Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Remember everything.
The mantra played on repeat in Chloe’s mind as Volkov and the woman led her through Bangkok’s rain-slicked warehouse district. Zip ties cut into her wrists, and Elena walked beside her, silent tears mixing with raindrops streaming down her face, shoulders shaking with each step.
Their captors pointed them toward a dock that stretched into the Chao Phraya River like a finger pointing into darkness. Rain drummed against corrugated-metal warehouses, turning puddles into mirrors that reflected neon signs from the far bank.
At the end of the pier, a sleek yacht bobbed in the water. Maybe fifty feet long, it looked painfully out of place among fishing boats and cargo ships.
They boarded from the gangplank. Motion sensors, cameras, and a couple of armed thugs waited for them on board. Volkov motioned them into the cabin. The interior was all polished wood and leather, but it felt like a floating prison, with two more armed men at the door.
Oh, Skeet, I’m sorry.
The main cabin had been converted into a conference room. Laptops and whiteboards covered in chemical formulas and deployment timelines. Maps of major cities—Bangkok, Manila, Kuala Lumpur—dotted with red pins like pushpins in a war room.
And sitting at the head of the table, reviewing papers with the confident air of a CEO at a board meeting, was a man she’d never seen before.
Mid-forties, dark hair, a hint of dangerous handsomeness in his face. Expensive suit but not flashy.
“Miss Silver.” His voice carried the flat accent of the American Midwest, polite as a banker discussing loan terms. “Please, sit. You too, Dr. Thanakit. I’m James Cooper.”
James Cooper. Such an innocuous name. It felt wrong somehow.
But Chloe kept her expression neutral as Volkov’s men guided them to chairs facing the table.
Remember everything.
“I apologize for the dramatic circumstances,” Cooper continued, getting up. “But you’ve become rather inconvenient, Miss Silver. Getting in the way of work that’s taken years to develop.”
Rain pelted the cabin windows. Outside, lightning cracked the dark sky. Thunder rolled.
“Volkov tells me Dr. Radi? was quite thorough in his documentation.” Cooper’s blue eyes fixed on Elena, who shrank farther into her chair. “Chemical formulas, test results, audio recordings.”
Elena’s voice came out as barely a whisper. “Marko was protecting his work.”
“Marko was protecting our work,” Cooper said. “Work that belongs to us. Work that we need access to.”
He gestured to a laptop. “Unfortunately, the hard drive in your late husband’s computer had a self-destruct. The wrong password triggered a complete deletion of the files.” He sighed. “As it turns out, you’re useless in this exchange.”
Useless? Chloe looked at the woman, whose jaw rose.
“So you’d better hope that Miss Silver’s friend Skeet brings the jump drive. Otherwise . . .” He shrugged. “If all goes right, we won’t kill you. Or your children.”
Elena’s eyes widened.
He folded his arms, but Chloe noticed the tiniest tic of his mouth when he said it.
Something . . . maybe . . . He was lying. Or at least a part of it was a lie.
“Unless you have some sort of miracle . . .” Cooper raised a dark eyebrow.
“My husband has a cloud,” Elena said quietly.
He smiled. “See. I knew you could help us find this.” He turned the laptop around. Elena leaned forward, her wrists still tied, and pulled up the cloud, put in the password.
The yacht rocked in the river current. Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance.
The screen opened to files and Chloe’s heart sank.
Cooper turned it back around. “You see, Miss Silver, what Dr. Radi? and your friend Mr. Blackwood fail to understand is scope. They think in terms of individual lives, single operations, limited objectives.” Cooper gestured to one of the men, who came over, probably to download the information.
“I think in terms of geopolitical transformation.”
Remember everything. Stay calm.
“The compounds Radi? was developing—yes, they can kill. But death isn’t the primary objective. Destabilization is.” Cooper sighed. Smiled. “This is long past your ability to stop, Miss Silver.”
Rain hammered harder against the windows. The yacht’s anchor chain creaked with each swell.
“Of course, rural testing has limitations.” Cooper returned to his seat, fingers steepled as if he were delivering a corporate presentation. “Urban deployment—Bangkok, Manila, major population centers—we had a plan.”
“Children,” Elena whispered. “You’re talking about killing children.”
“I’m talking about saving the world, Mrs. Thanakit.”
Chloe frowned.
“Now, Miss Silver.” Those blue eyes fixed on her again. “Thanks to Elena’s cooperation, we have the research data. But you’ve been in contact with Hamilton Jones’s organization. I need to know what you’ve shared with them. What they know.”
“They know enough to find you,” she said. “And stop you.”
He looked at her. And then laughed. “You are indeed your sister’s twin.”
She stilled. What?
The yacht lurched slightly as a larger boat passed, its wake rocking them. Thunder crashed overhead, closer now.
He got up. “Your friend Mr. Blackwood is undoubtedly planning some sort of rescue operation. So much bravado, that Easton.” Cooper glanced at the computer, nodded, then shut the lid.
Turned back to her. “Myanmar operation, three years ago. Unauthorized civilian extraction that resulted in multiple casualties when his intelligence proved untrustworthy. Hostages killed.” He shook his head. “What a terrible thing to relive.”
Ice flooded Chloe’s veins.
“Elena,” she said quietly, voice barely audible over the rain. “Don’t be scared.”
Rain lashed the windows as if God himself was angry.
“Though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar . . . Be still . . .”
Okay, yes. What other choice did she have?
Maybe God was her best choice.
Please, God, get us out of this.
The prayer came without conscious thought, desperate and raw. Because the entire team was walking into a trap, and somehow Chloe had to figure out how to warn them.
Cooper frowned at her as if he’d been studying her. “I can see you understand our situation now, Miss Silver. Your friends will come for you. And when they do—”
Lightning illuminated the cabin windows, thunder crashing over them as if the storm was right on top of them.
Be still.
Right. Okay. Chloe forced her breathing to slow, her mind to focus. The storm outside was chaos, but maybe chaos could be an ally. Lightning, thunder, rain that would affect visibility and communications.
Because somewhere out there in the storm, Ham and his team were coming.
She just had to stay alive.
The yacht’s lights cut out.
Emergency lighting kicked in, bathing the cabin in siren red. Rain hammered the windows.
“Report,” Cooper snapped.
“Power’s been cut from the dock,” said one of the men. “Backup generator’s online, but . . . someone’s jamming our communications.”
That’s right they were. Bam.
Cooper’s men took positions near windows and doors, their weapons out. Elena whimpered beside her, but something built in Chloe’s chest.
Hope.
And then a phone rang. Her ringtone.
Volkov answered it, put it on speaker.
“We’d like to discuss terms.”
Skeet.
Cooper’s smile was razor-thin. “How wonderfully predictable.” He gestured to one of his men. “Tell him to come aboard. Alone. Unarmed.”
The guard moved toward the door, but the tech specialist held up a hand, kept his voice low. “Sir, I’m reading multiple heat signatures in the water. At least three contacts approaching from different vectors.”
Of course it wasn’t a desperate solo rescue but a coordinated operation.
Cooper frowned.
“We can do this easy or we can do it hard, Volkov. But either way, you’re done,” Skeet said.
Cooper took the phone from Volkov. “Mr. Blackwood, I have two hostages. Any aggressive action and they die.”
“Understood.” Skeet’s voice sounded different. Calm. The kind of voice that said Don’t panic.
At least, that’s what she chose to hear.
“I’m coming aboard to negotiate. My team holds position.”
Lightning split the sky, illuminating the dock for a split second. Chloe caught a glimpse of a figure in tactical gear moving through the rain—confident, purposeful, every inch the Navy SEAL he’d been.
Trust that Skeet knows what he’s doing.
“Elena,” she whispered, so quietly the words were almost lost in the storm. “When the shooting starts, stay low.”
“When?” Elena’s eyes widened.
“Yes.” Because whatever was about to happen, there wasn’t a chance it could end in polite negotiation.
Footsteps sounded on the deck. Cooper’s men tensed, weapons trained on the cabin entrance.
The cabin door opened.
Skeet entered as if he owned the place—fierce and bold, soaked from the storm, his entire body dripping—and his gaze landed on Chloe.
She couldn’t move.
He loved her. She knew it, right then, in her bones, as for the briefest of seconds, relief poured into his gaze. Relief, and maybe even confidence.
As if he knew she wasn’t cowed, wasn’t going to panic.
A partner.
No, not a partner. And not a teammate.
The perfect match.
Together.
His hands were empty, visible, but somehow he didn’t look unarmed. And yet . . . Oh, he looked deliciously dangerous.
Then his gaze fell on Cooper. A blink, a frown, then, “Alan Martin.” Not a question. A statement. “Been looking for you for a long time.”
Alan Martin?
The men flanking the door had raised their guns, trained them on Skeet. He didn’t even glance at them as he approached the table.
“The famous Easton Blackwood. Volkov described you as predictably heroic. I was hoping for something more . . . creative.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” Skeet’s eyes flickered again to Chloe, back to Martin. “But I’m here to offer a trade.”
“You have nothing I want.”
“I have Hamilton Jones’s complete file on you. Your history, your financial records, your network—everything.”
She glanced at Cooper-slash-Martin. What was she missing?