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Breathing in deeply, Bailey licked her lips, then looked around, only to find her gaze caught and held by Raymond Greer’s. Her head lifted as her lips tightened. Just what she needed, for the bastard to see a weakness in her.
He was watching her like a beady-eyed cobra waiting to strike. Calculating, manipulating. That pretty much described Raymond to a T.
She nodded toward him sharply before moving quickly back to the ballroom and the party she had organized so painstakingly. She was on a deadline. She didn’t have time to be drawn into John Vincent’s games. She didn’t have time to allow her heart to be broken again. She had a past to put to rest, and trying to resurrect her lover in another man wasn’t part of the plan.
CHAPTER 2
JOHN STARED OUT INTO the Colorado mountains from the cabin Jordan rented for the time the team would be in Aspen. A frown pulled at his brows as the rest of the men began to gather in the room behind him, their images wavering in the glass of the window.
Jordan had arrived earlier and set up a situation room of sorts. There was plenty of hot coffee, computers along one wall displaying a multitude of images, and several communication bases staffed by the redheaded spitfire Jordan had brought in just after the inception of the Elite Operations Unit.
Tehya Talamosi Fitzhugh was the daughter of a white slaver whom Ian Richards, and the SEALs he’d worked with at the time, had brought down. She’d spent her life running from the Fitzhughs and once that was over, she had been unwilling to step into any life other than the one she had learned how to live within. One of danger.
“I’m going to assume last night went about as well as you expected it to,” Jordan announced as the rest of the team gathered around the large table set up in the room.
John turned away from the vista spread out beyond the cabin and faced a room filled with dead men. Noah Blake had once been known as Navy SEAL Nathan Malone. Then there was Travis Caine, a former MI-6 agent; Nik Steele, a former Russian intelligence officer; Micah Sloane, Bailey’s cousin and former Israeli Mossad agent; and Jordan Malone, Noah’s uncle and the commander who had fought to keep five dead men from living again. He had a hell of a job cut out for him, as two of them had already reclaimed parts of their lives.
“She’s uncertain and angry.” He shrugged addressing the question. “We expected that.”
“Then find a way to work around it,” Jordan ordered him. “We received word last night that Warbucks is getting ready to move on his next acquisition. We can’t afford to let that sale go through.”
“We’re certain he’s here?” Nik leaned forward, staring at Jordan intently. “There’s no sense in drawing her into this and endangering her further if we’re not certain.”
Jordan stared back at the six-foot-five-inch Russian coolly.
“Would we be here if I weren’t certain?” he asked.
Nik shrugged. “Knowing you, Commander, one can never be certain.”
There were a few chuckles from the other men, especially Noah Blake. They all knew Jordan. He was sharp as hell and one of the best commanders John had ever worked with, but he was a bit prone to go with his gut rather than proof. Not that his gut had been wrong yet, but there was always a first time.
“You’ve read the same reports I have,” Jordan finally grunted. “Code-named Warbucks, this individual or group of individuals is acquiring top-secret information and hardware and billions in sales on the black market. There’s rumor that Warbucks has acquired this.” Jordan turned to the large monitor on the wall.
The black screen flickered to show an image of a soldier holding a shoulder-mounted missile launcher. When he fired, they watched as the missile exploded from the barrel. Within seconds it took out a military drone flying above the accepted limit for commercial airliners.
“Code-named CROSSFIRE, the military’s new toy has exceptional speed and reach,” Jordan informed them. “But it has even more. It can be programmed to a specific aircraft either using a stealth transmitter that can be attached to the hull of the aircraft, or using the airplane’s electronics themselves. CROSSFIRE can be programmed to the transmitter, fired in Colorado, and take out an aircraft in the air or on the ground in Washington, DC. It can’t be tracked by conventional radar, and its stealth capabilities are exceptional. It’s easily transported, hidden, and completely undetectable. Last week a launcher and six missiles were stolen from a military depot in DC. Two days later John Vincent’s handler”—Jordan glanced to Tehya—“received a message that Mr. Vincent’s services were being considered for a unique sale. We suspect that sale is CROSSFIRE.”
“Several other messages went out to Libya, Syria, Iran, China, and Africa that CROSSFIRE had been acquired and bids would be taken,” John informed them. “One of the messages was received by a suspected general with al-Qaeda and money began shifting through several different accounts associated with the organization.
“In three weeks the president is scheduled to arrive in Saudi Arabia to meet with several dignitaries, princes and Middle Eastern factions in secret talks aimed at drawing support for a new proposal for a truce in armed areas. This new plan has drawn support from some surprising factions. It could
actually begin an initiative that could signal a turn in the tide of terrorism in the Middle East.”
Micah Sloane, the former Mossad agent, got to his feet at that point. “This new peace plan has Jordanian, Israeli, and Iranian consideration so far. The talks are remaining highly secret until the meeting in Saudi, where all the area’s leaders will gather. Several terrorist organizations have already learned of the meeting and have been planning ways to potentially sabotage it. This weapon is all they need.”
“The planes will be checked for transmitters before lift-off,” Travis Caine interjected. “How much success could they have?”
“The missiles can be programmed to individual aircraft signatures,” Jordan answered him. “It can also be armed with a nuclear warhead large enough to take out the meeting area and anyone in it.” He stared around the room as tension began to thicken. “We have three weeks to identify Warbucks and find the location of the missiles and launcher,” he warned them. “John Vincent is being tapped to broker the sale.” He looked to John. “Our hard work in all your covers and our previous operations is finally paying off. Vincent as the broker, Caine his bodyguard. Nik our Russian terrorist will be in place at the ski resort for bidding. Micah is our Palestinian terrorist Jerric Abbas. Noah will be here at the cabin with me to provide backup and logistical support.”
John lifted his gaze back to the file footage playing on the wide screen and watched once again as the missile struck the drone plane. The warhead that could be attached to the missile wouldn’t be large, but it was big enough. Big enough that it could take out the heads of more than half the Middle Eastern countries without a problem, and they had only three weeks to stop it.
“Bailey is an important part of this operation why?” Caine asked. “A disenchanted CIA agent?”
“Much more than that actually,” Jordan answered. “Warbucks will choose his broker based on Bailey Serborne’s approval of him. She’s in whether we like it or not.”
“How do we know this?” John could feel the almost violent sense of protectiveness rising within him. This was new information, and it was information he didn’t like.
“This is via Warbucks’s contact,” Teyha informed him. “The call I received was quite specific. Miss Serbourne will choose the broker. Every broker contacted received the same message. This is now our best chance of identifying him.”
