Falcon: The Quiet Professionals Book 3 (24 page)

“Sal!”

He pivoted and found Dean waiting at the door.

“Now.” Dean vanished back inside.

He shifted to her. “We’ll talk later.”

She smiled but it fell away quickly. “Sal, are you cutting again?”

That was a place she didn’t need to go. And where he
wouldn’t
go. Wouldn’t discuss. Shouldn’t have opened up to her and made her think she had a right to ask him about anything in his life.

This thing with Mila turned his brain to sludge. “We have a meeting. Let’s go.”

She should be relieved the truth was out, that they’d had a face-to-face about the past, about Mila—wow, she sure never meant for that to come out, at least not right now—but feeling those ridges on his arm, remembering how he’d started cutting back at the base in the days before Vida showed up… What was stressing Sal now?

“All right, listen up,” Captain Watters said as the team settled into seats around the briefing area. The SEALs were here with Raptor along with a couple of MPs. Why were MPs in a briefing? A large screen sported a grainy image of Brie Hastings. Where was she?

Sal stood near her at the back of the room, arms folded over his broad chest.

“We’ve got new intel to work and a plan to put in play,” the captain said, holding up a piece of paper. “Miss Zarrick has translated a few pages from the journal we found. Much of it is encoded, so the journal will head to DIA, but we caught a few.” His eyes were dark as he met the team’s gazes. “They are specifically targeting the ODAs and special operators. They are looking for our identities.”

“The only reason they’d want that is to take us out.”

“And maybe go a little deeper,” Dean said with a nod.

“Like what?” Hawk asked, hesitation tightening his tanned face.

“Address, next of kin.”

Curses singed the air.

“So, more than ever, it’s our mission to stop Meng-Li Jin and his minions.” Dean let out a heavy breath. “Lieutenant Walker.”

Cassie straightened, the heat of the gazes swinging toward her burning down her spine. “Sir?”

His intelligent, keen eyes bored through her. Intense. Determined. Like Sal in a lot of ways, but somehow gentler. No, that wasn’t the right word. Subtler, maybe. “Would you like to explain this to us?” He nodded to where a grainy video footage sprang onto a monitor mounted on the wall.

“Sure.” Her mind worked to decipher what she saw. Then she knew.
Oh no
.

The images were of her and Gearney at Takkar Towers, talking outside. Then switched to her entering the elevator. Exiting on the fifth floor. The camera zoomed, zeroing in on her inside the reception area waiting for Kiew. Heat wafted across her shoulders.

“What do you want to know?” Trained to act calm and innocent, she struggled to maintain a normal tone.

“I’d like to know what you were doing there. Especially when this team and its allies are in an active investigation to prevent future attacks. The very attacks we believe Daniel Jin, owner of that office space, is directly responsible for. The ones that killed General Burnett and dozens of other American military personnel on this base.” No mistaking the anger in Captain Watters’s voice.

Cassie considered the two paths before her—be honest about her friendship with Kiew or feign investigating just like the team. If she did the latter, they’d want to know why she wasn’t open and direct with them. That would lead to more questions that she didn’t want to answer.

Though the gazes locked on to her held suspicion, they had not blown into full anger. “My friend works for Daniel Jin.”

“What friend?” Watters demanded.

“A friend I’ve known since high school,” Cassie began, knowing she had to provide backstory before they learned she was long-lost friends with Daniel Jin’s paramour. “I lived with her family for a year.”

“I’m sitting here wondering why you’re leaving her name out,” Hawk said from a nearby chair where he sat stiff from the gunshot wound, turning a pen over and over in his hand.

Cassie lifted her chin. These men were at the top of their game for a reason. “Kiew Tang.”

“Son of a biscuit.” Sal glared.

Hawk slapped down the pen. “You’re kidding me, right? The same psycho chick who put a gun to my head?”

“And
didn’t
shoot you,” Cassie reminded him.

“When, Miss Walker,” Captain Watters’s still-calm voice cut through the murmurs and whispered objections and curses, “did you plan to inform us that you were friends with one of our enemies?”

“I am not convinced that Kiew is your enemy.”

Eyebrow arched, Captain Watters reached toward Riordan, who handed him a file. “What about this?”

Another image splashed over the screen. “Who is this man?”

Cassie drew in a breath and swallowed it just as fast. Gearney. She couldn’t reveal that. It’d break her cover.

“His name”—Brie Hastings stared through the feed, eyes on Cassie—“is one that she is probably not allowed to mention. Because she’s not with DIA.”

Cassie wet her lips as she met the captain’s gaze. “Can we talk—privately?”

Her ears rang with the silence and the tension as dense as sandstorms. Beside her, she felt Sal shift to look at her. Cassie’s chest heaved with the effort of trying to maintain a confident posture. But the adrenaline squirted into her throat, forcing her to swallow hard.

“You’ve been lying to me? Again?” Sal whispered, his words barely audible over the thrumming of her pulse.

Captain Watters folded his arms over his chest and held her gaze, not answering. Not moving. Finally, “No.” He pointed around the room. “These are my men, my brothers. We’ve let you into our meetings and briefings, but you’ve concealed from us a key piece of intelligence.”

Cassie said nothing. The situation had progressed beyond something she could salvage. The men here were trained to rout lies and analyze intelligence and responses. They would know—did know—that she wasn’t who they believed.

“Andra, give it to us,” Sal said, his voice soft but stern. Angry.

Cassie maintained eye contact with the captain but kept her peace.

“Lieutenant Walker, how about we tell you what we’ve been able to figure out.” Watters nodded to Hastings.

The woman let out a heavy breath, glanced at Titanis for an affirming nod, then opened a file of her own. “The man you met with is a spy known as Vasily Litvenko—”

Vasily?

“—who was born in Serbia but raised in South Korea when his mother married a South Korean.”

Cassie almost laughed. When had military intelligence gone so horribly wrong?

“His most recent aliases,” Brie continued, “include Elias Jennings, Eric Gearney, and Edward Gaines.”

Frozen at hearing his name in the middle of the list, Cassie couldn’t process what this meant. No. This couldn’t be right. “Call General Phelps.”

Captain Watters squared his shoulders, apparently recognizing the name.

Naming him was her only recourse. Her get-out-of-jail-free card. It meant her career as an operative ended right here. But she didn’t care. Not about those things. If this was true—and it couldn’t be—she’d been working
against
the very people she thought she’d been helping.

I’m a traitor
.

Watters’s face went stone cold as he nodded to the MPs. “Please remove Miss Walker to the detention area.”

Y
ou sure about this?”

The hint of uncertainty in Brie’s voice turned him toward her. They were by the front door, still in the safety of their condo but on the verge of making some risky plays. She would attempt to tag Nianzu or his basement friend. Eamon had the task of getting to the penthouse condo of Meng-Li and planting bugs in adjoining walls. “If you aren’t, then we need—”

“No.” She drew in a slow, long breath. “I’m good. Just shedding lastminute jitters.”

“We can wait.”

“No,” she said. “Raptor’s been hit one too many times, and SOCOM is vulnerable after the CECOM attack.” She nodded. “Just have to remember why I’m doing this.”

Eamon touched her shoulder. “We’re wired up together. I’ll hear everything.” Though he wouldn’t be right with her, he’d be in the same building. Somehow, that thought didn’t even give him the comfort he’d intended to provide.

“There will be a dozen floors between us,” she muttered with a jut of her jaw toward the door. “But I appreciate the heroic sentiment. Let’s go.”

Eamon let her out then followed, locking the door behind them. He headed to the stairs, telling himself not to look back. Not to double-check that she was okay. At the quiet intoning of the lift car arriving, he turned and met Brie’s gaze just seconds before she entered the lift. As he pushed into the stairs, he told himself not to take any meaning in the fact that she’d been watching him. She probably just turned because he had.

Stop reading into things
.

He headed up six flights, cutting off into a sublevel of the penthouse where generators, Internet, electricity hubs, and general maintenance areas for the penthouses lurked. A heavy steel security door barred entry. To the side hung an access panel. Eamon went to work with a handheld device that worked through the security protocols.

As the seconds fell off the clock, he pushed his mind to what would happen once the door unlocked. Security cameras would automatically activate—Meng-Li was obsessive about security. It was a wonder the man didn’t have an armed guard here.

A buzz snapped Eamon’s nerves like a tightly wound guitar string.

He pocketed the device and reached for the handle. According to the research Brie had done, the security cameras were aimed toward the middle and around the control panels of the Internet and electrical grids.

He pushed inside, hugging the wall. Though he moved with his head down, Eamon roamed the room with his eyes. Weapon up, he swept along the perimeter until the panel stood ten paces to his nine o’clock.

Walking sideways and keeping his back to the camera, Eamon sidled up to the panel that held the cabling for their Wi-Fi. A map tucked in the pouch velcroed to his arm, he worked quickly, piggybacking a device that would allow the data to stream to his system in the condo but wouldn’t interrupt the flow for the penthouse. Undetectable was the idea. He worked quickly then sidestepped back to the wall, once more hugging it. Reaching up, he planted listening devices, thankful his six-five height made the feat possible. Brie wouldn’t be able to reach the ceiling beams.

The roaring din of the AC units grew as he got closer. Just a few more… He hoped Brie was doing okay because he wouldn’t hear a cry for help right now anyway. As he tiptoed to place the final one near the beam of the floor in the bedroom, Eamon heard something. He turned. Noticed only darkness and the compressed sound of machines and the garbling of pool water.

But no… something wasn’t right.

He snapped the bug in place and quickly made his way back to the wall. He flanked right. Scurried along the outer perimeter.

A weight plowed into him. Slammed his face into the cement wall.

Eamon bucked, throwing his elbow backward to nail the man’s face. But the bruiser caught his arm, twisted it, and rammed Eamon back into the wall. He might not be as tall as Eamon, but the guy had a bulk not to be messed with.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

In English.

The realization forced him to look over his shoulder.

But the attacker hiked up Eamon’s arm and pressed his hand against his neck, straining the tendons in his shoulder and neck. Eamon growled through the pain that forced him to stop fighting.

“I said”—he pushed harder against the arm—“what are you doing here?”

“I heard you the first time,” Eamon bit out.

“Then you might want to give some answers, hot shot.”

“You’re American.”

“And you’re not.”

The attacker flipped Eamon around.

He swung out, ready to pummel this man and get away, but the attacker anticipated it. Cut him off and jammed his forearm under his throat, crushing the air from his lungs.

Eamon knew how to break this hold. He’d been trained. But when he saw the green eyes, he stilled. “Candyman.”

“What’s it going to be, Man From Oz? Do I end you or do you tell me why you’re here?”