Dire Distraction (15 page)

“But we’ve closed all those doors,” Gregor insisted. “Sahar is dead. And there’s nothing left that links him to us.”

“Except Isaacs.” He closed his eyes for a moment, wondering how the hell things had gotten so out of hand.

“But as far as Solomon knows, Isaacs is dead. Hell, as far as we know, he’s dead. Thinking he’s still alive is just conjecture. There’s no evidence to support the idea. And there is data to support him being dead. So maybe, for once, things are exactly as they appear.”

Michael lifted his gaze to meet Gregor’s. “Things are never as they appear, my friend. And in this game, the minute you start believing they are, you’re dead.”

“So what do you want to do?”

“Find Isaacs before Avery does. And then use him to set a trap.”

“And if we fail again?”

“We cannot fail again. Everything we’ve worked for—everything
I’ve
worked for—depends on eliminating Avery. As long as he’s alive, A-Tac will continue to thwart us.”

“But if we kill him, won’t that mean they’ll come at us even harder?”

“Not if we can turn it around so that someone else takes the blame.”

“Isaacs.”

“You have to admit that it would be advantageous if both of our problems could be eliminated at the same time. Especially if one could be played against the other.”

“And the girl?”

“She’ll be our ace in the hole. If all else fails, we’ll play to Avery’s fatal flaw.”

Gregor frowned. “And that is…”

Michael paused for a moment, then smiled. “Avery Solomon will sacrifice anything for the people he loves. And if our intel is correct, Ms. Price has just risen to the top of that list.”

S
yd walked into the improvised command post Avery’s team had set up at the hotel and hesitated just inside the door. The entire team was gathered, Avery standing in front of a long table talking to his second in command, Nash Brennon. Harrison Blake and Hannah Marshall sat on the far side of the room, two laptops and a printer set up on the table between them. The last two team members, Drake Flynn and Tyler Hanson, were reviewing a stack of documents that Sydney assumed were intel reports on the firefight and the possible culprits. Behind them, the skyline of downtown Okinawa gleamed in the morning sunlight.

Although Sydney had worked with other operatives on various assignments, she’d spent the bulk of her career working solo. And now, watching the easy camaraderie of the team, she felt a wave of wistfulness that surprised her. Although she’d always valued her freedom—still did if she were being honest—she also envied the fact that Avery’s A-Tac seemed more like a family than an organizational unit. Everyone had each other’s backs in a way she’d never really seen before.

Their rescue being a case in point.

Hannah had called in the cavalry the minute she’d realized there might be a problem, despite the fact that the suits in Langley had insisted they not be a part of the operation. And now, Sydney had the feeling that they’d all gone off book, determined to help Avery not only find the culprit behind the decimation at Shrum’s compound, but also the party responsible for Evangeline’s death.

“All right people, let’s get started. The clock is ticking, and we need answers.” Avery’s deep voice boomed across the room.

Everyone immediately moved to be seated, Sydney still standing at the back of the room, suddenly unsure of her place here. This was an Avery she’d not really seen—a leader who commanded the room with just a few words. And no matter what lay between them, she wasn’t technically a part of the team. She hesitated, considering flight, but then Tyler smiled and nodded at the chair next to hers.

“So what’s the scuttle on the attack at Shrum’s?” Avery asked, as Sydney settled into place.

“As expected, no one has come out to openly take credit for it,” Hannah said, pushing a pair of chartreuse glasses up higher on her nose. “But most everyone is saying it was Wai Yan.”

“Problem with that,” Harrison continued, his fingers moving across his keyboard even as he spoke, “is that as powerful as Wai Yan’s organization is, they don’t have easy access to the aircraft and firepower involved in the attack.”

“That kind of thing is always for sale if the price is right.” Drake shrugged, tipping his chair so that the back was leaning against the wall.

“True,” Hannah agreed. “But I’ve been comparing it to the attack on Emilio Rivon’s compound in Bolivia. And the similarities can’t be ignored.” She hit a key on her laptop, and two pictures flashed up on a monitor above Avery’s head.

“Particularly the use of air power,” Tyler said, studying the pictures. “Both compounds were strafed with bombs, the intent clearly to destroy everything in the area.”

“And wipe it clean of any trace that might have been left behind from the initial ground attack.” Nash frowned up at the photos, both showing similar aircraft bombing the facilities below.

“Well, it certainly makes it easier to blame someone else if there’s nothing concrete to refute the idea. A few well-placed rumors, and everyone buys into the story that it was a rival organization.”

“But the odds of two different drug cartels on two completely different continents using the exact same methodology to take out a rival seems a bit far-fetched,” Drake said. “No matter how well-structured the manufactured intel.”

“Possibly, but with nothing else to go on, my thought is that most intelligence agencies would simply write it off. It’s not like Rivon or Shrum were model citizens.”

“I take it Rivon was connected to another operation of yours?” Sydney asked, the brief she’d remembered suddenly taking on new meaning.

“Indirectly.” Avery nodded. “We had intel that suggested he might be involved with a man we were chasing. And possibly even with the Consortium in some capacity, but before we could follow through on the information, Rivon was destroyed along with his compound.”

“And you’re thinking it was the same people who took out Shrum,” she said.

“Exactly.” Nash nodded. “Only this time, the attack was personal. The idea clearly to not only take out Shrum but to eliminate Avery as well.”

“Which is totally my fault,” Harrison said, his face reflecting his regret. “My friend and I went over that photo with every conceivable software, and I swear we thought it was the real deal.”

“Not even you can nail it every time.” Hannah reached over and laid a hand on Harrison’s arm.

“Yeah, well, my mistake could have cost Avery his life.”

“But it didn’t.” Avery’s tone was firm and forgiving. And Harrison gave a tight little smile, accepting the sentiment even as he still clearly blamed himself. “And you know as well as I do that there’s nothing gained in beating yourself up over something that’s already done.”

“Better to concentrate on putting together the puzzle pieces so that they can lead us to the bastards behind the attack,” Drake said. “Then we can run them to ground and kick some ass.”

“I second that.” Nash smiled, but the sentiment didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So first on the list is the fact that Kamaal Sahar seems to have played a role in both the placement of the hard drive in Afghanistan and the bomb that took out Evangeline’s Humvee in Iraq.”

“Yes, except that Martin indicated he was dead. Possibly in retaliation for talking to him,” Avery said. “Hannah, have you been able to verify that? Seems like it should have come across our radar.”

“I haven’t got anything yet.” She shook her head, her short, spiked hair swaying with the motion. “But I do have a DOA in Damascus who was never identified. It fits the location and timeline Shrum gave you. No one claimed the body, and he was buried in a pauper’s grave. We’re having his body exhumed now to check for identity.”

“Why the hell wouldn’t the authorities have checked it at the time?” Drake asked. “Kamaal is at least in our top one hundred.”

“My guess is that someone bribed them to turn the other way. Better for them if Kamaal stays alive.” Avery leaned against the table, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Better to have us chasing ghosts,” Drake said, “than someone who might really matter.”

“Well, they know it’s important,” Hannah assured them, looking over the top of her glasses. “And I’ve put a rush on it, so we ought to know something definitive soon.”

“But assuming that Shrum’s right and Kamaal is dead, then we’re shit out of luck since Isaacs is dead, too.”

“Still, we’re a lot closer to connecting the dots,” Avery said. “If Shrum was telling the truth, then it’s possible that Evangeline’s death was linked to Shrum’s and my past. Something that made it worth the effort to try to lure me into a trap at Martin’s compound.”

“But what?” Sydney asked. “And why now?”

“I don’t have the answer. But if we can find it, I’ve got a feeling we’ll be closer to not only finding the person responsible for Evangeline’s and Shrum’s deaths, but also someone high up the ladder within the Consortium.”

“You’re thinking, beyond the obvious tie between our interfering consistently with Consortium objectives, that there’s a personal angle as well?” Tyler posed the question, but it was clear she already knew the answer.

“I don’t see how we can avoid it,” Avery said. “We know that both Kamaal and Isaacs had ties to the Consortium. And we know that neither of them were part of the inner echelon, because they were both deemed expendable.”

“The Consortium definitely isn’t shy about offing people it sees as a direct risk to exposing the inner workings of the organization,” Drake offered.

“But according to Shrum,” Sydney continued, expanding on Avery’s thought, “both men had a direct connection to Evangeline’s death. Isaacs perhaps even building and then planting the bomb.”

“And Shrum believed the motivation was rooted in the two of you,” Nash added. “Which seems to back up the idea that someone, potentially the same person, tried pretty damn hard to lure you into a deathtrap.”

“Well, if all that’s right,” Tyler said, “then I’m guessing someone out there is pretty pissed off. Not only have we continued to thwart his or her continued efforts to detonate a weapon of mass destruction, we’ve also managed, despite what should have been a slam dunk, to keep his nemesis alive.”

“Meaning Avery.” Sydney felt her heart contract as she remembered just how close she’d come to losing him.

“Yeah, well, the best laid plans and all of that,” Drake said. “Clearly this dude hasn’t gotten the message yet. We don’t go down easy.”

“No, we don’t,” Avery concurred. “But if we’re going to put an end to this once and for all, we need to act fast. Before anyone has time to regroup. Hannah, I want you to dig deep into my past. Nothing left unturned. Look at every operation Shrum and I were involved with. Especially ones where we were successful in either bringing someone down or eliminating them all together. Especially if there was arms trafficking involved.” He stood up with a frown. “If this is personal, then it’s about payback. Whoever this is, he wanted me to feel the same pain he did.”

“So what’s our next move?” Tyler asked. “Beyond researching Avery’s past and waiting for verification that Kamaal is dead.”

“I think I can answer that,” Harrison said, looking up over the top of his computer, his gaze encompassing them all. “I had Tracy take a look at the tissue sample we took from the body found at the blast site of the bomb that killed Isaacs.”

“And Tracy is?” Sydney asked, confused.

“Tracy Braxton,” Tyler answered. “One of the top forensic pathologists in the country. She owns Braxton Labs, and she’s a good friend of Harrison’s. And good people. She helped us nail a serial killer a while back.”

“Yeah, but I thought we’d already verified that it was Isaacs’s body they found.” Drake dropped his chair back on all four legs, leaning forward, clearly curious.

“Something just didn’t feel right to me,” Harrison said. “So I figured better to have someone take another look. And she just sent me the results.”

“And what did she say?” Avery prompted.

“That the body they found wasn’t Isaacs. It belonged to a guy named Warner Stoltz.”

“And do we know anything about this Stoltz?” Avery asked.

“Just that he’s a gun for hire,” Hannah said, reading from her computer screen as she typed. “German mercenary. No known affiliations as far as groups are concerned. But I only just started working on it. In the meantime, my guess is that he was sent to take out Isaacs but Isaacs got to him first. He probably planted the trace we found that made us believe he was the one who died. He certainly had the expertise to set the bomb.”

“Makes sense,” Nash agreed. “Isaacs certainly represented the threat of a leak, especially when you consider that we destroyed his network. And quite frankly, I never really believed that Isaacs would let himself get blown up by his own bomb.”

“So if the Consortium did target Isaacs, then he’s probably out there on the run or lying low somewhere,” Sydney offered.

“And that means he might be willing to spill his guts,” Drake said. “With the proper inducement, of course.”

“Well, I sure as hell don’t like the idea of the man walking free after all that he’s done.” Nash frowned.

“It’s a trade-off,” Avery shrugged. “And considering the Consortium seems bent on destabilizing any efforts at a peaceful world accord, I’m thinking it’s a small price to pay. But before we start debating the merits of any kind of bargain with the man, we have to find him. And Isaacs has already proved that he’s adept at covering his tracks.”

“Yeah, well, not as well as he might think,” Hannah said with a smug smile. “As soon as Harrison texted me about Tracy’s results, I started digging. And thanks to some security footage and our facial-recognition software, I’m pretty sure I’ve found him. He’s in Scotland. On the Isle of Skye.”

“So what do we do now?” Sydney asked, her gaze moving to Avery’s.

“We find the son of bitch and make him an offer he simply can’t refuse.”

T
he largest island in the Inner Hebrides, Skye had a windswept wildness that bred only the toughest of men. It was here that the Clans MacLeod and Donald had been born, the ruins of their tower-house strongholds still standing testament to the tenacity of the Scottish Highlanders.

Avery breathed in the cold, salty air, his gaze sweeping over the rolling green fields dotted with grazing sheep. A few crofters’ huts were scattered across the treeless expanse, their lichen-covered stones standing white against the red hills rising wraithlike behind them. Mist curled in and around the little valley, which, at this early hour, seemed completely void of human inhabitation.

With a frown, Avery centered his attention on a stone cottage with a thatched roof about fifty yards in front of them, just at the bottom of a small rise. “According to Hannah’s intel,” he said, turning to Nash, Drake, and Sydney, who were also watching the cottage, “Isaacs should be holed up in there. Unless somehow he’s gotten word that we’re on to him.”

The team had taken the first flight they could secure out of Okinawa, and after a quick stop in Germany, had boarded a second plane bound for Edinburgh. From there they’d made their way by car to the bridge from Kyle of Lochalsh to Kyleakin and on to the northwest and the cottage in the glen below them. The journey had taken just over twenty-four hours.

The rest of the team was still in Edinburgh. Hannah and Harrison still trying to ferret out information connecting Warner Stoltz to the Consortium. Tyler focusing on reporting in to Langley, who in turn would clear the way with MI5 for official sanction of Avery’s presence in Skye.

Although it had been tempting to keep the operation off-book, Avery knew that there was potential for blowback if things should go south. Or, more important, if Isaacs should point to other Brits playing major roles within the Consortium. Better for once to cross his t’s and dot his i’s.

“I don’t see how he could possibly know we’re here,” Nash said. “There hasn’t really even been time for MI5 to have been informed.”

“Besides,” Drake added, “this place is out in the friggin’ middle of nowhere.”

“Not to mention the fact that there’s no one for him to get information from.” Sydney shrugged. “I mean, he can hardly call the Consortium. If we’re right, they’re the ones who tried to kill him. And if he were to contact anyone on our side of the equation, it wouldn’t go much better. After all, he is wanted for terrorism.”

“Bastard is lucky we need to talk to him, or we’d be the ones taking him out,” Drake said. “We may have managed to avert catastrophe in New York, but that doesn’t mean much to the people Isaacs killed.”

“Or their families,” Avery agreed. “But if he can give us information that will lead to taking down the Consortium, it’ll go a hell of a long way toward evening the score.”

“Well, I’d still rather see him dead,” Nash said, pulling out his gun as they prepared to go. “But I’ll settle for taking him into custody and throwing his ass in jail.”

“Who knows?” Sydney offered. “Maybe someone there will do the honors for us. Even criminals can be patriotic. I’m guessing terrorists aren’t exactly top of the food chain when it comes to incarceration.”

Drake shot Sydney a smile. And Nash let out a laugh. Clearly, they’d accepted her as part of the team. And, Avery thought, not for the first time, how fate often turned on a dime. He’d arrived in the Golden Triangle looking for one woman, and in the process, fallen in love with another.

Second chances were rare, and Avery was wise enough to recognize the fact. This time, no matter what it cost him, he was determined not to make the same mistakes. But that didn’t make it easy. His instinct had been to refuse Sydney’s request to come with them. To instead insist that she head back to the States. But the Consortium had made this her battle when they’d tried to kidnap her. And he knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t going to just walk away without a fight.

So he’d swallowed his fear and allowed her to come—knowing full well that they could be walking into some kind of trap. Isaacs’s, or worse, the Consortium’s.

“All right,” he said, focusing his thoughts on the task at hand. “We’ll move out on my signal. Nash, you and Drake head for the back, and Sydney and I will take the front. And no matter how tempting it is to do otherwise, we take him alive.”

“Roger that,” Drake said, already moving down the slope, he and Nash keeping low, using a rambling stone wall for cover.

“You ready?” Avery asked, turning to Sydney, who like Nash had pulled out her gun.

“Locked and loaded.” She gave him a thumbs-up, and they too, started down the hill, in short order covering the ground between the hedgerows leading to the cottage.

It was low-slung, fronted by a brown door and two small windows. A gorse bush, untrimmed and overgrown, huddled outside one of the windows, its tightly grouped branches tapping against the glass. A battered bicycle leaned haphazardly against the wall near the door, and a large, twisted rowan tree stood in front of the other window, dark green leaves unfurled toward the rising sun. The little house, like others in the area, was built of stone, the rocks weathered to varied shades of brown and gray.

As they approached the front door, weapons at the ready, a startled fieldfare swooped out of the tree, wings thrashing as it whistled in fright. Avery motioned Sydney still, and they waited in the shadow of the big tree, but nothing else moved. With a nod, he sent them both forward again, Sydney flanking the door to the right as he took position on the left.

Again, they waited, but the silence continued unbroken. Avery reached for the door handle and turned the latch, slowly pushing the heavy door open. Moving on his signal, Sydney swung across the threshold, her weapon raised, Avery following immediately behind her.

A small hall ended with a stairway leading up to a loft or an attic at the far end. To the right was an archway opening into what served as a living room, an open book on the table next to a teacup giving at least some credence to the possibility that someone was in fact living there.

Sydney mouthed the word
clear
and then lowered her gun, reaching out to touch the cup. “It’s still warm,” she whispered, her gaze sweeping across the room. “And the fire is banked. I can see the coals from here.”

Avery lifted a finger to his lips and lifted his chin toward the ceiling above them, the soft sound of something moving barely discernible. Sydney nodded, lifting her gun again, and together the two of them made their way back into the hall, stopping in front of the second opening on the left. Nash and Drake stepped into the dining room from a second doorway leading to what must be the kitchen and the back entrance.

Drake shook his head, indicating that they hadn’t found Isaacs, and then opened his mouth to speak, but Avery motioned him quiet, pointing at the ceiling again, another rustle from above confirming the potential of an upstairs occupant. Without waiting for the others to catch up, Avery moved down the hall to the staircase. The steps were old and very narrow, forcing them to proceed single file.

Avery took the lead with Sydney behind him, and Drake and Nash bringing up the rear. At the top he stopped for a moment in the shelter of the stairwell, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. Then, leading with his gun, he rounded the corner. At first glance, the room appeared to be empty.

An unmade bed filled most of the space, a large rocker sitting across from it near the small dormered window. Light slanted across the wood-planked floor as it filtered through a pair of tattered lace curtains. And as the four of them filled the tiny room, nothing else moved except a swirl of dust motes.

“Maybe it was the wind,” Sydney said, nodding toward the curtains fluttering slightly in the breeze.

“Or maybe not,” Avery replied with a frown as a moan emanated from the general direction of the floor on the far side of the bed. Moving cautiously, gun raised, Avery inched forward, skirting the quilt, which had fallen off the end of the bed. The shadows were deeper in this corner of the room, and it took a moment for Avery to make out the shape of a man lying facedown on the floor near the far wall.

Keeping the gun trained on the still figure, Avery crossed over and knelt down to turn the man over. He moaned with the motion, eyes closed, blood staining the white cotton of his shirt, a pool of it on the floor where he’d been lying.

“Is it Isaacs?” Sydney queried.

Avery nodded. “He’s been shot,” he said, although they could all see the blood, making the statement a blinding glimpse of the obvious. “And from the amount of blood, I’d say the bullet nicked an artery.” He leaned closer as Drake searched the room. Sydney knelt on Isaacs’s other side, while Nash produced the sat phone Hannah had given them. “Joseph can you hear me?” Avery asked.

The man moaned, and then his eyelids fluttered open, the pain reflected there indicative of the degree of his injury. His eyes widened as he recognized Avery, his body thrashing as he tried to roll away.

“Just hang in there,” Sydney whispered, laying a hand across Isaacs’s brow, her touch stilling him instantly. “We’re going to get you some help.”

Fear faded, but he was still clearly agitated. He tried to say something but the words got lost as he grimaced again with pain, the bloodstain on his shirt spreading rapidly as he struggled for breath.

Avery opened the buttons on Isaacs’s shirt, pulling the material away to reveal a gaping wound, blood spurting in little pulses from the opening. Sydney swallowed a gasp when she saw it, and behind her, Drake was shaking his head. Avery had seen sucking wounds like this, recognizing that for every drop of blood oozing out onto his belly an equal or possibly greater amount was seeping into his abdomen.

Even if helped arrived now, there was little chance that Isaacs would make it.

“Can you tell me who did this to you?” Avery asked, bending low so that he could hear the answer. “Was it the Consortium?”

Isaacs opened his mouth to answer, but only a gurgle of sound emerged.

Frustrated, Avery shifted to sit back on his heels, but before he could move away, Isaacs grabbed his wrist, his grip surprisingly strong considering the extent of his injuries. “Gre…” he started and then stopped, his breathing coming in gasps now. “Gre…” he said again, this time a little louder.

Avery leaned close again. “Tell me. Who did this?”

“Gre…Gre…gor,” Isaacs whispered, and then his hand went slack, his chest rising and falling one last time as the breath left his body.

“Is he dead?” Sydney asked, her hand still cupping Isaacs’s face.

Avery nodded.

“So what was it he was trying to say?” Drake asked as Nash moved over to the window, talking animatedly with someone at the other end of the phone line.

“I’m not sure,” Avery answered, frustration cresting. “It certainly sounded like a name. Gregor, I think. But I have no idea who that is. For all I know, it’s his father or brother or a neighbor or something.”

“Or maybe it’s someone with the Consortium,” Drake offered, staring dispassionately down at the body. “Like his killer.”

“You find any trace that might help us narrow the options down a bit?” Avery asked.

“No.” Drake shook his head. “There’s a hole in the wall over there from a bullet, but someone dug the slug out. Might be prints. But we’ll need forensic techs to find out.”

“On their way,” Nash said, snapping the sat phone shut. “For now it’s just the locals. But Hannah’s on the horn with the brass in London as we speak, so I figure we’ll have a whole cadre of people within a couple of hours.”

“Good,” Avery said. “In the meantime, we need to be sure that no one moves the body or messes with the scene. Even the local techs. We can use them to get the basics, but we’ll save the rest for the London crew.”

“Avery?” Sydney called, still kneeling by the body, her head tilted quizzically as she studied the dead man. “I think maybe there’s something in his hand.”

Avery dropped down beside her, and reached out for the man’s left hand. Carefully he pried back the lifeless fingers, and a small plastic disk dropped to the floor accompanied by a small scrap of paper.

On the paper, Isaacs had written a series of coordinates along with a date and time.

“Looks like latitude and longitude,” Nash noted from his position just over Sydney’s shoulder. “I’m guessing a location?”

“But for what?” Sydney frowned.

“No idea.” Avery shook his head, pushing to his feet, still holding the paper. “But I’m guessing it’s important.”

“Wait a minute,” Sydney said, her voice hushed, almost a whisper. “I think we’ve got a problem.”

Avery spun back to her, his gaze following hers to the black plastic disk on the floor. It looked a little like a garage door opener. With a gray button in the middle. Only Isaacs’s cottage didn’t have a garage. And a light just above the button was flashing red.

“Considering Isaacs’s penchant for making things go boom, I’m guessing that’s a detonator,” Drake observed, his voice like Sydney’s gone suddenly sotto. “And since thanks to us, he’s only just released it, I’m also guessing that it’s been primed.”

“Which means that we’ve probably only got seconds to get the hell out of here.” Nash was already moving toward the door. Drake close behind.

Avery literally swung Sydney up and over his shoulder, running with her through the door and down the narrow stairs, taking the steps two at a time. At the bottom, he broke into a full-out sprint, tearing down the hallway and through the doorway, out onto the grass beneath the rowan tree.

Ahead of him, he could see Nash and Drake as they dove for cover behind the stone wall. He started to follow, still holding tightly to Sydney, but a wave of pure energy and heat lifted him instead, throwing them into the air before sending them slamming back into the ground. Behind them, the house exploded in a burst of smoke and fire, and Avery rolled to cover Sydney’s body with his, shrapnel from the house raining down on them.

The air was filled with the acrid stench of the burning remains, and black soot darkened the space around them. “Are you okay?” he asked, as he rolled off her, his heart in his throat as he helped her sit up.