Collateral Damage (30 page)

“Bloody hell. What’s going on, Scottie?” one man shouted, drawing Andreas’s attention.

“Enlarge his face, Guru.”

Guru filled the screen with a close up of the man’s face and Andreas leaned in close, swearing the man’s eyes were very familiar to him.

“Give me more, Guru. I know this man.”

On another screen, Guru brought the man’s profile up as he turned and spoke to another man. The accent was off, the beard was gone, the hair shaved short, but the nose and the eyes and the voice were the same. Saleem Al-Jabar! The investor he’d had dinner in Dubai with last evening. The investor who knew Andreas was on his way back to South America.

Andreas had known something was going on. The sheikh, UAE’s president Khalifa bin Zayed Al Nahyan, was apparently trying to steal GXP from him! Andreas had a surprise for him.

“Fidel. Divert all my Black Op teams from the Canadian attack and jet them to Dubai. Econ 1 is docked there. Tell them there’s been a change in our next oil targets. I want to hit all the major oil facilities in Abu Dhabi, Dubai, Sharjah, Ajman, Umm al-Quwain, Ras al-Khaimah and Fujairah. Leave no reserve untouched. They’re to begin the attack as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir. I also have more bad news and some minor news to report.”

“You speak English well, Fidel.”

“I was educated in America. An asset to you of course.”

Andreas raised a doubtful brow. “
¿Como es que?
”

“Because, unlike the other Fidel, I have more knowledge of how the world works and am not afraid to make some small decisions on my own. We have been unable to reach the operative after Collins’s wife. I have sent a man to the hotel they were at. Also, a small call was made to one of the watch numbers. The message was, “Leaving town now. We are safe. Will call soon. Love you.” It was made from a hotel north of Atlanta. I heard some background noise and had Guru amplify it. Play it for us, Guru.”

Though garbled the words were still discernable. “See Mickey Mouse! Hurry, Aunt Angie!”

Fidel smiled and Andreas tingled with excitement. “Disney World. Bill Collins’s sons are likely going to Disney World. I’ve checked all the events in Georgia, and in the surrounding states. There is nothing with Mickey Mouse on the ticket.”

George tightened his hold on Andreas’s neck and pressed his lips into a flat line, expressing his dislike of this Fidel. Andreas patted George’s back and smiled back at Fidel, liking the replacement after all. “This call was made at what time?”

“Four o’clock today.”

“Divert our flight to Orlando. By morning I want every man possible looking for Collins’s twin sons wherever Mickey Mouse can be seen. There will be only so many blond, identical-looking little boys at the amusement park. The odds are more than in our favor.
Excelente
, Fidel.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Fort Bragg, North Carolina

0330 hours, August 7th

Unable to sleep, Roger was already awake when DT called.

“You’re what?

“I’m here. About five miles out and I have an assassin cuffed in the trunk. Hopefully he’s still alive.”

“You don’t make life easy.”

“I could divert and pound his ass six feet under before returning. He’s gassed me twice, shot me once, and has terrorized Lauren and her kids. I owe him.”

“I didn’t mean for extremes. He isn’t a target and you aren’t on a mission.”

“Which is exactly why he’s alive and in my trunk. He might even know who’s behind Lebanon.”

Roger ran a harried hand through his hair. “You can’t bring the SOB on post. Go to my house in town. You know where the key is. Let me make a few calls for a couple of babysitters to come. You and Lauren can bunk there until morning then we’ll deal.”

“Make it fast. We’ve got more information, an email account, and a partial page of a letter Collins sent to one of his friends is being faxed to your office. The man’s wife was shot and the attacker got the first part of it. She’s in critical condition.”

“And we still have no idea what this is about?”

“I’ve got two million, but I think it’s more than money and it’s global.”

“Got it.”

“See you at o-dark-thirty.”

“It’s already o-dark-thirty,” Roger replied and hung up the phone. By the time he found a couple of good guys to help out DT, the phone rang again.

It was Dean, from Langley.

“You’re up late.”

“Still at the office and not even close to quitting time. I thought I’d give you the heads up, though.”

“On what?”

“Fire and Brimstone are coming your way,” Dean quipped.

“Meaning?” Roger rubbed the aching knot of tension between his eyes.

“Not only will the SOB SOO I told you about but also some NCS peeps will be on your doorstep by 0630. My inquiries hit a hornet’s nest. They want to talk to you directly and to your man.”

“Nice notice.”

“Yeah, well. They thought it rude to wake you. I didn’t. You’ve hit on something big and the SOO isn’t sharing. He’s shut down tight on all information. You owe me for this one.”

“I keep hearing that. Thanks for the call.” Roger disconnected. He’d have to call his cousin first thing in the morning. He hated to start the President’s day out with this mess, but better that than it all blowing up in Paul’s face. Part of Weston wanted to believe DT was on the right trail to explain Lebanon. Part of him didn’t want anyone to look at what happened twice. With the CIA and NCS jumping into the situation, it could cause big problems.

Every time Lauren’s eyes drooped shut and sleep lay but a whisper away, she found herself jerking awake, sure that proverbial bullet headed her way would hit home. She supposed her paranoia was a normal, given the events of the past forty-eight hours. It also didn’t help that an assassin was bound and gagged in a room on the other side of the house.

Sure, two capable men toting guns were in the house as well as Jack. One guard was inside the room with the tied up gunman—she had a problem referring to him as a prisoner, because he wasn’t a victim or a hostage but a disabled murderer. The other guard sat just outside that door. Jack was on the couch in the living room between her and the assassin. Jack had distanced himself since the attack at the hotel and it bothered her. It wasn’t that she’d expected wine and roses, but the easy warmth they’d shared after making love had been good. Really good. Now it was gone.

She wasn’t even sure why he’d shut down. He had blamed himself several times for being caught off guard. Had said he should be shot for letting it happen. She’d looked at him and told him to cut himself some slack. He had been shot for starters.

Also, she’d been the one in the driver’s seat coming to the hotel and aside from the black sedan she saw shortly after leaving Gardner’s, a sedan which had turned off the main road, she hadn’t seen that they were followed to the hotel.

But Jack hadn’t cut himself any slack and she lay in the dark too afraid to sleep too afraid to get up—

Her door cracked open, followed by silence, but she could feel him there.

“Jack?” she whispered, sitting up to blink at the shadows.

“Yeah.” His dark silhouette emerged into the room. “You have any extra room in that bed?”

“Too much. I can’t sleep.”

“Me either.” He set his pistol on the bedside table, emptied his pockets, then ditched his shirt and jeans. Climbing into bed, he pulled her into his strong arms. She sank against his solid warmth and sighed, breathing in the seductive scent of fresh soap and spice. Her cheek brushed along the springy silk of his chest hair and settled over his heart where she closed her eyes and reveled in the rhythmic beat.

“Thank God you’re okay.”

Jack’s throat tightened with emotion at the wealth of care in Lauren’s voice. He was the one who was thanking God that she was all right. What he’d almost cost her still had his insides wrenched tight. He couldn’t say anything so he brushed her hair back from her face and kissed her forehead. He didn’t deserve to be in her bed, he’d yet to be honest with her, but he couldn’t rest until he had his arms around her. Pulling her close, he breathed a sigh of relief for the first time since the bullet grazed his head outside Gardner’s.

She snuggled in closer to him and ran her soft hands over his back and shoulders, kneading as she caressed. The rough tension in him shifted into raw arousal. He buried his face into her silken hair, losing himself in her sweet lavender fragrance. Her breath quickened and his pulse kicked.

She kissed his neck, his stubble-rough jaw, and pressed herself against his erection. He wanted, needed the soft heat of her skin against his. He pulled off her shirt and filled his hands with her full breasts, caressing her nipples with his palms then sucking on their hardened peaks.

He shoved down her jeans, leaving her naked to his hands and questing tongue. She matched him kiss for kiss as he edged their passion to a feverish pace with every stroke of his touch, every thrust of his tongue. He went to kiss his way down to the sweet nub of her sex, but she pushed him back and shifted herself over him, her body a seductive silhouette in the shadows.

“My turn.” Her husky, rich voice sent a shiver right to his throbbing dick, making him swell harder and thicker. She kissed her way down his neck, to the center of his chest and around the hard disks of his nipples. She teasingly nipped and soothingly licked as her silken hair brushed over his skin, taunting him with pleasure. Moving lower, she slid her fingers into his boxers and wrapped her hand around his penis, squeezing up and down his hard length, pumping him into an edgy state of need and want.

He didn’t care about anything except getting inside her and thrusting them both to another mind shaking orgasm. But she leaned in close before he could move and circled her tongue around the tip of his erection. He sucked in air and fought a strangled groan as she flicked her tongue back and forth along the sensitive groove of his sex then sucked him deep into her mouth. His hips jerked wildly in response. She sucked again, harder, deeper, her tongue sending white hot shards of pleasure to his core.

He shuddered, feeling close to a slamming orgasm, but wanting more of her before he lost control.

“Lauren.” Shuddering with need, he urged her head up and guided her to straddle him as he shoved his boxers down and off. “Take me.” He reached to the bedside table and slid a condom into her hand. “Take me inside you. Take me deep.”

She eased the condom over his erection and positioned herself above him. He reached up and rolled her nipples as he thrust into her, lifting his hips and her knees off the bed. She groaned, and ground herself against him. He lowered and then thrust again, leaving one of her nipples to slide his thumb into the wet groove of her sex and flick the hard nub waiting for him there. Her thighs clenched him tighter, her nails dug into his chest, and she arched as her head fell back. He thrust again and again, driven to take her higher with each heated stroke. Her hips pumped in rhythm to his demands until she shuddered.

“Jack,” she whispered as if in total heaven.

He grasped her hips and plunged himself over the wild edge she relentlessly drove him to. He seemed completely incapable of any control where she was concerned. She collapsed on top of him and he wrapped her in his arms, listening as her ragged breaths gave way to exhaustion and sleep. After a time, he eased them on their sides, set the condom out of the way, and followed her into sleep, refusing to think about anything but the waves of pleasure she left rippling through his body, mind and soul. Tomorrow’s truths would take it all away. Tonight was all he had.

Machine gunfire ripped through Jack’s sound sleep. He couldn’t wake up. He was caught in a choking web of a nightmare from the past. His body jerked as his mind sucked him back into a smoke filled room where the earth opened up and the fires of Hell raced to consume him.

“They’re here, DT. They’re alive!”

Jack looked across the smoke-filled room toward Pecos. Sweat, fear and the growing heat of the fire eating the floor beneath them were suffocating. Nausea churned in his gut and he gripped his MP5 tighter.

“See if they’re wired,” he yelled to Pecos, his instincts screaming danger at him as he scanned the room they’d just invaded. Two terrorists lay dead at his feet. It would have been just like the sick sonsofbitches to booby trap the hostages and blow the fucking world up at the moment of seeming victory.

Down the hall, the Sandman’s gunfire holding back militants from coming up the stairs kept a steady pace. Rico had taken a hit; his right arm hung useless and dripping blood. He’d slung back his machine gun, armed his left hand with his M9 Beretta and kept moving.

Behind Rico, the door of the armoire seemingly opened a fraction wider.

“Get down!” Jack yelled. Diving, he shoved Rico aside as gunfire erupted from the slit, catching Jack in the leg. He twisted in mid air and let loose his MP5 in a spray of bullets that chewed and splintered wood in every direction.

A Caucasian, blond male in full business regalia fell from the armoire and face-planted on the Persian carpet.

Jack kicked the AK-47 out of reach, flexi-cuffed the bastard then put his muzzle against the target’s head before flipping him over.

“Well, fuck me and you,” the man whispered, gasping and choking, his blue eyes full of mocking amusement. Coughing up blood, the man died with a smile.

“Take cover!” Jack yelled, rearing back, his skin crawling with dread as he expected the body at his feet to explode. The threat of a bomb was the only thing that made sense of the dying man’s words. Rico rolled away and Pecos slammed the bathroom door, shutting him inside with the women. Then nothing happened. Just the sound of the Sandman at work.

Still not trusting that the man wasn’t rigged, Jack finally moved. He motioned for Rico to join Pecos with the Prime Minister and Ambassador’s daughters while he helped the Sandman. They had to get out of there before they burned to death. From satellite images, the west bank of windows would be the best choice to exit.