Rogue Operator (17 page)

Except
amongst the blue jumpsuits. Inside the building he noticed dozens of them
everywhere, but none seemed armed. Within the building it appeared that they
were regular staff, as if at a hotel. To the right was a long counter that
almost appeared to be a hotel concierge desk with a small lineup of jumpsuits
apparently being assigned their duties, others escorting people of various ethnicities,
the escorts all with smiles and over exaggerated bows to every passerby.

They
boarded an elevator, and proceeded to the fifth floor. Jason followed his
escort out and down a long hall, then through a plain white door with the
number 512 painted in crisp black, the dried dab at the bottom of the ‘1’
suggesting it had been done meticulously by hand.

“Jason!”

Jason
spun and smiled as Carl jumped from a chair and stepped toward him. They
exchanged quick hugs while both their handlers stood by respectfully, but said
nothing.

“Are you
okay?”

Carl
nodded. “You?”

Jason
looked at his handler out of the corner of his eye and put a smile on his face.
“Fine, they’re treating us very well.”

“Yeah,
us too.”

The door
opened behind him and the look on Carl’s face caused him to spin around.

His jaw
dropped as he looked at the smiling face he thought he’d never see again.

“Phil!”

Leif Morrison Residence, River Oaks Drive, Mclean, Virginia

Today, Five Days after the Kidnappings

“Jesus Christ! The North Koreans?”

Morrison
nodded. “So now we have a country, run by a family who think they’re divine,
building nukes and rockets, that could deliver the results of this research
directly into any city within a five thousand mile range. That includes Seoul,
Beijing, Tokyo, Moscow, Seattle.” Morrison pulled at his hair then looked at
the empty beer bottle. “We need to stop this.”

“No
shit,” muttered Kane. Draining his beer, he looked at Morrison. “I see only two
options.”

“What?”

“I go in
and retrieve them, or I go in and kill them.”

Morrison
nodded and closed his eyes, a frustrated sigh escaping.

“We have
a bigger problem than just three kidnapped or defecting scientists.”

“What do
you mean?”

“We have
a problem within the agency, or within the government.”

Kane’s
eyebrows shot up.

“You
mean, who orchestrated this?”

“Exactly.
We have a military transport that was used, BlackTide personnel on scene. This
is not the North Koreans extracting a group of scientists, their families, and
their equipment. This is
Americans
extracting them.”

“Americans
with connections.”

“Military
and government connections,” agreed Morrison. “I don’t know how far up this
goes, or how far out, which means I don’t know who to trust.”

“Start
with me.”

“Already
done, or I would have signaled that nice man standing behind you in the window
to put a bullet in your head.”

Kane
nearly jumped, looking behind him. One of the security detail was standing at
the window, gun aimed directly at him. Kane smiled and waved. The man didn’t
respond. Kane turned back to Morrison who waved the man off. Another glance by
Kane revealed the rear deck now empty.

“Let me
guess,” he said, “you’re supposed to signal them within a few minutes that
everything is okay?”

Morrison’s
head bobbed with a smile.

“Negative
option security. No buttons to press, no codes to send, no secret signals. Just
do nothing, and your security detail comes running. Discretely.”

“I’ll
have to keep that in mind.”

“You do
that. It just might keep you alive.”

Kane
chuckled.

“Speaking
of. If they’re under the type of security I’m guessing they’re under, I might
not be able to get them out, and might not be able to get close enough to
eliminate them. What are the chances of having a package delivered?”

“Missile
strike?”

“Or
air.”

“I
wouldn’t count on it, at least not in a timely manner. Especially not without
knowing how widespread this conspiracy is, and what its purpose is.”

“You
know, I can think of one person you can completely trust that could find this
out for you.”

Morrison
smiled through half his mouth.

“I
assume you’re talking about my security leak?”

“I water
boarded him until he spilled his secrets.”

“Riight.
Anyway, I’m way ahead of you.”

“How’s
that?”

Morrison’s
smile spread across his face.

“I’m
having him tested right now.”

Sherrie White Residence, Roosevelt Towers, Falls Church, Virginia

“I assume you like ice cream?”

Chris
Leroux stood almost like a statue at the entrance to the kitchen. He wasn’t
sure what was going on, but in all his years, he had never been invited back to
a girl’s place on a first date. He stepped back, out of sight, and took a quick
sniff of his pits.

Clear!

He
stepped back inside, within sight of Sherrie.

“Um,
yeah, sure.”

She
beamed a smile at him that would have dropped his pants if he were more certain
of what was about to happen.
Maybe dessert is just dessert.
He wish he
knew what was happening. This was happening fast. Too fast. In fact, if he had
known she was this type of girl, he probably wouldn’t have been interested in
her. He wanted a relationship, something that might lead to a bigger commitment
down the road, not some first date wham bam thank you ho. A kiss? Absolutely.
Maybe a little bit more than a kiss, like a bit of a make-out session in the
front seat of his car? Shwing! But in her apartment right after dinner, her
preparing dessert, leading to God knows what?

He took
a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

“You
okay?”

His eyes
focused on her, everything having been a blur in his panic.

“Sure.”

She
poured what looked like raspberries into a small pot on the stove, and added a
few spoonsful of sugar.

“This
will take a few minutes,” she said. “I hope you like ice cream with hot
raspberry sauce.”

“Who
doesn’t?”

In fact,
he had never had it before, and he imagined it would be quite sour, but perhaps
the combination of the sweet ice cream with the sour raspberries, muted with
the sugar he had seen her add, was the entire point.

It
might actually be good.

“Why
don’t you take your shoes off, loosen that tie, and gently stir this for me.
Just make sure it doesn’t stick to the bottom of the pot. I’m going to slip
into something more comfortable.”

Chris
nodded and took the proffered wooden spoon, and began to stir.

“Slowly.
You don’t want to break up the berries.”

“Uh.
Sorry.”

Chris
slowed down his swirl, and focused on the berries, trying not to imagine the
object of his desires naked on the other side of the wall ten feet away.

Something
stirred.

And he
stirred the raspberries with a little more vigor, then, catching himself,
slowed down.

He wiped
his brow.

“Now,
that’s better.”

He
turned toward the voice and he wouldn’t have been more surprised if she were
wearing a leather thong and bra, with nail studded chaps while sporting a whip
and twirling a pair of handcuffs on one finger. Instead she was wearing light
gray track pants and a loose fitting sweater, with her hair tied up in a
ponytail.

He
stirred.

“Hope
you don’t mind me going über-casual. I just had to get out of those darned work
clothes.”

Chris
shrugged, wondering if the leather was underneath the baggy clothes. She
sashayed over and took the spoon from his hand, expertly swirling it through
the slowly bubbling raspberries.

“Good
job,” she said, patting him on the cheek.

“Uh,
thanks.”

“Can you
get the ice cream out of the freezer for me?” She nodded toward the fridge, and
Chris obeyed, almost on autopilot, his imagination going wild as he tried to
stop picturing what treasures might await him under the baggy gym clothes. He
pulled out a tub of Dreyer’s Slow Churned Vanilla, and placed it on the
counter. “Bowls?” Her chin pointed at the cupboard beside the fridge, and he
retrieved two. Spoons and the ice cream scoop were next. “Two scoops for me
please.”

He doled
out the ice cream into both bowls, then when finished, he returned the ice
cream to the freezer as she drizzled both bowls with the hot raspberry
concoction. She handed him his bowl, took hers, then left the kitchen,
motioning with her head for him to follow.

He found
her dropping onto a couch in her living room, and she patted the other end,
leaving him little choice but to share the couch, rather than take a safer
chair nearby.

“Let me
know what you think,” she said, nodding toward the ice cream Chris had almost
forgotten as he caught sight of her bare feet curled up under her.

He took
a spoonful and put it into his mouth. The harsh cold of the ice cream, blended
with the heat from the raspberries, the sweet and tartness, all combined into a
delicious sensation that had his eyebrows racing up his forehead, and his eyes
opening wide in pleasure.

“I think
he likes it.”

Chris
swallowed and smiled.

“Delicious.”

“Good,
you can stay.”

What
did she mean by that? The night? Stay the night? Or was it just a joke? A
harmless little play on words that you’re reading far too much into?

She took
her own first spoonful and savored it with her eyes closed. The moan that
escaped her lips turned him into Jell-O, and things began to stir once again.

He
focused on his ice cream.

And let
out his own moan.

She
smiled.

“Good,
isn’t it?”

His head
bobbed, his eyes never leaving the bowl.

“So, you
were going to tell me how you met this agent. No prying eyes or ears here.” She
took another spoonful, this time the moan had him on fire, where if he were
asked to stand for some reason, he’d be forced to refuse. It reminded him of
high school, and the lesson every teenage boy needed to learn. Never wear track
pants during puberty.

I’ll
take the zero, sir.

His
situation almost made him forget the words that had just been spoken.

Again
with Kane!

“Umm, I
think it’s best we forget I said anything. You know, we’re not supposed to talk
about them. And I wouldn’t want it getting out that I had said anything, it
might get him in trouble.”

“Just a
second,” said Sherrie as she put her bowl aside and stood up. She walked past
him, her hand dragging over his shoulder then neck, then disappointingly
leaving him longing for her touch. His heart hammered in his chest as he
thought of her continued questioning, combined with his sexual frustration and
own self-doubt and shyness. As his thoughts spiraled out of control, his mind
threatened to lose itself in a gush of hormonal confusion. He feared one more
touch, one more moan, would send him over the edge, and he’d spew forth the
answers to any questions she might ask him.

Kane,
I’m sorry!

International Cooperation Center, Somewhere in North Korea

Three Days after the Kidnappings

“I thought you were dead!”

Jason
Peterson jumped from his chair and embraced his friend. Moments later he felt
Carl’s arms around them both, as the three friends were reunited. Jason didn’t
care where they were, or their current situation. No matter what, things had
just improved, this the first good thing to have happened since falling out of
the boat.

“What
happened to you?” asked Carl.

“Yeah, I
could have sworn they ran you down in the boat!”

Phil
Hopkins smiled, extricating him from the tangle of arms, then motioned at the
seats they had just vacated. Jason sat down, never taking his eyes off his
friend, who then pulled up a chair, the three of them forming a triangle, while
their handlers looked on, saying nothing.

“Are you
okay?” asked Jason.

Phil
nodded, waving his hand as he crossed his leg, getting comfortable.

“Absolutely.
There’s no way they’re going to harm any of us.”

Jason
wasn’t sure how he could come to that conclusion. After all, they had been
kidnapped, and from what Maggie had whispered to him last night, the kidnapping
of the families seemed quite violent.

“What
are you talking about? They kidnapped us. And our families!”

Carl
seemed to be thinking the same thing.

“Nobody
was hurt, right?”

Jason
rubbed his nose, the two black eyes he had seen in the mirror this morning
seeming to contradict Phil.

Phil
waved at Jason’s nose. “Fine, not hurt
badly
.”

“You
seem to be taking this awfully well,” said Jason. “We’re in North Korea for
Christ’s sake! We’ve been kidnapped against our will!”

Phil
cleared his throat.

“I’m
fully aware of where we are, and why. And…well…not all of us were taken against
our will.”

Jason
felt his chest tighten, and his jaw drop.

“What
the hell are you talking about?” exploded Carl. “Don’t tell me you have
something to do with this!”

The
handlers seemed to all take a step forward, but Phil waved them off.

“It’s
okay,” he said to them. “They’ll just take some time to adjust. Perhaps if I
could speak to them alone?”

The one
who had accompanied Phil appeared to be in charge, and nodded. The three men
left the room, leaving the three old “friends” together. Jason was rapidly
reevaluating his friendship for one of the trio, however.