CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jeffrey glanced over his shoulder at Maya where she perused his bookcase. She reached up and slid out the copy of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War that he’d received from his parents upon joining the Marine Corps.
She flipped open the cover and innocently dragged her tongue over her lips, and his body heated at the memory of their kiss.
The urge to have her had been overwhelmingly powerful and he’d decided to give in to the impulse. It was much more than sexual chemistry. From the beginning, they’d had a strong attraction to one another, and once they’d slept together, they never could seem to get enough. Their appetite for each other had been insatiable, and his desire for her hadn’t diminished during their years apart.
She set the book back on the shelf, turned toward him, and watched him load the dishwasher with a look of longing .
“What is it?” He stowed the plate on the bottom rack and shut the door with a soft thump . He swiped the sponge back and forth across the counter and set it in a small dish by the sink.
“None of the places we’ve lived had a dishwasher. Nor a washer and dryer.” Her thoughts seemed to turn inward. “At first, I resented having to give up my things, but my resentment was quickly replaced by the need to keep us safe. If that meant living in a tiny cottage or flat with very few modern conveniences, then so be it.” She blinked a few times, crossed her arms, and looked at him across the wide space. “How utterly shallow and unimportant all of that seems now.”
“You really should lie down and try to get some rest.” Jeffrey dried his hands on the dish towel and hung it over the front of the sink, flipped off the kitchen lights, and walked over to her. “Even if only for a short nap.”
As if triggered by the word nap , she yawned.
“I’ll just rest here on the sofa, if that’s all right.” She raised her eyebrows in question.
“Of course.”
As if her exhaustion had become too heavy a burden, she dropped onto the center cushion and grabbed a throw pillow to prop against the arm of the sofa. Her body sort of teetered over, and she collapsed onto the soft leather. She shifted to her side so that her back was to the sofa and bent her knees up on the cushion.
He grabbed a blanket from one of the chairs, draped it over her, and sat on the coffee table in front of her.
“Are you warm enough?” His fingertip skimmed over her soft cheek, and he drew her hair back from her face.
“I am, thank you.” She snuggled under the blanket, and her eyes drifted shut. Within moments, she drifted off to sleep.
He pushed up off the coffee table and headed into his bedroom. He’d had a special room built next to it that was accessed by an opening concealed behind a large bookcase. A code was required to open the door, and the only other person who knew about the room and could access it was Andi.
It was where he stored his weapons, tactical gear, and a five-foot-tall fireproof safe full of dossiers he’d compiled during his years with the NSA. The information contained in those files alone could destroy more than one past president, a few prime ministers, and even topple a couple of royal families.
It was also worth killing him for.
Jeffrey tapped his phone screen to open his security system app, then input the code. He gripped the edge of the shelf and pulled, and the very heavy, six-inch-thick steel door slowly swung open.
He stepped into the room, and the lights automatically came on overhead. He moved over to the reloading bench where he made his own ammunition and retrieved a small key from a ceramic tankard. His name and rank were printed on one side, his battalion logo on the other. He’d left the Corps as a lieutenant colonel, and the men under his command had given the mug to him as a parting gift.
He jammed the key into the lock, jiggled it just so, and swung the door open. His fingers flicked through the folders until he found the one he wanted. He lifted it out, set it on top of the cabinet, and flipped it open.
It had been a while since he’d had a reason to look at this one.
His eyes skimmed the documents one page at a time until he was certain he had everything he would need to ensure Maya and Isla’s safety. Getting her out of the embassy was only the first step. Ensuring Al-Mansoori gave up his vendetta against Maya was the ultimate goal.
Confident he had what he needed, he put the folder back into the safe, pushed the door shut, and locked the cabinet. He tossed the key back into the mug with a clink .
Jeffrey walked over to the wall where his three favorite rifles were mounted beneath special accent lights. Those babies had served him well over the years. And they’d saved a large number of allied forces, too.
Various pistols were tucked away in drawers lined with foam cut to fit their unique shapes. Extra magazines, holsters, rifle straps, scopes, gun bags, and other necessary gear were kept there, too. The entire room was fireproof and pretty close to bombproof, which was important when you were storing enough gunpowder and ammo to keep the ATF boys on their toes. The Department of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms could be so persnickety sometimes. But being the head of the NSA helped keep them off his back.
Fortunately, he had enough property to keep his skills sharp without having to go to a gun range. A luxury he never took for granted.
Jeffrey slid open a wide door and revealed a walk-in closet. He flipped up the light switch and stepped inside. Time to ditch the suit.
He yanked some clothes from a drawer and changed into a long-sleeved shirt made of high-tech fabric, tactical pants with multiple pockets, and grabbed his field boots. All in black and all broken in from years of use. He tucked his cell phone in one of his pockets, sat on a stool to shove his feet into his boots, and laced them up.
Next was his black tactical vest. He stuffed it into a large duffle bag along with extra magazines and ammo. His weapons of choice were a Glock 45 in the holster at his waist and the Glock 21 Gen 4 in his thigh holster. It felt strange not taking his rifle, but it wasn’t for this op. He looked around a last time, smacked the switch to shut off the light, and secured the room.
Time to get his daughter back.
About three hours later, Jeffrey rolled to a stop next to Cole Lambert’s black Range Rover where he’d parked in front of the large, private hangar at the end of the airstrip.
He tapped the screen on his phone to call Maya. She answered before the second ring.
“Are you there?” she asked.
“I just pulled up to the hangar.” He’d promised to keep her informed as much as possible. “I’ll be going radio silent pretty soon, but I wanted to tell you again that we will bring her back.”
“I know you will. Just … be careful, please. I can’t lose you again.”
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you, too.”
They ended the call, and he climbed out of his car, pressed the key fob, and the rear door swung up. He reached into the back, zipped open his duffle, and grabbed his tactical vest. He slipped it over his head and secured the Velcro straps. He loaded up his vest with extra magazines and whatever else he might need and checked both of his weapons.
The plan was to use two vehicles and drive them to a location not far from the trail—one for the snipers, the other for the team going in.
“Good to see you, Burke.” Cole, aka Wolf, strolled over and extended his hand. The nickname was given to him by his wife and suited him perfectly. He was a large, intimidating man, except when he was around his wife and baby boy.
Rifle bags slung over their shoulders, Calliope and Viking walked over and joined them.
“Thanks, everyone, for coming.” Jeffrey shook each of their hands.
“We wouldn’t be anywhere else,” Wolf said.
“I second that.” Viking adjusted the strap on his shoulder. His real name was Golden, but with his size and long, dark blond hair and beard, he looked like a true Viking.
“Ditto,” Calliope said.
At just over five feet tall, she truly was an anomaly in the spec ops realm. She looked like a perky cheerleader—pigtails and all—but had the second longest sniper kill on record after taking out a target at thirty-two hundred meters. She could also climb like a monkey—a handy skill for a sniper. She’d definitely earned her nickname, The Wraith.
They all moved away from the building, and Wolf and Viking stood on either side of Jeffrey, arms crossed, looking very serious. At six foot six and six foot eight, they were like giant, deadly bookends.
The sleek, black Citation Sovereign jet rolled to a smooth stop about thirty feet in front of them. Through the windshield, they could see Mason in the cockpit, flipping switches, then he removed his headset as the whine of the two powerful Pratt and Whitney engines began to fade.
The hatch doorway opened, and the steps swung down with a hiss to settle on the blacktop. Andi appeared first, dressed in black from the sock hat covering her short hair to the boots on her feet. She already had her tactical vest on and loaded with extra magazines, a small brick of C4 explosives, some wires, flashlight, her backup weapon, and whatever else she might possibly need tucked into various pockets.
She jogged down the steps and, with her usual confident stride, walked straight over to Jeffrey and pulled him into a hard hug. At almost six feet tall, she was only a couple of inches shorter than him.
She was a true warrior raised by a mean father who never hid the fact he’d wanted a son. And he’d cruelly and inexplicably blamed Andi for her mother’s death during childbirth. As a result, she’d become emotionally aloof and had never been a fan of public displays of affection—until the O’Hallerans entered her life. They’d rubbed off on her in the best possible way.
“How ya holdin’ up?” Andi gave him a last, tight squeeze and stepped back.
“I’m good.” Was he, though?
“So, a daughter, huh?” Andi crossed her arms.
“Yep.” He tugged his ear.
“Not to be a dick or anything, but are you sure she’s yours?” Andi was extremely protective of the people she cared about. “I mean, can you really trust Maya?” She also wasn’t one to mince words.
“I’m sure.” And, yes, he really trusted Maya, and he was glad he’d gotten a chance to tell her before this op started.
Jeffrey slid the picture of Isla from his pocket and handed it to Andi. “She looks just like my mom did at that age.”
“Cute kid.” She gave the photo back to him. “So … what’s the deal with you and her mom?”
“The deal ?” One eyebrow shot up at her boldness.
“Sorry.” Andi held up a hand. “That’s none of my business.” She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m still working on the whole filtering-what-I-say thing.”
In his business, treacherous people were the norm, so Jeffrey had always appreciated Andi’s forthrightness.
“Right now, Maya and I are focused on getting Isla back.” And on making up for the time they’d lost.
“Howdy, Burke.” Mason sauntered over in that laid-back Texan way of his carrying a gear bag. He shook his hand and clapped Jeffrey on the back. “Congratulations, Dad.”
Dad. No one had ever called him that before. Children had never been on his radar. Not because he didn’t like kids; he actually loved kids. But because he’d never found the right person to share something so important with. And now, all of a sudden, he wanted to hear his own child say it more than seemed logical.
Would Isla ever feel comfortable calling him Dad?
Andi stepped up to him and kept her voice low. “You okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Let’s load up.” He turned and stalked back over to his SUV.
Five minutes later, two black SUVs were roaring over the asphalt and away from the airstrip. Everyone was quiet, focused, and going over each step of the op in their heads.
This mission was personal, and the stakes were high.
Maya paced a path from the kitchen, across the main room and back. Every few laps, she would stop and check her phone. It was much too early for any news, but that didn’t stop her from hoping Jeffrey would call.
The last time he’d checked in with her was when he arrived at the airstrip. They would leave there and head to the Soapstone Valley Park to access the tunnel. Several embassies sat on the perimeter of that park, so the team had to be careful not to be spotted or else they would bring all sorts of unwanted attention down on them.
She checked the time—ten forty-seven .
The plan was to breach the small building at exactly eleven fifteen, in hopes that by the time they navigated the almost mile-long tunnel and arrived at the embassy, most of the staff and residents would be sleeping.
That is when the clock would start ticking.
They would have to breach the door to the old boiler room there without anyone hearing them and find their way upstairs and through the embassy again without being heard or seen. Assuming they accomplished all of that, they would then have to find Isla, retrace their steps back to the basement, and get the hell out of there. Oh, and all of this had to be accomplished before Al-Mansoori’s midnight deadline.