Hunter's Pride. Lindsay McKenna
used to work for us. She’s a helicopter pilot,” Morgan continued. “She was one of the first women to fly helos in the U.S. Navy. I found out about her, managed to convince her to leave her military career behind and work for us.” His voice grew sad. “A little over a year and a half ago, she quit. She runs her own tourist helicopter service over on Kauai now.”
Dev grinned cockily. “This is one helluva dessert to be putting on my plate.” He placed the photo back on Morgan’s desk. “You know I don’t do partners. And even though I’m intrigued, I’m not changing my mind about how I operate.”
Holding up his scarred hand, Morgan said, “Hear me out first, Dev, before you make a final decision.”
Shrugging his broad shoulders, Dev replied, “You’re the boss. What’s up?”
Becoming grim, Morgan said, “Your brother Ty and the team from the Organization of Infectious Diseases—OID—confirmed that a genetically altered form of anthrax was sprayed upon an unsuspecting Juma Indian village south of Manaus as a ‘test’ case for Black Dawn, the international terrorist group.”
“Damn,” Dev whispered painfully. “I didn’t know the details. I suspected what was going on, but Ty didn’t say for sure.”
“He couldn’t. This is top secret information. But it’s been confirmed through five different governmental agencies, including our own. It’s only a matter of time until Black Dawn picks a top event target.”
“Like delivering anthrax by air over a major city?”
“Yes, and probably a U.S. city—that’s our best, educated guess.” Morgan tapped the pile of e-mail messages on his desk. “But we’ve got a lead. A strong one. And I hope this isn’t a wild-goose chase this time. The light plane used to deliver the aerosol spray over the Juma village in the Brazilian jungle had numbers on the side of the fuselage. We were able to trace those numbers.”
Dev’s brows shot up. “That was a pretty basic mistake on Black Dawn’s part not to disguise or change the lettering on the plane.”
Morgan agreed. “No plan, no matter how carefully thought up, is without mistakes and screwups. And this is theirs.”
“Who does the plane trace to?” Dev asked, unable to keep his gaze from wandering to the photo of Kulani Dawson. There was such incredible life in her. There was a radiance about her face, as if she were caught in the throes of something so sacred that Dev could not even begin to connect with it. That didn’t matter. He knew with sudden insight that just by being next to her, hearing her voice, and looking into her eyes, he could somehow possess it. Possess her. Shaken, he forced himself to pay attention to Morgan.
Pulling a paper from the file, Morgan rumbled, “A Professor Jevon Valdemar. A refugee from the Balkans granted asylum by our government to continue his work in biochemistry.” The derision in his voice was heavy. Tossing the paper toward Dev, he added, “The turncoat son of a bitch has sold us out. We gave him asylum, grant money in the millions and what did he do? He joined Black Dawn, perfected the genetic anthrax to kill millions around the world.” Morgan’s nostrils quivered as he glared across the desk at Dev, who picked up the paper and looked at the photo of the professor on it.
Eyes narrowing, Dev studied the thin-faced man with round, gold, wire-rimmed glasses. The professor appeared to be in his late fifties, his hair gray and helter-skelter across his broad forehead. “Funny how faces never tell the whole story,” Dev murmured philosophically. “You’d think a killer would look like a killer. You’d think they’d have pig eyes, hard faces, their features broadcasting just what kind of people they were.”
Morgan’s eyes were icy. “Valdemar looks like a radical in my opinion.”
“How does this top event tie in with her?” Dev asked as he slid the paper back to Morgan. Again, his gaze drifted to the beautiful Kulani Dawson. He’d been over on Hawaii, the Big Island, and Oahu, but never on Kauai. He’d seen his share of hula dancers, but no one like Kulani. Was she the daughter of Pele, the fire goddess? She looked it, with the fire in her heart, her passion, written across her lovely face, in her shining eyes.
“She did a little of the legwork for us already, because after we traced the plane back to the professor, we discovered it was originally bought in Kauai. Since then we’ve found out Valdemar was paying rental at Lihue Airport for his plane. How it got from there to Brazil, we don’t know. It could have been transported in the belly of a large cargo plane. In any case, Professor Valdemar disappeared a year ago from Kauai, where he was doing his work at a local lab that was part of the CIA efforts. His plane disappeared from Lihue Airport about the same time he did. Rafe, our contact in Brazil, found the plane after a search of the Manaus airport with that city’s police detectives. Rafe, who is one of our deep mole Perseus operatives, showed a photo of the professor to Manaus airport employees and Valdemar was positively identified. And now we have another lead. Kulani saw Professor Valdemar back at Lihue Airport three weeks ago. Further, she’s reported an unmarked black helicopter coming and going just at dusk or dawn around the Na Pali Coast area, on the north side of the island.”
“Even though she doesn’t work for you anymore, it sounds like she keeps pretty good tabs on the island for you,” Dev said with a slight smile.
“Well,” Morgan hedged, “let’s put it this way. I was the one who contacted her. I sent the professor’s photo over the Internet to her. I asked if she’d seen him around the airport she flies out of, and she said she had. When I asked if she’d seen anything unusual by way of flights or airplanes, she mentioned the black helo.”
Intrigued, Dev asked, “So you think the professor is on Kauai right now and you want me to verify that?”
“Yes, and I want you to persuade Kulani to join you.” Morgan held up his hand in warning. “And before you say no, hear me out,” he growled. “This mission is going to absolutely take both of you. I’m choosing you because of your mountain climbing skills. I need her to help you because she has equal skills in climbing. Plus she knows those damned dangerous valleys where the professor’s lab is located and the sheer lava cliffs you’re going to have to climb down to get there, better than anyone.”
Morgan slowly stood up and turned around. Pulling down a screen, he pointed to the detailed map of Kauai pictured there. “These lava cliffs on the Na Pali Coast are twenty-two hundred feet high. They’re sheer, vertical faces with nothing but lichen, grass, moss, ferns and brush clinging to their surface. Kulani grew up climbing these cliffs. She knows them like the back of her hand. And she knows the Kalalau Valley, where we believe the professor has his lab hidden. We can’t go busting in there with a military force. If the professor is there, and he hears us coming, he’s liable to let loose some of that anthrax and put the entire island’s population at risk. I’m working with FBI headquarters, as well as with their field office located on the Big Island. We’ve got the green light to try and get in there and insert a team to verify the professor and his lab are there. If you can take ’em out, you’ll do it. Quickly, quietly and cleanly. I want Valdemar alive, if possible. We know he’s making enough anthrax for a top event. You and Kulani will stop him.”
Dev shook his head. “Morgan, I’ve climbed every mountain in North America. Climbing is a single sport.”
“No, it’s not. It’s teamwork between you and the others you’re roped with, and you know that.” He scowled. “Besides, I’ve got other problems. This mission is far from stable at the moment.”
“Oh?” Dev gazed down at Kulani’s photo. Damn, but she was a delicious-looking woman. And what a dichotomy she was—part goddess of the old Hawaiian culture, part modern-day woman and helicopter pilot. Hell, it would be worth taking the mission just to meet her, he thought, grinning to himself. Outwardly, he kept his expression carefully neutral and monitored because he knew Morgan could read a person like a book, quite literally sometimes.
Grumpily, Morgan said, “Kulani doesn’t want to take this mission.”
Dev couldn’t help himself; one corner