The Finish Line. Cliff Ryder
name isn’t a reference to its godlike capabilities.”
Terrence chuckled and raised his drink glass before replying. “Actually, when we went global in ’99, we wanted to take on a name that implied quick, efficient service for our clientele. So far, I think we’ve delivered.”
“Of course.” Kate kept her professional smile pasted on her face, but her eyes looked past Weatherby to catch the gaze of a tall, lean, mustached man talking to a pair of energetic young women who worked for Interpol. As soon as their eyes met, she made a small, innocuous gesture with her hand, and he nodded just enough to show that the message was received. Although it was possible that Weatherby had sought her out to compliment her comments at the conference earlier, Kate never believed in coincidence. Most likely getting a feel for their potential competition, she thought as she turned her attention back to the conversation at hand. “So, Mr. Weatherby, just how do you see government intelligence agencies and PMCs working together?”
It was the opening he had been waiting for, and Kate reminded herself that when it all came down to it, he was a salesman. But at least he had a pleasant, butter-soft speaking voice. “Please, call me Terrence. I won’t bore you with a long, drawn-out pitch, but allow me to pique your interest with a few possibilities, as there are some legal issues that would need to be addressed, as well, before moving forward….”
He briefly outlined several potential alliances that did sound very good on the surface—intelligence sharing, team building on both sides to augment each other’s forces and the relaxation of controls that would make it easier for a formal government agency to use a PMC for deniable missions.
Kate broke in at that point. “Isn’t that a bit dangerous? After all, what incentive would your men have to not roll over on the hiring government to save their own skins if they were caught?” She sipped her champagne again, enjoying the mild look of discomfort that flitted across the Englishman’s face. Kate didn’t have much respect for most private military companies, considering only a handful of well-established ones to meet her very high standard in terms of integrity and trustworthiness.
“Well, it is our hope that would never come to pass, but in the unfortunate event of a member or team being captured, we would mount a rescue operation as quickly as possible in order to extract them before any information could be gained,” Weatherby said.
“Very noble of you.” Kate knew she was pushing it, but at the moment she almost didn’t care. She reined herself in, however, and turned the conversation to safer ground. “Your company has been focusing almost exclusively on Third World countries, Africa and the like. I’m surprised that we don’t hear more from you in more lucrative places—like Iraq.”
Terrence’s smile grew even tauter. “I hope you’ll pardon me for being rather blunt, but once the initial fireworks were over, it certainly seemed as if the fix was in, so to speak. The American PMCs picked up so many contracts, and the rest of us were left to fight over the scraps. Then there was all that nasty business with one of the more prominent contractors, and the environment turned even less receptive. We did a cost-benefit analysis, and realized that our talents could be put to better use elsewhere.”
And with even less oversight from watchdog groups, I’ll bet, Kate thought. “Well, you know what they say in business and politics—it’s not always what you do so much as who you know. Still, you make some very interesting suggestions, and I’d like to get some talking points on strategic alliances to show to my superiors.” Kate briefly turned up the wattage on her smile, and resisted the urge to bat her eyelids. “Here’s my card.”
Weatherby took it and slipped it into his jacket pocket. “That would be wonderful, but I was rather hoping, if you’re staying here past the conference, that we might discuss this further over dinner tomorrow evening.”
Hmm, is he hitting on me, or is this purely business? Kate drained her flute slowly, taking a couple of seconds to reappraise the man in this new light. Yes, her estimate of his age was accurate, but he was slim, fit and regal looking. She shook her head with a rueful expression. You’re not a field agent, you’re the director of Room 59. Your job duties do not entail dallying with PMC executives at conferences like this. Placing her empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray, she shook his hand again. “I’m afraid that tomorrow morning I’m heading to London for several days.”
Weatherby smiled, revealing perfect, even white teeth that had to have benefited from years of the very best dentistry. “Then it would seem that fate is crossing our paths, Ms. Massen, since my company’s head office is in London, as well, and I would greatly enjoy the opportunity to see you again and continue this conversation.” He offered her a card, a thin sheet of clear, flexible plastic with his name and contact information holo-graphically imprinted on it.
Kate took it and tucked it into her beaded clutch purse. “I’ll have to look at my schedule and see what might be arranged, but I cannot promise anything.” She looked around for the man she had seen earlier, but he was nowhere in sight. However, a stunning woman with sleek black hair, flawless olive skin and dressed in a shimmering silver evening gown walked toward Kate, leaving turning heads of both men and women in her wake. From the corner of her eye, Kate noticed Weatherby stiffen as she approached.
“Excuse me, I’m sorry to interrupt, but are you Donna Massen, with the U.S. State Department?” The newcomer was British, as well, her contralto voice making Weatherby’s honeyed tones sound like those of a rough East Ender.
“I am,” Kate replied.
“I have a message for you.” The woman, whose face would have looked perfectly at home on the covers of the highest fashion magazines, turned to Kate’s companion. “If you’ll excuse us, Terrence.”
The PMC representative cleared his throat as if he had just remembered how to breathe. “Of course, Samantha. You’re looking well.”
The barest smile flickered across the woman’s face. “And you, as well. This way, Ms. Massen, if you please.” The willowy woman, several inches taller than Kate, led her through the crowd, leaving Weatherby to head to the bar.
Kate regarded her new escort with curiosity. “Professional acquaintance?”
The woman who had extricated Kate was Samantha Rhys-Jones, the head of Room 59’s UK division. “I knew Terrence back in his Royal Army days, before he retired, figuring there was more money in private security. When his own business failed, he must have signed on with Mercury. So, what were you two talking about?”
“Oh, dinner in London, among other things. Why, is there anything I should know about him?”
Samantha turned her head to regard her superior. “He claims to be decent in bed, if that’s what you’re after. I wouldn’t know—the last time our paths had crossed, he’d expressed interest, until I rebuffed him—rather forcefully.”
“I hope you didn’t leave any permanent damage.” Kate looked back to Weatherby, who had just tossed his drink back and was signaling for another.
“Only if you count his pride, I suppose.” Samantha turned her laser-sharp, brown-eyed gaze on Kate. “You can’t be serious about him.”
“Of course not. But I’ll keep track of him myself if I have to. Apparently they’re headquartered in London. But I doubt anything will come of it, so thanks for getting me out of there.”
“It wasn’t a ploy—I really do have a message for you.” Samantha snared two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray with elegant ease. “A Midnight Team operation went down in South London approximately twenty-six minutes ago. Unfortunately, the targets were not eliminated as planned—the team encountered another hit team on-site and had to engage them instead.”
“Another team? What was the outcome?” Kate asked.
“The main targets were terminated before or as our team arrived, as far as we can tell, but the other shooters got away. One of our operatives was taken out, as well. We’re still trying to determine what happened.”
Kate’s