No Rules (8 page)

Research complete meant his assignment had been accomplished; he’d found the location of the hostages. But he’d been recognized. “
Academic
recognition? That sounds like he was recognized by someone affiliated with a university.” It didn’t make sense. “How could someone from a terrorist group recognize a college professor from a tiny Midwestern university?”

“Good question,” Evan agreed.

“The second one is even more puzzling—why would they follow him all the way back to his hometown to eliminate him when simply moving the hostages would be easier? When’s the last time you heard of a terrorist organization dispatching someone to do that?”

Evan shrugged. “Never.”

“Exactly.”

They stared at each other in silence. Donovan tried to imagine again what Wally could have discovered that would target him for immediate death. How could two hostages be that important?

Evan leaned forward on his desk, obviously disturbed. “Why the hell didn’t he just come here? He’d be safe, damn it. And he could tell us what he found without having to bury it in trivial bits of conversation.”

Donovan had asked himself the same question. “Maybe he didn’t want anyone to connect him to us. Because they don’t know about us, we still have a shot at rescuing the two hostages.”

“Trading one life on the chance that we can save two? That’s a hard choice to make.”

Evan wasn’t a field operative, so Donovan didn’t bother explaining that it wasn’t such a tough choice. They all went into a mission prepared to do whatever they had to in order to save hostages. Even die. “He must have thought we had a good chance at succeeding.”

Evan shook his head. “Then why did he make it so hard? He gave Jessie a message so obscure we can’t figure it out. Why not just tell her where the hostages are so she can tell us?”

It went to the core of what had been bothering Donovan for the past several hours, and try as he might, he had come to only one conclusion. It turned his stomach. “Because he didn’t want someone in Omega to know.” He flinched when he said it, unwilling to believe it even though he knew there was no other answer.

Evan stilled, studying him closely. “Are you implying we have a mole?” he asked quietly. “Someone who might give information to whoever is holding the hostages?”

“I’m saying Wally implied that, yes. It’s all I can conclude.”

“I don’t believe it,” Evan said flatly. When Donovan didn’t reply, his brow furrowed as he turned the idea over in his mind. Donovan gave him time; he’d had the same reaction. “I don’t
want
to believe it,” Evan amended. “That means you or Kyle or Avery or Mitch…”

“Or you or Maya or one of the guys working the computers and satellite relays, or guarding the house. A lot of people have access to information if they want it. We trust all of them to be on our side, with the same objective. Obviously Wally wasn’t so sure.”

“But he didn’t name anyone.”

“No. I suspect he realized there was a mole, but didn’t know who.”

“But he didn’t suspect you,” Evan pointed out. “You said he contacted you before he left Luxor, telling you to see Jessie if you needed more information.”

Donovan hadn’t understood the cryptic message at the time. Now that he did it was hard to be glad that Wally had trusted him, not in the face of the greater pain of losing his friend and mentor.

Evan rubbed his chin as he watched Donovan intently. “I’d say Wally left this up to you. What do you want to do?”

“We don’t have much choice. We’ll limit Wally’s information as much as possible, keep it to you and the four of us on the team. I can’t withhold actionable information from anyone, not if we’re operating as a team. But I can watch for anything suspicious, like giving misleading reports or attempting to make contact with the locals.”

“Won’t that be hard to do, to keep track of what everyone is doing in the field?”

Damn near impossible. “What choice do I have? If there is a mole and I’m watching for a slipup, maybe he’ll give himself away. Or maybe, just maybe, Wally’s suspicion was wrong.”

Evan gave an unconvincing nod. “Maybe.”

Donovan didn’t believe it either. Wally had gone to a lot of trouble to hide the information they needed to find the hostages, even sacrificing his life. He must have stumbled upon something big. Something important.

Something he expected Donovan to figure out.

Chapter Six

They met in a conference room this time and started from the beginning: what was said, what topics Wally brought up, and everything he’d done, right down to the departing hug Jess had reluctantly allowed. Donovan had to admit Jess was as cooperative as possible, but two fruitless hours later she looked ready to quit.

“I’m sorry, I can’t think of anything else. It was all meaningless chitchat except for his idea for a book, which was pretty specific. Stupid, but specific.”

“And a mention of your first book,” he reminded her.

She nodded.

“It has to mean something.” He thought about it for the hundredth time, then turned to Evan. “Did Wally keep copies of her books here?”

“No, why?”

“I just want to see them.” Anything to help him figure out why Wally had pitched an idea for a new one.

“You still can,” Jess said, pointing to the laptop in front of him. “Look them up at an online bookseller. They let you look through the pages.”

He hadn’t known that—showed how much free time he had for reading. He reached for the laptop. While Mitch and Kyle joked about the sexual innuendos behind beavers and snakes, Donovan put Jess Maulier’s name in the search box of a major book retailer and pressed enter. In a flash, a column of children’s books appeared, several of them claiming to be from the “award-winning series” or “acclaimed bestselling children’s author Jess Maulier.” He blinked at the hard proof of what had sounded like nothing more than a silly pastime. Jess was a respected author in her field. And a prolific one, judging by the string of book covers shown.

“That one.” Jess spoke close to his ear and he realized she’d left her chair to lean over his shoulder and look at the screen. For a moment his senses were derailed by a light, flowery scent, and he was tempted to turn his head and sniff the hair that brushed his temple. He squelched the urge and focused on the finger she extended toward the screen.

A slender finger, tipped with muted pink polish. Her skin was creamy, probably soft and warm. Delicate enough to be entirely engulfed by his hand if he…

Oh, for fuck’s sake
, he admonished himself.
Keep your mind on the job and out of your pants.

Stabbing at the mouse pad, he brought up the book she indicated and stared at the cover picture of a cuddly groundhog proudly decked out in a blaze-orange vest that proclaimed
Mossy Log Meadow Safety Patrol
. “Uh…cute.”

Making an impatient sound, she reached past him and moved her finger over the mouse pad, opening the book to the copyright page, then the title page, then the beginning of the book. He did take that sniff then, surreptitiously inhaling the scent of spring that wafted from her hair and skin. He could have easily spent another minute absorbing her smell, but she moved back suddenly, and the loss snapped him back to reality.

“There,” she said, and returned to her chair.

He looked. And read.

Gordon Groundhog was worried about a group of bullies who taunted him and his friends on their way to school. Donovan smiled at the drawings, captivated in spite of his cynical comments. Jess was a talented artist. Gordon’s friends were a trio of squirrels who appeared to be siblings. That called for more charming cuddliness, even if their names were a little too silly for his taste—Ginger, Cinnamon, and Nutmeg. The residents of the Mossy Log Meadow obviously liked themes because their friend the crow was named Pepper, and the bullies…

Donovan’s mind skidded to a halt. Themes. Spices. Scary bullies lying in wait at the school. Something nagged at his memory. He tapped the mouse pad, skimming through the story. Authorities who didn’t take the threats seriously. A plan made by Gordon and his friends to handle it themselves. A bird friend who conducts aerial surveillance. Donovan flew through the story, no longer noticing the artistry as names and places began to align in his mind.

“Evan.” The sharpness in his tone silenced the laughter from Avery, Kyle, and Mitch. “Remember that very first mission you and Wally coordinated? He told me you used code names for everyone involved.”

Evan smiled. “That was his idea. On that first one, we were all named for spices. Pepper, ginger, stuff like that.”

“Nutmeg and cinnamon.”

Evan raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I think so.”

“And you rescued a couple of oil-company engineers who were being held in an abandoned school building.”

“Right, in Rwanda.”

“And your CIA connection was able to give you information from satellite surveillance.”

Evan nodded slowly. “So?”

Triumph zinged through him like electricity, the thrill of cracking a code. “So Wally turned it into a story. And Jess turned your team into cute little animals and made a children’s book out of it.” He turned the laptop around so the rest of them could see the screen. “The Omega Group’s first mission has been immortalized as
Gordon Groundhog and the Mossy Log Meadow Safety Patrol
.” He couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at the side of his mouth. “Evan, I believe you’re Gordon.”

“Let me see that.” Mitch was out of his chair, crowding between Evan and Avery to see the laptop. Kyle leaned in from the side as Evan began skimming through the virtual pages of Jess’s book. Smirks slipped away, replaced by raised eyebrows and openmouthed stares.

“Son of a bitch,” Evan murmured. His finger stopped tapping. One by one, they raised their heads to stare at Jess.

She chewed her lower lip, looking nervous. “I told you my father helped with the story. I changed a few things, but basically he came up with the plot.” She looked between them. “Did I give out classified information or something? Is it bad?”

“No. It’s good.” Donovan reached for her hand, because it was a good opportunity, and hell, why not? It was as smooth and soft as he’d expected, and she didn’t even pull away, caught by the earnest look on his face. “Jess, I think that story Wally told you, the one that was inappropriate for your series, is a blueprint for our mission. It’s what we’ve been trying to find. We simply need to figure out who’s who and what’s what.”

“But…” She frowned in confusion. “How can a story about going to some beavers’ housewarming party relate to your hostages? They don’t even have beavers in Egypt.” Her eyebrows scrunched together. “Do they?”

“No. It’s a metaphor, just like the first one, which is why he mentioned that first book. He wanted us to realize the new story had meaning. We have to figure out what or who each animal represents. And you need to help us with the geography. Did Wally describe the places he talked about? Where the beavers built their new home, and how the animals were supposed to get there?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what the story is about, because it’s hard to get to and the rabbit is afraid of water…” She blinked, looked from him to Evan, and he knew she was already making connections in her mind. “We’ll need a map of Luxor.”

“No problem.” Donovan shot a glance at Mitch, who was already heading for the door.

Avery looked doubtful. “Are you sure we’re not grasping at straws, Tyler? You weren’t here for that first mission.”

“But I was,” Evan said. “And he’s right. This story…” He waved a hand at the computer screen, shaking his head with a look of disbelief. “There are too many similarities to the real mission to be an accident. Right down to the bullies being skunks.” He smiled at Jess. “Was that part Wally’s idea?”

She shrugged. “I don’t remember. It could have been.”

“It would be appropriate. The group holding the hostages had a stockpile of chemical weapons, mostly tear gas,” Evan said. “That’s about equally unpleasant.”

Donovan chuckled, suffused with a sense of victory. They’d found the key. They were going to figure this out.

“I don’t get it,” Avery grumbled. “Why did Wally have to disguise it as a story that only Jess could figure out? I thought he didn’t want her involved in this part of his life.”

Because someone in the group was working for the bad guys. But he couldn’t say that. “I agree, he went to a lot of trouble, and I don’t know why. Maybe we’ll figure it once we find the hostages.”

“I just hope we’re not supposed to figure it out first,” Avery said.

It sobered him slightly, but couldn’t take away his excitement as Mitch returned with a large map that he spread out on the conference table. It looked like something straight off Google Earth, a detailed aerial view of Luxor and the surrounding area. His gaze homed in on the Nile River skirting the western side of the city. “The beaver lodge is the destination in the story, right?” He looked at Jess, who nodded. “And it’s in the middle of a river, you said. Not a pond?”

“No, he definitely said a river.”

Donovan grinned and planted a finger on an island in the center of the Nile. “Something like this?”

They all looked at the map and the island beneath his finger. Then at each other.

Mitch asked, “Can it be that easy?”

“Why not?” Donovan replied. “Now that we’ve figured out what to look for, it might all fall into place.”

Avery considered it. “Does that mean the beavers represent the hostages? Or are they the group holding them?”

“I don’t know. Let’s figure it out. Jess?” He flashed a smile, the first genuine happiness he’d felt since meeting her. “Tell us a story.”

It was almost funny. Jess struggled to keep a straight face. The absurdity of a former university professor and four highly trained former military operatives in serious debate over whether beavers were good guys or bad guys made it hard to take seriously.

She knew more now about who the Omega operatives were. Donovan had given her a quick rundown of the team members’ backgrounds, each of them impressive. Kyle had been with the SEALs, Mitch and Donovan in the Marines doing black-ops work that he refused to specify. Avery had been in the Army. All had been dissatisfied with a lack of immediate, positive results. Each had ended up leaving the military, eventually finding that missing sense of satisfaction with the Omega Group.

And now they were analyzing a children’s story like it was the most important puzzle they would ever solve. As improbable as it sounded, she believed they were right. Her father had had vital information to deliver, and like it or not, he’d used her to do it.

She didn’t like it. But at least her part here would be over soon.

“I think the beavers are the good guys.” Evan said it as seriously as any of her six-year-old readers might, and the others nodded solemnly. Jess bit her cheek to keep from giggling.

“So what’s the gift the wolf and rabbit are bringing them?” Avery asked. “He must be trying to tell us to bring something along. Is it the weapons needed to bust them out?”

Donovan raised his head to look down the table at Jess. “What did you say it was?”

“A vase.”

Avery wrinkled her nose. “How does a vase represent a weapon? Does it contain a bomb?”

They all looked at her. Jess shrugged. “He specifically said the rabbit buys a vase and brings it as a housewarming gift. I thought it was stupid, too. In fact, he said an old vase at first, which is typical of how my dad always thought. Old things were precious in his mind, invaluable pieces of history.”

She caught it even if they didn’t—she’d referred to Wally as her dad. When she remembered back far enough to the days before she’d become disillusioned with him and what she’d believed to be his lies, that’s who he was. Dad. She shoved the memory aside; it was too filled with sadness and regret to dwell on.

“They take an old vase with them?” Kyle asked, obviously puzzled. “What good is that?”

“I didn’t ask because I didn’t realize it stood for anything else. I told him kids wouldn’t identify with a vase, but I think he wanted—”

“In his words,” Donovan reminded her.

She rolled her eyes and sighed, but thought carefully before reciting as if it was a grammar-school lesson learned by rote. “I said, ‘Kids don’t care about vases.’ He said, ‘They might, especially if it’s old and valuable.’ I said, ‘It should be something like tender sticks the beavers might like to chew on,’ because that made more sense, and would provide a bit of education about beavers. He said, ‘Vases can be educational. It should be a vase.’ He thought everyone should be fascinated with ancient history. I said, ‘At least make it a new vase. Buying an old one doesn’t make sense, and kids are more likely to equate newness with value.’ And he said, ‘If you say so,’ like he was patronizing me. So yes, he insisted that the gift would be a vase. I have no idea why.”

She crossed her arms and sat back, her part done. Evan frowned, thinking. Avery raised an eyebrow at Donovan. “You said this would be easy to figure out.”

“Maybe it’s easier than we’re making it,” he mused. “Maybe it doesn’t represent something else. It’s a vase. But a special one, old. A certain ancient vase. We are talking about Luxor, Egypt, remember. The Valley of the Kings and King Tut’s tomb are right outside the city. The place is thick with ancient history. Maybe there’s a famous vase that represents the information we need. Like, where it was found, or where it’s kept now. That’s what all this is about—discovering a location. The location of the hostages.”

“In a museum?” Kyle sounded doubtful.

“Anything’s possible.” Evan nodded. “I’ll buy that explanation. It’s Wally’s style. But how are we supposed to know what vase he’s talking about?”

“You were a professor working with Wally in Egypt,” Donovan reminded him. “I think this part is for you.”

“I taught architecture, not history. I was researching a theory on the construction of the pyramids when we met. I don’t know anything about vases.”