A Darker Shade of Dead (8 page)

“It would be wrong of me to let you believe that.” She cut off his words but couldn't face him. “I am attracted to you, Matt, but I can't let it go any further than that. Not now. Maybe not ever. Please just accept that.”

His hand dropped from her arm, and she felt him move away.

“I'll accept it. For now.” She heard the bedsprings squeak as he sat down again, but she still couldn't bear to look at his face. “I hope I haven't made things awkward between us. Are you still okay working under my command?”

She nodded. “I'm okay with your leadership. In fact, I wouldn't want to work for anyone else on this mission. Let's just forget this. Forget it all.”

“I wish I could, doc. I wish I could.”

M
att was glad Sandra was so confident in his leadership. He wasn't so sure himself. Especially not when he returned to his office to find a small listening device poorly hidden under his desk.

A cautious man, Matt usually looked around for changes in his environment whenever he entered a room. It was part of his SEAL training that had spilled over into all areas of his existence. Observation had become a way of life.

Even distracted by thoughts of the moments spent alone with Sandra, he still noted the slight disarray of the papers on his desk. Normally, that could be explained by the activity of one of his support staff. They frequently came in and left documents for him.

But that, coupled with the misalignment of his desk drawers, alerted him to look deeper. He had one of those old wooden desks. It had been in service for many years and had developed quirks. The drawers didn't like to close all the way unless they were aligned perfectly. It had taken him a few days to get the hang of the stubborn piece of furniture, but he eventually had discovered all its secrets.

The way the drawers sat now—not fully seated in their slots—told him someone had been in them since he'd left his office. That wasn't normal. His staff knew not to mess with the private areas of his desk. There was no reason for anyone to delve inside unless they were looking for something.

Curious, Matt checked the desk minutely, even getting down on the floor to look underneath. There, adhered to the underside, he found a small black speck. A bug.

Someone was spying on him.

Matt debated his next move. He could remove the bug, in which case he would alert the spy that Matt was onto him. Or he could leave it and perhaps use it to his own advantage. It only took a moment to decide. He left it where it was and began the slow and deliberate elimination of all sensitive information from his workplace.

Matt would treat the office and all within it as suspect.

 

An hour later, Matt admitted John to the secure communications bunker on base. Matt had an important call to make, and John Petit's intelligence background and deep, personal family connection to the success of this team made him the most logical person to trust.

The call was to no less than the admiral who was currently head of USSOCOM. He was the centralized authority over all Special Forces and the ultimate military authority where this mission was concerned, reporting directly to the president.

The call connected, and Matt faced a large screen that showed the secure communications room at MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa, Florida. The admiral was there, alone. Just as there was nobody monitoring Matt's side of the conversation except his invited guest, John. No techs. Nobody who wasn't supposed to hear what was said here.

The techs did their job connecting the call, then left. They also maintained the security of the equipment at all times. Matt had asked John to watch over the technician's shoulder this morning before the call went through as an added layer of protection against eavesdropping and espionage. Matt was satisfied the call was as secure as he could make it.

“Sitrep,” the admiral barked without preliminaries.

“Sir, we have an internal security problem, which is why I requested this secure call. I found a listening device in my office.”

“If I may,” John interrupted, “I'm not surprised. Agency intel suspected a leak coming from Fort Bragg based on increased chatter from certain foreign intelligence outlets. Specifically among known agents of the Chinese military.”

“And they're talking about the contagion specifically?” the admiral cut in.

“Can't be one hundred percent sure, sir, since they're careful to use code words. But there is a big sale being discussed. A sale of some kind of biomedical technology. Certain key names were mentioned in conjunction with the negotiations enough times to raise a few red flags.”

“Who else knows about the intel?” the admiral asked sharply.

“No one, sir,” John replied. “I set up a computer search of the Internet and what phone conversations we have access to when I was read into this mission with results filtering directly to me. It's standard enough it won't raise any eyebrows and secure at the highest levels. I'm confident the data search is secure on the Agency end.”

“Commander, needless to say, this is not good. Either get your house in order or I'll find someone who can. Am I clear?”

Matt felt anger stiffen his spine. “Clear, sir. I'll take care of it. I wanted to be certain you were aware so that sensitive communications don't go through my office. I plan on trapping the mole.”

A gleam entered the admiral's eye on the other end of the video monitor. The old man actually cracked a grin.

“Misinformation can be a powerful tool as well.”

“Yes, sir,” Matt agreed with an answering grin. “I will be working all angles to uncover the extent of the rodent problem.”

“Good. Keep me apprised. I'll give you some leash on this, Commander, but wrap it up quickly. We can't afford to let this go on too long. The information is too sensitive.”

“Understood, sir.”

The call flickered off, leaving Matt and John alone in the darkened room.

“Do you have any workable leads, John?” Matt turned to face the man on his team who was most experienced in the international spy game.

“I've discovered a San Francisco connection I'd like to check out. A lot of the calls went to a particular number. If I can make contact, they might lead me back to the person who's trying to sell the technology.”

“Good. Can you take Donna with you on this? I don't want anyone flying solo unless it's absolutely necessary, and she needs some field experience.”

John looked pained but eventually agreed to take the young woman under his wing for the quick trip to San Francisco. Matt and John parted company and each set off on their separate tasks. John went to arrange a trip for two to California. Matt went back to his office, thinking about creative ways to catch a mole.

 

“Dr. McCormick?” A beefy sailor approached Sandra as she bought lunch at the base cafeteria the next day.

She didn't recognize the man and was leery of talking to anyone she hadn't met before. Then again, she was on a military base. The place was about as secure as it got. And they were in a busy public place. This man might've been sent by Matt or another member of the team.

“Yes,” she answered cautiously.

“I have a message for you.” Her alert level lowered considerably at his words. It was as she'd thought. One of the team must've used this strange sailor as a courier. His next words stopped that thought in its tracks. “It's a message from your old friend, Dr. Rodriguez.”

It was a message from the team all right. The
wrong
team. Dr. Rodriguez had made his intentions clear the night he forced Sandra's car off the road.

“I want no part of anything Dr. Rodriguez has to say,” she told the man. She looked him over, storing details of his appearance and uniform insignia in case she needed to describe him later.

“That's unfortunate.” He gave her a measuring look. The guy gave her the creeps. No doubt his uniform was as false as his smile. She had no doubt he was one of Rodriguez's hired thugs. “Dr. Rodriguez doesn't want to take no for an answer.”

“He'll have to. Sellars died doing what he damn well shouldn't have been doing. I'm not going to end the same way.”

The creepy guy smiled, showing off perfect white teeth. Had to be caps. “Rodriguez sent a message to Sellars. Guess he got it.”

“Are you saying Rodriguez sent the”—she lowered her voice, looking around to be sure she wouldn't be overheard—“creature after Sellars?”

“I delivered him myself,” he confirmed. “Very effective, I thought. We got Sellars with his own creation. Nobody could trace it back to us.”

“Then why are you telling me this? And why did you want Sellars dead? I thought he was with you one hundred percent.” Something strange was going on here. She didn't understand the dynamics of how this was playing out among the bad guys.

“Consider it a warning. The same could happen to you if you don't play along, doctor.” His eyes gleamed evilly. “Sellars was causing more harm than good. He had to be cut loose. The asshole brought too much attention to the project. He was a loose cannon.”

“So you killed him? Isn't that a little extreme?”

“He needed killing.” The man looked excited by the idea. His reaction chilled her to the bone. “Now what's your answer?”

“I already told you. No.”

“Are you sure? You wouldn't want us to tell your new friends about your past indiscretions, would you?”

“Do your worst. I refuse to get involved any more than I already have.”

“Wrong answer.” His eyes turned even colder.

“Look.” She steeled herself, gathering her courage. She wouldn't cave to threats. “I refuse to get involved in this. You tell Rodriguez to leave me alone. I won't play his game.”

“He's not going to like your answer, doctor. In fact, I don't much like your answer, either. You'd better reconsider.” He grabbed her by the arm, and her cafeteria tray almost went flying. That gave her an idea.

“You'd better take your hands off me.” Her voice was pitched low. She tried her best to sound menacing, but the gorilla squeezing her arm didn't seem impressed.

“You gonna make me, buttercup?”

Now she was mad. “Did you know the cafeteria was serving goulash today? I hear it's awfully good.” She looked down at the heaping plate on her tray, then back up at the fake sailor.

“You wouldn't dare.” He wasn't tall, but he was wide. The guy was built like a tank and his grip would definitely leave bruises on her arm.

“Try me.”

The man looked around the crowded cafeteria and seemed to think better of threatening her in such a public place. His grip tightened excruciatingly before he released her, finger by painful finger.

“You're going to regret this, doctor. Mark my words.”

“They're marked,” she responded angrily. “Noted and totally ignored. Go tell Rodriguez to shove it up his ass and leave me alone.” She'd never been so rude in her life, but the situation definitely called for it. One didn't cower before a bully. If she showed weakness here, Rodriguez would never let up. “If I ever see you again, I'll sic the MPs on you faster than you can blink.”

“If you ever see me again, I'll be the last thing you ever see.”

The bottom dropped out of her stomach at the blatant threat and the coldness in his eyes. This man was a killer. She was playing with dynamite here.

Over his shoulder, she spied Matt walking into the cafeteria. He spotted her, and a frown wrinkled his brow as he started toward her. The last thing Sandra wanted was a confrontation between this thug and Matt. Even though Matt was bigger, he was also injured—permanently partially disabled, though he refused to admit it. This guy could probably take him apart piece by piece. Sandra didn't want to be responsible for that.

She also didn't want anyone on the team to know that she had been approached by the bad guys. They were only just beginning to trust her. This kind of contact would make all their doubts resurface.

She realized they could possibly use this thug to track down Rodriguez, but she didn't see how they could capture him without a serious public confrontation. She and Matt would be right in the middle of it, and she had no doubt the fake soldier was armed to the teeth.

Maybe it was cowardly of her, but she made a split-second decision. “Get out of here now unless you want a fight on your hands.” The fake sailor looked around and saw Matt heading for them. “Your uniform makes you a chief petty officer.” Sandra looked with deliberate disdain at the insignia. “Though I doubt anything about your uniform is genuine. The man heading this way is a full commander. He outranks your disguise to a considerable degree. One word from me and you'll be in the brig.”

“Nice play, doctor.” He backed away, a sinister smile on his swarthy face. “You win this round. You won't be so lucky next time.”

“There won't be a next time. You stay away from me and you deliver that message to Rodriguez, too. I won't have anything to do with him or anyone like him.” She had to be firm. The fake sailor was going, but Matt was getting closer. Luckily, the cafeteria was very crowded and large enough that it took him some time to negotiate the people and the tables to reach her.

“You'll regret this, bitch.” The man cursed her and left.

Sandra blinked. Nobody had ever called her that to her face before. Nor had anyone ever spoken to her with such venom in their voice. She had made an enemy. Unfortunately, there was little she could do about it.

She refused to drag Matt into a confrontation that could potentially put him back in a hospital bed. She also refused to allow doubt about her loyalties to become an issue with the team. For now, she'd keep this little encounter to herself.

“Friend of yours?” Matt asked, coming up beside her as the fake sailor faded away into the crowd.

“No. Just a case of mistaken identity.” She tried her best to sound casual. Matt seemed to accept her words at face value.

“Have you eaten yet?” He looked down at the tray in her hand, and a flush actually reddened his skin for a minute. “Let me rephrase that. Do you mind if I join you for lunch?”

“Not at all. I'll stake out a table while you get your food.”

“Sounds like a plan. I'll be right back.”

His smile made her feel guilty, as though she was leading him on. She'd asked for space, but here she was, inviting him to dine as if nothing was going on between them. Or worse—as if she wanted more of what almost had gone on between them.

She still didn't know exactly what she wanted. Or rather, what she could safely allow. It had kept her up most of last night, worrying. She wanted him and wonder of wonders, he seemed to want her, too, but the situation was the next best thing to impossible.