Westcott thought this over, then said, “Then I’d like her to pay a visit to the yacht broker Verena used to charterVeloce.”
Mpassi nodded. “I think that’s a great idea, one she herself suggested.”
Of course she did,Westcott thought.
The Egyptian army officer attached to the El-Sa’ka Force, the unit that had overseen Mia’s fourteen-month-long training program, had deemed her the best female student he ever had. Westcott wasn’t surprised. From the beginning, since the very day he had rescued her off the northern coast of Venezuela after the seas had capsized the migrant boat she’d been traveling on, he’d known that Mia Hernandez was cut from a different cloth. She was more than a reliable field asset—Westcott had many of those—she was the best operative he had. As talented as she was as a piano player, it was nothing compared to what she could do during an operation. Mia was the kind of operative that could, in the blink of an eye, become emotionally inert when the mission called for it. Pulling the trigger had never been a problem for her. And she’d proven it again in Mallorca.
As long as she believes she’s doing it for the right reason. And it’s my job to make sure she does.
But, even more important to him than her tactical skills was her loyalty. It was a trait he valued more than anything. If she’d made the decision to keep Verena alive, then Verena had done something to earn it. That alone intrigued him.
Westcott’s decision to hire Verena hadn’t come from a file or a recruiting pitch. He had known her father, a talented pilot who’d died during a mission Westcott had assigned to him. So, when the opportunity to bring Verena into the fold had presented itself, Westcott hadn’t hesitated. He wasn’t the kind of man who forgot a debt. Nevertheless, Verena had been a gamble from the start. A former LAPD detective with a tarnished badge and a chip on her shoulder, she’d brought grit and practical instincts to Blackstone Security. She had shown promise, even leadership, but Mallorca had been dangerously close to becoming a disaster, one that could have unraveled more than just a side operation. Had Mia not stepped in, Westcott would have been forced to clean up a much bigger mess. He was looking forward to speaking to Mia directly to hear why she’d decided to give Verena a second chance.
He took a sip of his coffee, then asked, “Getting back to Istanbul, what do we know about the couple who dismantled part of Verena’s team in Port de Sóller?”
“Not enough,” Mpassi admitted. “We thought they were Canadian operatives at first, but the documents were sophisticated forgeries. Not perfect, but very, very good.”
“How did you figure out they were fake?”
“I haven’t seen the passports myself, but my contacts told me they checked the stamp entries in their passports and found two that didn’t match the database we have access to. One was in New Zealand, the other Egypt. We would have never figured it out if we didn’t have a gate into these countries’ visa information systems. Whoever these two operatives are, they have a good team backstopping them. And the fact they escaped Turkish authorities confirms they’re also well trained.”
“Mossad?” Westcott asked, setting his coffee mug down.
Mpassi shook his head. “We’re checking, but it doesn’t feel like Mossad. They’re too preoccupied with Tehran and southern Lebanon. If I had to guess, I’d say they’re Americans, or maybe Brits.”
Westcott crossed his legs and was silent for a moment.
“That could complicate things,” he said.
“It could,” Mpassi said. “But I believe we’ve contained the threat. The mole’s dead. And so is Hobb. Mia disposed of Hobb’s body offshore, miles away from the location she sunk theVeloce.”
“Hobb might be dead, but what about his employer?” Westcott asked.
“Hobb was working freelance. We checked his emails, hacked into his phone and his two laptops. We found nothing. He had just begun his investigation. Verena’s team acted before he could release any compromising information.”
Westcott considered that, drumming his fingers on the table, then said, “I’m worried about Istanbul. I understand sending Mia would be counterproductive at this time, but can’t we send someone else after them?”
“We could, but our resources in Turkey are thin. We have several of our top operatives working to soften the leadership in the DRC. Their efforts are bearing fruits, but if we pull them out now, it could jeopardize our plan for the Congo River. We could task Blackstone Security, they’ve done great work for us, but they’re now compromised. And, as we’ve seen in Mallorca, they aren’t the right fit to go after two trained operatives.”
Westcott narrowed his eyes at Mpassi. “Maybe your decision to remove Maximilian Kross off the board was a bit premature, don’t you think?” he said. “We could have sent him to Istanbul.”
“He was getting sloppy, sir,” Mpassi replied, shaking his head.
“So you said.”
“May I remind you that it was Mia who recommended Kross’s termination?”
Westcott slammed his palm on the table. It was so sudden that Mpassi, who was usually stoic, jumped in his seat in surprise.
“Don’t you dare put the blame on Mia,” Westcott shouted, pointing a finger at the man seated next to him. “Mia is a technician, you’re the strategist.”
While Mpassi looked repentant, he didn’t avert his eyes like Westcott thought he would.
“Mia was right. Kross had become a liability. He knew too much, and he talked too much,” Mpassi said with conviction. “Maybe I did drop the ball about the timing of it all, and if I did, I apologize. But, sir, Kross had to go. After Manchester, it was just a matter of time.”
Westcott knew that, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
“As I said,” Mpassi added, his tone more conciliatory now, “if you really wanted to, I could move an asset or two out of the DRC and send them to Turkey.”
