Free Fall
Page 35“Well, trust me. Even I’m not that good of an actress.” Stella’s mouth tightened into a grim line.
Across the stretch of asphalt, the woman in question had her eyes locked on their small group as well. She’d gone white as a sheet. Her feet moved forward in something close to slow motion. The man at her side adjusted his pace to stay right by her until the couple stopped.
No one spoke. The aircraft engines rumbled and other base noises echoed—trucks, loudspeakers, people going about the business of parking and servicing planes.
The two women continued to stare at each other. Now that they were closer, the resemblance was unmistakable, right down to the freckles on the nose.
There were minor differences—Melanie Carson had more of a brownish tint to her hair and time had brushed some lines on her face. What did Stella see when she looked at the mother she thought she’d lost, a mother who’d walked away? He wanted to scoop Stella up and hold her, insulate her against the pain.
Stella stepped nearly nose to nose with the woman without reaching out. Her arms stayed stiff and straight at her sides. “I hope to God you’ve had amnesia for the past fourteen years, otherwise I’m going to have a tough time getting past this.”
Melanie Carson shrugged wryly. “No amnesia. Sorry, Stella.”
Smith interjected, “Touching as this is, the rest of this reunion will have to wait.” He gestured to Agent Jones. “If you’ll show Mrs. Carson and Mr. Al-Shennawi to the briefing room, I need a few moments with… Stella.”
Interesting. Melanie didn’t know about her daughter’s job, because otherwise why would Smith purposefully avoid calling her Agent Carson?
Smith charged ahead, orders given.
Apparently now that he’d gotten his shock value test to read mother and daughter he was ready to move this little party inside the hangar. Jose kept his hand on Stella’s back and to hell what anyone else thought. Rage and pain damn near radiated off her in waves, stirring every protective impulse in his body. He was staying by her side until he received a direct order to the contrary.
Once inside the hangar, Smith guided Stella to the door. Jose stayed with her every step of the way. Smith just lifted an eyebrow but didn’t argue.
“Sergeant James, this actually will be of interest to you,” the agent said as if it had been his idea to include Jose. “Mr. Brown, stay with us.”
Stella took a place at the long table, chairs, and a smart screen with a map of the region running feed in all four corners. Really? They were going to have a brief while Stella thought of her mother on the other side of the wall? Smith was a f**king sadist.
The senior agent leaned a shoulder against the wall by the screen. “We got the reports back on the bio toxin in the container.”
Jose sat up straighter. Hell, that seemed like years ago now. “And?”
“All exposed can enjoy a sigh of relief.” He thumbed a remote in his hand, bringing a report onto the screen. “The toxin levels were high enough to set off our sensors, but not enough to do more than make people sick—which explains how it flew under our radar. We would have caught the movement of chemical sales large enough to create a weapon of that magnitude.”
“A hoax?” Stella inched forward in her seat, her face overly controlled. “To cause chaos?”
Smith paused on a picture of the stolen artifacts, with the folded kanga Harper had stuffed in his backpack. “Their goal has never been order, but rather more anarchy so they can continue with their illegal trades.”
And now Sutton Harper was dead, a casualty of someone else’s larger plan.
Stella pointed at a new image. “Why did they drape the list on the VP’s wife?”
Brown took notes on his iPad. “To send a message? Or arrogance? My money’s on the former.”
Stella rubbed the back of her neck. “Or could she be involved?”
Brown looked up fast. “Did you really just say that, Carson?”
“It had to be said,” Stella answered. “True, Mr. Smith?”
Agent Hard-ass wasn’t giving anything away. “All scenarios have to be taken into consideration. But we must always—always—protect the families of our leaders without hesitation.” His eyes lasered in on Jose, finally coming around to the reason he’d been allowed in the brief. “We’ll sort it all out regarding possible high profile involvement once the dust settles.”
The official orders may not have come down yet, but it was clear even without Smith’s veiled mention. Special operations forces would be a part of the security detail and since his was already in the region, that put them at the top of the list. Jose knew his job and the best thing he could do for Stella was keep his focus, get through this nightmare scenario. He tuned in as Smith continued.
“We circulated a story that the cloth was promptly packaged up and mailed back to the States. Initially, we hoped they would try to track our decoy package. However, our intel on the ground indicates there will simply be another transfer that will take place tonight at the state dinner honoring the vice president’s wife. I don’t need to spell out how many years of operations—how many lives—will be in jeopardy if the list of our human assets becomes public knowledge. The balance of power and peace is already so unstable in this region.”
If intelligence agencies and special operation forces were compromised, unable to help stem the flow of pirates, warlords, separatists, terrorists, too many unstable factions to count, there would be nothing left to stop them—except war.
Fang’s words from earlier rolled around his head, how the kid had half-jokingly asked… Should I stay or should I go?
Jose glanced at Stella and saw the answer in her eyes. There was no question for people like them, intel, and special ops. They were here for a mission and they had to see it through to completion.
He’d always understood that part of his mission.
But this need to take Stella and tuck her away somewhere—anywhere—safe and to hell with the cost to everyone else? That distraction was a hundred percent new.
***
“Henry, we have one final mission for you and then your debt will be paid.”
He understood the feeling well. There’d been a time he’d thought he could protect his family from anything by sheer force of will.
“Hold on. I need to get somewhere I can talk.” Henry marched toward the hangar exit, trying to give off the air that he was working and to back the hell away.
Shoving through the door, he blinked at the harsh sun. God, he missed his little house in Virginia, the snowy winters, all the shit he’d griped about, taken for granted. “Why should I believe this is ever going to stop? That I’ll ever be free?”
“Because you’ll die on this mission, Henry. You won’t be a danger to your family ever again.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, holding onto that image of building a snowman with his wife and kid. “Or I could eat a gun now.”
“Henry, you don’t want to do that.”
“Why the hell not?”
“We can’t let it be that simple for you or word will spread and others might get the same idea to escape their obligation to us,” he spoke patronizingly—and without the voice distorter. This truly was the end if he wasn’t worried about his voice being recognized. “Do what we ask and your daughter will live as a sign to others we keep our word—as long as you follow our orders.”
His throat clogged with the truth he already knew but had to ask. “And Charlotte?”
“Your wife’s already gone.”
He doubled over, grabbed his knees, and fought back the urge to vomit.
“But your daughter can walk away from this alive. Little Ellie can grow up with her cousins in your sister’s home where no one gambles with her future.”
Like he needed the reminder this was all his fault, how he’d justified his addiction, then justified the things he’d done to hide his secret. “What do you want me to do?”
“You will shoot the vice president’s wife. She doesn’t have to die, but an injury to her will create chaos. And continued chaos in that region equals free trade of goods and information. We don’t need to get into the gory details. You’re a smart man, Henry.”
A smart man? More like a dead man walking.
***
Stella squeezed the doorknob and searched for the will to pull the door open. Her mother waited on the other side and Smith had given them ten minutes to “talk” before they went to work. The reality still hadn’t settled in her brain. She’d barely had time to process her “dead” mother had worked for the CIA. Then to learn in such a shocking fashion that her mother was still alive? She should be rejoicing… if it weren’t for the searing betrayal. They’d even been given a body to bury…
Anger fueled Stella’s feet. She opened the door and charged inside. Her mother sat alone in an industrial metal chair, the hangar walls and beams stark around her. Memories of a trip to the beach sucker punched her with the scent of peanut butter sandwiches and sunscreen.
She should sit. Should. But she stayed against the door instead. “Mr. Smith says we have ten minutes, so let’s cut straight to the chase. You’ve been alive this whole time.”
“Yes, Stella, I have,” her mother said, her voice a bit lower pitched than Stella remembered, but still familiar.
The last time she’d talked to Melanie, they’d gone to the mall, shopping for Stella’s school clothes. She’d tortured herself for years regretting her last words to her mom had been I hate you. Now to learn all this time her mother had been alive?
How dare she sit there so poised and regal as if they were simply meeting for lunch? “A postcard would have been nice.”
“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t communicate with anyone in my former life.” Her mother swept her scarf off her head, fully uncovering her chestnut hair—and strands of silver that caught Stella unaware.
She pushed back distracting emotions, sliding into a chair, her shaking knees close to betraying her. “Are you telling me you were in witness protection?”
“In a sense, but deeper.”
Willing her heart out of her throat, Stella counted bolts in the beams…
Melanie smiled. “What are you counting?”
“What?” She sat up straighter, startled.
“You always did that when you were little, counting to calm yourself… crayons, stairs, roadside signs.”
Stella’s already thread-thin control snapped. “How would you know what I’m like anymore?” She smacked the table, leaning forward. “You haven’t bothered to speak to me since I was fifteen years old.”
“Would you believe me if I said I did it for your own safety?” She twisted the headscarf between her fingers.
That took a little wind out of her sails and made sense. Her mother had been an agent, and so many things could go wrong for operatives that would change life forever. But damn it, she didn’t want to feel sorry for her mother. “Where have you been all this time?”
“Teaching at an orphan school, here in Africa.”
“Of course. You always did love this place.” She couldn’t help the bitterness in her voice. Her mom had cared more about this country and its people than her own family. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">