Deliberate Deceptions: Hauberk Protection, Book 3 (3 page)

Sam hitched his chair around and settled back into it. “Then you’ve come to the right place.”

Chad let Sam run with the company patter while he composed a note to his net wizard Dan to dig up everything he could on Weir. Once the email had been sent, he sat back and assessed their newest client. South African from his accent. Weir’s alert gray eyes behind wire-framed glasses assessed his surroundings with the attentiveness Chad expected from his agents. The gaze stopped briefly at the holster beneath Chad’s arm before rising to his face.

Interesting and commendable. Many of their clients couldn’t have told him what color suit he’d been wearing after talking with them for an hour.

Salt and pepper hair that had once been sandy brown had been clipped so it was no longer than an inch anywhere on his head. There was more gray in the neatly trimmed goatee. Forty perhaps, give or take a couple years. He’d been taller than Troy when they were standing in the doorway which pegged him at six foot two, give or take an inch. A hundred-and-eighty pounds, though that was probably generous.

“I own a few mining ventures back home.” Gold or diamonds? Chad wondered. No wedding ring, but a heavy gold link bracelet on his right wrist and a Rolex—one of the Oyster models without diamonds—confirmed Weir had a healthy bank account. Wouldn’t a diamond mine owner wear their own product? Gold then perhaps.

“A few months ago, I came to believe we had a mole in the company, someone who might be looking to steal a device we’ve been working on that should help us find new lodes. So I hired the woman I want you to guard to do some discreet investigation.”

“Let me guess—she kicked over some rocks and found a snake?” Sam leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees.

“Yes. We know who the mole is—and they’ve been neutralized. Unfortunately the person the informant was selling the information to has taken it personally.”

Neutralized? Chad frowned. In his business that meant they’d been killed.

Sam didn’t seem as concerned about that line of thought. “You said there have been threats. What type?”

Weir toyed with the hem of his pants on the ankle he’d hitched over his knee. “Someone tossed a Molotov cocktail through her flat’s window last Tuesday night. She got out, a little singed but no worse for wear.” Chad figured that was an understatement but kept his peace as Weir continued. “My government recommended she return to the States while they investigated the attack. Since I had meetings here this week, I accompanied her.”

Troy, who had been leaning against the wall listening silently up to this point, grabbed the remaining vacant chair. “It didn’t work though, did it? There’s been another attempt. Here in the States.”

Weir splayed his fingers over his knees and examined them for a long second before he answered. “Yes. Someone broke into her room and left a tripwire that would have set off a bomb. Lucky for her she’s cautious and found it before she set it off.”

“Who’s your suspect?” Chad cut to the chase.

“The man’s name is Frank Harris.” Weir pulled out a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and passed it to Sam, who glanced at it for a moment before handing it to Chad. “According to the investigating officer, Harris has links to a half dozen radical terrorist organizations ranging from Shining Path to Al Qaeda.”

All three of them—Sam, Troy and Chad—cursed.

“We can provide a safe location for her to stay—” Sam glanced at Chad, who nodded his agreement, “—complete with armed bodyguards, and a state-of-the-art security system with around the clock coverage. But you’re going to have to let us in on the investigation she was running.”

“Fair enough.” Weir nodded.

Chad left Sam to discuss the monetary details while he considered which safe house to use and who to assign as their principal’s guards. He discarded the house in Fredrick as unsuitable. It worked fine for partners seeking distance from a vengeful ex, but with this case, they were talking a more sophisticated threat. The estate in Texas Sam had bought and fitted out the previous year was a possibility, as were the penthouse in New York, the farm just outside Atlanta, or the compound in Vermont. They’d each been set up with a state-of-the-art alarm system, along with a panic room that would be secure even if someone hit it with a hundred pounds of C-4 explosive. For some reason he couldn’t name, he ruled out Arlington. New York was out too. It had seen enough terrorism, thanks very much. He checked with the Atlanta office only to discover their safe house was in use. Which left Vermont.

They’d need round-the-clock coverage and someone experienced in dealing with people willing to die to attain their target. He ran through his list of available operatives, weighing each on their merits. The former vice cop Walters? He’d be the best bet as a lead op. The newbie—Campbell—made the list because he hadn’t lost that wariness from his hitch in Afghanistan. Wariness was exactly what he wanted, what their client needed. He added and discarded a half-dozen more names. Once he had a plan set in his head, he rejoined the discussion.

Sam leaned back in his chair. “Who are you thinking for lead op?”

Before he could say anything, Troy leaned forward. “Can I recommend Scott Phillips? He’s got one of the best strategic minds of anyone at Hauberk.”

Phillips? They both knew the operative wasn’t one hundred percent recovered from his torture at the hands of the terrorists in Colombia.

“No.” Sam’s emphatic denial saved Chad from having to denounce Troy’s pick. “He can help guard her, but I don’t want him as the lead.”

“That those people were taken hostage wasn’t his fault, Sam, and you know it. There’s no possible way he could have known they were being set up,” Troy argued, intensity building in his tone. “Plus he’ll be extra cautious
because
of what happened down there. Paranoia can be a good weapon sometimes.”

Sam shook his head. “No. I’ve got a better idea.”

He turned his attention back to Weir. “I’m gonna put Mr. Miller himself here in charge of your lady’s protection, Mr. Weir. He’s former FBI and has learned a few more tricks since we’ve set up Hauberk.”

Damn it. Chad’s irritation increased twelvefold when Weir turned a considering eye on him. “From what I understand he’s been sitting behind a desk for a while. How do I know he’s up to the task?”

“Shee-it.” Sam hissed in a breath. “Who the hell do you think plans and supervises all our ops? The damned janitor?”

The tension in the air thickened when Weir stiffened, making Chad wonder what his story was, and if he was telling them everything about this threat that they needed to know. Finally he nodded. “All right. So, tell me what you’re planning to do to keep her safe.”

“First we’re going to get her out of D.C. We drive her around the city and check for a tail. Then we take her to Dulles and fly her to one of the busier airports—”

“Atlanta or O’Hare,” Troy injected.

“—have her change planes to one of our private jets, changing planes at least twice more.”

“We make it effin’ hard for anyone to follow her path.”

Chad ignored Troy’s interruptions. “Then we stash her in one of our safe houses we have scattered around the country, surround her with a dozen or more heavily armed agents, and keep her safe until the threat can be neutralized.”

“Where?”

Weir’s condescending smile rankled. Who did he think he was dealing with here? A fucking amateur? “With all due respect, Mr. Weir, if I tell you where she’s staying, next thing we know there’s a leak somewhere—an email that’s compromised, a phone conversation that’s overheard and your lady is lying on a slab in the morgue beside a handful of our agents. If you hire us, you’ll just have to trust us to keep her safe.”

“While she’s tucked safely away, we set up a team to smoke Harris out,” Sam added. “Since I’m going to be around anyway, I’ll lead the team myself.”

Weir tapped his index finger on his knee for ten seconds before he nodded. He stood and held out his hand, surprisingly to Chad, not to Sam. “All right, you’re in. But if you lose her, if you fuck this up and she gets hurt? I’m coming after you.”

“I’ll keep her safe.” Because who knew if Sam would let him come back. Without Hauberk, without a job to lose himself in, what else did he have left?

Chapter Three

Lauren was lost. Neither Ed nor the Hauberk agent whom Ed introduced as Andy Walters would tell her where they were now or where they were heading. Oh, she’d recognized Atlanta’s red soil at their first stop, but they’d switched to a ten-seater Lear and from there they’d landed in a series of unrecognizable municipal airports. Each time they’d landed, she’d wondered aloud if Chad would be meeting them there. Each time Ed scratched his fake beard and shrugged while Andy said nothing at all. She’d given up asking three landings ago when they’d switched from the Lear to a Cessna.

She placed her suitcase at her feet and assessed her surroundings as a white panel van approached. The crisp wind cutting through her thin jacket bore no resemblance to the balmy Georgia weather where they’d first changed planes. No mountains in the distance, no skyscrapers. They could be anywhere in middle America. Or Canada for that matter.

After a simple “stay here”, Andy walked across the tarmac toward the van.

Two men jumped out the back, both scanning the area for threats while the driver remained with the van. They’d left their jackets unbuttoned despite the chill in the air, prepared to draw their weapons if challenged. Good. Chad would never have hired wannabe rent-a-cops. These guys were probably ex-police, ex-military. Maybe even a couple of former FBI agents, like Chad. And her.

Andy greeted them then climbed into the van. To warn Chad? She’d never met Walters before, so she couldn’t be sure if he knew that she’d formerly been Mrs. Miller or not. If he did know, would he warn Chad and give him an opportunity to back out before they could get him safe?

Moments later Andy reappeared, as did another man. Lauren’s heart fluttered into a rapid tattoo then plummeted. It wasn’t Chad but Troy McPherson. She barely stifled her huff of disappointment. “What’s he doing here? Where’s Chad?”

“Watson’s probably sending Miller on his own series of hops to make sure he’s not followed either,” Ed guessed. “That way Harris can’t simply follow him to find you.”

“You’re sure Watson bought your cover story?”

“For now. But we both know Hauberk has some fucking impressive contacts within the DSS that even Cooper doesn’t have, so they’ll find out I’m not who I say I am soon enough. I figure we’ve got another twelve hours. Maybe more, maybe less.”

“We should have come up with a better cover.”

“There wasn’t time.” He ignored her scowl. “Anyway, once they do figure it out, you and Miller will both be somewhere safe. Who I am won’t matter after that. Besides, McPherson knows who you are. If you explain to him about Chad being in danger, he’ll help.”

He’d help keep
Chad
safe. She wasn’t as sure she wouldn’t find herself thrown to the wolves.

“While they’re not looking…” Ed tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. To anyone watching, it would appear to be a familiar gesture of a friend, perhaps even a lover. With luck they wouldn’t see the transponder he’d tucked into her French braid so she could contact him in an emergency. “It’s the only way to keep you both safe, Lauren. Cooper said Harris cracked whatever code they had on the psych files. If he could get in there, who knows if he accessed the rest—you know we can’t use any of our own resources.”

“I know. There are just so many things that can go wrong. On so many levels.”

McPherson said something to one of the men before he and Andy headed their way. His scowl deepened with each step. Troy’s gaze flickered between her and Ed, then dropped to her suitcase. His eyes narrowed when he realized she was the only one with luggage.

“You?” He faced Weir. “This is
not
a good idea.”

Ed pulled out his cell phone. “Shall I phone your boss and tell him you’re refusing the assignment?”

“So call him. Tell him.” His Irish accent was thick today, where last time they’d spoken she’d not heard a trace. Did he affect it for show or did it only slip out when he was upset? “Sam won’t agree to this either. Standard procedure is the lead op, or anyone else on the detail for that matter, has no personal involvement with the subject. She’s his ex-wife for Christ’s sake.”

Ed tucked his cell phone in his pocket, letting Troy get a look at the Sig Sauer under his jacket. He took off his glasses, pulled off his beard. Without the props, the hardness of his personality was reflected in the sharp planes of his face. “You do it our way or…our way. You don’t have a choice.”

“Yeah. I do. We put Walters in charge of the op the way Chad originally suggested.”

“We can’t accept that, Troy.” Lauren exchanged a look with her partner. They’d worked together long enough that he knew what she intended. After a moment, Weir nodded his agreement. “Whoever is after me may try to get to me through Chad. That’s the reason we manipulated things the way we did today. We had to keep Chad safe as well.”

“Chad’s an effin’ target?” Troy tossed in a few more epithets, though they weren’t in any language she understood. “Might have been nice if you’d let me in on that beforehand. Or Sam.”

“We were afraid you’d tell Miller.”

Lauren jumped in. “If Chad realized he was the target, you know he’d demand to stay in Washington and fight the threat head on. This way we can both keep him safe.”

“By putting you both in the same place? Don’t you think that’s making it a little too easy for Harris? It would be better if you’re kept in separate safe houses.” He was right of course. She’d made the same point to Cooper.

Ed must have realized she was about to relent. He folded his arms and glared at Troy. “You don’t do things the way we ask, we’ll take Miller into protective custody and hold him where you can’t reach him. We can also arrest you for interfering with government agents. That wouldn’t look so good for Hauberk now, would it Mr.
McPherson
?”

He’d do it too. Ed would call in the cavalry, who would hustle Troy away and convince him to play ball—by fair means or foul—but if it came down to it, they couldn’t press charges. After all, the Brigade didn’t officially exist, according to the government.