Heatseeker (Atrati) (17 page)

Kadin ignored them all and asked Rachel, “What do you have?”

“The principle players and the name of the top dog. I think.”

“Explain.”

She did, and when she enumerated her reasons for suspecting Dr. Massri of being the boss rather than Chuma, Kadin couldn’t disagree.

He said a word he’d always been careful not to use in front of this woman. Another habit he hadn’t thought to break.

“We think we’ve figured out the connection to the Treffert tank, too,” she said, indicating Spazz with a wave of her hand.

The blond computer geek nodded. “It’s bad, Trigger.”

“Nuclear-holocaust bad, or this is gonna be a-shitload-of-paperwork-for-Roman bad?” Kadin probed.

“Less than World War III but more than paperwork.” Spazz didn’t even crack a joke with that one.

And that worried Kadin more than anything that had been said in this room. “Sit-rep,” he demanded, wanting an immediate breakdown on the situation.

“The Treffert tank has made some breakthroughs in acoustic levitation.” Spazz’s eyes glowed with admiration. “It’s amazing. The system’s far from stable, or even usable in its current form, but the idea is air transport using a fraction of the energy currently necessary for thrust-based technology.”

“What good is it to Chuma’s group if they can’t use it?” Kadin asked, not surprised he was a little confused.

He often was when talking to Spazz.

“They aren’t thinking of using the technology to move people or goods.” Rachel’s pretty oval face was set in stressed lines. “What does this ring of criminals specialize in?”

The Atrati’s exposure to information on the ring that had been operating in Africa was limited to their two operations, Roman’s the year before and this one, so Kadin went with what he knew these people sold. “Intel and weapons technology?”

“Right.”

Kadin still felt like he was double-timing it through a dark forest. “But this levitation thing isn’t a weapon.”

“It could be.” Spazz sounded more than serious; he sounded worried.

“How?”

“
If
they can figure out how to harness it and keep it more than marginally stable, the acoustic levitation system might be misused to create a shock wave that could level cities.”

“You said it wasn’t nuclear holocaust.”

“It’s not. Yet. Right now, it’s these bastards making plans to kidnap the autistic savant who has made the biggest breakthroughs on it.”

“They’re going to try to force him to turn it into a weapon?” The thought of someone like his nephew being used that way filled Kadin with fury and fear.

Making his nephew do anything he didn’t want to was a very iffy proposition because of the different way the boy related to the world around him. What methods Chuma and Massri might employ to try to force an autistic man to work for them didn’t bear thinking about.

Not if he wanted to keep the contents of his stomach.

“I need to talk to Roman. That savant needs protection, now.” Kadin grabbed his satphone and started dialing.

Rachel grabbed his hands, stilling his movements. “Wait.”

“What?” he demanded, images spinning through his brain that he wasn’t processing very well.

“I don’t want Whit to know that Dr. Massri is the big boss yet.”

No trouble figuring out why. “You don’t want him giving orders to flip Jamila.”

“I don’t want him sending another TGP agent who will actually do it.” Rachel’s entire body was tense with stress, and that was the last damn thing she needed after what she’d been through.

“Whit’s not a monster.”

“No, but he’s a man who puts duty and patriotism first, last, and always. Just ask his daughter, the TGP agent.”

“Are you saying that’s a bad thing?”

“One thing I learned working DEA? Collateral damage can be a heck of a lot worse than anyone anticipates, and I don’t subscribe to the-ends-always-justify-the-means theory.”

“I know that about you.” He’d known it ten years ago.

It was one of the biggest reasons he knew he had to let her go. He never wanted to watch the light of love turn to disgust in Rachel Gannon’s eyes when she looked at him.

“If you don’t tell him about Massri, how do you plan to get approval to extract Jamila?”

“I don’t.”

“What do you intend to do, go rogue?”

“Take a leave of absence and figure out a way to do a voluntary extraction.”

“If Massri decides his daughter has betrayed him, getting her away from him isn’t going to keep her safe.”

“I know.”

“She’s better off where she is, Rachel.”

“Is she? There’s still the problem of her marrying Chuma.”

“The wedding isn’t set to take place for three more months.”

“That could change.”

“Doubtful.”

“You think Chuma’s the type of man to wait for his wedding night if he decides he wants her before that?”

“Is there any indication he’s not going to wait?” Kadin needed Rachel to take a rational step back, but she was wrapped up in her emotions right now.

It was a side of the woman he knew well and in another situation would be glad to see was still there under the cynical government-agent exterior; but it wasn’t going to help her make the most practical choices right now. Or even the best ones for Jamila Massri.

“With a man like that, his intentions could change on a whim.”

Kadin couldn’t deny it. He’d known men like Abasi Chuma. He’d killed men like Chuma . . . because sometimes his government decided a dog just had to be put down before it bit more innocents, infecting them with its rabies.

He’d done less of that since joining the Atrati, but the ability to make the hard choices and act on them still resided inside Kadin.

“You are under direct orders not to be seen with Jamila in Marrakech,” he reminded Rachel.

She gave an affirmative jerk of her head, but the stubborn tilt to her chin said that, orders or no orders, she was getting Jamila out of there.

“Listen. I’ll tell Roman to keep the information about Massri’s pay grade out of his briefing with Whit, but we need to act before this autistic genius gets himself kidnapped by the people you’re so determined to save Jamila from.”

“Are you sure he won’t tell Whit?” Rachel asked.

“Yes.”

“You trust him.”

“More than you trust Whit.”

She looked offended. “I would trust Whit with my life.”

“But not Jamila’s.”

Rachel was silent for several seconds but then sighed and admitted, “Not when American secrets and lives are on the line, no.”

“He doesn’t have your save-the-whole-world mentality?”

“No.” At least she didn’t deny that part of herself. “He sees it as a side benefit of saving his own country.”

“You don’t.”

“I’m not that tunnel-visioned. Or naïve.”

Some things about Rachel had not changed, but her innocent view of the world? He had to agree. That had been blasted with the special C–4 of life.

And long before she’d been kidnapped and tortured by the people she was investigating.

Rachel called Whit while Kadin was talking to his chief.

“Rachel?”

“Yes, it’s me.” She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “There’s been a development.”

“Go on,” Whit said with more impatience than she was used to hearing from him.

“Chuma and his cohorts have their sights set on someone else.” She explained about the Treffert tank and the roundabout connection Spazz had discovered between it and Abasi Chuma.

“Explain that again,” Whit ordered in a tone devoid of emotion.

She did.

“You’re leaving something out, Rachel.”

“It’s nothing, sir.”

“The connection isn’t Chuma. What you’re describing is tenuous and vague, but your tone tells me you’re dead certain of your conclusions. Which means you know exactly how the Treffert tank and this ring of intel and weapons-technology dealers are connected. And it’s not through Chuma. That leads me to believe you’ve discovered he’s not the top of the food chain in this organization.”

“Oh, he’s at the top, sir,” she said with the first total honesty she’d shared since she’d begun speaking to her superior.

“But not
the
top.”

She wanted to lie, had already done so by omission, but found she simply could not do it. “No, sir.”

“Who is?”

“I’m not sure.” She
wasn’t
positive; she just had a very good hunch.

“You think it’s Massri.”

“Sir?”

“I’m not an idiot, Rachel. I’ve been doing this job for a very long time.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“For believing I’m stupid, or for not trusting me with the truth?”

“I didn’t think you were stupid.” She just thought she was better at subterfuge. Darn it.

“You believe I’ll insist on flipping Miss Massri.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I have a daughter, and though she may not believe it, I would give my life for her.”

“Yes, sir.”

“There is no doubt that Dr. Massri is not of the same mind.”

“No, sir.”

“He would sooner kill her than let her undermine him.”

“Yes, sir.” Rachel couldn’t help the catch in her voice.

And suddenly Kadin was there, his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll call you back,” he said into the satphone in his hand and then severed the connection so fast, his chief couldn’t have had enough time to respond.

Rachel stared at him, at a loss for words.

“Rachel?” Whit prompted in her ear.

“You okay?” Kadin asked.

“Yes,” she replied to them both, not sure she meant it.

“I am not issuing orders to flip Miss Massri,” Whit said, sounding tired.

“To me . . . or to
anyone?
“ Rachel couldn’t help asking.

“To anyone.”

“Thank you, sir.” Rachel felt her knees buckle, her relief was so great.

She didn’t fall, though; she simply sagged into Kadin, who was somehow holding her, his strong arms supporting her weight.

“Unfortunately, that’s all I can do for the young woman right now,” Whit continued in her ear, oblivious to her reaction.

“What do you mean, sir?”

“You cannot bring her in, for her own sake as well of that of our investigation.” Clearly Whit had processed the risk to Jamila in the space of seconds. “As of this moment, Jamila Massri is out of the investigation in any capacity.”

“But sir, what about the Treffert tank angle?”

“We will put additional security on all the members of the think tank immediately, but that has nothing to do with Miss Massri.”

“She’s at risk here, sir.”

“So are thousands of American lives if this network isn’t fully disbanded. We need the investigation to continue.”

“Then let me be the one to continue it.”

“That’s not possible.” Whit was silent, and she could picture him rubbing his eyes as he did sometimes. “Your cover has been compromised at the very least. Chuma and Massri cannot see you.”

“I can’t leave her, sir.”

“I can’t sanction protective surveillance, Rachel.”

“I’ll take my vacation,” she insisted again.

“All vacation requests are currently on hold.”

So he’d said, but that didn’t make any sense. “You’re saying you
can’t
give me vacation leave? But why, sir?”

“I’m not at liberty to say. These things happen sometimes.”

But not at TGP. It wasn’t the usual government agency.

“I’m not com—”

“The best I can offer you right now,” Whit said, cutting across her insubordination before she could get a direct refusal of orders completely out, “is indefinite unpaid medical leave due to the traumatic nature of your assignment’s end, and transport home when you decide to return from Africa.”

Rachel didn’t worry about the financial consequences or what this might mean for her career; she just said, “Thank you, sir.”

“Wrap this up, quickly, Rachel. The medical leave isn’t just an excuse. You need psychological debriefing and support.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

“I’ll be sending in another agent to continue the work you started. Will you be available to brief her?”

“Yes, of course.” She was surprised Whit was going to send in another female agent, but the man
had
been doing this for a long time.

He knew what he was doing, even if Rachel didn’t understand it.

“Rachel?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Watch out for yourself. I don’t want to lose a good agent to her need to protect someone else.”

Rachel didn’t have an answer that Whit would want to hear, so she simply told him good-bye.

“What’s going on?” Kadin asked.

“He’s not going to try to flip Jamila, but I’m off the case.”

“And?”

“And I’m on unpaid medical leave.” She repeated the rest of what Whit had said.

Kadin nodded, his expression giving nothing away of what he was thinking.

“Roman tells me he needs a medic on a team he’s got in the Congo,” he announced to the group.

The cold wind of abandonment blew over Rachel, making her shiver. “Okay.”

She needed to get out of his arms, stand on her own two feet . . . like she’d been doing the last ten years. But she couldn’t make those self-same independent, strong-willed feet move.