Heatseeker (Atrati) (22 page)

“But considering Dr. Massri’s role in medicine and politics, not completely surprising.”

“Nope. It’s a damn good cover he’s got.”

“It is. And there’s no way of knowing which people in his life are cohorts and which are simply innocent acquaintances.”

“Like you thought Massri was with Chuma.”

“Yes.” It still bugged Rachel that she hadn’t read the man’s place in the organization right. “Where are they going to dinner?”

“They didn’t talk details. I get the feeling neither Massri nor Chuma thinks Jamila needs to know much more than when to show up, dressed and presentable.”

“Show up where?”

“Well, they’re picking her up from the hotel.”

“But they’re letting her shop alone?” Even back in Egypt, Jamila’s time on her own was pretty limited.

Their coffee dates had been another one of Jamila’s small rebellions. She’d eked out time to meet Rachel at the same shop each day between her morning family obligations and afternoon classes at the university.

Rachel found it difficult to believe that Dr. Massri would let Jamila wander the market stalls of Marrakech on her own.

“No.” Neil typed something into his computer. “I don’t get the impression that that young woman gets to do much on her own at all.”

“She doesn’t.”

Neil nodded, though his attention was caught by something on his screen. “Her aunt flew in this morning. They’ll be shopping together before the dinner.”

“So it can all look like a family vacation.” It made sense. One of the reasons Dr. Massri had flown under the radar so well was because he made his travels appear so legitimate. Taking family with him was a good tactic to alleviate suspicion.

Especially in this part of the world, having his daughter and brother as well as the man’s wife with him would make Dr. Massri’s trip seem completely innocent.

Once again, Mr. Abdul provided someone local to follow Jamila and her aunt covertly while they did their shopping in the marketplace. The operative had little to report, except that both women showed a fondness for knock-off designer handbags.

Until he also noticed that someone
else
was trailing the two women and doing a poor job of hiding it.

Still, if it were a bodyguard, the women would be aware of the man dogging their every step. As it was, he made no attempt to approach them, nor did they appear to acknowledge him in any way.

That worried Rachel. A lot. Why would Dr. Massri suddenly feel the need to put covert surveillance on his daughter twenty–four/ seven?

And if not he, who?

In no scenario could Rachel read this development as a good thing.

Kadin called in while the two women were still out shopping to say that Dr. Massri and Abasi Chuma were back at the house on the outskirts of town.

“There’s something going on here,” he told Rachel and Neil over the comm-link.

Neil had fitted her with her own earbud earlier.

“What do you mean?” Rachel asked, her worry ratcheting up at the quality of Kadin’s tone.

“Spazz’s toys aren’t working.”

Rachel gave Neil a questioning look. He hadn’t mentioned any of his listening devices malfunctioning.

“I gave Trig and Cowboy a directional sound amplifier,” Neil said to her with a frown. “It’s not my best. I wasn’t expecting to be doing this kind of surveillance on an extraction.”

Rachel couldn’t help being impressed at the array of equipment Neil had brought to aid in getting her out of Africa.

“But the parabolic microphone system he’s using can pick up a conversation clearly from three hundred feet. Massri’s friend’s house is in a very low-population area outside the city. Accessing their discussions should be a piece of cake for that little baby.”

Kadin said, “Unless they’re operating a jammer.”

“Are you receiving static?” Neil asked.

“A hell of a lot more than you can account for by natural circumstances.”

“Well, damn. That’s not good.”

No, it really wasn’t, but it wasn’t all bad, either, Rachel didn’t think. “So, we learned one thing,” she pointed out.

“What’s that, angel?” Kadin asked, his tone when he spoke directly to her changing to something she refused to recognize.

“That house is every bit as important as we suspected it might be.” Which made it all the more imperative for them to get some kind of eyes or ears inside the place. “Dr. Massri isn’t just visiting a political ally.”

Kadin made a thoughtful sound. “Or the politician is a paranoid sonofabitch.”

“Maybe.” Neil didn’t sound convinced. “Politicians have a lot of reason to have their homes jammed, but few do. It puts them on the bubble for hiding secrets. Even in Morocco. Besides, he’d have to be using pretty sophisticated equipment for you to be getting nothing but fuzz through my receiver.”

“So?”

“So, even paranoid politicians don’t usually employ military-grade anti-surveillance technology. You’d be getting at least a word here and there with your average jammer purchased through regular retail outlets.”

“Right,” Rachel agreed.

Though she was not the technology guru that Neil was, she had a feeling about that house. And it wasn’t a good one.

Kadin went silent for a minute. Then he came back to the link. “I tried again, and you’re right. We’re not even getting the occasional stray word. Neil, do you have information on who lives in that house?”

“I would have had it last night if Cowboy didn’t make me go to bed,” Neil grumbled without answering.

“Ah, baby, ain’t no way a simple man like me could
make
you do anything you don’t want.” Cowboy’s soft Texas drawl came over the comm-link, showing he’d been listening all along.

“The name?” Kadin prompted, sounding a lot less impatient than Rachel would have expected.

Neil pulled up a document on his screen. “On the surface, it looks like the house belongs to a French-run import/export consortium based in Marrakech.”

“And under the surface?”

“Take a guess.”

Rachel didn’t give Kadin the chance, jumping in with the name herself. The French SympaMed board member who had been identified in Bennet Vincent’s investigation in Zimbabwe the year before.

“But he’s dead.”

“His partners aren’t,” Rachel replied. “They’re obviously not all behind bars, either.”

Chapter Fifteen

I
t had taken a few months—and moving in on the cohorts Ibeamaka had given up in exchange for a lighter sentence—for TGP to realize that the organization was more far-reaching than the corrupt Zimbabwean official had known about.

When intel taken from one of the seized hard drives had pointed to Abasi Chuma’s company, TGP had sent Rachel to Egypt to investigate further.

“You knew that, though. Or you wouldn’t have been in Africa,” Neil pointed out.

“True, but no one expected the espionage ring we thought we’d mostly disbanded to span the continent and still have active members from European countries, as well.”

Kadin said sarcastically, “Whitney is going to love finding that out.”

“Right.” Her boss was going to go nuts.

He was a man who liked things tied up and taken care of. Finding out the wasps they’d taken out were only scouts for the nest was going to put him in a bad mood for a week.

“Speaking of Whitney, any word on when your replacement agent is supposed to arrive for her situation report?” Kadin asked.

“No. Whit has been oddly silent since our phone call yesterday. Something is going on in DC, and he’s in the center of it.”

“He sure as hell is,” Neil said under his breath.

Rachel gave him a look. The computer geek knew more than he was saying, and once Kadin was done with this communique, she was going to push for some answers.

“We’re coming in,” Kadin said.

“You don’t want to wait and see what happens?” Rachel asked.

“We can’t see shit,” Cowboy said, frustration lacing his tone. “Or hear it, for that matter.”

She couldn’t argue with that.

“Don’t blame the equipment,” Spazz piped up.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ve never doubted your toys were the best.”

“Damn it, Cowboy, stop calling me
baby.
”

“Stop calling me
Cowboy
.” The Texan’s tone held a lot more plea and real frustration than Neil’s had.

Some kind of deep emotion spasmed across Neil’s face. He yanked the headset off and flung it down beside the computer. “Shit.”

“Tell Spazz I want to know who is actually living in that house, because somebody is.” Kadin’s words indicated he knew what his communications and technology specialist had done.

“How’d you know . . .” Rachel let her voice trail off.

“I know my men.” Kadin sounded tired. “Cowboy is sitting here glaring into the sun, his earbud so tight in his fist, I think it’s going to need repairs when we get back.”

“You don’t sound angry.”

“I’m not.”

“Most commanders would be at least mildly annoyed by two of their team members pitching drama like this.”

“I understand where both men are coming from.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” Kadin barked.

Rachel didn’t know why he sounded mad now, when he hadn’t before, but she had a feeling finding out wouldn’t do her own equilibrium any good.

Static filled her ear, and she realized Kadin had turned off his comm-link, so hers was getting only feedback. Neil must have switched off the command center’s link, as well. She pulled her earbud out, clicking it off. “Kadin wants you to figure out who is living in that house now.”

“I’m working on it,” Spazz said without looking up from the computer.

“I don’t think he’s going to give up on you.”

“Of course not. He knows I’ll get him his information.”

“I wasn’t talking about Kadin. I’m talking about Cowboy.”

“Why not? He did last time.”

“And?” She wondered if Neil would admit it.

“And he realized he screwed up.”

“He’s trying to fix it.”

“I know.” Neil typed furiously on the computer.

“Can I help?”

“Get me some coffee?” he asked, before grimacing. “Shit. Never mind. I can get my own coffee.”

She smiled. “Relax. I don’t suddenly think you’re relegating me to the 1950s secretarial pool, okay? Besides, if I get you coffee, I might be able to sneak some for myself.”

“Eva got you on a no-caffeine diet?”

“She may have left instructions to that effect.”

“Yeah. She’s always trying to cut my caffeine intake. Says it makes me impulsive.”

“How’s that working out for her?” Rachel asked, as if she didn’t know the answer.

“About as well as her instructions for you are going to.”

They shared a commiserating smile of caffeine addiction, and Rachel left to get some of Mrs. Abdul’s coffee, which could have doubled easily as ambrosia for the gods. She wondered if she could smuggle some of the freshly roasted Moroccan coffee beans home in her suitcase.

Rachel had just walked into the command center with the coffee tray (having snuck an additional cup onto it when Mrs. Abdul wasn’t looking) when she heard faint sounds of commotion coming from the back of the house.

Cowboy and Kadin must have come back before they’d told her and Neil they were going to.

“I think the guys are back,” she said to Neil as she leaned over to place the tray on the table opposite the one with his computer.

“Really?” Neil asked, his eyebrows drawn into a questioning frown.

“I heard them coming in the back of the house.”

“Huh.” Neil shook his head as if it still didn’t make sense, but he didn’t gainsay her.

She was handing him his cup, sweetened with three sugars (no wonder the man got a bit spazzed at times), when she heard a wholly unexpected voice coming from the doorway.

“That smells good. I could sure use a cup,” said Beth Crane née Whitney.

Shocked, Rachel almost dropped Neil’s coffee in her hurry to turn and face Beth.

But Rachel found it nearly impossible to believe that Whit would send his own daughter in, especially after what had happened to Rachel. Not to mention, she had always been under the impression that Beth and her husband were inseparable as one of the agency’s rare partner pairings.

Neil saved the coffee with only a small expletive, his blue eyes wide with curiosity.

Rachel barely noticed as her shock grew when she took in the two other people crowding the doorway. Beth’s husband, Ethan, had his hand resting protectively on the other TGP agent’s shoulder.

Ethan’s presence made sense, but only because Beth was there. Whit hadn’t mentioned sending a team, though.

Even harder to believe was the presence of the other agent standing as tall as Ethan’s six-feet-three-inches in her four-inch spiked heels.

“Jayne . . .”

The beautiful woman, who maintained constant deep cover as a premier and
very
exclusive exotic dancer, smiled.

Though the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. Hard and green as emeralds, they had long since seen the last of whatever innocence they might once have held. “Hello, girlfriend. I hear you’ve got a nice, juicy case to hand over to me.”

Rachel nodded; she had no inclination whatsoever to argue for the right to stay on the case. Right now, Jamila’s safety was her biggest priority.

Besides, Whit could not have sent an agent who would inspire more confidence in Rachel that her former assignment was in good hands.

“But what are Ethan and Beth doing here?”

“I’ll tell you everything you want to know if you give me some of that delicious-smelling coffee,” Beth offered.

Ethan growled, “No coffee.”

Instead of handing her husband his head for that bit of bossiness, Beth just pouted. “But it smells so good.”

“You know what the OB said: keep caffeine to a minimum.”

“
OB.
As in obstetrician,” Jayne reminded Beth, her expression turning dangerous. “No way in hell would your father have let you come along if he was aware of your condition.”

“And he doesn’t need to be—not until we get back.” Beth gave Jayne a fierce look that Rachel wouldn’t have tried with the woman
she
secretly deemed SuperAgent.