Compact with the Devil: A Novel (3 page)

“Come in, girls,” she commanded. “Camille’s been telling me about the mission.” Nikki and Jenny exchanged looks. Mrs. M could go either way; there was no telling if she was pissed or not. As they entered the room fully, they noticed for the first time that Camille was leaning against the wall, fuming.

“Mission?!” snapped Camille. “Maybe you should explain the concept of a mission to Nikki and her boyfriend. We’re working our tails off and she’s chatting on the phone like she’s getting her nails done. She completely blew it.”

“The maid answered my phone,” protested Nikki.

“You could have hung up!” Camille pushed herself away from the wall and began to pace. “Why she’s a team coordinator I’ll never know—the girl’s incompetent!”

“Really, Camille,” said Mrs. M, “your temper hasn’t improved any with age. You’re still as quick to judge as ever.” Jane gave a small cough and handed Mrs. M another sheet of paper. Mrs. Merrivel examined it briefly. “According to the initial reports you violated the mission parameters, which resulted in a time-consuming and dangerous firefight. Perhaps you should have followed Nikki’s plan, hmm?”

Camille turned a brilliant shade of red, but Mrs. M continued ignoring Camille’s impending explosion.

“It also states that Nikki fulfilled all her mission parameters while breaking up with her boyfriend. Not ideal, perhaps”—she gave Nikki a piercing stare, and Nikki squirmed—“but hardly the fault of the team coordinator. Now, won’t you all please sit down?”

Camille continued to glare, but Mrs. M held the woman’s angry gaze calmly. Camille didn’t move, but Nikki knew Mrs. Merrivel well enough to know who would win the staring contest. Ignoring the battle as if it were already over, she went to a seat at the table.

“I had to make a judgment in the field!” said Camille defiantly.

“I’m sure you did. These things happen. Please sit down; we need to discuss a matter that will concern you particularly.”

Camille sat down gracelessly, arms folded across her chest in a pout. Nikki eyed the fiftyish British woman in dislike.

Ellen entered a moment later, talking quietly to Rosalia, Camille’s second-in-command. Rosalia was a competent woman who, in Nikki’s estimation, was picking up a lot of Camille’s slack. Mrs. M gestured for them to sit down.

“We have decided to suspend this mission,” said Mrs. M, and Nikki sat upright in surprise.

“But we don’t have a location on Nina Alvarez,” said Nikki. “She could be in trouble. We can’t just leave her.”

“Shortly after your team entered the compound we received information that indicates that Mrs. Alvarez may be in CIA custody,” said Rosalia. “Unfortunately, we weren’t able to confirm this until after your team had committed.”

Nikki looked to Jane, who nodded miserably. Nikki avoided looking at Jenny and Ellen. They would discuss this later.

“Why would the CIA be involved?” asked one of the girls.

“Why don’t we ask Nikki’s boyfriend?” Camille said, sniping at Nikki.

“They’re working with the DEA agents, who we know have been keeping tabs on Alvarez,” said Rosalia. “Apparently his foray into funding revolutionaries has been enough to raise his threat level.”

“Well, that complicates matters,” said Nikki, “but I don’t trust the CIA.” Mrs. M shot her a keen look that Nikki couldn’t interpret. “They’re not going to be interested in protecting Nina. They’re only interested in her husband. We shouldn’t abandon the mission.”

“I concur,” said Mrs. Merrivel, “which is why the mission is merely being suspended. We will use long-range surveillance to monitor the situation without engaging. We won’t abandon Mrs. Alvarez.”

Nikki frowned. It was a compromise and she didn’t like it. She’d promised Nina that Carrie Mae would look after her. She didn’t like breaking her promise.

“The other reason we’ve pulled the team in is that we have received news that just over thirty-six hours ago the Spanish prison of Puerto 1 experienced a prison break.”

Camille’s arms dropped to the arms of her chair, where her fingers curled over the sides in a white-knuckled grip.

“This has been reported by various sources, and we have independent confirmation from an agent on the ground. I also expect that the European news community will be reporting it shortly.”

Camille made an abortive gesture, as if she wished to hurry Mrs. Merrivel along but reconsidered the wisdom of that maneuver.

“The files in front of you contain details of the escape, but in short, two men in a helicopter landed in the prison yard and used a grenade launcher to blow out a wall of the isolation units. Four men emerged from the cells. Three were shot by guards; one managed to make it to the helicopter and was transported from the scene. This touched off a riot inside the prison that the guards and Spanish army are still trying to put down.”

“Who?” Camille was leaning forward, eyes wide. “The man who escaped, who was he?”

“Initial reports indicate that the escaped prisoner is Antonio Mergado Cano, the Basque separatist.”

Camille went white, the color dropping from her face like a sheet from a work of art.

“I have to go,” she said, standing up, two spots of red blossoming high on her cheeks.

“Sit down, Camille,” said Mrs. M firmly.

“I have to go. My son is touring in Europe!”

“Kit is in no immediate danger. Sit down.”

Camille sat down as if her knees had given out.

“For those of you unfamiliar with Mr. Cano, we have tangled with him before. He first crossed our path in 1977 as part of the Basque separatist movement, and he was also selling guns to the IRA. Mr. Cano used Carrie Mae cosmetics packaging to smuggle guns. Naturally we were a little upset about this, and thanks to Camille, he was put behind bars for the first time. I say for the first time since, over the last thirty years, Mr. Cano has proved to be something of an escape artist. This is his third escape from a European prison.”

“Well, no offense to anyone, but why do we care?” asked Jenny. “I mean, he’s obviously a bad man,” she said hastily, as Camille looked ready to explode, “but it sounds like the proper authorities are handling it, so what’s our interest?”

“He’s a murderer!” snapped Camille.

“Mr. Cano has knowledge of Camille and the Carrie Mae Foundation,” said Mrs. Merrivel calmly, ignoring Camille’s outburst. “When Camille effected his last arrest, he made certain threats against Camille, her family, and the foundation. We are anxious that he not follow through on any of them. We also have a strong interest in making sure he doesn’t share knowledge of our organization or members with any news sources.”

“He’s not going to get the chance,” said Camille. “I’ve gotten him before.” She looked around the table defiantly. “I can do it again. He is not going to hurt my son.”

“No, he is not,” said Mrs. Merrivel. “But you are needed here.
Nikki will be handling this.” There was a stark silence in the room. It was the kind of silence that usually followed the sound of something expensive breaking.

“No,” stated Camille at last. “Cano is too dangerous.”

“Camille, I sympathize. But Nikki will eliminate Cano before he even gets near Kit. Your family will be in no danger.” Nikki tried to hide her surprise; Mrs. M was making a lot of promises in her name. She hoped she could live up to it, and she wondered who this Kit was.

“What about the Nina Alvarez matter?” asked Rosalia, breaking in. “Our unit is fine with one-on-one extractions, relocations, and so forth, but an extended campaign against the head of a drug cartel is a little out of our league. I thought Nikki’s team was going to help with that.”

“Jenny and Ellen will be staying to coordinate and train with your team,” said Mrs. M, pivoting slightly in her chair to focus on Rosalia. “Nikki will be heading to Europe, and Jane is scheduled for a required vacation.”

“I don’t need a vacation!” Jane said in protest.

“You haven’t had more than two days off in a row for over a year, Jane,” said Mrs. M. “It’s company policy. Without needed time off, even the best of us can slip up.”

“This really isn’t a good time.”

“In my experience it’s never a good time.” Mrs. M continued before Jane could object further. “Since the Alvarez matter is now in a reassessment phase, it’s as good a time as any. Nikki will be proceeding to Europe.”

“I should go with her,” said Camille forcefully.

“Camille, you don’t seem to realize that you are no longer a field agent,” said Mrs. M. “Branch managers are not supposed to insert themselves into field operations, and in light of your
recent decision-making skills in the field, I think we can all see why.”

Camille went red again.

“Nikki isn’t familiar with Cano,” said Camille through gritted teeth, showing more self-control than Nikki had thought she was capable of. “I am.”

“True. Which is why she will be reviewing your old reports. But I’m afraid that you are too emotionally involved to be objective and clearheaded. The matter is decided, Camille; I’m sorry. Nikki will be going to Spain.”

Nikki fidgeted in the limo seat. It was now well into evening and she had the twitchy feeling of too much caffeine and not enough sleep. It had been a hard few weeks putting together the Nina Alvarez strike, and instead of having a well-deserved rest, she was on her way to the airport. On Christmas Eve, no less.

“I don’t have a phone or any of my gear,” Nikki said, pouting.

“Rachel will send you a care package. Until then you’ll have to make do,” said Mrs. Merrivel.

“I don’t have the right clothes. I’m not packed for Spain in winter.”

“You can buy whatever you need when you get there.”

Nikki pictured the number of forms that purchasing an impromptu winter wardrobe on the company dime would require.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get everything approved,” said Mrs. M, reading Nikki’s expression.

“I don’t like leaving Nina Alvarez alone with just the CIA,” she said, knowing that she was repeating herself.

“Yes … about that,” said Mrs. M, cocking her head slightly, “you didn’t happen to mention Nina Alvarez to Z’ev, did you?”

This was a moment of choice—like a Choose Your Own Adventure book. Left or right. Tell the truth. Get Jane in trouble. Get them all in trouble. Lie. One little lie. Mrs. Merrivel was smiling. That was not a good sign.

“No,” said Nikki. “Why would I do that?”

“We’ve been in place for two weeks with no hint of CIA involvement and then they suddenly drop out of the sky. Call me suspicious, but your abrupt breakup seemed interestingly timed to their arrival.”

“He canceled vacation plans again,” said Nikki. “What’s the point of being with a guy who doesn’t want to be with me?”

“Relationships and careers are hard to balance,” said Mrs. Merrivel, nodding sadly. “Meanwhile, you’ll at least have this new mission to take your mind off things.”

Nikki was silent; she didn’t want a new mission. She wanted to stay here. She searched her mind, trying to find other objections that would carry more weight than “I don’t wanna.”

“You know tomorrow’s Christmas, right?”

“John has reminded me of that fact several times,” said Mrs. M without looking up. Nikki felt a guilty pang. Mrs. Merrivel had been married for far longer than Nikki had been alive. Being separated on Christmas couldn’t be easy for them. Mrs. Merrivel opened her briefcase and pulled out a thumb drive.

“Here are the old files on Camille and Cano. They include a dossier on her son, Kit, who I believe is gaining some notoriety as a singer.”

“Do you think Cano is actually a threat to him?” asked Nikki.

“Cano has made very strong threats against Camille, and if he’s aware of Kit then he would be a good means of hurting
Camille. I suggest reviewing the files on the plane; you’ll understand more about Cano.”

“She really seemed to hate him,” said Nikki.

“I believe the feeling is mutual; he blames her for his abandonment by the Basques and IRA. He may have a point, I suppose. After he killed her husband, I believe she went out of her way to make sure he was persona non grata among the European separatist groups.”

“Killed her husband? No wonder she wanted to come along.”

“Yes, well, it’s exactly why I didn’t want her along. Camille has her good points, but she can be extremely emotional, particularly about her husband and Cano, and especially around this time of year.”

“Anniversary of his death?” asked Nikki, and Mrs. Merrivel nodded.

“Some wounds never quite heal, and she loved Declan more than anything, even if he was IRA.”

“Her husband was IRA?” asked Nikki, scandalized.

“You don’t have a lot of room to talk, young lady,” said Mrs. M tartly. “Between your CIA agent boyfriend and your unnatural insistence on keeping Val’s name on the Consultants of Note plaque…”

“That’s different! Val…” Nikki remembered Val falling toward the water, her face pale and her sleek, black hair puffing out as the wind caught it. Nikki trailed off, trying to capture the enigmatic, acerbic, capricious, and ultimately treacherous person that had been Valerie Robinson, her first and only partner at Carrie Mae. Val had been a hero to a lot of agents, and her betrayal of Carrie Mae for a man—a gun-smuggling slave trader no less—had left them all reeling. But somehow her death hadn’t been satisfying to Nikki—she couldn’t work up the righteous wrath. Val
had helped her become a stronger person. “Val was different.” Nikki finished lamely.

“Valerie was extremely different, on many different levels,” Mrs. M said in agreement. “But my point is that pots should not call kettles black. It’s best to reserve judgment until you know the whole situation.”

“Mmm,” said Nikki, deciding not to comment, since she had nothing nice to say. “What about Cano?” asked Nikki, changing the subject. “What’s our goal? Kill or no kill?”

“Kill if you think it’s necessary,” said Mrs. Merrivel. “I would prefer to have him returned to the proper authorities. It would keep things so much tidier for us, but if the situation does not permit…” She shrugged to finish her sentence, and Nikki nodded. She was becoming used to these conversations. She had been issued case-dependent kill authorization not long ago, and it worried her. So far she hadn’t had to use her authorization powers, but somehow that just made the tension of wondering which case and when it would be even worse. Being the decision maker on who lived or died was unpleasant. Her only safety net was Mrs. M, who made the decision on which cases she would be granted kill permission. She wondered if it bothered Mrs. Merrivel the same way or if it was something she had gotten used to.