Athena Force 12: Checkmate (12 page)

But this wasn’t one of his assignments. This was Selena. The heart she carried under her controlled exterior had grabbed him the first time they met, had grabbed him hard. And she’d shown him that heart over and over again…right up until the moment she called him from hiding, quite typically refusing to leave that besieged building. The difficulties of their marriage, the thing that had almost torn them apart…

That same heart. Living apart from one another so frequently had turned them into the very kind of family that Selena feared…a broken family in physical fact, even if not emotionally. When they’d reconciled, it had been with the awareness that they’d have to try harder than ever—and that inevitably, something would have to change. Cole would have to take a Langley-based position or find work elsewhere altogether; Selena might simply travel with him for a few years, or she, too, might stay stateside. They just hadn’t had a chance to come to any conclusions when he’d been called away.

So it had often happened. Things got left unsaid, and then when they rejoined they became too caught up in relearning each other’s every favorite touch to tackle practical things until again, they received the call to arms. These past few years…the fears and chaos of the world had not been kind to schedules that had previously been workable. And now he could only hope they’d have the chance to change that.

“You okay, sir?”

Cole realized he still crouched by the duffel and straightened. “Just thinking,” he said. “Any change in their demands?”

“I didn’t hear the little speech the guy said before—well, you know—but I think it was just the expected stuff—do things our way or more people will die and next time you
really
won’t like it.”

“Time frame?”

Because Selena still hadn’t called. They could still have her.

The guy shook his head. “Haven’t heard they gave one. They didn’t last time, either. Just showed up with a hostage—
bing!
Time’s up!”

Great.

Cole closed his coat, squinting into a renewed gust of misty rain as he caught sight of the dark, boxy sedan headed their way. It couldn’t have looked more out of place on the airstrip, and he very much expected it to be his ride. Enough so that he gave his unofficial escort a nod and stepped out to meet the car. The back door opened as the car stopped; the driver even kindly popped the trunk. Cole tossed his duffel into a space otherwise full of camera accessories and shoved it closed before diving into the refuge of the vehicle.

Even as he closed the door, Tory Patton murmured something to the driver; the car swooped away from the plane and across the tarmac, affording Cole a view of scattered hangars and a small control tower through the rain-streaked windshield. He shifted his attention back to Tory, who had also chosen the back seat—he presumed so they might talk. She looked just as she did on camera—calm, elegant beauty, set off by a natural poise—even with her hair tucked under a Sherpa-style hat with tassels hanging from the ties. “Brr,” she said. “I haven’t been warm since this started.” She looked at him with something akin to surprise. “Only a day. Seems longer, doesn’t it?”

“A lifetime,” he said. “You told me to get here—I got here. Now let’s talk about what you wouldn’t say over the phone.”

One winged eyebrow rose. “Wow. And here I thought you CIA guys were so good at finesse.”

“I can finesse with the best of them—when we’re not talking about Selena. You don’t want to talk in front of your friend?” He jerked a thumb at the driver. “Then stop the car and we’ll get out.”

“Mmm.” She pressed her lips together over the thoughtful noise and then shook her head. “Not a problem, or he wouldn’t be here.” She raised her voice slightly. “Isn’t that right?”

The driver didn’t so much as cast a glance at her; he turned between two hangars as if he knew just where he was going—and it didn’t necessarily seem to be off this airstrip. “I’m sorry, Tory,” he said, his voice full of studied innocence. “Did you say something?”

“So convincing,” she told him, but turned back to Cole with a more serious expression darkening her brown eyes. “Here’s the situation as I know it—and for the sake of argument, let’s just say I’ve got the real scoop.”

He nodded, short and impatient. “Just skip past the part where the CIA has a couple of SEAL teams on standby, desperate for intel. And the part where the Berzhaani don’t want us here and damned sure don’t want those SEALs going in—they’d rather see the hostages go down than find victory in U.S. assistance. Razidae is the only one who showed signs of softening on that stance, and he’s out of commission. So we’ve got relief troops here waiting to swap hats and turn into peacekeepers. Just tell me what I don’t know.”

She pursed her lips slightly, thoughtfully. “That certainly limits the conversation. How about this—in exchange for some of the relief we’ve offered their Kemeni-damaged areas, Berzhaan had given us a little space to work from—and the air force already had a special Predator team in the area. They’ve been keeping an eye on things south of here, a certain much-traveled border where we’re hunting a certain well-traveled terrorist leader.”

Afghanistan. Of course.

“They’ve pulled the Predator back in—they’ve already done one pass over the capitol. We’ve got some of that intel the SEALs need—some close-ups of the roof, with all the hidey-holes and exits. They’re still analyzing what they gathered up, and they’ll be headed back for a second pass. I thought the operators might be just the contacts you need—the wild cards who’ll not only keep Selena’s best interests in mind, but who have the ear of the people on the other end of the intel.”

Whoa.

She waited with patient amusement, watching him process what she’d said. The car eased to a stop, almost unnoticed, slotting in between several others of a similar make beside one of the smaller Quonset buildings.

Of course. The Cassandras. They’d actually come through.

“Josie Lockworth.” He said it, and he shook his head, barely believing it. “You’ve got Josie Lockworth and her modified supersneaky remote-control spy plane here.”

“Well, in point of fact the air force has her here. But what
I
have is ID giving you access to the building—not, mind you, that I think that would stop you, but we might as well do this the easy way—and Josie’s got a keen interest in talking to you. For that matter, in keeping you close by in case you hear from Selena again. Have you?”

He didn’t quite hear her last question, still full of relief at just how very thoroughly Tory Patton had come through for him. For her Athena classmate. He said, “I’m going to owe Selena an apology…I once implied she was exaggerating about the Athena grads.”

Tory smiled. It had a secretive look to it. “Ah, she said you could be a charmer.”

“She—you’ve talked?”
Great deduction, Jones.

Her smile told him all he needed to know. Oh yeah.
Women.
She shrugged, a motion almost lost in her quilted coat. “You didn’t answer my question. Have you heard from Selena?”

The answer sucked any vestige of the light moment from the air. “No. And I should have.”

“Yes,” she agreed quietly. “You should have.”

Cole shook it off. As best he could, which wasn’t entirely convincing even from his own point of view. “She knows how to take care of herself. She lost the landline the last time we talked…there’s no telling what’s up with the cell. She’ll get in touch.” He cleared his tight throat. “When she can.” His throat had clogged right up again; he coughed, and then he held out a hand. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Cole Jones. And I’m very grateful for your help.”

Worry lurked around her eyes, but her expression softened as she took his hand. “Tory Patton,” she said. “And I’m glad you thought to call me. We’ll all do what we can to see that Selena walks out of that building.” She released his hand, tucked a lock of hair back into her hat. “Now. Do you want to go meet another Cassandra?”

Hours passed. Selena prevailed upon her Kemeni guards—a new set, as guard shifts changed over for the third time—to escort her to the ladies’ room, giving her the chance to establish she was on her period. It wasn’t a lie that would hold up, but it took some of the eagerness out of their eyes; as men who considered themselves righteous warriors fighting for a righteous cause, they leaned too hard on their spiritual beliefs to casually break the law against being intimate with a woman in her menses. In fact, they’d probably have to perform ablutions before their next Salat just for touching her.

They fed her more of the excess standard MREs—beef chili macaroni, the one that tasted good even cold. Even for breakfast. They allowed her water. She got glimpses of the hostages in the next room as they now occasionally made escorted trips to the facilities and shared rudimentary meals—was once even able to exchange a meaningful glance with Dante Allori—enough for her to send him a fierce message.
I’m not hurt. I haven’t given up.
Not yet.

Other than that, they tolerated very little movement on Selena’s part. She sat at her table, thinking about anything but the previous day’s illness…trying not to wonder if it would happen again. She eyed the haphazard pile of cell phones along the wall—every one belonged to a hostage, and they’d all been turned off after the constant, plaintive ringing irritated the Kemenis beyond endurance. She sneaked in isometric exercises, she wiggled her toes, she quietly flexed her stiff arm. She would have preferred an ice pack, even in the chill of an obviously faltering furnace.

And every now and then such practical things made way for a burst of adrenaline from nowhere—demanding
action,
demanding
escape,
demanding anything but this
waiting.
It seized her with a strength akin to panic until she resorted to deep breathing, looking anywhere but at the terrorists…because if they knew how close she hovered to giving in, they’d come bash some sense into her. Or they’d simply shoot her outright.

That would be the smart thing to do.

She drew a deep breath, hearing again the shot that had killed Atif. Yeah, shooting her outright would be the smart thing.

But somehow, when Ashurbeyli walked through the door only moments later, she didn’t launch herself at him. Her pulse pounded through her body, but she schooled herself back to the cool demeanor for which she was known, only one leg twitching to give away her impulse. It twitched again as Jonas White followed Ashurbeyli, looking well rested and refreshed enough to hold a press conference. She’d never guess his age at over sixty; his round face held deep grooves from nose to mouth and impressive scowl lines ridged his forehead, but his hair remained dark—just enough gray at the temples to deny a dye job. Unlike everyone else in the room, he’d clearly been getting enough food—and if he was worried about the success of this crazed new venture, it didn’t show in his body language.

Perhaps just a little, right around the eyes.

Ashurbeyli caught her watching White and sent her a grim little smile that meant she hadn’t been forgotten. He exchanged a few more words with his men, low murmurs that Selena dearly wished she could hear. They all seemed satisfied enough. She wasn’t sure why…several hours had passed since Atif’s death and there’d been no indication of change in their situation. The Kemenis were as they’d been, patient and prepared and not, somehow, quite as concerned as the situation demanded.

Then again, maybe he’d been smart enough to expect such delays…even the failure to gain the control over Berzhaan that he sought from this strike. Maybe he knew he’d have to go to the extreme of killing some college kids—or Razidae himself. Hell, for that matter, maybe he’d made contingency plans. There were any number of grand gestures at his disposal, and most of them involved death. If he had a Javelin anti-tank missile or two—even one of the old Dragons—he could take out a big chunk of Berzhaani troops right on the street, not to mention reporters from around the globe. Or maybe he’d just bring this building down around them while he made his escape in the mess—and in the resulting chaos, the Kemenis could strike elsewhere and strike hard. Strike with success.

Maybe he planned to bring this building down around them.

The thought sent chills up her spine, coalescing around every previous doubt she’d had. Those moments wondering what the Kemenis thought to accomplish, Ashurbeyli’s calm lack of reaction when she’d said as much. Her incredulity that he hadn’t figured out the futility of this pathetic coup attempt all on his own.

But he’d known better all along. He had another purpose here, a
true
purpose—and she had to figure out what it was. She glanced over at the careless pile of black devices. Remotes? Ashurbeyli might well have turned this place into a death trap. She had no doubt he’d do it if he believed it would lead to a successful coup. Or that he’d sacrifice every single hostage in the process, perhaps even many of his own men.

She had no doubt Jonas White would urge him on.

Something must have shown on her face. Ashurbeyli lifted his head from his conversation and looked at her with sharp attention. A few more words to his men and he straightened, reaching into his pocket as he moved toward her. So casual. He caught White’s eye along the way and White moved away from his own, less intense conversation—by necessity, as he didn’t seem to speak Berzhaani.

Indeed, Ashurbeyli made his opening comments to her in English. “You seem to be faring well enough,” he said, an oddly innocuous opening. “Not too lonely, I hope. We really must keep a better eye on you than on the others.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Selena said in her polite diplomatic party voice. “And have you and Mr. White been having a nice chat? Did he perhaps explain those Abakans?”

Jonas White cleared his throat with annoyance. “No need for that,” he said, “since I didn’t have anything to do with them.”

Selena nodded wisely. “Sticking to the story, are you? Haven’t you figured out it’s best to come clean now? Because your Kemeni associates are going to be really, really upset at you when they learn that you’ve lied to them—lied to their
faces.
In their own way, they’re much more honorable than you on your best day. And you’ll hardly be able to hide your interest in their oil when the time comes, although I imagine you’ve already got a new henchman lined up to front your activity in that sector.” She frowned slightly, thoughtful. “Then again, none of it matters, since this whole hostage business is going to blow up in your face.”