Poe Page 7

  The banker nodded. “What guarantee do we have it’ll stay that way?”

  “None, I’m afraid. Leaks are inevitable. It’s really only a matter of time.”

  “That’s pure speculation,” the voice on the speakerphone said. At fifty-one, he was the youngest—and least seasoned—member of the committee. “And even if she’s compromised, I doubt she’ll say anything.”

  The banker nodded in agreement. “He has a point. El-Hashim has been an extremely loyal and efficient operative. She knows what’s expected of her, and she’ll carry it out.”

  “What she knows is too much,” the woman said. “I don’t doubt her loyalty for a moment, and I’m sure she’ll do everything she can to remain silent. But if the Ukrainians find out who she really is—and speculation or not, I believe they will—they’re bound to turn her over to the British or the Russians or, God forbid, the Americans.”

  The mood around the table grew darker at the prospect.

  “Once that happens, gentlemen, she’ll be out of our reach. And loyal or not, she’s only human. If they can’t get her to talk, they’ll outsource the job, and sooner or later she’ll tell them everything she knows.”

  Silence. Darker than ever now.

  “We all know why we’re here today,” the woman continued. “We all know what has to be done. There really isn’t much more to discuss.”

  The man directly across from her leaned back, letting his gaze take in the rest of the assembly. He was the de facto leader here, a well-dressed man in his mid-seventies known as a financial advisor to presidents and kings. “She’s right,” he said. “We should put the motion to a vote.”

  Nods all around.

  “All right, then. On the matter of immediate termination, what say you?”

  “Yea.”

  “Yea.”

  “Yea.”

  There was nothing from the speakerphone, and for a moment the woman thought they had lost their connection. Then the voice said, “Yea.”

  The man across the table pushed himself upright and rose. “My vote is yea also. The motion is passed.” He looked at the woman. “You’ll handle this?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Everything has been arranged. I just need to give the go-ahead.”

  The man looked around the room. “Does anyone else have anything they’d like to add?”

  Everyone remained silent.

  “Good. Then we’re adjourned.”

  There were no goodbyes, no talk of exchange rates or bond yields or pending loans. The speakerphone disconnected, the other two men rose from their chairs, and they all walked out of the room, leaving the woman to do what needed to be done.

  She sat there a moment, feeling no remorse, no hesitance. And why should she? This, like most things in her life, was merely business.

  What she felt was relief.

  Setting her briefcase on the table, she retrieved one of the three mobile phones she carried. A burner, like the others, obtained specifically in case she needed to make this call. Once she was finished, the phone would be destroyed.

  She punched in a number, waited. Then a voice said, “Yes?”

  “Authentication: theta omega seven theta two two tau alpha nine.”

  “Recognized.”

  “We’re a go,” she said. “Send her.”

  “Understood.”

  The line went dead.

  Chapter Nine

  Somewhere over the Atlantic

  They flew east on one of Stonewell’s private jets. Alex tried to sleep for the first few hours, but finally gave up and stared out the window into the darkness.

  She had to admit that the plan, as laid out by McElroy with details filled in by Fazakas, was well thought out. That didn’t mean it would be easy or even successful. More like risky and beyond dangerous.

  And yet, possible.

  El-Hashim had better know something about my father. Because if she doesn’t, I’m going to make McElroy’s life a living—

  “Thirsty?”

  She twisted around, startled by the voice.

  Cooper was standing in the aisle next to her seat, a small bottle in his hand. “I assume you still like orange juice.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Thanks.”

  She took the bottle from him and unsealed the top, as he gestured toward the empty seat across the aisle from her. “You mind?”

  She shook her head.

  He plopped down, and set the small duffel bag he was carrying on his lap. From inside, he removed a blue booklet and handed it to her. “Your new identity.”

  It was a passport. Canadian. Roughed up a bit to not look new.

  She opened it and found the picture that had been taken after the briefing staring back at her. The name next to the picture was Powell, Maureen.

  She flipped through the pages and saw that Maureen had made trips to Mexico and the UK.

  “It’s completely valid,” he said. “If anyone runs it, they’ll find you.”

  She stuffed it into her pocket.

  Next out of the duffel came a white envelope, which he tossed to her.

  “Cash. Enough to get you where you’re going. The local currency is the hryvnia. It’s good in both the Ukraine and the Autonomous Republic of Crimea.”

  “What about Romania?” The plan was to cross from there on land into Ukraine.

  “There’s a few lei in there, too. But you won’t be there very long.”

  She checked the envelope, and nodded.

  “You’re clear on everything?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “Any questions?”

  Just a million, she thought, but said, “I think I’m good.”

  “Deuce and I will be no more than a couple miles away from you at all times.”

  “I know,” she said.

  Cooper was trying to put her at ease, but it wasn’t exactly comforting. Once Alex was behind the prison’s walls, she’d be on her own until she got out again.

  “Look, Alex,” Cooper said, as if sensing her concern. “If at any point you want to call things off, even if you’re already inside, then do it. Don’t worry about the target, just get yourself out.”

  “Yeah, McElroy would love that.”

  “I’ll worry about that asshole. You just worry about you.”

  “Not very corporate of you.”

  “I’m not a very corporate kind of guy.”

  “And yet, here you are working for them. How long now?”

  He hesitated. “Three years.”

  “Three years. Wow.”

  “I had to land somewhere after I got out.”

  Just the hint of his time in the army was enough to quiet them.

  It was nearly a full minute before he said, “I, um, I wish it had gone differently.”

  “Don’t,” she said quickly.

  “You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about it, what I could have done.”

  “Let’s not talk about this.”

  He turned to face her. “The thing is, as much as I wish it hadn’t happened the way it did, I did the only thing I could.”

  She turned to the window and looked out at the night sky again, trying not to think about that day, trying not to think about anything at all.

  “Alex, please.”

  She didn’t move.

  After several more minutes, she heard him get up and head toward the back of the plane.

  She closed her eyes, the tension easing from her shoulders.

  He was right. She had undoubtedly thought about it as much as he had, if not more, and she knew in her head there was nothing he could have done differently.

  Her heart, though, was having a hard time buying it, because it was her heart that had taken the blow that day.

  Stop thinking about it.

  But she’d already started.

  * * *

  IT HAD BEEN a simple resupply convoy, their platoon a tactical movement team escorting the vehicles—in this case, a handful of fuel t
rucks.

  Once they got them to Baghdad, they were scheduled for a day off. Everyone was looking forward to that. Just one day when they didn’t have to worry about IEDs or snipers.

  Hot. Dry. Sand pitting their skin even as they sat inside their MRAP Cougars. The platoon was divided among eight of the armored fighting vehicles, which were then peppered throughout the convoy. Alex was in a vehicle near the rear, manning the roof-mounted gun turret.

  She saw the flash of the explosion a split second before the sound ripped down the road past her vehicle.

  “Halt! Halt! Halt!” a voice yelled over the radio unnecessarily.

  While the fuel trucks had all slammed to a stop, the Cougars moved into positions where they could get a better look around. The MRAP Alex was in rocked as it drove off the road into an empty lot. From the turret, she could see that the Cougar at the head of the convoy was sitting at an angle, blackened by fire.

  But the MRAP was a tough machine that had stood up more times than not to IEDs without killing its occupants, a far cry from the army’s early days in Iraq, so Alex was confident her friends inside were okay.

  Most IEDs were set off remotely by an individual hiding somewhere nearby, but the platoon couldn’t discount the possibility of a full-on ambush, so Alex swung around, searching for movement.

  The second explosion came from the middle of the convoy, sending the cab of a fuel truck fifteen feet into the air.

  A third explosion toppled another truck on its side, spilling its cargo onto the road, where it immediately caught fire in a loud whoosh.

  “Everyone, get moving! Now! Now! Now! Keep going.”

  The orders were transmitted by Cooper, the convoy commander. It was obvious they had fallen into a massive trap, and who knew how many more explosive devices were waiting to be set off.

  Engines roared and gears grinded as the convoy started moving again.

  The next explosion sent shrapnel flying through the air, dinging up the back of one of the fuel trucks and cracking a window on one of the MRAPs, but not disabling it.

  Alex’s Cougar hung back to cover the rear as the convoy shoved its way around the two trucks that had taken direct hits. The only vehicle that seemed to be having problems was the MRAP involved in the initial explosion. While Sanchez, the vehicle’s driver, reported that his men were okay, he couldn’t get the engine running.

  As soon as the rest of the convoy had cleared Sanchez’s vehicle, Bryant, the man in charge of Alex’s Cougar, said over the radio, “Poe, keep a keen eye.”

  He then turned their MRAP toward Sanchez’s.

  “Sanchez,” Bryant said as they neared the disabled vehicle. “We can squeeze you all in here with us.”

  “Just go,” Sanchez said. “I’ll get this working.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Sanchez said.

  “Okay. We’ll watch your back until you’re running again.”

  Bryant ordered the remaining four men in his vehicle to check on the soldiers who had been in the two destroyed fuel trucks.

  Alex, hyperalert for any sign of danger, kept her gaze moving back and forth across the road as her squad mates climbed out and carefully made their way over to the now useless hulks. She had no doubt this would go down as one of the scariest moments of her army career.

  The check was quick and far from satisfactory.

  “Dead,” Wilson reported. “All of them. Should we bring the bodies?”

  Bryant relayed the information and question to Cooper.

  “The birds are on their way. They’ll pick them up,” Cooper said. “Sanchez, status.”

  There was a delay, then Sanchez came on the radio. “I think I’ve got…”

  With a sudden roar, the engine of the other vehicle came back to life.

  “Back in business,” Sanchez said.

  “Good! Get a move on,” Cooper ordered. “Both of you.”

  For Sanchez to move, Alex’s Cougar had to get out of the way, so Bryant took the lead and headed after the convoy. Alex looked over her shoulder until she was sure Sanchez was following them before she focused back on the road.

  That was why she only heard the explosion and didn’t see it.

  The impact sent her vehicle flying, until it dropped back down several feet away. She slammed against the gun, her chest screaming in pain from the impact.

  “What the hell was that?” Bryant asked.

  Wincing, Alex turned and looked behind them. Sanchez’s MRAP was lying on its side, flames engulfing the hood.

  “Sanchez is hit!” she said, breathing hard.

  Without thinking, she scrambled out of the turret and dropped over the side of the Cougar onto the ground. Ignoring her bruised chest, she raced toward the other vehicle.

  “Poe, stop!” Bryant ordered. “Get back here!”

  She ripped her radio earpiece out and ran on without hesitating.

  The bomb had been waiting on the side of the road, disguised as who knew what at this point—a soda can, a rock, a discarded shoe. The only things Alex knew were that the blast had been more powerful than any of the previous explosions, and that her vehicle had driven right past the device seconds before it went off.

  She stopped near the front, out of reach of the flames, and looked through the windshield. She could see only one person—Riggins, crumpled against the passenger side door, at the bottom of the tipped truck. Sanchez had to be in there somewhere, too, but she couldn’t see him.

  Using the undercarriage, she climbed up until she was standing on the driver’s side that was now facing the sky. She could feel the heat coming from the flames that still burned across the hood as she sidestepped over to the door and tried to pull it open. But it wouldn’t budge. She got down on all fours, then, cupping her hands at the sides of her face, she looked through the window into the cab.

  From her new vantage point, she could see that Riggins’s head was cocked at an impossible angle, his neck broken. She took two quick, deep breaths, feeling them burn in her bruised chest, then looked around for Sanchez, and found him partially strapped in his seat. His face was smashed into the steering wheel, his eyes open and dead.

  She took another breath. Riggins and Sanchez were gone, but there were others in the truck who might still need her help. She scrambled back to the ground and sprinted to the rear of the MRAP.

  The metal door that would drop down like a ramp when opened was sealed shut. She pounded on it.

  “Hey! Hey, open up! It’s me, Poe!”

  Nothing happened.

  “Can you hear me?”

  “Poe?” The voice was muffled and weak.

  “Yeah! Yeah! Who is that?”

  “Mill…wood,” the man on the other side answered.

  “How bad are you hurt?”

  A pause. “Bad.”

  She cursed under her breath. “What about the others?”

  Another pause, this one longer. “Boyd and Drew are dead, I think. Chambers looks like he’s still…breathing.”

  “You need to release the door. I can’t get to you otherwise.”

  “Don’t know if I…can.”

  “Try, goddammit!”

  She could hear something clatter against the door, then what sounded like a grunt.

  “Millwood! Are you all right?”

  A scrape, but no other response.

  As she raised her hand to pound against the door again, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She twisted around, reaching for the gun she wasn’t carrying.

  “Dammit, Poe! What do you think you’re doing?”

  Cooper.

  “Get the hell back to your vehicle,” he ordered. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

  “Millwood’s inside. He’s still alive. Chambers, too.”

  Before Cooper could reply, automatic gunfire broke out a couple hundred yards away. By the sound of it, they both knew it wasn’t coming from someone in their platoon. Almost instantly an MRAP returned fire.

&n
bsp; Cooper lost focus for a moment, frozen in place. He then depressed his transmit button. “Copy that. Get them moving. Bryant, swing around here and pick us up.” He listened for a moment, then said, “Do it.” He focused back on Alex. “You’re sure they’re alive in there?”

  “I talked to Millwood just a moment ago.”

  He grimaced for half a second, then moved toward the door. “Let’s get this open.”

  Together, they tried to pry the door loose as the sound of gunfire grew dangerously closer, but the damn thing wouldn’t budge.

  “Millwood! You’ve got to help us,” Alex yelled.

  No sound from inside.

  “Millwood!”

  Bryant’s Cougar barreled around the corner and braked to a hard stop.

  “Millwood!”

  There was the ping-ping-ping of bullets striking the metal of the downed MRAP. Alex and Cooper ducked.

  “Come on,” Cooper said. “We’ve got to go!”

  “They’re still in there!”

  “We’re dead if we don’t move now!”

  He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her toward the other Cougar.

  She twisted side to side, trying to get free, but he held on tight.

  “No! We can’t leave them!”

  More bullets, streaking down the far side of Sanchez’s MRAP.

  As Cooper got Alex to the back of Bryant’s vehicle, someone inside lowered the door. The second they were on board, the door shut again.

  Ping-ping-ping-ping. This time the shots were hitting their truck.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Cooper yelled at Bryant.

  The Cougar began moving away quickly. Alex, free now from Cooper’s grasp, pressed herself up against the side window and looked back through the protective slats at Sanchez’s wrecked MRAP.

  “Air support is coming,” Cooper said. “They’ll get ’em.”

  “Oh, God!” Alex said.

  The back of the other MRAP had started to swing open.

  “They’re trying to get out! We have to go back!”

  Cooper rushed to the window, then yelled to Bryant, “Turn around!”

  Bryant had just started to turn the wheel, when a pickup truck with a machine gun mounted on back circled around Sanchez’s vehicle and stopped near the widening rear doorway. The gun swung around and pointed through the opening. Alex and Cooper saw flashes of gunfire as attackers flooded the interior of Sanchez’s vehicle with bullets.