Chapter One
"Drake." Sara Stark sat in the back of the van parked across from the International Civil Aviation Organization in Montreal. "He's right outside."
Carlos typed on a keyboard, up-linking to the proximity processors they had installed the day before inside the building. "One more minute and we'll have 'em all."
"Hurry." She leaned sideways to glance out the darkly tinted window. Joseph Sullivan, brother to the late Tynan Sullivan who had died in an explosion three weeks ago, disappeared inside. Sun glinted on his strawberry blonde hair, then dulled as the shadows engulfed him and the briefcase dangling from his gloved hand. "He's in."
Seconds passed as they sat blind. How much she despised taking a literal backseat while Drake worked the field. Her knee thumped a beat that shook the monitors and after a pointed look from Carlos, she pressed her palm against the leg to keep it still.
Drake didn't speak to her through the tactical receiver in her ear, but she heard snatches of the conversations around him. Couldn't he guess how frustrating it was for her to be stuck in this tin can packed in computer equipment as foreign to her as high heels? Maybe she had agreed to resign as a field operative for Knight, Inc., the family company, but she hadn't agreed to be so…powerless. No. She didn't remember that at all.
She was the field operator. She was the one who kickedbutt and took names. That had always been her job. She had way too much energy, especially since the injections, developed as a biological weapon either to kill or enhance by MedTech Corporation, a front for one of the Trifecta's many global operations, to just sit around and talk. For God's sakes, it was like going to a coffee klatch while marauders pillaged the village. Totally not her style.
"Drake?" Her gaze flicked to the still blank twin monitors in front of Carlos, "you see him?"
A moment, then the sound of rustling clothes and a muffled, "No."
"Look for him. He just walked in." She exhaled, gut twisting in knots. This can't be good for the baby, all this stress. Her hand went to the flat of her stomach and she wondered again when would be a good time to tell Drake she was pregnant. With the wedding only days away, she didn't have much time.
The monitor before her scrambled, snowed, then cleared, and she had black and white footage of the lobby. "We've got it," she said. Sullivan checked his watch. His black turtleneck and dark heavy coat made his Irish features all the more pale. "He's on your right. See him?"
Looking tall and yet diminished in camera feed, Drake nodded his head once, rose, shoving a newspaper beneath his arm.
The screen in front of her split into four. Carlos said, "I've got them all now. The one on the top is the camera in the elevator, the one next to it is the sixth floor, where Kim's office is, and the fourth, on the bottom beside the lobby, is inside her office."
"Finally."
Carlos chuffed, chagrined. "They've got scramblers, part of their security. Had to bypass them before we could get the feeds."
"Good work," Sara said, attempting to take the sting out of her impatience. She leaned closer to the screen. Kim Satō was a top ranking security expert for the ICAO. Yesterday, Drake had posed as a representative of Senator Franks on an information hunt. Franks owed them for saving his son at Christmas, and had been agreeable to backing up Drake's claim. It wasn't unheard of for U.S. government reps to visit branches of the United Nations for updated Intel on global security concerns. Under that guise, he had been able to get their equipment in place, while at the same time familiarizing the building's security with his face and I.D.–granting him the ability to move about with little to no suspicion.
In the lobby camera, Sullivan went to the elevators and pressed a button. Drake followed, along with a sleek blonde in high heels. Sara wished more than ever that she was there instead of Drake. He had better not give them a view of that woman's cleavage.
Get a grip, Stark.
Uncharacteristic jealousy frayed her nerves even more. She exhaled. Was this how Drake felt? Watching her deal with the myriad men she encountered on past missions? If so, it explained much of his rampant dislike of her field duties, especially now they were engaged.
A faint ding sounded in her headset, and the elevator doors opened. She had a good view of the back of Sullivan's head as people entered the lobby and the trio waiting boarded. Sullivan pressed six for Kim's floor, the blonde pressed four, and Drake pressed five. Obviously he planned on getting off the elevator early, then making a mad dash up the stairs to the next floor.
Sara smiled. Drake was sore yet from intensifying his physical training in preparation for taking her place in the field. On their morning jogs together, she often outperformed him. Though she wasn't sure if she could claim full credit or if the biological agent the Trifecta had injected into her gave her an advantage. She enjoyed teasing him nonetheless. "Better be ready to run."
He eased back behind the other two, out of sight, and adjusted his tie–middle finger extended and a half-cocked grin turned down toward the camera in his tie tack.
She chuckled. "Only if you're a good boy."
The elevator stopped and the woman got off. Sara wasn't sure if it was her imagination, or if Drake had watched the wiggle in the woman's walk or not.
"Eyes on the target, Drake."
Drake grunted, coughed into his hand, and then went silent, riding the last flight to his floor. He exited. The view from the camera jerked and jumped as he bolted to the end of a long, empty hall. Slamming through the doors to the stairs, he took the steps two at a time.
On the split screen, Kim left her office. Alarmed, Sara followed the petite brunette's progress out of camera range. If the woman was supposed to meet Sullivan, as the message they had intercepted stated, why would she leave just as he's about to arrive? "Drake, something's wrong."
"What?" he asked, panting quietly as he stood outside the sixth floor door.
"Kim left her office."
"What?" he asked again, this time incredulous instead of curious.
"Maybe they're going to meet somewhere else?" Sara searched for a sane and logical reason, but her gut violently protested there could be one. "Maybe they don't want to be seen together?"
"Then why would he come up to her floor?" A pause, then Drake said, "Wait a minute more. I'll check, find out where she's gone. Is her door open?"
Carlos nodded and Sara said, "Yes it is."
"Maybe she's just using the restroom."
"Maybe." Sara frowned. It didn't feel right. To Carlos, she said, "Can you split my screen, office on top, Drake on bottom?"
Carlos clicked away on the keyboard and she got the visual she wanted.
"Thanks." Through his camera she could see the hall was empty. On the office cam, nothing changed. Sullivan had to be around somewhere. "You keep an eye out for Sullivan, Carlos. I'll help Drake."
"Will do." He bent closer to the monitor, his honey skin bathed in digital light.
Drake's camera fed a swiftly moving view back to the van. Kim's office was to the left and far back on the floor. She'd studied the layout back at the estate during the briefing. The mission was simple: stop Sullivan from delivering the false information he carried in the briefcase. Information that could be used to force Kim into replacing much of the security on all international aircraft with a computer code owned by the Trifecta–Sara's sworn enemy. A group headed by a woman Sara had thought was long dead, and now wished was. Her mother.
Sara's cell phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and answered. "Stark here."
"Sara, this is Paula, I wanted to know if you really want white roses because I've just found the most breathtaking lilies you've ever seen. I think they would better reflect your grace and elegance."
Sara sighed. Paula Ansom, her wedding coordinator, called about forty times a day with inane questions. "Whatever you think, Paula. Now's not a good time for me, okay? Let me call you back later."
"But if I don't get these lilies right now, I'm sure they'll be gone. Couldn't you just give me a quick answer?"
Drake whispered, "Use them both."
"Don't get distracted," Sara told Drake, then relayed the message to Paula and closed the phone, out of patience for the overtly bubbly woman. Rubbing her face, Sara watched as Drake rounded a corner.
"Stop there," Carlos said, gesturing to his monitor. "I've got Sullivan. He's at the end of the hall, at the reception desk."
Drake eased forward along the wall, his tie tack giving a good visual of the approaching bland décor of the waiting area.
"What's he doing?" Drake whispered.
"Talking to the secretary. If you get a little closer, we'll get what they're saying." Sara pressed the receiver deeper into her ear, trying to pick up even the smallest sound.
"I just need to leave her some information."
"Sorry," a pause, muffled words Sara couldn't decipher, then, "…for you…"
Sullivan again. "I can't leave security information with a receptionist."
"Carlos," Sara asked, turning to him. "Can you pick up Kim, find where she is?"
"I'll try. There's only so much I can do."
Their first real lead in connection with the Trifecta since the explosion in Wisconsin and here she was, stuck watching. She should be out there, at least to follow Kim. "Drake, move back. He'll come your way if he gets past the receptionist."
Drake whispered. "Not yet." Turning, he showed an open doorway to an empty office. "I've got an out."
She huffed blonde bangs off her forehead. "Fine, but be ready."
Sullivan's voice rose. He demanded he be allowed to leave the information in Kim's office. More muted, the receptionist's response was unintelligible. The argument appeared to end in Sullivan's favor because an obnoxious, "Thank you!" came through Drake's headset and into her ear.
The view went wobbly for a moment as Drake slipped into the unoccupied office. Sara held her breath, heard Drake exhale and realized he had been holding his as well. She got Sullivan's back as he headed for Kim's office. As soon as he disappeared inside, Drake started out.
"Wait for him to leave. You can get it before Kim comes back." Sara watched the office view as Sullivan set the briefcase on the desk.
Drake ducked back. "But if she comes now, while he's in there, it'll be too late."
Carlos shook his head. "I don't think you need to worry about that."
At her questioning look, he jerked his chin to the window.
Sara frowned. "Carlos has Kim on the sidewalk. She's left the building."
Which was odd. Completely odd. Unless she knew Sullivan's Intel was bad and wanted to avoid him. But how could she know?
Drake whispered in her ear. "He just passed me on his way out. I'm going in."
Sara had a bad feeling and she trusted that instinct. Any time she dared to ignore her gut, she paid a hefty price. The chemical enhancement had made her intuition seem all the more clear. Not superhuman, not ESP or anything otherworldly, but a definite clarity that made it difficult to remember what it had been like back when things were so muddied. "Be careful, Drake."
In two views again, she watched Drake going to the briefcase on the office camera, and could see the briefcase up close in the tie-tack camera. He flicked open the unlocked tabs on the case–which alarmed her even more. Sullivan, working for the Trifecta, would have locked it if they were concerned someone might discover the contents. "Drake," she said, "Don't open that."
Too late.
"Holy Mother of God," Drake whispered.
Carlos gasped and a rush of adrenalin nearly brought Sara to her feet. "It's a bomb, Drake, get out of there."
"I can see it's a bomb," Drake snarled. "I can't leave it here."
"Yes you can. We'll evacuate the building; we'll get everyone as far away as possible."
"No, you can't," Carlos said, sweat popping on his upper lip as he traced the image of the contents with one finger. "There's no timer on that thing. It's a remote detonator with what looks like enough HMX to light up the entire block. If they see everyone running out, they could blow it in hopes of taking as many casualties as possible."
"But what if," Drake said, "this was meant for Kim to use somewhere else? What if she has the remote detonator?"
"Doesn't follow," Sara said, shaking her head. "She would have met him in the lobby, or at least made sure to be there. No. Kim cleared out and I want you to do the same, right now."
Sara picked up her cell phone, intent on calling in the bomb threat herself, as Drake responded. "Or, I can take it with me. We can follow our exit plan, get out at the marina, and then head for open water where it'll do the least amount of damage."
It was a good plan, and she hated it. Placing her fiancé in jeopardy was not something she was accustomed to, let alone willing to agree with. "Close it, get it, and get the hell out. Try not to let anyone see you carrying it. Sullivan might have the remote detonator...and as soon as he gets..." Oh God, that was it, wasn't it?
Sara flung her earpiece and mike at Carlos, grabbed a pad of paper and a pen, and zipped her coat halfway up to allow easy access to the Rugers in her double shoulder holsters. "Tell Drake I'm gonna stall Sullivan–he can't leave the building or he'll blow everyone sky high. Get to the marina. I'll meet you there."
She threw open the van door and hit the sidewalk at a run, giving Carlos no time to stop her, or Drake any time to order him to. Frigid air cut through her throat, froze her lungs. The cold temps sharpened her focus. Everything stood in stark definition. The woman in the yellow coat walking her dog, the cabbie biting into his sandwich as he waited for the light to turn green, a pair of men in somber business attire with red ears–all of them potential casualties.
Even as this registered, she dashed through heavy traffic, not waiting for the walk signal. Horns honked and drivers cursed at her in both English and French. She shoved through the lobby doors, her pulse rate maxed.
She couldn't see Sullivan. For a moment, her heart sank. What if he went another way? What if he.... The elevator doors opened and he stepped out. Her brain going a thousand miles per minute, she clicked her pen open and closed in a static strobe of sound. When she reached Sullivan, she put herself directly in his path and prayed he didn't know her face, hadn't studied her as part of his training with the Trifecta.
"Hi!" She practically shouted, giddy now with energy. She planted a huge grin on her face and tried to adopt the strange mix of French and English patois that would make her indigenous to Montreal. "I'm with Montreal Tourist and Entertainment. We're conducting a survey…"
Sullivan tried to push past her, but she grabbed his hand and began shaking it even as he said, "I have no time right now. Sorry."
"Just a few minutes, that's all I ask. Surely you can spare moi just a little time?" She practically batted her lashes and surreptitiously slapped him where the inside pocket of his suit coat rested against his chest. Feeling nothing underneath, she removed her hand quickly. "I'll be in so much trouble," she continued to flirt, "if I don't meet my quota."
"Sorry, miss, I'm terribly late for an appointment." His Irish accent became more pronounced. "Maybe another time."
"Why don't you tell me where you're staying?" She raised a brow and waited, pen poised over the paper. "I could come to your hotel room?"
He frowned. "What makes you believe I have a hotel room?"
Sara wanted to slap her forehead, but she kept her cool. "Your accent and all. Figured you were in town on business."
"I was." Skepticism glittered in his intense stare. "What did you say your name was?"
"I didn't." Her cheeks began to ache from the forced smile. "It's Amy."
She wished she could have kept the earpiece to track Drake's progress, but it was too risky. Both in that Sullivan might have seen it and that Drake would distract her with a lecture. She didn't know how much time he needed, but surely he needed more. "Have you seen the atrium here? It's fabulous. Working boys have to eat too, don't they? Let's do lunch and see what happens."
God, she was whoring herself. There was a bad girl part of her that enjoyed the role she played even as another voice damned her for it. "C'mon, what'd ya say?"
He glanced at his watch.
"I promise you won't be sorry."
"I can't."
"Just a few questions then?" She tried to imitate Paula–that woman could keep anyone talking far beyond what they wanted. Sara put the pen to the pad and asked the first thing that came to mind. "What is the nature of your visit to Montreal?"
Sullivan sidestepped and tried to get past her. "Really, I have no time for this."
Sara grimaced. Pulling her weapon out in public was the only option she had left. A quick glance at the scattered people around them showed few paid any attention. Good, she thought as she unzipped her coat the rest of the way, tucked the pad and pen in her pocket and grabbed his elbow. Sullivan raised both eyebrows in surprise. She shifted and slid out a Ruger, shoving herself up against Sullivan so that the gun was hidden between her open coat and the arm draped with his overcoat. "Don't move, Sullivan."
His gaze narrowed. "Who sent you?"
"Doesn't matter." She pushed him closer to the small recess beside the elevators. "Give me the detonator."
"What are you talking about?"
Her internal lie detector jangled loudly. "I'm not someone you want to play with, Sullivan. Give me the detonator."
"What's going on?" A security guard asked behind them.
Sara, startled, slid her gun away. "Nothing. We're just talking."
"Move on, you two. None of that funny business here."
Sara thought for a moment and realized it must have looked like she was mauling him, as close as they stood. Red heat hit her face at the same time Sullivan tried to slip away from her. She caught him, putting her arm through his, pretending they were a couple. She set their pace at a slow stroll, away from the people and the guard.
"You're Sara Stark, aren't you?" His gaze shifted briefly to the front doors as if gauging whether or not he could get away.
"Does it really matter?" Sara put her free hand inside her jacket and let Sullivan hear the sound of her gun coming back out of its holster.
"Yes," Sullivan said, "because I have two messages for you."
"For me?"
"Your mother, Mary, said you might show here. She wants you to know you and she are even now. She put your life in danger, you tried to kill her. Her offer still stands."
Sara didn't know how to feel about that. Her mother had supposedly died when she was born, but right before Christmas, she'd turned up as the head of the Trifecta and offered her a top position in the organization. "What's the second message?"
"That ones from me." Sullivan stopped and turned on her, eyes hot, boring into her. "You killed my brother. I'm going to kill your lover and let you live with the grief just long enough to know you caused his death. Then I'm going to tear you apart with my bare hands."
Sara clenched her jaw and shoved him backward. Finger heavy on the trigger, she imagined killing him right then and there. A part of her screamed at her to do it, to splatter his blood on the wall, to commit homicide in the lobby of ICAO building.
Her cell phone rang.
She stared at Sullivan, not answering the phone, her arm still linked in his, the gun aimed at his heart. The phone rang again and the security officer turned in their direction.
Pressing the muzzle of the gun through her coat and into his side so he could feel it, she freed her arm from his, fished out her phone, and flipped it open. "Stark here."
"Sara, its Paula again, I'm sorry to bother you, but I've found these lovely little vases and I'm sending over a picture on your phone right now. Let me know what you think of them. I have to get them today, while they're still here."
Sara hung up the phone without responding. At Sullivan's raised brow, said, "That was Mary. She said you're to give me the detonator and go home."
He sniffed. "I'm no fool."
Sara ignored him. "Tell me, what are we going to do? I obviously won't let you leave, you won't give me the detonator, and we've got an audience. So, one of us is going to have to give in, and I promise, it won't be me."
"Where is she?" Drake hurried to cross the street, barely missing an oncoming Taurus. The van, three traffic lanes away, seemed forever far. When Carlos responded on Sara's headset and told him she went to stall Sullivan, Drake's blood heated to such a boil he barely felt the subzero temps. The damn bomb was one thing, but Sara engaging the enemy on her own went directly against their agreement.
Carlos gave him an update, "She's nearing the atrium, but they're moving out of camera range."
Drake got into the driver's seat and slammed the door. "What was she thinking?"
"That Sullivan could detonate the bomb as soon as he was clear of the building." Carlos watched the monitors and typed on his keyboard. "I'll see if I can get the atrium cameras, but we didn't hook them up."
"Never mind the cameras for now." Drake slid the briefcase into the back. "Can you dismantle this thing? Or at least disable the remote detonator?"
"I'll take a look. But you should get us out of here. Stark said she would meet us at the marina. We have to get that thing away from all these people."
"I'm not leaving without her." Drake nonetheless turned the ignition, watching the front doors of the ICAO building. C'mon, c'mon, Stark, get out of there. He should go back in, go after her. "What's it look like? Can you defuse it now?"
No answer from the back and Drake looked over his shoulder to assess the techie's expression. Carlos scowled, face damp and pale against the black of his parka. "It doesn't look good, boss. There's a trip sensor and backups on top of backups. If I alter the configurations or the frequency, it'll explode."
"Then we have to get it out of here." Drake cursed, opened his cell phone, and stabbed the buttons.
Of all the stupid, most logical, and brave things for her to do. Didn't she learn anything at all at Christmas?
Her near death was enough to convince him he wanted her doing nothing more than knitting sweaters and joining the Houston Bonsai Society back home. Yet here she was, on her own, with Sullivan, a man whose brother had injected Sara with the wonder drug of the century, a drug that nearly killed her first. The phone kept ringing.
When will she learn?
Sara answered, "Paula, not now. I'll call you back."
The phone went dead and Drake cursed again. He dialed her back. This time when she answered, he said, "It's me, don't hang up."
"Now isn't a good time."
"I'm not leaving without you."
"Do it. Quickly. I'll be fine."
The phone went dead and he smacked the steering wheel.
Carlos said from the back, "I can get this to the marina by myself. You could join her, take her place even, and then both of you could meet me there."
Drake thought for a moment, then put the van in park. "Hurry. Get a boat, steal it, hijack it, I don't care. Doesn't matter what kind, if you have to row it yourself, do so and get this out as far as you think is safe. Drop the case overboard and get back to shore as fast as you can."
Carlos nodded, closed the case, and slid up front as Drake got back out. "I'll call you as soon as I'm clear. She took him into the atrium, they won't be hard to find."
"Thanks, and good luck."
"Just make sure he doesn't blow this thing before you hear from me."
"That's a promise." Drake slammed the door and turned back to the building at a jog. He squinted against an icy gust of wind whipping between the tall buildings. Just once, he wanted a mission to go their way. Whenever the Trifecta was involved, everything went sour. It was almost as if fate, or God, or the universe had smiled on the Trifecta and cursed Knight, Inc. and all their people. What was supposed to have been a simple interception of falsified Intel on a bad security program was turning into a fiasco of fatal proportions.
He pushed into the lobby at a dead run and the security guard turned, his hand on the holster at his hip. Drake waved to him, "Sorry, late for an appointment."
"Slow down, son." The guard relaxed when it became obvious Drake wasn't some hit and run thief.
Drake slowed, but only to a jog, as he hurried toward the atrium. He caught sight of Sara's blonde ponytail and squeezed between a pair of robust women carrying armloads of shopping bags. One shouted in surprise, catching Sara and Sullivan's attention. Sullivan took the distraction to push Sara hard. She went flying back into a family studying a map.
Drake rushed to her, but she got back on her feet before he could extend a hand, and they took off together. Sullivan twisted through a pair of glass doors. They followed, just on his heels. Sara wore a look of both concentration and excited expectation. Drake couldn't imagine the thoughts going through her head. Since the injections, she'd been...unpredictable.
Sullivan ducked in and out of corridors and then went down a flight of stairs, toward the underground city and the Metro that catered to downtown Montreal.
"We can't let him get too far," Sara cried and put extra fire in her pace, forcing Drake to push himself. She'd never been this fast before, but then she spent more time in the gym than he did even now. A worrisome amount of time.
She was right of course. If Sullivan did have the detonator, then as soon as he felt safely out of range from the blast intended to take out Kim's office and likely the whole ICAO building, he would push that button.
As Sara gained on him, Sullivan made the mistake of glancing back. Seeing her so close must have surprised him because he stumbled over his own feet, crashing into a pair of teenage girls heading toward the ICAO entrance. They squealed and shoved at him, forcing him down on one knee. They scurried away as Sara put a foot on Sullivan's heaving back.
"Having fun?" She growled and bent down, grabbing a fistful of his hair. She removed her foot so she could yank him up.
The few scattered walkers in the tunnel stared, mouths agape. Drake moved to block their view of Sara wrestling Sullivan to his feet.
"Sorry, folks, no worries." He put his hands up. "We're undercover security and this man was caught shoplifting. Nothing more to see here, but I ask for your safety that you immediately depart."
An elderly couple whispered to each other, sizing Drake up. They must have concluded he was too clean-cut to be a mugger or anything other than what he claimed because they led the onlookers quickly back toward the stairs and out of sight.
Sara shoved Sullivan up against the brick wall and held her Ruger under his chin. "Give me the detonator now. I won't ask again."
Through a grimace, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, Sullivan said, "I don't have it."
Drake clasped his shoulder, shoving his thumb cruelly under Sullivan's collarbone and though the man didn't cry out, he winced. "Who does?"
"How did you know?" Sullivan asked. "Who told you?"
"Answer the question!" Sara forced the muzzle deeper into Sullivan's throat and he gagged for a moment until she eased up. "Who has the detonator?"
Sullivan eyed the staircase and then shifted his gaze to the opposite end of the tunnel. Sweat ran down his face and Drake saw real fear in the back of his eyes, fear that had little to do with Sara and Drake. Heaving one great breath, Sullivan said, "Kim does. She's already gone. You won't find her in time. We need to leave, before it's too late."
Drake glanced at Sara and read nothing but intensity in her gaze. To Sullivan, he said, "We have plenty of time. We've taken the bomb to a secure location."
He swallowed. "Which one?"
© Jennifer Turner, 2008
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