m not as uninformed as you might think,” he said. “Stone and I didn’t get to where we are in our careers by being arrogant or foolish. We’re strategic, focused, and determined. I’ve been in black ops for as long as you’ve been an assassin, Iskra. I might not have gone up against the same men, but I’ve confronted similar men. But they’re not my focus—Leif is. And I know he’s important to you, too. You’re here. You’re angry. I respect that. Let’s use it. You came with a purpose. So give it to me.”
She drew her lips tight and huffed. “Your brother is strong, yes?”
Hesitating, Canyon gave a nod.
“Smart, intelligent. Patriotic.”
Another nod. “One of the best.”
“Leif is the best of all us Metcalfes put together,” Stone added. “It’s like our mother perfected the genes with each pregnancy.”
“Then that is why you need to rethink whatever you have planned.” She drew in a ragged breath, desperate to make them understand.
“He doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Stone asserted. “He’s being influenced by that thing in his head.”
“You are a fool if you believe that.” Iskra made herself calm down. “Think about it! You are his brothers. You know Leif. And these people convinced your very loyal, very patriotic brother to turn against his country, against what he believes in, his family and—”
“And you?” Canyon narrowed his eyes.
“This coalition should scare the arrogance out of you. I have seen what they do to people. My own brother—once a caring, generous person—no longer has the ability to care or empathize. Now he is a cold, hard killer.” She hoped that truth landed as hard as she had thrown it. “Is that what you want for Leif?”
Canyon’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, then at her with a smirk as he answered it, putting it on speakerphone. “Director, how can I help you?”
“I have a way you can help find your brother.”
FIVE
LONDON, ENGLAND
“All right, ladies and insurgents,” Cell muttered through the comms. “I show you entering the fifth-floor access of the building. All clear.”
When Dru said they had a tip on the technology connected to the Neiothen, the team had leapt at the chance. Well, by “team” Mercy meant Reaper’s operators. Not her. She wasn’t anxious to get back out there, with Peyton still in the hospital, fighting for her life, and Leif missing. Then Dru added Leif’s brother to the mission, and it just got . . . weird. Canyon Metcalfe was down in the server room with his guys, fixing a broken AC unit and making sure nobody was alerted to her actions.
A richly attired Baddar strode down the corridor with his shoulders squared and head held high, flanked by Culver and Saito. Mercy glided forward as the man hurrying alongside her rattled on about their security measures and latest innovations in technology.
“I hope that is just the beginning of your efforts, Mr. Labonte, because that’s kindergarten next to what I can do.” She paused for emphasis. “We would not want to waste Mr. Hannan’s time if you cannot promise greater protection than this.”
“O–of course.” Labonte skipped ahead a step and scrambled to an entrance.
“Sharp and ready,” Cell said in her ear comms. “I show two men on the other side of the door.”
Which swung open.
“Remember, Merc,” Cell said, “get that USB on the laptop, and then y’all make like rabbits and hightail it outta there.”
Nerves fried, Mercy couldn’t understand why they’d insisted she do this. Sticking a USB in a slot didn’t take a genius, and it was also more obvious. A more subtle approach would be to use Bluetooth. And even then, anyone on Reaper could’ve done this transfer. But then again, if trouble came, it’d be better for Reaper to be ready with weapons.
“If I’m not receiving your signal again in forty,” Cell said, mentioning the time frame it should take Baddar to negotiate with Durrani International CEO Ayoubi Karzai, “then I’m activating backup.”
He meant the tactical team, directed by Canyon, in the basement.
Either way, Mercy didn’t like it. First, Baddar was a good commando, but he wasn’t a negotiator. Second, there was a reason she had a “noncombat” designation attached to her profile. The idea of shooting her way out . . .
“Sir, here to meet with you are Mr. Hannan and his detail,” the sniveling Labonte said, all but bowing as he entered the office decorated with a touch of distinctive Moorish decor. Just enough to lend an impression of the CEO’s heritage to his place of business.
“Of course. Bring them in.” In his midfifties, Ayoubi Karzai wore a black kurta, its buttoned front embroidered all the way up his torso and around the almost mandarin-style collar. His hair was more gray than black, and wavy. Thick. Much like Baddar’s, though his wasn’t gray. Beady eyes met them, a smile pinching their corners. “Salaam, friends.”
Baddar’s dark head bowed. “Salaam alaikum.”
Karzai opened his arms and moved toward Baddar as if ready to embrace. “Ta sanga ye?”
With that ever-ready smile, Baddar nodded to Durrani’s founder and spoke more in Pashto. Her itch to know what they were saying made it hard for Mercy not to shift on her feet. She slid her gaze to Culver and Saito, who had their hands loose at their sides, stance relaxed but ready. She didn’t think the others spoke Pashto—and this was making her wish for Leif more than ever. While she knew there were cultural expectations to inquire after each other’s health and families, she couldn’t help but feel like Baddar’s conversation with the CEO was going well beyond that.
The thing with the handsome Afghan was that he bore his heart in his eyes. Just a look at those dark, expressive orbs, and she knew what beat twelve to fourteen inches below. A flicker of annoyance hit them, and Mercy’s pulse skipped a beat.
Karzai threw his head back and laughed, startling her and drawing a smile to Baddar’s face as he joined the merriment, earning a slap on the back from the CEO. The foreign language seemed to morph into casual conversation as the two men moved to a seating area.
What was it like for Baddar to live in the U.S., among a population whose language and culture were so entirely different from his own? It must give him such relief to talk freely in his native tongue without fear of impediment or speaking the wrong word.
She had not given Baddar the credit he deserved. Pride stirred as she watched him navigate this negotiation with casual effort. As if he’d fallen into his element.
With Culver and Saito strategically situated—one next to Baddar for quick, hushed messages, and the other monitoring the door they’d just entered—Mercy perched on the edge of a chair that gave her a view of their profiles. The more she listened to their dialogue’s unique rhythm, the more she realized Karzai was not all ease and confidence. The latter, yes, but there was something . . . stiff about him. It hadn’t been there a moment ago.
She flicked a look at Baddar and saw irritation flash through his eyes. But as soon as she saw it, it was gone.
Karzai laughed, as did Baddar.
Maybe she’d imagined it, only . . . their laughs didn’t . . . Then she saw that Baddar’s smile was plastered on, performed. His gaze steady but telegraphing more than he spoke.
“T-minus thirty and counting,” Cell commed.
Had it really been ten minutes already?
“Please.” Karzai stood, switching to English and motioning Baddar toward a side door—a steel-reinforced room. “Come see what we can offer. I believe it will be worth your time.”
Mercy came to her feet, uncertain this was a good thing, and peered up at Baddar, trying to Morse code her concern. He motioned to her, and she moved to his side without reservation.
His hand slipped to the small of her back. He pressed his lips to the soft spot near her ear and whispered, “Be ready.” A shiver raced down her spine, an involuntary reaction to his warm breath and proximity, but also to the warning. Clearly, trouble waited.
Baddar nudged her forward but didn’t leave much distance between them. She was glad, because now Cell and backup felt light-years away.
In the next room, Labonte rounded a table and smiled at them. “Here is the program I mentioned.” He hefted a laptop from a side table and angled it toward Mercy. “The chips are RFID active, but we’ve added more complex . . .”
Yawn. RFID wasn’t super sexy anymore, so his words were like some wicked sleep tonic. But seriously, how advanced could Durrani be if they were still fiddling with RFID?
In that case, the system shouldn’t be too hard to hack. And Labonte, CIO of Durrani, should have security clearance for everything, right? She leaned closer to him, hoping to use charm as a distraction. He double-clicked an icon, and a new screen splashed over the monitor. She scanned it. “Looks pretty. But does it work?”
He grunted, accepting her challenge. Held the laptop in one hand and typed with the other. When it wobbled, Mercy steadied it for him and slipped the USB from her pocket. After one final tap, the program came to life.
“Oh,” Mercy said with a bit of exaggeration. “Very nice.” She arched an eyebrow. “May I?” She indicated the laptop, and he passed it to her. “Okay, maybe I’m starting to be impressed,” she murmured and shifted aside, then whirled to face him, her hand surreptitiously inserting the USB. While he regaled her with his technical expertise of this program, she did her best to maintain a neutral yet interested expression.