All In (3 page)

After settling in, Jackson led them to the conference table and handed each person a packet emblazoned with an insignia. He had been working on an image for the Bod Squad—he had settled on superhero-like facsimiles of all the members standing behind a large shield with the letters BS on it. Underneath the image were the words “Bod Squad. Because You Need Fierce Protection.” Everyone chuckled when they saw it except the Boss, who simply said, “Nice work, Jackson. Now it looks like we’re selling deodorant.”

The packet was comprehensive. It held photos of Susannah’s father and all of his last known locations and associates. Included were maps and surveillance shots of the meetings he’d had all over the world, and a breakdown of all his disguises, aliases, and favorite haunts.

Jackson cleared his throat. “So you can see there’s a lot of information. Mahmoud will meet us on the ground in Tangier and take us back to his villa, which will serve as HQ. He’ll run point on this. I’ll take over at times. Don’t worry,” he said, cutting a quick look to the Boss, “he knows who’s really in charge.”

“At least someone does,” the Boss scoffed, shifting in his chair.

“Oh we all know you’re in charge,” Jackson said mildly. “We just don’t listen to you.”

“Okay, boys,” Susannah cut them off at the pass, gulping down the remains of her Dewar’s and soda. “You’re both pretty. Jackie, can you give us more information? What’s really going on here?”

Jackson turned to Susannah, his dark hazel eyes sympathetic. He took a quick look at Lisa Bee for inspiration, and she winked and gave that sexy little quirk with the corner of her lips. No doubt she was playing her Madonna albums on a running loop. Madonna was her idol, her motivator, her personal sound track, her comfort. He knew this because he had made it his mission to learn everything about her. And everything Madonna had ever sung, to boot.

In truth, he was having a hard time keeping it together whenever she was near. What started as a fun rapport between colleagues had turned into a deep friendship, and Jackson had been wishing for a long time that it could be more. But there was no way that was possible. Was there? She saw him as a player, he knew that, and pretending that sex was all he was about was his go-to cover for his real feelings. It was also his cover for the dual work he was doing stateside and in Morocco. The two names he had were more than a difference of ID cards: He had two sides to his personality that he exploited in the different places he worked. In Morocco he was in control, in command, a sharp and calculating agent. Here in the States he played at being a cool jokey hipster who always had a different chick on his arm. Both were parts of him, sure, but an aspect of his jocular nature in the States was a cover: Seen as a chill hipster, he was able to go under the radar, to blend in with a whole other group of people to get leads and information. Only Mahmoud knew that his stateside persona concealed a massive strength.

He’d been content to play charming but inconsequential because it gave him access; he’d never thought it would be a problem to be considered good with the ladies. And wit was always an asset. But he often wondered if he’d ever be involved in anything real. Just his luck, he’d finally found the lady of his dreams, and she thought he was interested in nothing more than a casual fling. But there was nothing casual about his feelings for her,
oh, no
. For her it would be all of him or nothing. She was a romantic, and she was looking for a knight in shining armor. And he wanted to be the man she dreamed of.

How could he prove himself?
It was all he thought about. This was new for him; he’d never had a relationship with someone who was a friend first. Because he’d never let anyone see the real man inside. Lisa Bee had seen a lot of his true self, and that was a big deal to him. In fact, that was the most important part: She was one of the best friends he’d ever had, and he wouldn’t compromise that for anything. He glanced in her direction once again. She gave him a bigger smile and nodded, willing him to go on.

He took a deep breath. “Okay, Legs. Here’s how it went down. When all that stuff happened with you and Chas and him blowing your cover I was so mad I couldn’t see straight. Sorry, buddy,” he said to Chas, “but I came up with several different things I could do with your balls after I chopped them off.”

Chas paused, then straightened. “Thank you, Jackson. Coming from you, I’m flattered.”

“Anyway,” Jackson said, “I finally realized that Chas had nothing to do with it, and what I really needed to do was take out Pierre, since he was the only one who had all the intel. By that time, we were already on our way back here, and time was of the essence. So I called Mahmoud to take care of it.”

“So that’s what you meant when you said ‘It’s taken care of,’ ” Lisa Bee mumbled. “I’d been wondering about that.”

Jackson nodded, then went on, “After Mahmoud did what he does best, he didn’t stop there, because he’s a rock star. He had some spy chick he’s boning do a little more recon on who Pierre’s cronies are.”

“Boning?” the Boss scoffed. “Haven’t heard that term since 1991.”

“Why, Bossman?” Jackson asked. “Was that the last time you were in a situation where you used it?”

“Very funny—”

Susannah cut them off again with a glare. “Stop it. Pick it up, Jackie, before I ask my fiancé to make you.”

“
Woo-hoo,
Legs,” Jackson sang, “how I love it when you make men do your dirty work. Almost makes you seem like a lady. Almost. Whoa, Chas buddy, calm down! Joking. Anyway, this chick takes a bunch of pictures and gives them to Mahmoud the next time they spend a sexy night, along with all the background of all the characters involved. And there’s this one pic of Susannah’s father in disguise, checking out Pierre’s building. The chick says she took the picture because he was there every day like clockwork. So Mahmoud begins investigating him and puts his image into one of those fancy face-recognition programs—pretty rad, right? And it comes up with the name Buzz Carter and the designation ‘deceased: car crash.’ Mahmoud knew who he was because he knows everything, and I mean
everything
, and he knows it all because I’ve told him. Sorry, Boss, but he’s the reason why I’m so good at shit. He’s my ghost undercover. Still, it took the last six months for us to confirm it, and we’ve just barely scratched the surface. So . . . we all clear?”

There was a moment of silence, then Lisa Bee shyly raised her hand.

“Yes, Bee?” Jackson asked.

“Um, well,” she said, gnawing her lower lip. “I’m kinda embarrassed about this, but um . . . where are we going? I know we’re going to Morocco, but then you said Mahmoud lives in Tangier, and I don’t really know where any of these places are.”

Jackson let out a breath and said, “Of course. I’m so sorry. There are a bunch of maps in the packet—go to the second section and you’ll see where we’re going. It’s northern Africa. And Tangier, where Mahmoud and I grew up, is on the northernmost tip of North Africa, just across the Strait of Gibraltar from Spain. Sorry, I shoulda said that first.”

“Oh, no problem, Jackie!” Lisa Bee said with a smile. “I just felt like a stupid American, is all.”

Jackson was about to respond with a statement about how she wasn’t being stupid at all—it was really his fault for not explaining well—when suddenly, Tyka’s voice came over the intercom. “Hey, Bod Squad! We’ve got a bit of rough weather ahead. Also, I’m taking over the controls. Prepare for a little fun in these friendly skies. And buckle up!”

The plane started negotiating some fierce turbulence, and everyone held on tight. Folders and papers flew everywhere as they all tried hurriedly to strap everything down. AJ shouted, “If I had known we were in for a rough ride, I wouldn’t have done my hair!” Lisa Bee looked like she was about to throw up. Only Graham Cracker had a smile on her face as she strapped herself to the nearest seat and shouted, “Woo-hoo! This ain’t my first rodeo, cowgirl!”

‡‡‡

BY THE TIME
they got to Tangier everyone except Chas and Graham Cracker had used the barf bags. Jackson and the Boss looked ashamed, and the ladies looked pissed off. Tyka had been in and out of the pilot’s cabin all night, but even with her skill set, she couldn’t keep the plane steady. When she emerged from the cockpit, looking unruffled and picture-perfect, she smiled and said, “I’ve been a member of the Mile High Club
for years, but never while I was actually flying the plane.” Taking in everyone’s expression she countered, “It was a joke. Surely you still have your senses of humor. And thanks for the vote of confidence.” She sauntered off but not before AJ, looking a bit worse for wear, mumbled, “If she wasn’t such a good assassin, I’d take her out right now.”

Tyka heard her and casually threw back “I dare you to try.”

‡‡‡

AS SHE LEFT
the plane, Tyka was greeted with dry, warm air and a burning sun. Thankfully, two air-conditioned limos awaited, as well as a dashing man in a three-piece suit whom she inferred was Mahmoud when Jackson approached him with a handshake that turned into a brotherly hug. Mahmoud held himself with the civility of a European businessman but had the poise and body of a trained assassin. Without question, he was an exceptional example of manhood. As she got closer, however, Tyka avoided his handshake and his eyes. He bothered her. Something about him spoke of wealth, the kind of wealth she abhorred. She had grown up with nothing and had always perceived wealth as something artificial that people were given, which made them seem powerful without true merit. The look in his eyes took her right back to Eastern Europe, to a ghetto, to a whole life she’d rather forget. She sniffed and blatantly ignored his hand, pretending to check her text messages.

‡‡‡

MAHMOUD THOUGHT TYKA
was playing hard to get and smiled to himself. He was intrigued, and he hadn’t been intrigued in a very long time. Women were usually eager to be around him; he found it exciting to have a challenge. He held open the limo door for Tyka, and as she went to get in, he undressed her with his eyes. He thought it was perhaps not a mistake that she nearly put the heel of her stiletto through his fancy Italian leather shoe. He also thought he heard AJ Jones, the only other occupant of the limo, say, “What am I, meat loaf?,” but he couldn’t be sure.

Mahmoud got in the second limo with the Boss, Susannah, Chas, Jackson, and Lisa Bee, offering them a drink from a fully stocked bar attached to the leather behind the front seat. Jackson was the first to speak. “No thanks, friend. The Ukrainian broad was flying the plane, and it was like we were going through a war zone. Rough turbulence, and I think she’s more used to Black Hawks than commercial airliners. We all need ginger ale.”

Mahmoud laughed heartily and caught Lisa Bee staring at him admiringly. He caught her eyes, and she blushed. It was clearly not lost on Jackson, who, Mahmoud noted, turned red with anger for the first time Mahmoud could remember.
This is getting interesting, indeed.
Sensitive to the tension of the moment, Mahmoud cleared his throat, handed out some ginger ales poured into lacquered Moroccan glassware, and trained his eyes on Susannah and Chas. “I trust Jackson brought you up to speed?” he asked in his deep bass voice, tinged with a slight unplaceable accent. His world travels had smoothed out his natural accent to an elegant and sophisticated cadence.

“Yes,” Susannah jumped in, “and I want to say thank you, from me as well as my mom. We realize that you are the center of all this, the man who uncovered it. I don’t know how we will ever repay you.”

Chas held her hand and echoed her sentiments. “Seriously, Mahmoud. We’re very grateful. Just tell us what you need us to do to find Buzz and keep him safe.”

“I was only doing my job,” Mahmoud said respectfully, then added, “but now is where the real work begins. We have to hunt him down. And he’s an expert tracker and undercover agent. He has convinced the world of his death for sixteen years. So in some way, it’s like we’re on the hunt for the Invisible Man. We discovered him by great chance: a combination of Jackson’s knowledge and my curiosity. And John”—using the Boss’s first name—“I know you are the leader here. I’m just the one with the intel.”

“Thank you,” Bossman said, “that’s very kind. I think Jackson might disagree, but then I do hold the purse strings.”

Mahmoud laughed. “Yes, my old friend can be headstrong. He tells me of this ‘Bod Squad’ you have formed. Perhaps I might be an honorary member?”

Lisa Bee jumped in with a chuckle. “That slammin’ bod won’t hurt!” and again Mahmoud noticed a peculiar reddening of Jackson’s face. Hmm.
Curiouser and curiouser.
Jackson didn’t have to worry. Mahmoud’s eyes were on the lanky blonde in limo number one. But it was interesting. Mahmoud seldom had a chance to see his old friend thrown off guard. He filed that information away for a later conversation.

“So,” he said to the Boss, “Jackson told you the basics?”

“Yes,” the Boss replied with a smirk. “He also gave us these
really beautiful
packets with a ton of information.” He brought his out and handed it to Mahmoud.

“Ah, yes.” Mahmoud smiled. “When I saw this logo, I told him it reminded me of a deodorant ad.”

3

WHEN THE BOD SQUAD
got to Mahmoud’s villa in the beautiful California district of Tangier, they were all beyond delighted. It was more like a compound than a bachelor pad, and it had enough space for all of them to spread out into separate wings. The villa had whitewashed walls inlaid with exquisite tile work; it boasted gorgeous art hung upon every surface, and all the windows and doorways were arched. There was a central living room, a parlor, a conservatory, a library with books in several different languages, four working fireplaces, and several patios overlooking the enormous pool and the Mediterranean.

Lisa Bee looked around her, wide eyed with awe and wonder. What a life she was turning out to have! She’d never really traveled outside the US before working with FTP, and now it felt like it was getting more exotic by the minute. She looked out at the Mediterranean, and at once had a strange feeling of homesickness; she missed the Mississippi, missed her family, missed her brothers. Then Jackson put a hand on her shoulder and smiled at her. “This is where I grew up, Bee. Pretty rad, eh?”

“God, Jackie, I had no idea. It’s so fucking beautiful here.”

“Just wait till I show you some of my childhood haunts. Amazing place, this is. A part of my blood.”

“I feel that way about the River,” she said with a nostalgic smile. “I miss it.”

“Well then,” he said with a grin, “I say we kick some ass. We take care of Legs and her dad. Find the bad guys. And go home. And then you can eat all the crawfish and oysters you can handle. Or at least that’s what I imagine you’d do.”

She laughed. “One of these days you’re gonna have to come see for yourself.”

He turned to her. “How ’bout I show you my town and then you show me yours? Deal?”

She put her hand on his and squeezed. “Deal.”

‡‡‡

SUSANNAH TOOK A
deep breath and inhaled the sea air, letting her shoulders drop for the first time since her almost-wedding. They had left New York at seven
P.M
.
, and with the time change, it was eleven
A.M.
the following day. They all needed a bit of a rest before putting their heads together. There were five bedrooms—the Boss, Jackson, and Lisa Bee each got a room; Tyka and AJ were in a lavish suite on the ground floor; and Mahmoud took Chas and Susannah up to his room, which was in its own wing.

Leading Chas and Susannah inside the candlelit room, Mahmoud said, “Jackson and I wanted you to have a honeymoon even without the wedding. We’ll reconvene downstairs in three hours for brunch.”

“But Mahmoud,” Chas said with concern, “don’t we need to get cracking on this right away? I mean, that’s why our wedding was interrupted in the first place, right?”

Mahmoud smiled. “Quite right. But without sleep, none of us will be worth anything. I suggest you use the time however you see fit. Three hours. Not a minute more.”

Looking around, Susannah couldn’t contain the smile on her face. This was a master bedroom, indeed! It was stunning, bordered on all sides by windows, with the midmorning light filtering through the filmy curtains and illuminating the lovely room. Set with wood-carved furniture and hanging colored lamps, every surface shimmered with colored candles and rose petals. There was an enormous plate of fruits, meats, and cheeses set out on the dresser, and a beautiful card that said in elegant, perfect calligraphy:

For Susannah and Chas

It may not be official, but we can pretend it is.

Susannah smiled at Chas, tears in her eyes. Then she looked at Mahmoud. “Thank you for this,” she said. “We will pretend in the best way we know how.” She looked back at Chas, their eyes met, and a spark ignited. They knew exactly how to make this official, even on a time crunch, and they were both raring to go. It would be helpful to blow off some steam before they set off on their next mission.

‡‡‡

MAHMOUD SMILED AT
them both and closed the door. Just being around them reminded him of something he desired in his life but could never hope for. To meet his match. His equal. His true love. He thought of the myth of Isis and Osiris, which he had grown up with, and of the idea of being partnered, seeing the world with one united eye. Isis and Osiris had loved each other so much that their love continued after death. He hoped in his heart that he’d have the chance to explore the deepest love imaginable. Until that time, he’d continue to enjoy casual love affairs. After all, you were only young once.

He inhaled deeply and walked down the corridor, lined with his grandmother’s vintage rugs decorated with ancient protection symbols and his grandfather’s collection of jambiya daggers. The
saifani
handles, made of rhinoceros horns, were worth thousands and proved his grandfather’s status more than any actual battle. To his knowledge, his grandfather had used a dagger only once, during a land dispute, and had deftly ended the life of his opponent. Mahmoud had gotten his power, his aggression, and his skill from his grandfather. Though his grandfather had died when he was fifteen, Mahmoud had modeled himself after him for his entire life.

The scent of fresh mint, which he always had on hand for tea, perfumed the air, bringing him back to the present moment. He would let Chas and Susannah join together. He would let the others sleep. And he would continue to work on the plan Jackson had come up with to find and protect Buzz Carter and capture the villain who had slaughtered so many of their people. Mahmoud had been waiting to avenge his family for many years, and finally, the time had come. And the opportunity for revenge was due to Jackson taking care of everything once again. Jackson had always been his best friend and partner in crime (or fighting against it), and he had always taken care of Mahmoud’s family; in the wake of their deaths, he had become like a brother. Now Jackson’s team would take the operation to the next level. Mahmoud had let his small staff go for the week so that the Bod Squad could have privacy for their strategy meetings. With resolve, he went to the kitchen to brew a strong pot of tea and consult with Jackson about the plan of attack.