Athena Force 12: Checkmate (19 page)

He’d meant it to be a surprise, knowing he’d be home long before she expected. He’d meant it to delight her.

Instead it was one of the biggest mistakes he’d ever made. He’d sent her running in confusion. He’d sent her
here.

Cole closed his eyes against the consternation of the images his mind so freely provided him—the look on Selena’s face upon spotting him. The way she would have held back any true emotion until she reached their apartment. How deeply he must have hurt her in the wake of their recommitment, their efforts to start a family. And if some small, wistful voice within wished that she could have trusted him just a little bit more, he had but himself to blame. He’d set her up for that mistrust by failing to let her know he was in D.C. in the first place.

And now here she was. Trapped in a building full of bombs and terrorists and a group of hostages she would never abandon. She was too committed to her work, to the soul of it—and she didn’t tackle her work from a distance. She absorbed the land to which she was assigned; she respected the people.

Deep beneath that cool and organized exterior, she hid more heart than most people ever wished they had. The very reason he’d been able to hurt her so deeply with one apparently simple decision. Deeply enough to send her…

Here.

Where she’d somehow forgiven him, not even understanding the hidden circumstances. Or where she’d somehow found the strength to trust him in spite of himself.

And then he realized the most important thing of all:
he couldn’t call her back.

The capitol building’s second-floor quarters showed more signs of occupation. Some of these people, Selena realized, had to have made it out of the building. She couldn’t search the private area on the other end of the embassy’s first floor, but she’d seen no signs of other dignitaries in the function room holding the hostages. Out to a late lunch, perhaps—such business meetings were common enough in Suwan. She could only hope they weren’t all dead, killed in the chaos when the building fell to the Kemenis.

Don’t say that.
Fell to the Kemenis
is not something to say inside this building right now.

Not when she was waiting for it to fall for real.

She swept open the curtains of a particularly well-appointed and lived-in suite, darkly aware that if Ashurbeyli watched enough television he’d realize what she’d done and send someone around to reverse it; she could only hope he wouldn’t make such a target of any of his men.

And then the toilet flushed.

She froze—but only for an instant. In the next moment she’d plastered herself up against the wall between the bedroom and living room, mind racing and body still.

Not to mention the Luger wannabe out and ready.

She didn’t wait to register identity as the man strolled by; she jammed the gun in his back and made a warning noise between her teeth, a short sharp sound. He reacted before she could say anything else, pivoting around to smack the gun away with a hammy hand.
Jonas White.
And he would have had the gun, too, if she hadn’t been left-handed—and if she hadn’t been expecting the move. She could have shot him—
should have,
said a grim little voice in her head—but she evaded the blow and pushed her back to the wall, lending strength to the kick she landed. Her foot sunk into his gut and he doubled over, giving her a perfect view of his comb-over.

He staggered backward and somehow maintained his balance—impressive, from a man in his sixties. Selena didn’t follow through. She kept the pistol on him and, as he seemed to be gathering himself for another assault, said flatly, “I just got another clip for this baby. I can easily spare a bullet or two for you.”

It stopped him cold.

That, too, impressed her. He’d never lost his presence of mind. He’d never come near to losing his temper. He merely straightened, smoothing the front of his tan cashmere sweater where her foot had smudged and wrinkled it. If he rubbed his aching belly on the way, it wasn’t noticeable. “I thought Ashurbeyli had you well under control.”

She shrugged. “He thought he did, too. You really should spend more time with your new allies—then you’d already know you were both wrong.”

He smiled slightly, a self-assured expression with no humor to it. “I’m actually quite good at managing my friends from afar. But then, you already know that, don’t you?”

Selena smiled back at him. “I know you weren’t any good at all at managing your daughter from afar.”

She’d gotten him with that one; his small eyes narrowed. But he nodded at her, acknowledging the score she’d made. “Eventually not,” he said. “I should have known any daughter of an Athena bitch would betray me one day.”

She laughed, short and sharp. “I do believe she was just returning the favor.”

“And here you are. One might even think you Athena girls have an obsession with me.”

“You’ve had a high profile lately,” Selena told him.

“At least, for those of us who know where to look.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “That would be under the slimiest pile of compost in the heap, in case you didn’t see that coming.”

His face twisted, sour. “Thought I’d leave you the pleasure of saying it.”

“I appreciate that.” She gestured at the nearest chair, to the side and behind him—an armless, arch-backed Victorian thing meant more for show than for sitting on.

“Have a seat. Relax. And give thanks that you just came out of the bathroom, because you’re not going to have access for a while.”

He glanced back, found the chair and carefully backed toward it. He seemed to contemplate the notion of snatching it up to throw at her, but she gave him a bored look and he sat, carefully placing his hands on his stout thighs. “That gun looks familiar.”

She snorted. “It should. I have to admit it, you’re pretty good at finding a use for weapons no one else wants to bother with.”

“The Kemenis are needy, not picky. But don’t confuse me with their suppliers. That was Frank Black of the United States, I believe.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please. Do you
want
me to gag you? I can just go straight to searching this place if you’d prefer. Or better yet, I can prop you up in front of that window with your face plastered against the glass. Someone’s trigger finger is bound to slip once you’re recognized.”

White glared at her, a little more slow to regain his composure this time. Selena gave him the moment, moving into the room to sit on the couch across from him. She crossed her legs and rested the gun on her knee so he was looking right down the barrel. “Here’s the thing,” she said. “I know why you’re here. You’re playing the Kemenis—goading them into this takeover with promises of support, but we both know it’s for your own benefit. First, you’ll have a sanctuary. Second, you’ll be in the perfect position to sink your pointy little claws into their oil fields.”

White snorted. “It’s been a long time since anyone called
any
thing of mine ‘little.’”

“Nonetheless.” She let the word sit there a moment. “What I don’t understand is why the
Kemenis
are here. Why they chose this ill-conceived plan.”

“What does it matter?” He gestured at her, but returned his hand to his thigh as she instantly raised a warning brow. “You’re already looking the worse for wear. You’re not going to make it out of here alive. Why don’t you go spend your remaining moments trying to escape, instead of badgering a poor old man?”

“Because this is so much more fun,” Selena told him. “Now, of course I understand why the Kemenis have made their move. We’ve already established that you goaded them into it.”

He only smiled. This time he looked more pleased with himself, but no more likely to talk about it.

“What I don’t understand is why they’re
here.
Making demands we both know will never be met. Hanging around just waiting for the inevitable rescue attempt in which they all die. Oh, the hostages might die, too, and maybe a SEAL or two. But what does it gain them?”

“Eternal happiness after death?” White suggested.

“Some of them, maybe,” Selena acknowledged. “But not Tafiq Ashurbeyli. There’s more to him than that. I’m surprised you’ve been able to fool him for this long. Maybe that’s why you’re spending so much time in hiding.”

A shrug. “I need my rest. I’m old.”

“So you’ve said. I suspect it’s the one truthful thing you ever say.” She shifted on the couch. At any time someone could come to check on White—maybe even Ashurbeyli. At any time, another hostage could die. Or a rescue attempt might be launched, or better yet, the building could blow up. Not as thoroughly as it might have before she’d spent time in the basement, but there was no such thing as a little bit dead.

If White had the same awareness of impending danger, he didn’t show it. He watched her, his stare unnervingly blunt. He let her lead the conversation, with no evident concern over where it might go.

She said, “I know about the bombs.”

That did surprise him, but only for a moment. He said, “Tafiq really should have killed you when he first had the chance.”

“He tried,” she reminded him dryly. “So here’s what I’m thinking. The Kemenis plan to blow this place, literally and figuratively—I found a couple of the bombs, by the way. So they’re using this siege not as the end goal, but as a means to their true goal. Failing to win over the Berzhaani government at this stage not only won’t come as a disappointment, but it’s pretty much expected. So from here they go on to do something else. Unless, of course, we can stop them right here.” She tipped her head at him. “‘We’ not being you and I, of course. ‘We’ being the good guys.”

“Of course.” He’d finally found something meaningless upon which he could comment.

“So let’s say taking over the capitol is Plan A. Just to give it a nice neat name. And let’s say the bombs and the true goal are Plan B.”

“Just to give it a nice neat name,” he said, but his voice had gone dry as he anticipated her logic.

“And then, because you’ve been playing these kinds of games for a very long time—as you say, you’re old—let’s assume you’ve got a Plan C. That you don’t take the Kemenis’ success for granted, and you’ve got your ass covered.”

“My,” he said. “I
am
clever, aren’t I?”

“The point I’m reaching,” she told him, ever so gently, “is that under the circumstances, it might be in your best interest to discuss Plan B with me, and then to move right along to Plan C.”

He snorted. “And you won’t stop me?”

“I’ll be busy.” She pointed at the floor, indicating the story below them. “Kemenis, hostages…saving the day.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.” He nodded, and fell into silence.

Selena sighed.
At any time…
She eyed the curtain rod; she eyed the tiebacks for the sweep of material framing each window. She eyed Jonas White.

His scowl proved he was, indeed, a clever man. He understood the threat—that she was sizing up her options to tie him at the window, in full, exposed view of anyone out there with a rifle.

And in looking at her face, he understood that she’d do it.

Definitely teetering on the line, Selena.

But she’d do it. And they both knew it.

“It’s different,” she said softly, “when you manage things from up close and personal.”

S
elena left Jonas White cursing, tied to the chair and spewing venom about her betrayal. “Don’t tell me,” she’d asked, sticking a note to the wall behind his chair, “that you didn’t expect it.”
Had a nice chat with your friend. Love, Selena.

From between his teeth he’d said, “There was a certain implication that I would be free to carry out Plan C.”

She shrugged. “You’re not dead yet. And you’re not strung up at the window for target practice. Don’t even try to tell me you don’t still intend to escape to your Plan C.”

She didn’t know what Plan C was; she didn’t really care. She’d been glad enough for the curtain ties, and she’d found his belt useful, as well. As much as he planned to escape, she planned to send someone up here to fetch him when all was said and done. And meanwhile, she didn’t have time to waste.

Because now she understood. She understood Ashurbeyli’s apparent lack of concern over the passage of time with no response from Berzhaan; she understood why he was perfectly willing to wait, hauling a hostage out now and then to make his points.

And where he’d been spending all his time.

He had a computer expert. In fact, he had more than one. Men she’d never even seen, because they’d immediately gone to work on the far side of the first floor, extracting secrets and data and personal information and removing hard drives wholesale. And other men who’d rifled through offices hunting hard copy—intel on everything from discreet love affairs to babysitter contact info to secrets of state.

And now they were only cleaning up the loose ends, digging as deeply as they could while they waited for an excuse to execute Plan B. Havoc, inside and out, to cover their escape. They’d go underground, but not for long—and when they emerged, it would be with carefully targeted strikes on the very people who now refused to respond to their requests.

White himself had helped concoct the scheme…but once forced to participate in order to prove his good intentions, had also quickly made other arrangements.

Selena had to give Ashurbeyli points all around. He hadn’t fully trusted White; he’d wanted him just as committed as the Kemenis. And he hadn’t relied on a simple one-layer strategy. He’d presented himself as an angry man leading angry terrorists attempting little more than a blunt, violent coup. And supposing it had worked, she suspected he would have taken it gladly. But he’d thought beyond that. He’d found a way to win if Berzhaan startled the world with capitulation, and he’d found a way to win if they came in after the hostages. She had no doubt that if both the U.S. and Berzhaan sat on their hands, showing the slightest inclination to let the situation turn into a replay of four hundred and forty-four days in Iran, Ashurbeyli would simply choose his own time to trigger the bombs, his diversions and his escape.

He hadn’t counted on Selena, of course.

Neither had White, who ceased cursing at her only because she gagged him. She couldn’t risk his interference, not now that she was certain of Ashurbeyli’s plans.

What she had to do was take control away from Ashurbeyli. Instigate her own distraction, round up the hostages and herd them toward the nearest safe exit. Let Ashurbeyli play catch-up—and meanwhile, she’d be going after the electronics. Or aiming the nearest SEAL—whom she could only hope wouldn’t fail to take advantage of the moment—toward the ballroom, even while warning them about the impending diversion tactics on the outside.

She forced herself to stop as she reached the first-floor stair landing, and the exit door that waited there, her hands already on pen and sticky notes.
Breathe, Selena. You can’t do it all. Prioritize. Hostages.
Even if she managed nothing else, the hostages would be safe. The Kemenis could be dealt with in a cleanup operation, their plans exposed and their people on the run.

Always the optimist.

Not really.
In reality, she had a very good idea of her chances…or lack thereof. She just had no intention of letting that stop her.

She headed for the fourth exit, her sticky note ready and the Luger in hand.

Do you really think those bombs will go off?

After an amazingly swift transformation, Cole left Seth’s chosen meeting spot—an ugly little room behind a whorehouse—and headed for the capitol as a Berzhaani—his skin tinted, his bright hair covered by a modest green turban over a
kalansuwa
cap, dark contacts concealing his blue eyes. Most important were his layers—the bottom layer a black, tight T-shirt with U.S.A. in white lettering on front and back. A T-shirt of last resort, should he be caught up in a firefight. The second layer—Kemeni khaki and olive-green. They’d know he wasn’t one of them if they got a good look, but it would be up to him to remain no more than a glimpse of movement.

On top of that, a taupe
dishdasha
tunic brushing the tops of his feet. Black leather
kuffs,
feeling more like slippers than shoes and not really meant for this weather—but Seth hadn’t had a lot of time to prepare. Over it all, a distinguished camel hair overcoat—all in all a little old-fashioned for a city as modern as Suwan, but nothing to attract attention. Especially not when anyone on the street had to duck against the sudden spurts of windy rain.

And then there was the mustache, tickling beneath his mildly altered nose—from straight to slightly hawkish, building on the already thin bridge to allude to classic Berzhaani features. He wasn’t even sure Selena would recognize him if she saw him, although the disguise was meant not to hide his personal identity so much as his origins.

He also came equipped with press credentials for a tiny Berzhaani newsrag that existed solely as a front for CIA activities, and with his very own personal assistant and diversion master—someone Seth had recruited in the time it took Cole to reach the meet. Cole knew the field agent only by his station name of Hank P. STUNTLY, but he only had to meet the young man to recognize that gleam in his eye. No question why Hank would opt in on this unofficial action, in spite of the danger and the risk of reprimand. He was hunting for a way to get close to the action.

Just outside the press and military zone—a cordoned-off block in each direction—Cole stopped to pull out his phone. A Berzhaani man standing on the corner of chaos, checking in with someone in his life. Not an unusual sight—although the current unrest extended far beyond the capital, and only the most jaded ventured out on the streets this day. Seth had offered a quick summary as he performed Cole’s transformation, concise words detailing Kemeni outbreaks all over Berzhaan, starting with the one by the Temple of Ashaga that had kicked off the day’s activities and drawn away Suwan’s most experienced antiterrorist unit.

Cole heard the details, and he heard the big picture as well—the Kemenis had committed everything to this takeover. They’d drawn on rough, marginal manpower, throwing them out as unwitting sacrifices to trained troops. They’d left Berzhaan’s people harried and wounded and dead, risking alienation at this time when they’d need popular support after the planned takeover. Ashurbeyli, going public for the first time, proved himself no fool; already he’d lauded the innocents as martyrs and heroes for the cause, arrogantly postulating that they would have chosen their paths had they known what security and independence it would bring Berzhaan.

It was a well-planned operation…much better planned than the capitol takeover itself. He would have assumed Ashurbeyli to be a tactical fool, except…

Except for those bombs on the roof.

They spoke of something else going on under the surface, simply because Ashurbeyli hadn’t used them as a threat. Hadn’t said, “Don’t even think of a rescue attempt, because we’re ready for you.” No, he’d kept them tucked away in the shadows of the roof corners. He had plans for them…but just what, Cole hadn’t yet guessed.

He’d just be ready for it, whatever it was.

He dialed the number for Josie’s phone, one he’d memorized shortly after arrival. When she answered, he said, “Thought I’d let you know I’m here. See if you two had any news.”

“You’re there?” she said. “We don’t see you.”

He refrained from glancing upward. “I don’t see you, either, but I know you’re there.”

She laughed, though it didn’t last long. “We’ll leave it at that, then. Any news?”

“Not yet. By the time I have any, I don’t think I’ll be reaching for the phone.” Beside him, Hank grinned, quite easily inferring Cole’s meaning. “Thought I’d check on your end.”

“Good move. You should know that we’ve spotted some interesting activity in your neighborhood. We haven’t confirmed its nature…but we’re okay to play along if necessary.”

Meaning they’d gotten authorization to bring the Predator’s Hellfire missiles into play. Good news…and bad. Things were escalating, and Cole didn’t have any kind of handle on the situation inside.

Not yet. But he would. Because Selena had given him her trust, more trust than he even deserved.

He intended to prove that she hadn’t made the wrong decision.

Selena followed her “safe” route back to the kitchen area—up a story and over, avoiding the activity on the first floor. She kept the fake Luger out and ready, having paused long enough to combine her available rounds into one magazine and make sure there was one in the chamber.

But she met no one. And while she couldn’t complain…

She could wonder.

If they were drawing in on themselves, it wasn’t good. It could only mean they didn’t care if their domain was invaded—that perhaps they even waited for it.

She needed to shake them up a little.

She eased out into the hallway, down to the intersection where the long hall ran behind the function rooms, and she watched. Waited. Saw no one.

No, that can’t be good.

She wrote them a short note—in Berzhaani, as they’d all been—and snaked her hand around the corner to press it to the wall.
Selena was here.

And then, on this side of the corner,
Are you sure you’re going to go Boom?

If anyone saw the notes, she hoped they’d sow doubt and delay and a little bit of chaos. And if no one saw them…

Well, she’d be out a pad of sticky notes.

Cole closed in on the capitol, flashing his credentials at several soldiers along the way. One of them made enough fuss that he thought he’d have to get creative, but Hank—who spoke Berzhaani fluently as opposed to Cole’s firm grasp of related but distinctly different Russian—made what turned out to be a big fuss of getting the man’s name and rank and a few personal tidbits. All for the purpose of giving him a few shining lines in the article they’d be writing, naturally. Eventually the man let them through to the press area, uttering dire warnings about the dangers of getting too close.

Well, who knew. Maybe Cole
would
end up writing an article. The CIA-run paper served many different purposes, but in order to justify its existence it also had to report the news. And like Cole, many reporters had already crossed this line past which the general public wasn’t allowed, angling for shots of the remaining blood on the rain-washed steps, hunting dramatic camera angles in front of the besieged but still imposing building.

Tory Patton was one of them, of course. As Cole approached, she unclipped her collar mike and handed it to a young woman; they put their heads together for a moment until Tory nodded, satisfied. Even in this weather she looked elegant; the chill brought a natural flush to her cheeks, and under a fedoralike rain hat, her bobbed hair was just tousled enough to remind viewers she was out in the field. Beneath her lined raincoat, her flak jacket was barely evident.

Her gaze landed on him as he approached, remaining professional but not quite welcoming. Cole affected his best Berzhaani accent, polished by recent coaching. “Miss Patton,” he said. “I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to offer my admiration of your work.”

“Thank you,” she said, genuinely enough—but her gaze took in his somewhat conservative attire and reflected a hint of surprise. Behind her, another news crew moved into place, and she gestured that they should take the conversation aside.

“You expected me to say something else,” he guessed, moving with her. Hank hovered behind him, making it clear he wouldn’t be joining the conversation.

She gave the smallest of shrugs. “It shouldn’t surprise you to hear how often I’m told my career and behavior is inappropriate. Often not in so many words, but any journalist knows how to say things between the lines, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely.” His fervency startled her, as he’d meant it to. “Even though I must admit my own work is hardly worth note.” He flashed her his press pass, displaying the name of the paper. If she was as tuned in as he thought she was, it would mean something to her.

Her eyes narrowed. “Some people prefer to remain behind the scenes.”

“Exactly so. Sometimes one hears more that way.” He eased closer, as if they could have privacy in this bustling place—a street lined with armored personnel carriers and equipment trucks, heavily patrolled by both soldiers and cameras. The pavement in either direction held not only vehicles, but field tents. Not so obviously, somewhere in or on the buildings behind him—three-and four-story structures as old and older than the capitol—he knew the SEALs were lurking. Watching. Ready.

She let him close the distance between them, but something in her posture made it very clear that she was making a deliberate choice, and that she was quite ready to change her mind at any time. He lowered his voice and dropped the accent. “I hear, for instance, that our eyes in the sky have spotted some potential activity moving in.”

Someone else might have gasped at the sudden change in his demeanor; Tory took only the smallest of surprised breaths. “What are you doing here?”

“Did you really think I’d wait out there in that nice safe hangar, watching a video monitor?”

“I
hoped,
” she said. “Do you really think Selena needs something else to worry about?”