Against All Odds (2 page)

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Authors: Irene Hannon

Tags: #Mystery, #Romance, #Suspense, #Thriller, #Contemporary

BOOK: Against All Odds
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As Coop retook his seat, grimacing at his first sip of the vile brew, he ignored the twitch in Mark’s lips and focused on Les.
“I’ve got a job for you two. Ever hear of David Callahan?”
Mark shot Coop a silent query. At the almost imperceptible shake of his partner’s head, he answered for both of them. “No.”
“Didn’t think so. He keeps a low profile. Here’s some background you can review later.” He tossed a file across the desk, and Coop fumbled with his coffee as he grabbed for it, the murky liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the cup.
Les scowled at him and chewed his cigar. “Keep drinking that coffee.” Settling back in his chair, he ignored the flush that rose on Coop’s neck. “David Callahan works for the State Department. Has for forty years. He’s been in about every hot spot in the world where the United States has a vested interest. By reputation, he’s a savvy diplomat and a tough but fair negotiator. When you see the secretary of state shaking hands with foreign leaders after a diplomatic coup, you can bet David Callahan had a hand in it. I assume you’re both versed on the current hostage situation in Afghanistan.”
It was a statement, not a question.
To Coop’s relief, Mark took pity on him and accepted the volley. The coffee was starting to work, but he wasn’t yet ready to dive into this game.
“Yes. The basics, anyway. An unidentified terrorist group kidnapped three Americans a week ago and is demanding the release of a number of extremists who are in custody, as well as a large ransom. The hostages are a wire service reporter, the director of a humanitarian organization, and a State Department employee. The last I heard, things were at a stalemate.”
“That’s right. It’s a dicey situation. Callahan is holding firm to our nonnegotiation policy with terrorists, but he’s facing immense pressure to convince the State Department and the Afghan government to reconsider that stance. And the terrorists just raised the stakes.”
Leaning forward, Les passed a file to Mark. “Background on Monica Callahan, David’s daughter.”
“How is she involved?” Mark took the file.
“She isn’t. Yet. And it’s up to you to keep it that way.”
“I’m not sure I understand.” Twin creases appeared on Mark’s brow.
“Three hours ago, the terrorists gave David Callahan a vested interest in the outcome by threatening his daughter.” Les turned to Coop. “You with us?”
“Yes, sir. But I’m not sure I understand, either. Shouldn’t this be handled by State Department personnel?”
“In general, yes. David Callahan’s own security is being managed internally. But he wanted the best available protection for his daughter. And he went to the highest levels to get it.”
“The secretary of state asked for HRT involvement?” Mark sent Les a surprised look.
“No one
asked
for anything. It was an order.” Les chewed on his cigar for a few seconds. “And it came from the White House.”
Stunned, Coop stared at him. “The White House?”
“The coffee must be kicking in. Good.” Les worked his cigar to the other side of his mouth. “Now that I have your full attention, we can talk about your assignment.”
“Is the daughter in Afghanistan?” Mark asked.
“No. Much closer to home. Richmond, Virginia. I want you and Coop on dignitary protection duty 24/7 until this hostage situation is resolved.”
“That could be weeks,” Coop said.
“And your point is . . .” Les pinned him with a piercing look.
Coop took a fortifying gulp of his coffee and remained silent.
“That’s what I figured.” Les removed his cigar long enough to take a swig from his own mug. “We’ll work the intelligence angle from here and try to intercept any imminent threats. I need you two on the ground with Monica Callahan to provide physical protection.” He passed another file over to Mark. “Classified intelligence on the hostage situation and terrorist cells in the U.S. that could be connected to it.”
“Is a safe house being arranged?”
At Mark’s question, Les leaned back in his chair and squinted. Not a good sign, Coop knew. Their boss only squinted in tense situations—or if things weren’t going as planned.
“That would be the most effective way to deal with the situation. And we’re securing a location now. But we have a challenge to deal with first.”
As Coop leaned forward to wedge his coffee cup into a tiny bare spot on Les’s desk, he exchanged a glance with Mark. His partner’s concerned expression mirrored Coop’s reaction. When Les said “challenge,” he meant “problem.” And with the White House watching over their shoulders, problems were not a good thing.
“I’m assuming you’ll explain that.” Coop’s even, controlled tone reflected none of his sudden unease.
“The lady isn’t aware of the danger because she hasn’t responded to her father’s calls. As you’ll discover from her file, they’ve been estranged for many years.” Les delivered his bombshell matter-of-factly. “So your first challenge, gentlemen, will be to convince her she needs protecting and get her on board with the program—despite her feelings about her father.”
The last vestiges of fuzziness vanished from Coop’s brain. They were supposed to protect an uncooperative subject from a terrorist threat with the White House looking over their shoulders.
Wonderful.
From the set of his jaw, Mark wasn’t any more thrilled by the assignment than he was, Coop deduced.
Dignitary protection details were bad enough under the best conditions. No one on the HRT had joined the group to play nursemaid to high-powered, pampered VIPs. And that’s what these gigs amounted to in most cases, as he and Mark knew firsthand. You stashed the person in a safe house and babysat until you got the all clear.
In other words, you were bored out of your mind.
But he’d take that kind of assignment in a heartbeat compared to the one Les had handed them. One wrong step, and their careers would be toast.
“We’ll feed you intelligence as we get it,” Les continued. “And we’ll proceed on the assumption that you’ll convince Ms. Callahan it’s in her best interest to cooperate. In the meantime, get up to speed on those files and head down to Richmond. I want you on the job by nine o’clock. The local field office is handling covert surveillance until you get there. Any questions?”
Coop and Mark exchanged a look but remained silent.
“Okay. Stay in touch. And good luck.”
Rising, Coop gripped the file folder on David Callahan and picked up his coffee. As he followed Mark out the door, he glanced at the murky dregs sloshing in the bottom of the cup. They turned his stomach.
And the assignment Les had handed them was having the same effect.
As for luck . . . he had a feeling they were going to need a whole lot more than that to emerge from this job unscathed.
2
 
Two hours later, Coop angled his wrist on the steering wheel and checked his watch. Not bad. At this rate, they should be in Richmond well before the nine o’clock deadline Les had given them.
“You want any breakfast?”
At Mark’s question, Coop flicked a quick look in his direction. When his partner inclined his head toward a pair of familiar yellow arches at the top of the highway off-ramp up ahead, Coop grimaced.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Mark said.
“I’m still tasting the grounds from Les’s so-called coffee. But I’ll pull off if you’re hungry.”
“I can wait awhile.”
Coop didn’t offer again. The mere thought of food was enough to make him queasy. “Finding anything interesting?” He nodded toward the briefing material in Mark’s lap. His partner had been engrossed in it since they pulled onto the highway, and Coop had been content to drive in silence.
“David Callahan is impressive.”
“He must be to have enough clout to pull off this kind of security. And to have Oval Office connections.”
“Sounds like he’s earned a few favors. The man has been in more hot spots than a Bedouin’s camel.”
“Remind me to appreciate your humor later, when I feel more human.” Coop gave him a sardonic look. “Too bad we weren’t assigned to
his
security detail. Given the level of scrutiny on this job, I have a feeling that would have been safer than babysitting his daughter.”
“Hey, look at it this way.” Mark fished a photo out of the file and positioned it in his partner’s field of vision. “If we have to babysit, at least she’s a babe.”
Babe
was a good word to describe Monica Callahan, Coop conceded as he examined the head shot. Shiny, russet-colored hair framed her oval face and skimmed her shoulders, the tapered blunt cut providing fullness and bounce. Bangs swept to either side of her smooth forehead, and intelligent, deep green eyes stared into the camera with a disarming frankness. Her lips were curved in an ever-so-slight smile, as if she was thinking about some private joke.
For some reason, Coop got stuck on her lips. They were full and soft and oh-so-appealing.
Kissable
was the word that came to mind. And very . . .
“Watch the road,” Mark suggested mildly, his expression amused as the car began to drift toward the shoulder.
Jerking his focus back to the highway, Coop made a course correction.
“I thought this would get your attention.” Mark grinned and slid the photo back into the file. “Why don’t you pull over and we’ll switch places? Once you’re up to speed on the files, we can talk about a game plan.”
“Okay by me.”
Thirty minutes later, Coop closed the file on Monica Callahan. “I’m impressed.”
“There aren’t any slouches in that family, that’s for sure.”
“How many people do you know who’ve written a bestselling book at age thirty-four?”
“Zero. Until now. What was the name of it again?”
“Talk the Walk
.
”
“Clever.”
“And that’s just for starters. PhD in communications. College professor. Business trainer and communications consultant. Sought-after speaker. She’s one busy lady.”
“Who is not going to take kindly to having her life disrupted, I suspect.”
Flipping open the file again, Coop gave it one more quick scan. “I didn’t see anything in here about why she and her father are estranged, did you?”
“Nope.”
“That’s going to complicate things.”
“Tell me about it.”
In the distance, Coop spotted another pair of yellow arches. “I think I could face some food now. Besides, I don’t want to go into this on an empty stomach.”
“You don’t have to twist my arm.” Mark flipped on his turn signal.
As his partner edged into the right lane, Coop surveyed the bleak February landscape outside his window. A light dusting of snow covered the ground, and the temperature was hovering at the freezing mark. The scene was cold. Inhospitable. Ominous.
Like this assignment.
His gut clenched into a knot, and an unsettling feeling of apprehension swept over him. “I don’t have good vibes about this mission.”
At his quiet comment, Mark shot him a surprised look. “That doesn’t sound like you.”
Twin furrows dented Coop’s brow. Mark was right. He couldn’t remember ever being intimidated by an assignment, from busting up a lethal drug ring in Puerto Rico to high-risk international fugitive pickups to quelling a prison riot. He was used to danger.
Yet this job spooked him, for reasons he couldn’t articulate. He just had a gut feeling they were walking onto a minefield. And in general, he trusted his instincts.
This case, however, was a little different. The intense scrutiny that White House involvement implied could, in itself, account for his trepidation, he supposed. Until they scoped out the job and met the woman they’d been assigned to protect, he needed to keep his concerns in check. There was no reason for both of them to worry unnecessarily.
“Sorry.” He tried to massage away the dull headache pounding behind his temples. “Chalk it up to too many beers and not enough sleep.”
“Maybe food will help.”
“Maybe.”
As Mark turned onto the exit ramp, Coop hoped his partner was right. Monica Callahan’s refusal to take her father’s calls wasn’t a good sign, but perhaps she would listen to reason in person. Based on her file, she sounded like an intelligent, articulate, mature person. Someone who would be able to put her personal feelings aside and look at the situation in a logical manner. Who would listen to—and follow—the recommendations of experts. Who would do her best to make their job easy.
He hoped.

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