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“Already did. He’s on the ground in Bolivia tracking Zorra.”
“Zorra? What does she have to do with this?”
“Everything,” her handler said, his voice tight with disgust. “She and Gonchaya were at Jovanovic’s compound. That’s what happens when you don’t get debriefed and try to be a Lone Ranger.”
“What is going on?”
“Zorra was able to get one message out. She had intel on NSH, hardcore intel. Before we could extract her and Gonchaya, Jovanovic scooped them up, then Savic joined them. We missed them by minutes.”
“This op was already in the works?”
“We had our eyes on Jovanovic for his part in buying weapons for NSH…that’s where your pal Savic comes into the picture. Now we’re convinced, Vak’s the go-between, the financial guy hiding the assets and doling out the cash for the mercs who devastated Paris. His capture of the two Wall Street guys may be more than just ransom for Americans.”
“Vak could be the head of the terrorist group,” she said softly.
“Unlikely, but possible. We just don’t have enough information. We need to get Zorra back.”
“Put me in contact with Volk.”
He didn’t say anything, and Karasu glanced at him. There was a grim set to his profile as he stared past her out on the city of Banja Luka, then he finally turned and met her gaze, his eyes like ice, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he stared at her.
An awful sinking sensation made her momentarily light-headed, a horrible sense of foreboding washing through her, and she stared at him, his expression stark and accusing against the dark blue of his eyes.
“I wish I could.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“He and Zorra are gone, Karasu. Disappeared off the face of the earth in the deep jungle of Bolivia.” Her insides trembling with the weight of his words, she stood there, her mind reeling. She stared up at him, needing answers, explanations, but a terrible fear driven by desperation settled over her, her midriff churning with a mix of guilt, alarm, and helplessness. Then she pushed all that way; her eyes narrowed on him.
“I need a plane.” Guilt slid easily into anger, and she was already wired. Her mind and body were honed into an assassin, a weapon. Beneath the surface of her skin, she could actually feel her blood rushing through her veins—prickling with energy. Adrenaline and endorphins, she thought. Hunger and uncapped energy slid so hard through her she felt like she could fly, wink out and wink right where she needed to be. She would find him and Zorra. If anything happened to them, she would become the angel of death, and no one would escape her wrath.
“I thought you might,” he said. “We can have you in La Paz in an hour.”
* * *
If anyone could circumventthe FAA, it would be the sneaky, brash, never-apologetic CIA who had such cool toys. They were currently in the air in a top-secret hypersonic jet capable of traveling at Mach 5, a mind-boggling, thirty-eight hundred miles per hour without producing a sonic boom, making it one of the fastest ways to travel by air. Officially, this jet didn’t exist or wasn’t exactly off the assembly line, but the CIA knew how to keep their developments under wraps.
It was a high-end private jet, carrying up to nineteen passengers with four individual suites. The cabin had a circadian lighting system to fight off jet lag and a filtration system that quickly replaced the interior with fresh air. They would be on the ground in La Paz in less than an hour.
The news about the attacks on American and Bolivian citizens finally broke. They all knew it was going to happen, just not when. It was disappointing that everyone seemed to be two steps behind these bastards, including their special op group. Rose was crestfallen and Preacher was certain all the pain and frustration over the personal deaths in her family were weighing heavily on her. But Rose was a fighter, a force of nature, and she powered through the briefing. The first hit was Delgado Asociados, the second a terrible explosion at one of the country’s most sacred shrines. They would have more information about the extent of the damage once it had all been assessed. It sounded so clinical, but Preacher was aware it was another devastating attack. Rose was sitting next to Iceman and talking low and intensely. Preacher understood. There had been three attacks in Paris. Civilians, military, and an American business.
Here, so far, there had been an attack on businesses and citizens. All of them were poised for some kind of attack on the American government.
He remembered the solemn debrief before they’d boarded the jet to take them to the first scene. Even with the iffy ties between the US and Bolivia, the government, although accusatory and outraged, agreed to work with them.
He studied his boss. He was such a goner. It was evident on his face how much he loved Rose. If his leader could fall so hard, was it any surprise that Preacher was also losing his own shit? He always thought of Ice as a man who was cold to the max—scary, in fact. Not much had changed when he was working, but whenever he was close to Rose, there was certainly another part of him who loved deeply and openly.
He licked his lips. Damn he envied that, the realization giving him a constricted feeling in his chest. Ice and Rose had found love at the most stressful time of their lives. He and Karasu kept pussyfooting around. He was tired of playing games with her. Or putting up roadblocks. His celibacy was nothing but a way to keep her at arm’s length, the stuff in his mind needed to get out. He was working to get his head on right and the two tenets that worked so well for him wereManawa, now is the moment of power. Dwelling on the past or focusing on the future were futile. One is over, the other has yet to be. The other tenet wasPonofor effectiveness was the measure of truth. All of the tenets added up to living a positive life with no limits. That was his SEAL mentality before he got too bogged down with all the stuff in his past.
He wasn’t discounting his own feelings or emotions regarding Striker or ignoring his resentment toward the Navy. Those were important items he needed to address. But when it came to Karasu, it was time to pull out all the stops.
He’d wanted the woman for a long time now. Regardless of the complications or the baggage standing in their way, he was going to have her.
GQ rose and walked down the aisle to get a bottle of water. “Working the runway, Zoolander?” Boomer asked.
“Fuck off,” GQ said.
“He’s hydrating. Wasn’t it Zoolander who said, ‘Moisture is the essence of wetness, and wetness is the essence of beauty?’” Kodiak asked.
