Morgan's Son (3 page)

With an apologetic shrug, Wolf said, "Teams are teams, Laura. Team members have adjusted to each other's quirks and foibles, so to speak."

"Team members often know intuitively what their other half is going to do," Jake offered. "If you throw together two people who don't know each other, it can be detrimental to a mission—especially one as complicated as this rescue attempt for Jason."

As tears clawed their way up her throat, Laura turned to Killian, whose face remained unreadable, as always. His green eyes glittered as she looked into them. "What do you say, Killian?" In spite of his taciturn nature, Laura knew Sean's depth of experience was something they could all count on.

"I say it depends on the individuals concerned."

"Well," Jake said slowly, "that's true."

"Who are they?" Laura asked, trying to blot her eyes as inconspicuously as possible.

"We're lucky," Jake said. "The woman is Sabra Jacobs. She's been with Perseus since Morgan started it. She's got time in grade, she knows the system and she takes only high-risk assignments."

"Sabra?" Laura whispered the name, hope springing to life in her breast. "Why, Jason knows her! Between assignments, Sabra lives here, near us. She's baby-sat for us many times. Jason loves her. He calls her ‘Auntie S' because he can't quite pronounce her name yet."

Jake held up his hand. "I know it sounds like good news, Laura. But unfortunately, Sabra's partner, Terry Hayes, suffered a heart attack overseas. We can't ask him to climb out of his hospital bed and join us."

"Who's the person on the second team?" Laura demanded, hope spiraling crazily through her despite Jake's words of caution. Sabra Jacobs was one of the most dependable, solid women she'd ever met. If there was anyone who could rescue Jason, it was Sabra.

Jake grimaced. "A merc by the name of Craig Talbot. He's only been with Perseus six months. He's an ex-marine helicopter pilot who came to us after Desert Storm."

"That sounds like a wonderful combination!"

"Laura, I wish I could be as enthused as you are," Jake warned, "but Talbot has been involved only in low-and medium-risk assignments."

"So what?"

"So, he doesn't want any high-risk assignments."

Laura sat there assimilating Jake's words. "But why?" she managed to ask after a moment.

"I don't know." Jake glanced at Wolf. "All we know is that shortly after Desert Storm, Talbot, who was a captain, resigned his commission from the Marine Corps to knock at Perseus's door."

"Do you have Mr. Talbot's personnel file?"

"Yes."

"I want to see it."

"Laura, the first thing we have to do is find out if these players are willing to take this assignment. Sabra no doubt will jump at the chance, because she has a personal stake. She's close to you and your children."

"Is she here?"

"Sabra should be here in about half an hour," Wolf said, looking at his watch.

"And Craig Talbot?"

"He's still in the air," Killian muttered. "We've sent someone to the airport to pick him up. We should be able to talk to him in about an hour and a half, if traffic cooperates."

Laura looked at her watch. It was shortly after noon and she should be hungry, but even the thought of eating these days made her nauseous. Her therapist assured her that, too, was a normal reaction after what she'd experienced. Still, she had to keep up her strength. She would have to force herself to eat.

"I want to be here when you interview them, Jake."

"Of course," he said, picking up his nearly cold cup of coffee and taking a swallow.

"Are they well rested?"

"Sabra is, but Talbot's just coming off an assignment that should have been labeled high risk."

"What happened to his partner?"

"Died in an auto accident. Talbot wasn't with her. He was tailing one of two suspects in
Vienna
,
Austria
. Jennifer Langford, his partner, was tailing the other one."

Laura felt her heart squeeze. "Oh, how awful…."

Jake slowly rose. "Laura, I really don't think you should be here, under the circumstances. You're still too raw from your own ordeal, and sitting in on team debriefings won't do you any good. You're white as a sheet."

Shamed, Laura touched her cheek, then stood. "I know you're right, Jake, but I can't help myself. My son, my husband…It's so hard to stay home, to go through the motions of my day…."

Jake came around the table and placed his arm gently across Laura's drooping shoulders. "I know how hard this is on you," he rasped. "We're doing everything humanly possible to locate Morgan."

Laura looked up into his dark, worried features. "I don't know what we'd have done without the three of you," she said solemnly. "You've held Perseus together. I—I'm so grateful." Then the hot tears spilled from her eyes and down her cheeks. Managing an embarrassed, apologetic laugh, she eased away from Jake and wiped at her eyes. Then she took a deep breath and again leveled her gaze on Jake's.

"Please let me stay for the interviews and assignments, Jake. Then, I promise to get out of your hair and leave you to the unpleasant realities. Okay?"

"That's fine, Laura," Jake said gently, his harsh features softening. "Come on, let's all go get something to eat. When we get back, Sabra should be here and, with any luck, Talbot about an hour after that."

"I'm just so glad Sabra is coming," Laura whispered. "So glad."

"She's one of the best," Jake agreed, guiding her toward the heavy oak door.

"And Jason knows her," Laura said, walking with him. "I feel that's so important."

"Yes," he agreed, "it's a lucky break for us."

Laura waited as Jake opened the door. Then, clenching the now-damp handkerchief in her left hand, she walked out into the spacious reception area, where Marie was working at her computer. Laura smiled warmly at Morgan's assistant, who had so ably taken on a much-larger area of responsibility in the wake of the kidnappings. Her mind rushed back to the fact that Killian and the CIA had stumbled on information about Jason's whereabouts. That was the best news yet, she reminded herself as she worked to shore up her broken, scattered emotions—an improvement on the numbness that stalked her lately, between brief periods of euphoria and gut-wrenching fear.

But if anyone should be on this assignment, it was Sabra. Laura was grateful for the woman, for her loyalty not only to Perseus but to the Trayhern family. A trickle of real hope entered her heart. Yes, with Sabra heading up the team, Laura just might actually get her son back—safe and sound.

Sabra entered the Perseus office at exactly 1300, the time she'd promised Jake she'd show up. Marie looked up from her desk and smiled.

"Hi, Sabra."

"Hello. Where is everyone?"

"They went to lunch." Marie looked at her watch. "But they should be back soon." Standing, she said, "May I get you some tea while you wait for them in the War Room?"

"I'd love a cup, thanks."

"Earl Gray, right?"

"You never forget anything, do you?" Sabra smiled and shook her head. She liked Marie immensely. The gray-haired woman was the soul of efficiency.

"Well," Marie said with a worried chuckle as she opened the War Room door for Sabra, "I try not to, but with the way things are now, I'm afraid I sometimes am forgetful."

Sabra lost her partial smile. "What do you mean?"

"It's not for me to say, Sabra. Jake Randolph will want to fill you in himself," the woman replied in a low voice, motioning Sabra to take a seat at the oval table. "Jake is heading up Perseus for now, with Laura's blessing. Wolf Harding and Sean Killian are assisting him."

Raising her eyebrows, Sabra nodded thoughtfully, wondering where Morgan was.

"Do you know any of them?" Marie asked.

"I know Killian, but I've only heard of Harding and Randolph through the grapevine, so to speak." Sabra took a seat, propping her elbows on the table's highly polished surface.

"I'll get your tea," Marie offered. "Have you eaten?"

"Yes, tea will be fine. Thanks." She watched Marie shut the door. The War Room felt comfortable to her after all these years. It was where Morgan had given her and Terry every one of their assignments. The expanse of oak, shining from the obvious care given it, stretched before her. Ten chairs surrounded the table, but the room seemed ominously quiet. Sabra knew the entire room had been shielded with a thin, space-age metal to prevent eavesdropping by any spying country. Reports could be made and assignments given with full confidence here.

Absently, she ran her fingers across the table's smooth surface. Wood had such a warm feel, almost like skin. But then, Sabra wryly reminded herself, she was always close to nature. Was it her Irish heritage through her mother, born to a fishing family on the seacoast? she wondered idly, as she had so often before. Or the French grape-and-wine-country ancestry of her Israeli father, now a general in the Mossad? Both her parents had soil in their souls, and she was glad of it. Sabra frequently used her thirty days of rest between assignments to visit either her mother's parents, who still lived in a thatched hut by the wild Irish Sea, or her own parents, in
Jerusalem
. In
Ireland
, she reveled in the endless green carpet of grass. In
Israel
, she felt the ancient gnarled strength of olive trees that surrounded her parent's desert home.

Sabra placed her small leather purse on the table. Greenery and desert. What a dichotomy. But then, she supposed, so was she. How did one reconcile the richness of
Ireland
with the arid
desert
of
Israel
? A half smile curved her lips, and she absently smoothed the cinnamon-colored silk skirt that draped around her nearly to her ankles. She had inherited her mother's rich black hair shot through with red highlights and her father's large gray eyes, patrician nose and square face. Her lips and tall, fluid build were her mother's again.

At thirty-two, Sabra often felt as if she were a citizen of two entirely different worlds. Part of her was thoroughly Irish, and that wild nature had led her to join the Mossad after getting a degree in biology, despite her mother's protests against the dangerous work. Somehow Sabra seemed to thrive on the terror that became a very real companion in her undercover spy work. Her father had wanted a son, and she had to admit that that knowledge, too, had affected her decision. She'd wanted to prove to her father that even though she was a woman, she could compete and succeed in his world.

A soft sigh escaped Sabra, and she folded her hands in her lap. Her father had tried to curtail her Mossad activities. Her skill had garnered her many high-risk assignments. But with her father a general, influential in case responsibility, Sabra had found herself getting fewer and fewer of those toughest jobs. Luckily for her, she had found Perseus and slipped from beneath her father's huge shadow. At Perseus, she was free to use all of her considerable talents and skills—at her own discretion.

Sabra's thoughts ranged back to her dear friend and partner, Terry. Quite suddenly and without warning, he'd suffered a heart attack, that had prevented them from completing their recent assignment. Terry was only forty-five, and no one had been more shocked by his attack than she. They'd been a team for five years, and they shared the kind of good chemistry that was absolutely essential in their kind of work.

Who would she be teamed with now? Sabra wondered. And what was this unexpectedly urgent assignment? She was glad that Perseus wasn't giving her the usual month of leave between assignments. She felt unfulfilled by the aborted mission with Terry. She wasn't the kind of person not to complete something she started.