Dark Deceptions (38 page)

Tears slid down her face, the first she’d shed since landing at San Mateo. She slid the card into her pocket and watched as
her friend walked away. She wasn’t the type to get sentimental. Andrés was right. She was a survivor. But something about
the older man had touched her heart. Reached a place she’d thought long dead.

And now they were taking him away.

*     *     *

Sunderland College, New York—three years later

The air smelled like fall even though Indian summer was still holding court, the temperatures higher than normal for late
September. Drake Flynn made his way across campus, smiling at students and fellow professors as he walked, his mind still
centered on his last class.

“Professor Flynn,” a breathless coed called. “Have you got a moment?”

He stopped, dutifully pulling his mind away from pre-Columbian artifacts. “What can I do for you, Stacey?”

“I had a question about the degradation of ancient ruins. You were taking about how much had been lost to deforestation and
greed. And I was just wondering why it mattered so much. I mean, isn’t it better to have progress? People working. Food on
the table. At the end, isn’t it really a tradeoff? ‘What was’ versus ‘what is’?”

“There certainly is an argument to be made for the modern world over the ancient one,” Drake said, watching as Nash Brennon
emerged from the social sciences building. “But I’m not sure that stripping the land of everything it harbors—trees, animals,
artifacts—is truly a step forward. There’s got to be some kind of balance, a way for us to use our past to make a better future.
And if we destroy everything that’s old we lose a valuable tool in understanding not just where we’ve been but where we’re
going. Look, Stacey, since you seem to be so interested, maybe you should consider the topic for your paper.”

“Thanks, Dr. Flynn. I’ll think about it. And you’re right.” The girl licked her lips and flicked her hair provocatively, and
Drake bit back a smile. “Not everything old is bad. I mean, look at you.”

“Right. I’m positively decrepit.” He nodded, laughing as she walked away.

“Fraternizing with the coeds?” Nash asked as he came to a stop beside Drake. The two of them worked together not just as professors,
but as elite members of A-Tac. The American Tactical Intelligence Command was an off-the-books arm of the CIA. Operating out
of Sunderland College, it was cloaked under the guise of the Aaron Thomas Academic Center, one of the country’s foremost think
tanks.

Members of the unit were adept at both academics and espionage, their unique abilities setting the stage for some of the CIA’s
most dangerous missions. Nash was the team’s second in command and the chair of the history department. An expert in covert
operations, he was the go-to guy when something needed to be accomplished under the radar.

“Are you kidding me?” Drake said, shaking his head. “She’s like nineteen.”

“If that.” Nash grinned. “You on your way to Avery?” Avery Solomon was their boss. A hard-nosed ex-military man, Avery inspired
fierce loyalty among team members. He’d successfully ridden out four political administrations and maintained contacts at
the highest levels of government, including the Oval Office. There wasn’t a man alive Drake respected more.

“Yeah,” Drake said, patting the beeper on his belt. “He paged. I’m guessing we’ve been given new orders. Any idea what they
might be?”

“Not a clue.” Nash shook his head as they walked into the center to a bank of elevators at the back of the lobby. Nash inserted
a key into an elevator marked “professors only” and the doors slid open. They stepped inside, and Drake inserted a second
key as Nash pushed a button behind the Otis Elevator sign.

The doors closed as the elevator started downward to the A-Tac complex hidden beneath the campus.

“Any luck convincing Annie to join the team?” Drake asked. Nash had recently married a former CIA operative, and although
Avery had done everything possible to convince her to come on board, she was still holding out.

“Not yet. But I think maybe she’s weakening. Avery asked her the other day for about the millionth time if she’d be interested
in being reactivated. Usually she just says no. But this time she told him she’d think about it.”

“Sounds like progress. I predict she won’t hold out much longer. Truth is she’s as much of an adrenaline junkie as the rest
of us. She’s got to be itching to get back into the saddle.”

“Well, there’s Adam to think about.” Adam was their son and they’d nearly lost him to a kidnapper. “I know he’s safe here,
but I worry about both of us being gone.”

“So you split your time.” Drake shrugged. “It’s doable.”

“Hey, I’m not the one saying no.” He held up his hands in defense as the elevator doors slid open. They walked into what appeared
to be a reception area, and Nash slapped his hand on a bust of Aaron Thomas—the center’s namesake. Then, palm identification
completed, a panel in the far wall slid open, and Drake followed Nash into the A-Tac complex.

“Wondering where you guys had gotten to,” Hannah Marshall said as the panel slid shut again. Hannah was the team’s intel expert.
She looked more like one of her students than an expert in both political theory and ferreting out information. Her spiky
hair was streaked with purple today, the glasses perched on the end of her nose a contrasting green. “Everybody’s waiting
for you in the war room.”

“So what’s the mission?” Nash asked.

“Extraction. Seems pretty straightforward.” Hannah shrugged. “Avery will want to tell you himself though.”

The three of them walked into the war room. The oversized space was the heart of A-Tac. With computer banks flanking the walls
and LCD screens above and behind the oblong conference table, the room was stocked with state-of-the-art equipment.

“All right then,” Avery said as everyone sat down at the table. “Now that we’re all here, why don’t we get started. As I’m
sure Hannah’s told you, we’ve been charged with an extraction.” He pressed a button in front of him and the screen filled
with the picture of a woman.

“Her name is Madeline Reynard.”

“French?” Tyler asked. Tyler was the team’s ordnance expert. Drake doubted there was a bomb in existence that she couldn’t
put together or tear apart. She was also the chair of Sunderland’s English department, the dichotomy a testament to her diversity.

“No. American,” Hannah said, looking up from her computer. “Louisiana originally. A town called Cypress Bluff. But for the
last three years she’s been living in Colombia with Jorge di Silva.”

“The drug racketeer.” Jason nodded, clearly recognizing the name. Jason handled the unit’s IT needs, as well as computer forensics.
A whiz with everything electronic, he was an invaluable asset to both the college and the team.

“Actually, di Silva’s gone a step beyond that,” Hannah said. “They’ve even coined a new term—narcoterrorist. Not only is he
producing and dealing cocaine, he’s using the proceeds to obtain and sell weapons to the highest bidders. No questions asked.”

“Hell of a guy.” Drake frowned. “So how does Madeline Reynard fit into all of this?”

“She’s his mistress,” Avery said. “He plucked her out of a Colombian prison three years ago. Place called San Mateo.”

“I’ve heard of it.” Nash nodded. “Some kind of fortress in the Chaco region. I thought it was reserved for political prisoners.”

“And foreigners,” Hannah said. “We’ve got no physical record of her arrest or conviction, so no idea why she landed there.”

Drake nodded, studying the woman in the picture onscreen. She was tiny, her long, dark hair curling wildly around her face.
Her features were sharp, her chin a little long, her nose aquiline. But even so, she was still a looker. Full lips and a body
that begged a man to touch her. Tottering on heels that should be declared illegal, she stood on a corner, arm held up as
she tried to hail a taxi.

“Not exactly the shy and retiring type,” Tyler observed as she, too, examined the photograph. “When was this taken?”

“About six months ago,” Avery said, shifting to the side so that he could see the photo as well. “In Bogotá. That’s di Silva
behind her.” The man in the picture had his back turned, his attention on someone out of the frame.

“Here’s a better one of him,” Hannah said. The chiseled flat-nosed face that filled the screen was almost identical to the
ones that decorated the burial mounds and ancient monuments of the pre-Columbian ruins scattered along the Cauca River, generations
of genealogy pooled into one man. Drake shook his head, pushing away his anthropological thoughts in favor of more practical
details.

“Is the woman in Bogotá now?”

“No.” Hannah shook her head. “But until recently she was living there, and it’s where she first made contact with our people.
Through the embassy. But shortly thereafter, her contact was killed and Madeline was removed to di Silva’s compound in the
mountains.”

“I take it our man’s death is being linked to di Silva?” Nash asked.

“There’s no hard evidence. Guy was gunned down at his apartment. But if you play connect the dots I’d say di Silva or one
of his henchmen is a likely candidate.”

“Any chance the woman set him up?” Jason asked as Hannah put Madeline Reynard’s picture back up on the screen.

“Higher-ups seem to think she was legit,” Avery said. “Di Silva is known to have a temper. And he’s always been overly protective
of his possessions.”

Hannah switched the photograph again, the new one depicting a sprawling stucco home. “This is di Silva’s hacienda.
Casa de Orquídea.
The area’s known for its orchids. Anyway, the house is part of a compound located about twenty miles due west of Cali. It’s
officially listed as a coffee plantation. But as we know, there are other, more lucrative crops that grow well in that part
of the Andes.”

“Like the coca plant,” Drake inserted.

“Exactly.” Hannah nodded.

“And that’s where Madeline is?” Tyler asked with a frown. “Not going to be an easy in and out.”

“That whole area is pretty inhospitable,” Nash agreed. “I’m assuming he’s got guards.”

“Full-meal deal.” Hannah nodded, switching to a map of the area. “Surveillance, perimeter rotation, and at least four men
on duty in the house. He’s also got eyes on all approaching roads.”

“We can helicopter in,” Drake said. “Then hike through the jungle and enter from the back.”

“Makes sense,” Nash agreed. “But we’ll need to disable the cameras somehow.”

“I should be able to do that from here. With Jason’s help.”

“Not a problem.” Jason nodded.

“Maybe more so than you think,” Avery said. “I’m going to need you on site as part of the team. With Emmett still in Russia,
you’re going to have to coordinate communications and retrieval.”

Emmett Walsh served as the unit’s communications guru. He also headed the college’s economics department. He and Lara Prescott,
an expert in biochemical weapons, were currently in Minsk helping their Russian counterparts neutralize a recently discovered
stockpile of chemical weapons.

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” Jason shrugged. “Hannah can handle it from here, and if there’s a problem, I can just advise from
the field.”

“So why is Langley so interested in this woman?” Drake asked, tipping his chair back to lean against the wall. “I mean, this
is a hell of an extraction. And it’s not like them to make this kind of effort for someone who isn’t somehow connected to
the government. Is there something you aren’t telling us?”

“As far as I know the woman’s a civilian,” Avery said. “The rest is all need to know. And basically we’re not on the short
list. But the basics are that she’s agreed to flip on di Silva in return for her freedom.”

“Word on the street is that he plays a little rough,” Hannah said. “Maybe she’s had enough.”

“Or maybe she’s looking for a payoff.” Drake scowled as Hannah switched back to the photograph of Madeline Reynard. “I know
women like her. She’s not the wave-the-flag-while-turning-on-her-meal-ticket type.”

“Doesn’t matter what she wants. Washington’s buying. And our job is to deliver her safely to Langley.”

Drake shook his head. “This extraction doesn’t seem like much more than a glorified babysitting gig.”

“Well”—Avery smiled—“there’s a little bit more to it than that. Di Silva has been suspected of dealing arms for quite some
time now. But we haven’t been able to establish tangible proof. There have been all kinds of rumors. Everything from a warehouse
in Bogotá to a terrorist hideout in the mountains of Chaco.”

“But nothing has ever been substantiated,” Hannah added.

“Until now.” Avery’s expression turned grim. “According to the original source, Madeline Reynard knows the location of the
weapons cache. And it’s somewhere in the vicinity of di Silva’s compound. So if she’s telling the truth—”

“Then we’ll be able to nail di Silva,” Nash said.

“Exactly.” Avery nodded.

“And if she’s lying?” Drake asked.

“Then”—Avery shrugged—“we leave her to di Silva.”

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