The Spy Who Loves Me (25 page)

“I can take care of myself,” she said.

“That explains why I had to stitch up your shoulder,” he said, but there was no real recrimination. He knew damn well that she had pushed past the pain to get off the island. “Speaking of,” he continued, “Finn said you were drugged. Narcrylotine?”

She nodded. “I think so. That explains why the infection set in so quickly.” An unintended side effect of the drug was a temporary suppression of a person's immune system.

“Under the conditions you were subjected to, it might have anyway, but yeah,” Brandon agreed.

“Well, sleep and drugs have done wonders. I feel human again. Stiff, but human.”

“Are you sure you're up to going back to the island?”

“Of course,” she said. That wasn't even an issue. “But I've been thinking. What if we fail?” She met his eyes, saw the familiar defiance there.

“We won't.”

“Come on, Brandon. There's too much riding on this. We have to at least consider the possibility of failure.”

He blew out a noisy breath. “Fine. We get to the island and we each take a bullet in the back. World War Three starts and we don't give a fuck because we're dead.”

“I have an idea about backup,” she said, ignoring him. “If you and I fail, someone's going to have to blow the island.”

“We went through this last night,” he said.
“All alone,
remember?
Disavowed,
remember?”

“I haven't forgotten,” she said.

Brandon's brow furrowed. “Are you thinking of somehow using Prometheus itself?”

Amber licked her lips. In fact, she had considered that. If Prometheus could blow up the mosque, it could also blow up the island. “Even if we could find someone at ZAEL who'll overlook our new status, I'm not certain that they'll still have control. Drake's back door may lock them out.”

“Good point,” Brandon said. “But we're out of options.”

Amber pressed her lips together. “James.”

Brandon crossed his arms over his chest. “Amber…”

“We're going to have to get James involved,” she said. It was bad form—very bad form—to go to James and beg for help considering they'd been disavowed. Hell, if Schnell or his superiors found out that they'd contacted James, they'd be putting him at risk for the same fate. But this went beyond work. This was
James,
and she knew that even now he had to be working to get them both reinstated.

For a moment, she thought Brandon would balk. But then he nodded, the gesture slow and thoughtful. “You're right. We need paramilitary backup. Without James, it's impossible.”

She ran a hand through her hair. “Damn, but this sucks. Two weeks before his retirement, and we're going to go tell him the Unit's got a mole.”

“It's worse than that,” Brandon said. “I think it's Schnell.”

Amber exhaled slowly and then nodded. She'd seen that coming.

“I might be wrong,” Brandon said. “Any number of operatives could have identified you.”

“Identified me, yes,” Amber agreed. “But disavowed me?” She shook her head. “Besides, Drake knew when ZAEL ran its test programs. That's how he's able to fire the weapon without detection. And that kind of information is classified.”

“And only a few of the higher-ups would have access,” Brandon said, thinking aloud.

“Exactly.” She wasn't entirely certain Schnell was the mole, but she was damn sure not going to trust him.

“There's more,” Brandon added. “I talked to Alcott this morning.”

Amber winced. “Not from my phones, I hope.” The odds that her lines were tapped were significant.

“Not even on my cell,” Brandon said. “I went to the market about dawn and called from the pay phone.”

Amber flashed an apologetic smile. She should have known better than to doubt Brandon.

“Whoever reassigned Waterman left an electronic fingerprint. It's part of the training system, so the information tech guys can go in and see which of their operators has screwed-up input. Al just traced the fingerprint back to Schnell's computer.”

Amber shook her head. “It just doesn't make any sense. If he was with Drake, why assign me to watch Diana?”

“I think it's exactly what you originally thought,” Brandon said. “Nails and pedicures. Drake was going to blow the satellite by himself. Schnell assigned you as an alibi, someone he could point to and say, ‘See, I had an agent on it the whole time.' But then Finn came along—”

“And they had to figure out what he knew.”

“And they got you, too.”

She exhaled, focusing only on the job. Pushing personalities and loyalties from her mind. “Then we're settled, right? We go in, and if we haven't reported back a successful mission on time, James will arrange to have the island destroyed.”

“That's it, then. Assuming James agrees.” He stood up. “I'm going into town to call him,” he said. He paused at the door. “We leave for the island tomorrow afternoon and attack during the night,” he said. “Get some rest.”

“What the hell else would I do?” she retorted. But as soon as he was gone, she tossed the sheet aside, unhooked the IV bag, and padded downstairs.

 

“I hope you're finding the accommodations hospitable,” Amber said as she walked into the dining room.

Finn put down his coffee, taking a long, hard look at her. Her color was better and her eyes were bright. Her arm was bandaged and bruised from the IV, but that was the only clue that twenty-four hours earlier she'd been seriously under the weather. “The accommodations are exceptional,” he said. “This is a great house.”

“Thanks. I bought it the first time I visited California. I fell in love with the mountains.”

“It's rather secluded,” he said.

“All the more reason,” Amber answered.

Finn nodded, not surprised with her response. Especially after his talk with Digby, it didn't take a Ph.D. to realize that the woman was a loner. He just wanted her to be alone with him.

Mrs. Digby stepped into the room, an apron tied around her waist and a pistol in her hand. She popped the clip, slipped the gun into the pocket of the apron, and started sliding bullets into the magazine. “Supply kits for you and Mr. Kline?” she asked.

“That's right,” Amber said. “And would you join me in the study for a minute? There are a few things we need to discuss.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Digby answered, then headed toward the far wall lined with a china cabinet. Finn watched as she moved a vase aside to reveal a keypad. Her fingers tapped an entry code, and the entire china cabinet rotated inward.

“Clever,” he said.

Amber shrugged, following Mrs. Digby into the room. “I made some refinements.”

He stood up to follow, but Amber held out a hand. “Wait here, okay? I'll be back soon.”

“Wait? If you two are talking about tomorrow, I want to be in on it.”

She shook her head. “Need-to-know basis only. You're not going. You don't need to know.” She slipped in the room and the door shut behind her.

Finn pounded his fist on the table. Like hell he wasn't going. He wasn't about to come this far only to get shafted at the end. And if he had to tail Amber all the way to the island, that's what he intended to do.

He had a feeling, though, that persuasion might work just as well. It was, at least, worth a shot.

Knowing she was going to be pissed, he went to the china cabinet and pushed the vase aside. The keypad stared back at him. A standard keypad, typical of what was on the right-hand side of just about any keyboard on any computer. A keypad he knew well.

He closed his eyes, playing back like a video the way Mrs. Digby had tapped the pad. Played it once, then again, and again. His fingers moved as he concentrated, mimicking her pattern, and he opened his eyes long enough to place his hand over the keys, then closed them and moved in that mechanical rhythm.

Nothing happened.

Shit.
Okay. No problem. Probably just off a bit. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried again. A click, and then the mechanical grind of the door creaking open. Thirty seconds later, he was in.
Damn, he was good.

The cabinet opened onto a short hallway, at the far end of which, Finn could see another door. He sighed, his euphoria dissolving with the realization that the odds were good he was going to have to get through another security system. And he wouldn't have Mrs. Digby's nimble fingers to guide him.

He lucked out, though. The door was cracked open, a sliver of light cutting across the hall. He took a deep breath and pushed it open, and both women turned to stare at him.

“How the hell did you get in here?” Amber asked.

“Same way you two did,” he said. “The pass code.” He looked from Amber to Mrs. Digby and back again. “What? You're not happy to see me?”

Amber ignored him, turning instead to Mrs. Digby. “Escort Mr. Teague back to the kitchen, please.”

Mrs. Digby headed toward the door, nodding at Finn as she passed. “Come along, please.”

“Goddamn it, Amber. Hear me out.”

“Mrs. Digby.” Amber's voice held both exasperation and a command. Finn held his breath, then watched as her shoulders sagged. “Fine,” she said. “He stays.” She met his eyes. “You can stay. But that doesn't mean you're coming with us.”

“Can I at least plead my case?”

He heard Amber's sigh, imagined her steeling herself for the argument he intended to win. After the briefest of hesitation, she nodded. “You've got one minute.”

So much for small talk. “Let me see if I've got a handle on your plan,” he said. “You and Brandon are going to sneak onto the island, break into the operations center, and put Drake and the bitch out of commission.”

“You managed to hit the high points, yes.”

“Then what?” he said.

“Excuse me?”

He moved toward her, not stopping until he was standing close enough to feel her breath on his face. Her proximity fired his senses, tightened his neurons. Put him on edge.

Good.
Maybe he put her on edge, too. He hoped so. He wanted an honest answer, one she hadn't mulled over and flowcharted and pondered all possible outcomes.

“It's a simple question,” he said. “What next? You take control of the satellite, right? Stop it from destroying the mosque? All's well that ends well?”

“Not a bad plan,” she said. Her breath hitched, but her eyes were clear and determined. “Wish I'd thought of it.”

He grinned. “Doesn't matter who thought of it. The question is, can you do it?”

“I can do a lot of things,” she said. “I thought you'd figured that out.”

“But can you break into a computer system?”

For the first time since he'd met her, doubt flickered across her face.

“I
can,”
he said. “And even more, you know I can.”

“I don't need to,” she said. “I'm going to blow up the satellite dish.”

“What if he's got more than one?” Finn asked.

“We only saw one. And satellite photos confirm that.”

“The others could be hidden,” Finn said. “And even if there is only one, what if you fail? Plan to blow up the dish, sure. But you need to disable the satellite at the source, too. And I can do that for you.”

“The gentleman has a point,” Mrs. Digby said, and Finn stifled the urge to kiss her. “I read his dossier. According to the FBI, he's quite adept at maneuvering through even the most secure system.”

Amber crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe so,” she said. “But I'll have Bernie to help me,” she said.

“Bernie might already be dead,” Finn said. He hated giving voice to the possibility, but he had to make her see. She needed him.

She didn't answer, and he pressed his advantage. “Amber, you know I'm right.”

“Why?” she said. “This isn't some video game, and it sure as hell isn't fantasy. It's real life, and you might not make it out of there. You could end up hurt. Or dead.” She drew in a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “Go home, Finn. Your life may not be exciting, but at least you know it'll be there tomorrow.”

“Amber…”

“No.” She licked her lips. “I don't want you getting hurt, okay? I can't say it any plainer than that.”

“Hurt?” Finn shook his head. “Oh, babe, who cares about getting hurt. Unless you get in and stop Drake, that Saudi dude's going to start World War Three.
That
will hurt.” He met her eyes. “You need me, Amber.”