Comeback. Doranna Durgin
We need to know more about the person behind these files, the agenda stated. Be alert for any references to the code name “A”—now possibly known as Arachne—or events related to anyone on the attached eyes-only list.
She could do that. No problem.
High alert: there are indications of imminent terrorist action on U.S. soil. Current priority is to pin down the details.
She could do that, too.
Except that she, like Cole, was now a known face, a highly recorded face. And she was damaged goods, already relegated to teaching duty while the CIA waited to see if she got her act together.
Not that she wasn’t good at teaching; in a way, it’s what she’d been doing all along, albeit with the foreign dignitaries with whom she’d been trying to establish counterterrorism partnership programs and not in a classroom. Pulling together the material was second nature, starting with the U.S. counterterrorism policy. First, make no concessions to terrorists and strike no deals. Second, bring terrorists to justice for their crimes. Third, isolate and apply pressure on states that sponsor terrorism…
And she knew firsthand how those policies translated to real-life action, so who better to explain it?
But it wasn’t what she wanted to do, was driven to do. She didn’t want to teach others how to deal with terrorism…she wanted to deal with it herself.
Damaged goods.
She hadn’t been damaged goods when she’d been here at Athena. She’d been young, with the confidence of the young. She’d been…
Strong. Capable. Gulping down the learning she’d been offered, the self-defense and sharpshooting and athletic training along with the languages and politics and peeks into the inner workings of law-enforcement agencies. Looking forward, not back. Not tied down by family, by relationships…by experience.
Selena closed her eyes, felt something in her chest swell and open, reconnecting to that younger version of herself. The unscuffed version, still bright and shiny new and full of all the fervent intention Athena could nurture to the fore. It was still there. Just remember to look for it.
When she opened her eyes, it was to another budding dust devil in the sere valley below. She smiled at the sight, and told her gelding, “See that? I told Jonas White that I was the Road Runner. But I think now I’m the Tasmanian Devil.” She watched a dust devil grow, sweeping up dirt and debris. Then she nodded, getting to her feet and dusting off her behind, but not ever taking her eyes from the churning column of air. “Yeah. I like that. Somehow I don’t think Taz carries a lot of baggage.”
As if to prove the point, the dust devil spit out a tumbleweed. Selena laughed out loud at it and gave her surprised horse a pat. “I think I’m on to something,” she told the gelding, and reached for the girth billets of the close contact-saddle. Not that she thought she’d find herself suddenly, miraculously unaffected by those days in Berzhaan or by what she’d done there.
But it was a start.
Chapter 4
Oops.
One really Big oops.
Cole yanked the defector—his defector, now, after weeks of hunting—out of the line of fire, and they both stumbled into a tiny doorway alcove. A tiny Berzhaani doorway alcove with a securely locked door. How the hell had he ever agreed to come back to Suwan?
As if there’d ever been any question. Cole, would you like to come back to black-ops fieldwork for this one job, after which we’ll say wham, bam, thank-you ma’am and drop you like the hot potato you are?
Of course he’d said yes.
A shot pinged against the pale stone of this old home, showering them with chips and dust. The defector’s hand tightened on Cole’s arm. “You have a plan. You must have a plan.”
“For this?” Cole laughed, short and entirely mirthless. “Sorry, Dr. Aymal. This isn’t your lucky defection.”
For the man had made it out of Afghanistan without incident, escorted and flanked by CIA exfiltration experts, and then they’d handed him over to the Berzhaan team— who should have seen him onto a plane headed for the States. But a little bobble here, a little bobble there…they’d lost him. Cole didn’t yet have the full story on that, but if the guy’s luck held true, he could well see how it had happened.
Because who’d have thought Cole would be under fire from his former fellow CIA contract employees? Dark ops men of superhero proportions who hadn’t re-upped, but who instead had come to the Middle East to work for a security consultant. Until now, Cole had thought they still worked for that man.
He’d been wrong.
Boy, had he been wrong. Walked right into this one, didn’t you? Whoever they worked for now, they weren’t on Cole’s side any longer. And they were bold. Bold enough to open fire in the narrow streets of this dignified old neighborhood on the edge of Suwan.
“C’mon, Jox!” The voice of a man who’d once worked beside Cole shouted out from behind cover across the street. Worked beside Cole closely enough to know the nickname based on his CIA station name. Definitely not working alongside Cole any longer. “Get real! Give it up. We’ll even let you walk away.”
But not Aymal. That was a given.
And Aymal was too important to risk. He carried a mental map of weapons-exchange locations—and key pieces of intel regarding an impending terrorist strike. None of which he had divulged so far, nor seemed inclined to divulge until his feet hit safe ground. U.S. ground.
Was his fake nose slipping with his sweat? Cole gave it a firm nudge, as though he were pushing up glasses; there was no give. Just the expected itch. Without turning around, he said to his defector, “Tell me that if I manage to get you through this alive, you’ll put half the terrorists hiding in Afghanistan out of business.”
“Most certainly,” Aymal assured him. Eagerly, too. The guy spoke some English; he had to know the offer Cole had just received. “I’m certain your government considers me a valuable asset.”
“Oddly, I consider me a valuable asset, too,” Cole muttered, scanning the roofline across from them. Two-story stone buildings lined the street, butted up side to side. A woman’s balcony jutted out of the second story, elaborate scrollwork framing the screening that allowed ventilation but kept the women out of sight. Seemed like there should be some way to use that…but no. Too far to the side.
Then he caught a glimpse of movement on the roof. Hmm. Give it up? I don’t think so. To his once-friend-nowenemy, he finally shouted, “I don’t see that happening.”
“Trust is such a fleeting thing,” the man shouted back. “Too bad you don’t seem to have much choice.” He unleashed another shot at them to prove his point and it skipped over the corner of the stone and across Cole’s side, right through the leather satchel slung over his shoulder. He flinched, cursed, and didn’t give it so much as a cursory inspection. If it burned that damned bad, it was a surface wound. Behind him, Aymal, too, flinched—away from the solid impact of the bullet in the wooden door.
Cole really hoped there was no one home.
To their pursuer, he said cheerfully, “There’s always choice.”
But he wasn’t looking at the car that hid the two men, and he wasn’t about to return fire in this populated neighborhood. Instead, he looked up.
Yup, there was someone on the roof. Three little figures, clutching a stick bat and a big red ball and a—okay, he didn’t know what that last thing was. Didn’t matter. It would do the trick. He waved at them, a wiggle of his fingers. Selena would smack that hand just for bringing the kids into this—what if they were our own?—but they were safe enough. To his newly sworn enemy, he called, “They do have cops in this neck of the woods, you know.”
“I happen to know