The Equalisers: A Soldier's Oath. Debra Webb
challenging tilt. “I’ve decided that this time I want to be involved. Ata is my child. Maybe that was my mistake all along. I should be a part of the operation.”
No way that would work. “I’m afraid your presence would only complicate matters, Ms. Harris. You don’t have the proper training—”
“This is not negotiable, Mr. Anders.” She stared straight into his eyes, hers stone-cold determined. “I will be right there beside you every step of the way, otherwise I’ll have to take my business elsewhere.”
The last gave Spencer pause. Jim Colby would not be pleased if he screwed this up. He had accepted this case, and he wanted it done. ASAP. He damn sure couldn’t expect to stay in business by turning clients away. This job was Spencer’s chance to really start over. To build a new life with an employer who seemed to trust him implicitly.
If he tossed away this opportunity… would another one that offered the same come his way?
Not likely.
His hands shook. He could sure use a drink right about now. But that wouldn’t solve the problem. Jim Colby was counting on him. Spencer was counting on himself.
And this lady—his full attention settled on Willow Harris—was counting on him. She wanted her child back. She deserved her child back.
Spencer pushed aside all the reasons he would be out of his mind to move forward under these terms. “You understand, Ms. Harris, that this mission will be dangerous?” He wanted all the cards on the table. No misconceptions or misunderstandings. “Your presence could actually jeopardize my ability to react as swiftly as I may need to, in effect jeopardizing the whole operation.”
The delicate muscles of her long slender throat worked hard as she summoned a response. “I understand the danger. I’m fully prepared to take the risk.”
Was she? he wondered. She’d lived in Kuwait for three years or a little better. Did she really comprehend how bad it could be without the support and approval of her ex-husband? He doubted it.
“Just one more question.” This one would be the deal-breaker.
Her gaze locked with his. He didn’t miss the determination there or the underlying fear. She might want him to believe that she wasn’t afraid, but she was. She was very afraid. As she should be.
“If I have to make a choice between saving you or saving the child, I will save the child.” He allowed the ramifications of those words to sink in a second or two before he continued. “Are you prepared to die knowing that your death possibly equates to a forfeit?”
Three, four, then five beats passed.
“Yes.”
So much for his scare tactics. “In that case,” he relented, “we’ll begin preparations tomorrow.”
Chapter Four
Tuesday, February 22
Spencer spread the map of Kuwait City over his desk and considered his strategy. The major streets ran in east-west rings starting with 1st Ring Road in the heart of the city all the way to 6th Ring near the airport. North-south streets intersected the rings. The al-Shimmari estate sprawled in the Suilhibikat area wedged between 2nd Ring Road and 3rd. This was where most of the wealthy Kuwaiti families resided.
The al-Shimmari residence was twenty thousand square feet protected by towering security walls as well as armed guards. According to his mother, the boy, Ata, was never out of sight of the grandmother, who was extremely possessive, or at least one personal-security guard.
The ex-husband, Khaled, had high-level government connections. Which meant Spencer couldn’t risk entering the country accompanied by Ms. Willow Harris. Before she would have time to clear customs Khaled would know she was in-country.
That one was a no-brainer.
Spencer had been surprised at the kind of connections Jim Colby himself had right here in Chicago. Fake papers for Willow Harris and her son had been as easy to get as filling a prescription at a local pharmacy. The quality of the passports and driver’s license was remarkable. He wasn’t the slightest bit worried about her papers being flagged, here or there.
What did worry the hell out of him was her. His mission would involve getting as close to the target as possible without being noticed by the enemy. He had no doubt that, if given a careful block of instruction, he could count on her full cooperation in whatever capacity he deemed operationally necessary. His primary concern, however, was whether or not she would be able to maintain any sort of objectivity, much less keep a handle on her emotions. Seeing her child again for the first time after so many months would take an immediate toll.
He didn’t know her, other than what he’d seen and heard so far, but there was no reason for him to believe that she would behave any differently than any other mother thrust into a situation such as this.
Human emotion had no place in a covert operation.
He had been trained to set aside all emotion and to focus on attaining the target. Willow had no training whatsoever other than in how to negotiate and maneuver stocks and bonds. She was ill-prepared for this operation and, unfortunately, he hadn’t come up with a legitimate reason to change her mind about full participation. He had spoken with Jim Colby regarding his reservations about her involvement. Jim had left the ball in his court.
If Spencer didn’t think he could accomplish the mission with her in tow, then he could pass with Jim’s blessings. Willow Harris would simply have to go elsewhere for help in retrieving her son.
That was the thing, though. Spencer was reasonably sure he could accomplish the mission either way. It was those pesky variables that troubled him. If his or someone else’s timing was off, if there were unexpected changes in location or the body count of the enemy… any one of a hundred different scenarios could alter a single reaction, resulting in devastating consequences.
He didn’t want to get this woman injured or killed. He’d watched his team members slaughtered on that mission five years ago and he had no desire to go through an encore performance.
Every time he’d thought about telling Willow Harris that he just couldn’t take the risk, he remembered the haunting pain in her eyes. The elemental need to hold her child in her arms again. No one should have to go through that kind of agony, especially not alone.
When it came to variables there were plenty, it seemed, in Willow’s personal life, the circumstances with her child aside. She appeared to be completely on her own with no support network. Yet her mother and father, according to his research, were still alive. She drifted from job to job, sticking mainly with temporary agencies for any kind of work for which she possessed the qualifications. She lived in the kind of apartments most people would consider barely a cut above the slums. Evidently most of what she’d earned and/or saved had gone into the pockets of one P.I. after the other. She’d forked over the firm’s required retainer fee without blinking an eye. Yet the motel she’d selected was one whose clientele rented more often by the hour than the night.
From all accounts she had sacrificed a great deal in hopes of getting her son back.
Spencer scrubbed his hand over his jaw. Man, he couldn’t allow feelings of sympathy to sneak up on him like that. He was real sorry for her troubles, but sympathy, no matter how well-placed, led to trouble. He’d learned that the hard way. He could not—would not—get personally involved on this case or any other.
He had a fresh start here, he wasn’t about to let anything or anyone screw it up. He had a job to do, end of story. Feeling sorry for a client wouldn’t get the job done. He had to remember that. Allowing emotions to slip in would lead him straight back to his old buddy… booze. No vulnerabilities. If he permitted a single chink in his armor of determination he’d live to regret it.
The intercom on his desk buzzed, followed by the receptionist’s voice. “Spencer, your two o’clock is here.”
Willow