Hellfire (Sisters In Law Book 2) Read online

  "Yes, assuming."

  Which was when she decided to put him to the test. It was getting close to her meeting with Sevi and she found herself in the position of half-trusting and half-fearing her companion of that day. It was time to stop weighing it in her mind and start taking steps instead.

  "I'm going to jump in the shower and get refreshed," she said. She wasn't normally a seductress, but she was down to the wire and needed more information. "Would you join me?"

  He dropped a slice of cheese into his lap.

  "Join you? In the shower?"

  "Sure, why not? I'm hot and tired and would like to relax. But only if you want."

  "Of course I want. You're extremely desirable. Not to mention dangerous. I've noticed the print of the gun through your slacks."

  She smiled. "I thought my top covered that."

  "Only to the uninitiated eye. I happened to be looking. You're well armed."

  She stood and raised her shirt. She pulled the IWB holster and gun from her slacks.

  "Glock. Forty caliber. It's enough. What about you?"

  He spread his arms. "Search me. I have no weapon."

  She laughed. "Join me in the shower. We'll see about that."

  "Please. You first. Then I'll come in."

  She stopped removing her shoes. She didn't want to take the gun into the bathroom with her and she wasn't about to leave it with him. He would have to undress and get under the water first.

  "No, you go ahead. Then I'll come in."

  He shrugged and stood and began removing his shirt. It was white and slightly billowy at the waist. He removed it and looked into her eyes. She dropped her gaze to his belly. She was glad to see his stomach was flat and tightly muscled. Her pulse picked up. It had been forever since she'd last held Sonny in her arms. There had been no other man since then. A quick breath snapped in her throat. She stepped to him and held out her arms. He opened his own arms and drew her to him. She placed her face flat against his chest and felt, for the first time in months, just a little safe.

  He finished undressing down to his underwear and modestly headed for the bathroom. He went inside and shut the door halfway. Christine stripped off her clothes and followed him inside. Then they were both under the water, nude, bodies pressing together, mouths seeking and hungrily searching.

  * * *

  At the airport, Lugo summoned Amman and Jordan to join him back at the main entrance. They stepped on the sidewalk and held a brief conference. The gist of it was that Christine's announced flight had landed and she was nowhere to be found. Somehow she had escaped notice at the other end when she hadn't boarded, as their intel had her boarding and among the passengers making the flight.

  "Where do we begin?" asked Jordan, the small arms expert. His face was dark and he was clearly upset with how it was playing out.

  "Even now our office agents are reviewing hotel check-ins by lone women. In ten minutes we will have a list to begin working."

  "How did we miss her?" asked Amman. "Everything I've seen had her onboard."

  Lugo nodded vigorously. "I agree. Someone is definitely playing loose with the surveillance. We've been duped."

  "How do we even know she came to Ankara?" said Jordan.

  "We don't, I suppose," said Lugo, "which leads me to our next point. We need to backtrack to Istanbul and begin reviewing film. One or more house cameras will have her."

  "Which, I assume, is ongoing even as we speak."

  "Yes," said Lugo, "even as we speak."

  They talked on until their earphones crackled with new updates. They learned that the woman had indeed been found on two airport cameras, one inside and one curbside, and both indicated she had in fact departed the airport not by plane but by taxi. Hussein had been with her.

  "So I assume cameras at train and bus stations are being reviewed," Jordan said to the caller. He was assured that was in fact the case.

  "Where do we start?" Lugo asked rhetorically. "We start at both ends. Our Istanbul team is already arriving at the train station to review data and others are headed for bus stations around the city. For now, we will begin with the Marriott where Sevi al-Assad is lodged. The odds are excellent that our target is there to meet with her."

  "Or at least close by," said Amman.

  "My guess, too," said Lugo. "Gentlemen, we're about to turn over the right rock. So my gut tells me."

  With that, they walked along curbside parking to where they had left their Blackguard vehicle parked in the no-parking zone. It had been left there unmolested, of course, once the plates had been run by airport security.

  En route they called ahead to the Marriott desk. There had been two check-ins by women traveling alone. One was named Ama Gloq.

  "She's there and she's checked in," Lugo smiled to his companions.

  "Where does that leave us?"

  "Leave us?" said Lugo from the passenger seat. "We grab her. What else would we do with her?"

  The two junior agents nodded. Grab her, of course.

  * * *

  Dinners were served from the dreck of the garbage dumps. There were no landfills in Iraq, only surface-level dumps where human detritus was laid down in horizontal sediments and creases that were endless in design, an insane tapestry of garbage woven by the howling gods of Saddam Hussein's not-so-benign neglect.

  Hussein was four when he first found his way to the dump. He followed his half-naked older brother Nasser beyond the city limits to the Place of the Birds. The dump earned its name for the thousands of seagull scavengers that lazed and floated and fluttered and beat a pattern of hungry wings over the mess. "We eat with the birds," his older brother told him, and Hussein understood the teaching. It was their lot in life. A few more years and he would learn that it was his lot to change.

  When the boy was nine he witnessed his first killing. The gang had followed an old man home from the chicken fights. A group of older boys set the pace, twisting and turning a block behind the mark as he shuffled along, oblivious to the pursuit. They rolled him at the intersection of a black alley and an unlighted street where windows shed no light. Across the street was the city cemetery; Hussein's own father and his younger brother were buried there side-by-side, victims of the same malaise that visited their village every five years, like clockwork. It was actually a virulent form of the Avian Flu, though no one called it that; no one knew what to call it or even that it should be called something. It was just The Death.

  Of the five young men who set upon the old man--whose only crime was flashing a roll of bank notes in the open market that afternoon--three were orphans. Off to the side stood Hussein, shaking and wetting his pants at the unspeakable violence that issued from his older friends as they systematically surrounded the man and began beating him with heavy sticks. When at last he collapsed they turned his pockets inside out, divvied up his bank notes, and turned to go. At that moment the most ferocious of the gang turned to Hussein and asked him if he wanted a share. Shaken and unable to speak, Hussein remembered sticking out his hand, whereupon the killer laid two perfect bank notes in his palm. That was the first money he had ever held and the first time he knew the feeling of being someone who could acquire something at the market without stealing it. He never visited the garbage dump ever again after that night and it was the beginning of wealth in his life.

  At sixteen, a Western do-gooder organization brought Hussein to Turkey to study engineering.

  His jumping off point was Istanbul, where he studied, received his undergraduate degree and an advanced degree and then went to work for the Turkish intelligence service. Following a meritorious ten years of service for his government, Hussein retired to go to work for an American corporation.

  Its name was Blackguard.

  And its oil tankers were offshore, awaiting Syrian oil by the millions of gallons.

  11

  Before dawn, Althea reviewed the trio of snapshots texted to her by Christine. She studied the man.

  He had been asleep wh
en the pictures were taken, so the full eye color and features weren't revealed in the pictures. Still, Althea compared the pictures to the known actors in the database she had compiled on Blackguard and its agents. This guy was new--if he was in fact one of them--and was untraceable. But one thing was certain: the man who introduced himself to Christine as Hussein had been renounced by XFBI, the group Althea had hired to protect Christine in Turkey.

  Althea had forwarded the snapshot to XFBI just after five in the morning.

  XFBI reviewed the Hussein photo and immediately got back to her.

  "He's no one we've ever seen before," Michael Hammit, the Overseas Liaison of XFBI told Althea by phone. "Where did the pictures come from?"

  "They were taken last night by Christine as the man was sleeping."

  "Where was this?"

  "Hotel in Ankara, I assume. She didn't actually say as the only message with the text was one line."

  "Which was?"

  "'ID. XFBI? Knows about rain.' She asked for an ID on the guy. She knew I'd come straight to you."

  "Meaning he says he's working for XFBI?"

  "Apparently he claims to be working for XFBI. That's what's so confusing: he knew the keyword to the response. When it rains--"

  "When it rains, it pours. That was the sign/countersign for the contact at the airport."

  "Exactly. Chris says he knows about rain. So she let him get close to her, I'm guessing. That's how she got the picture. But now you're telling me he's not one of yours."

  "Definitely not," said Hammit. "In fact, we were notified just after four that our man lost Christine in Istanbul during the plane change. Then there had been a disturbance. A dead body was found in a restroom. He was afraid that might somehow be connected to Christine, and left his post to go investigate. Evidently she slipped out of the airport during the confusion."

  "You're seriously telling us your man lost her?"

  "He was fired as soon as I heard. Not ten minutes ago, by me personally. We're terribly sorry and we've called up all Turkey resources to locate Chris and bring her to safety. They are headed for the Ankara Marriott hotel as we speak."

  "Did they call to track reservations?"

  "Yes, she's reserved at the Marriott. That was the conditional plan before she left the U.S."

  "She was traveling as Ama Gloq."

  "We know all about her cover, Althea. We helped her prepare it."

  "I know. My sarcasm. I'm just stunned this could happen, that your man could lose her and now she's with someone we can't ID."

  "It should never have happened. But it did, thanks to the uproar at the airport."

  "Okay. So how do I get word to Christine? How do I tell her the man in the photo is not XFBI?"

  "Let us do that, please. Right now we're staying off her cell and avoiding texts and emails. We don't know what's safe to use and what isn't."

  "I understand."

  "I shouldn't have to tell you not to respond to her text?"

  "No, that's why I called you guys first, Michael."

  "Oh wait--"

  "What?"

  "Wait, I'm getting a Sat call. I'll be back in two ticks."

  The phone went silent as Althea was put on hold. She nervously began drumming her fingers on her desk. She tried not to imagine the worst but deep down was terrified for Christine. And she was furious at XFBI for dropping the ball.

  Then Hammit came back.

  "Front desk confirmed her reservation under Gloq. She was seen by the desk clerk leaving the hotel with another woman within the past half hour."

  "What about the man? Anything about him?"

  "Hotel security is headed to the al-Assad room right now. We should know any minute if there's any sign of him. Okay, wait one."

  Again the line went silent.

  Then, "Housekeeping reports a man was in the Gloq room and just left."

  "What about the al-Assad woman's room? Anything there?"

  "They're saying no and they're saying she's not in. No one can say for sure whether it was Sevi al-Assad with Christine or not because we have no pictures of the woman to flash around."

  "So Christine was seen leaving the hotel with a woman. Nothing in her room shows anything unusual. Do we know how long ago she left the hotel?"

  "They're saying it was in the last half hour. Something like that."

  "What about any men leaving soon after?"

  "Our people asked. Front desk has no idea about that. Evidently this is a busy hotel since it's near the airport in a rather large city. The hotel is a popular destination for business people and comings and goings at all hours of the day and night are the norm. Nobody would have noticed a single man entering or leaving."

  "Why was Christine noticed? Any comments about how she got their attention?"

  "Yes. The woman with Christine was limping and appeared to move only with great pain. In fact, she was using a cane and having difficulty walking. One of the clerks asked if she could call someone for help but Christine waved her off."

  "Good heavens. What the hell was that all about, I wonder?"

  "Unknown. But it was enough to get the attention of the front desk."

  "And then they matched the picture your people showed them of Christine with the woman they saw leaving."

  "Exactly."

  "Okay. Now, what about the airlines and trains and buses? Do you have eyes on them?"

  "We do. All public transportation is covered. We're turning Ankara upside-down looking for Chris."

  "Okay. Stay on that, Michael. We're counting on you."

  "I can project that we'll have eyes on her in the next thirty to sixty minutes. There's only so many ways she can move around. We are fairly confident she's bringing the woman back to the U.S., which means we're especially interested in airline manifests."

  "My guess is, the al-Assad woman will be traveling under her own name. Christine is probably traveling as Ama Gloq. But she has other ID with her as well."

  "Names?"

  "I couldn't say. She has several passports with her wherever she goes. They change with her."

  "We figured as much. Well, the plan called for her to fly Turkey Air to Germany. Perhaps that's still on the table. It could be as simple as that."

  "Probably depends on what happened to the sleeping man."

  "Yes, that's confusing. No bodies, no signs of a struggle or other evidence of anything untoward."

  "Exactly."

  "We'll have the airline manifests in the next few minutes, Althea. I'll get right back to you on that."

  "You damn well better, Michael. And there damn well better be no further problems."

  "There won't be. We're all over it."

  "Stay all over it. I need to know what's happened to my employer."

  "We'll be back to you within the next half hour."

  Without another word, Michael Hammit hung up. Althea replaced the phone in its cradle. Then she thought better of it and dialed Winona's cell.

  "Win? Althea. Are you in line?"

  "I'm at O'Hare waiting in the international line. The flight's on time and I'll be in London in about seven hours, give or take."

  "Have you heard from her?"

  Win's phone crackled with a boarding call at the airport. Then she continued. "Haven't heard from her but I assume the plan is still for me to meet her at Heathrow and cover her six while she makes her way home."

  "Well, I haven't heard anything either."

  "I know. I'm a little concerned because she was going to call in from Istanbul once she had the girl with her. Have you made calls to XFBI?"

  "Yes, and incredibly enough they lost her at Istanbul airport. It's a long story, but the upshot is that Chris didn't fly from Istanbul to Ankara. The consensus is that she went there by train instead."

  Winona was silent for several beats. Then, "She wouldn't have done that without a good reason. How did XFBI lose her? I thought you guys were the best."

  "Evidently there was some disturbance at the airp
ort and Chris departed while eyes were diverted."

  "Great. So I'm going to London and we don't even know whether she has the al-Assad woman with her?"

  "We think she does. She was seen leaving the hotel with a woman in tow. A limping woman in lots of pain."

  "Limping woman? What's that about? What's with these guys that they can't run her down anyway? Seems clear to me she'd be at the airport flying out of Ankara. Duh, how dumb are these people?"

  "They're following up on that as we speak. My guess is they'll locate her fairly quickly."

  "So should I call her myself?"

  "Negative. We don't want her cell used to locate her. If she's on the run that cell will be turned off and she knows better than to turn it on anyway."

  "Agreed. So I should go ahead to Heathrow and try to connect up with her there. Right?"

  "Right. We need you there to get on her six and make sure she isn't being hunted."

  "I'm on my way. Oops, I'm next in line. Gotta go."

  "Call me when you touch down."

  "Will do. Hang tough, Althea."

  "You too."

  * * *

  Seated onboard the British Airways 777 in first class, Winona accepted a serving of pre-flight champagne. She swallowed it down and accepted another. The sparkly liquid began to settle her nerves, the result of husband Gorman's announcement that morning that he was in love with someone else and was moving out. That someone else came as no surprise; Winona had been sharing her husband with Gorman's twit assistant for almost a year now. Where Winona was tall and lithe and moved like a runway model, Gorman's assistant Washida was short and stacked like a Playboy bunny. Winona glanced outside the window when the tow truck began moving it backward. That was the problem, the Playboy bod. Washida was fifteen years younger than husband and wife and represented a chance for Gorman to recapture his youth--a desire he had verbalized to Winona that morning when he told her he was not only moving out but also that Washida was pregnant. Expecting. And that the child was Gorman's. "Are you sure it's yours?" Winona had asked, ever the cynical detective.

  "Oh, yes," said Gorman as he twisted his club tie into a Windsor knot. "She hasn't been with anyone else but me."