The Spy Who Loves Me (28 page)

“Good. Tell her to keep him away from the telephone. There's still the possibility he's working with Drake and Schnell. I don't want him alerting them to your arrival on the island.”

“They must already know,” she said.

“Yes, but not when or how. I want you to retain some modicum of surprise.”

She nodded, standing up, ready to get back to it. “Fair enough.” She headed to her bed and ripped the copyright page out of the book on her night-stand. In the white space, she scribbled the island's coordinates. “Your men will need this.”

He glanced at it, then pocketed the note. “Amber,” he said, taking her hand.

“I know.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose. “Just be careful. I've lost Brandon. I don't want to lose you, too.”

 

They spent another hour discussing the details, and after James left, Amber sat on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest and thinking of Brandon.
Dead.
She'd never imagined this moment; couldn't imagine it now. What she
could
imagine was making Drake pay. And Schnell. She'd avenge Brandon. No matter what, she'd do that.

She drew a deep breath, shoving thoughts of retribution from her mind. She didn't have time to think about it. She had a mission to plan. They were leaving tomorrow, timing their arrival at the island with the onset of night. Anything to give them more cover. Once on the island, they had three hours to get in and disable the satellite. It came into firing range at oh-two-hundred hours. If they hadn't taken control by midnight, James would send the missiles flying.

Amber didn't intend to fail.

And so the day was filled with plans and with rest. With making sure all the details were in order and her body was as healthy as she could make it.

Finn was busy preparing, too, happily hacking into various government agencies from the computer in her study, trying to find keys and clues that would help him crack the system on the island. If anyone at those agencies discovered his forays into their cyber world and traced it back to her computer, Amber was going to have some serious explaining to do.

As night fell and she headed back upstairs, thoughts of Brandon and Schnell edged into her mind. The anger was still there, coupled with a deep sadness. The Unit was changing. Shifting into something she didn't know, and she was losing her anchor on the world.

She paused outside her bedroom, her hand hesitating over the doorknob. She was being foolish, and she knew it, and she tried to force herself to go on in. To get sleep. To rest. To prepare.

But alone simply wasn't where she wanted to be.

The doorknob rested cool in her palm, but still she couldn't seem to turn it. Instead, she paused, looking back over her shoulder to Finn's room, just a few steps away. Light shone from under the door. He was still awake, and yet she hesitated.

The night before, they'd held each other, but they hadn't made love. Neither one had wanted to cross that line, starting something that could never be finished.

Now she wanted to go to him again, but still she hesitated, craving intimacy, even as much as she wanted to run from it.

She was still standing there, undecided, when his door opened and Finn emerged wearing a pair of Brandon's old sweatpants and holding a toothbrush. He paused when he saw her, his expression shifting to concerned. “Amber? Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.” She licked her lips, then shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans. “No, I'm not fine. I was standing here trying to decide if I should knock on your door.”

“Yes,” he said. “If that's the question, the answer is always yes.”

She followed him, feeling slightly pathetic for wanting his company, and at the same time absurdly grateful that he was there.

“Something's happened,” he said, moving to sit on the bed.

“Yes and no,” she said. She sat down beside him, sliding her bare feet under the covers and leaning back against the headboard.

“More yes, or more no?”

She smiled. She'd been certain that he'd be able to lighten her mood, and so far, she was right. “Nothing's happened as to the mission. We're on target in that regard.” She turned to him. “Learn anything interesting today?”

He shrugged. “Some. I've got some clues about the system. And I think Waterman put in more than one back door. The only question is how to access it.”

“That's good, though, right? Then even if Drake's closed one door, we can still get in.”

Finn nodded. “Assuming I can get inside. I learned a lot of stuff about Bernie by poking around in his personal area on the ZAEL mainframe. I have no idea if any of it will help. Stuff about his family and classes he's taken and books he's read. We'll see.” He frowned. “And there was one particularly odd e-mail.”

She frowned. “What?”

“A draft Bernie was going to send to someone named Armstrong. Something about taking Prometheus to the moon.”

She shrugged. “Probably some sort of code for the fact that it's a space-based weapon's system.”

“That makes sense.” Finn took her hand. “I'm sorry. I got sidetracked. You're upset about Brandon.”

She nodded. She'd told him what James had reported about the phone call. “That's part of it. The rest…I think it's you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.” She paused, trying to figure out how to put the swell of raw emotion into words. “I've always considered the Unit my family. But it's not. No matter how many lies I told myself, no matter what I clung to, from the moment my mom gave me up, I was really and truly alone.”

“Oh, babe.” He put an arm around her, pulling her close.

She shook her head, trying out a small smile. “Don't worry about me. Just late-night ruminations before a mission.”

“It's more than that,” Finn said. “And I can't help but worry about you.” He reached out and stroked her cheek, the unexpected touch flooding her senses. “Why are you here? An ear? Or more?”

“More,” she confessed. She took a deep breath. “Is it wrong of me to come to you? To want to just lose myself in this?” She took his hand, her fingers intertwining with his. “I want you to make love to me.”

“Amber, I—”

“Just hear me out,” she said. “I want to make love because
I
want to make love. Not because it's the job. We might never leave that island, Finn, so do we really want to worry about what will happen in that magical land of ever after? I don't. I want you. I want you now and, if always turns out to be the span of just two days, I want you for always.”

“And if always turns out to be longer?”

But that one she couldn't answer. Because despite everything, the Unit was still the life she knew.

Finn shook his head. “Don't bother answering,” he said. “I get the drift.”

“Finn…” She closed her fingers over his wrist.

His body tensed, his fingertips dancing so softly over her skin that she barely even registered his touch. “I shouldn't.”

“But you're going to.”

“Yeah,” he said, then brushed his lips across hers. “I am.”

 

Finn knew Amber was tired and upset; and he knew only that he wanted to make it better. It thrilled him—no,
touched
him—that she'd come to him for consolation. But he couldn't tell her that, couldn't tell her how much it meant to him that she'd revealed a vulnerable side.

He simply let his body talk for him, every stroke and caress a promise that he would never, ever hurt her. There was more, too, as much as he was ashamed to admit it. Tonight, she needed him. Tomorrow, though…well, tomorrow was Amber's show. He'd pulled off successful missions in his fantasies, but Finn wasn't naïve enough to think that he was really qualified for this mission. The best he could hope for was not to hinder Amber, and maybe to help just a little.

And so he made love to her confidently, passionately. As if by taking her to heights to which she'd never ventured, he could somehow make up for any inadequacies he might bring to their mission tomorrow.

F
inn checked the helicopter's bearing, satisfied they were on course.

“You wanna cut that out?” Tom said. “I'll get you there.” His grin was wide and eager. Finn's hunch that Tom would make the trip gratis—so long as he got the full story—had been right on the money.

Finn sighed. Tom sure as hell didn't need Finn's help to pilot the whirlybird. And Finn still wasn't at all certain that Amber needed his help to stop Drake.

Tom shot him a look. “What's on your mind, kid?”

“Not much,” Finn said. “Just that I'm a fraud who ought to be home answering interrogatories, not skimming the ocean in a G model Bell.”

“Bullshit.” Tom tossed him a set of headphones, slipping his own back up and over his ears. Finn did the same, allowing them to talk to each other through the headset rather than trying to yell over the din of the rotors and the wind. “You know how to fly a plane, you know how to make a bomb. You ski, you dive, and you're healthy as a horse. What the hell more do you need? An on-line diploma from www.be-a-spy.com?” Chuckling, Tom shook his head, clearly amused with himself. Finn just rolled his eyes.

“I'm serious,” Tom continued. “You don't think I'd risk my own neck flying you two out here if I thought you'd end up dead?”

“No,” Finn said, managing a grin. “But I never said you were smart.”

Tom laughed, his voice booming through the headset. “Quit fretting. You've got more important things to worry about than whether or not you should be here. You
are
here. Now just get in there and do it.”

Finn nodded. That was sage advice. “Well then, get us there, already. This downtime isn't good for my disposition. I think too much.”

“Always a dangerous thing.” Tom checked the controls. “Not too much longer. I'm going to drop down, bring you in at just a few feet above the water. Just in case your friend's got radar.”

“More than likely, he's got sentries posted.”

“Can't shield us from those,” Tom said. “But the sun's just about down. By the time we get to the island, you should have some cover of night. On top of that, well, I guess we'll just have to hope they're nearsighted.” He motioned Finn out of the cockpit. “Get back there and get your gear on.”

Finn tossed his headphones into the copilot's seat, then complied. They were descending quickly, and his stomach lurched.
Great.
What a time to get motion sickness.

Amber squatted near the door wearing a one-piece Speedo. “You look a little green.”

“I'm fine.” He peeled off his jeans, revealing his own bathing suit. Their clothes were packed into airtight bags. Hopefully they'd have time to change once they reached the island. Finn didn't relish the idea of disarming the satellite in a tiny little Lycra bathing suit.

“Yes,” she said, her gaze drifting down to his crotch as a smile played across her face. “I'd have to say you're very fine indeed.”

He chuckled, his mood dissipating some. “No time for that,” he said, sitting on the floor as he tugged on his wet suit.

“Too bad,” she countered, her eyes bright. She was in her element, all right. She looked on-fire. Alive. And he wished they
did
have time. For all he knew, they might not be leaving the island. Last night might well have been the last time.

No.
He couldn't think like that. They would leave. They'd leave together. He could do this. His doubts were just nerves.
He could do this.

She met his eyes. “I only work with the best, Finn,” she said, then stood up and gave the zipper on her wet suit a tug.

He couldn't help but smile as he finished putting on his own gear. The woman had a way of reading his mind. “Are you sure, then, that you want to be working with me?”

“You're here, aren't you?” She slipped her arms into the BC, then fastened the vest around her waist, adjusting it so the tank sat properly on her back. When he didn't answer, she turned and gave him another look. “And don't pull that bullshit about how you forced your way into this party. Believe me. If I didn't want you here, you wouldn't be here.”

She lowered her mask over her eyes, then put the regulator in her mouth, silently signaling that their conversation was at an end. She'd said what she had to say; Finn would either believe it or he wouldn't.

Finn decided to believe it.

She clamped her hand over her face, using her palm to hold the regulator in place while her fingers kept her mask on. Then she took one giant step out the helicopter's door, splashing down into the ocean below. She went under, bobbed back up, and flashed him an okay sign.

Now or never.
This was it. This was the real deal. No fantasies. No daydreaming. No Agent Python calling the shots. Just him and Amber, out to save the world.

He chuckled to himself. When you put it like that, what the hell was there to be nervous about?

 

The ocean floor sloped up to the island, and they stayed low. The surge was strong, pushing and pulling, and inching them toward the beach. She spotted a craggy outcropping of underwater rock up ahead and let the ocean's power take her there, her gloved fingers grasping the barnacled surface. Finn followed suit, maneuvering himself so that he faced her. They were both still under the water, hopefully still unseen. An efficient sentry might notice their exhaust bubbles or the greenish glow of their light sticks. It was a chance they had to take.

She pointed to Finn, then held out a hand, signaling for him to stay put. She pointed to herself and then the surface. Then she pointed to him and flashed an open hand three times.

He flashed the okay sign, and she nodded, hoping that he meant it. They'd discussed the plan on the plane, and she had no specific reason to doubt that he'd understood. But still she was nervous. She'd knowingly brought a civilian on a mission. At the time it had seemed prudent. Now, she hoped her decision wouldn't turn out to be fatal. For him, or for her.

With Finn stationed firmly by the rock, she tugged on the release valve of her BC, letting the air out of the inflatable vest. Then she slipped it off, along with the air tank that was attached to it. Fortunately, the tank was made of steel. An aluminum tank, once low on air, was likely to float to the surface.

She jammed the whole contraption against the rock, the regulator still in her mouth as she took her last tug of air from the tank. Then she released the mouthpiece and replaced it with her snorkel. Keeping her eyes on Finn, she ascended the few feet to the surface, working hard to keep her body underwater even as the tip of her snorkel emerged so that she could breathe.

Just below her, Finn whipped off a crisp little salute. She grinned—as much as she could without swallowing water—and gave him a thumbs-up sign.

Time to go. Hopefully Finn understood the mission. Wait fifteen minutes, and then follow. Amber was heading toward the satellite dish they'd seen on the bunker by the landing strip. Finn was heading into the building. One way or another, they'd keep Prometheus from firing. Either Finn would disarm the system at the computer, or Amber would blow up the dish.

She checked her watch. Five after nine. Less than four hours before the satellite came into range. And three hours before James's Black Ops contacts took out the island all together.

That left them almost sixty minutes to get in position, do their jobs, disarm the satellite, and contact James to call off the missile and come deliver them off the island. Fortunately, Amber worked best under pressure.

She smiled to herself. In that case, this was going to be her best mission ever.

The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the beach. She dropped her weight belt and pulled off her fins, holding on to them so they wouldn't wash up to shore and give her away. With a practiced eye, she scanned the area. There was no cover, and that meant that she had to get from the beach to the rocky outcropping by virtue of pure good fortune. No sentries, no glimmers of light suggesting binoculars reflecting the fading sunlight. No whispers.

Time to haul ass.

With the surge pushing her forward, she emerged onto the beach, climbing immediately to her feet and running like hell. She scrambled over the rocks and crouched down, taking a moment to assess her progress. So far, so good. Her gaze drifted to the water. She thought she could make out the very tip of Finn's snorkel, but she wasn't certain. A good sign. He was well hidden. Hopefully he'd blend in as unobtrusively once he actually entered Drake's complex.

She needed to head up the stone steps to the plateau. It was risky, but that was faster than climbing the rock face. Decided, she shoved her fins under some sand, burying them, then covering them with loose rocks. Then she unfastened her dive knife and peeled off the wet suit. That left her clad in a wet bathing suit, which she also peeled off. A black Lycra cat suit, shoes, her gun, the C-4, and a lightweight backpack were in the watertight bag she'd hooked onto her utility belt. She dressed, then slipped on a shoulder holster and slid the gun home. Next, she strapped the dive knife back to her calf. The explosives she moved to the backpack, then donned it, too.

Once she was suited up and her leftover belongings buried in the sand, she took off for the dish. A nearly full moon hung in the sky, hidden behind a thick covering of clouds that left the island cast in a murky gray that seemed more impenetrable than full darkness.

She got to the airstrip without event, then checked her watch. Fifteen minutes. Finn should just be emerging from the water. She grimaced, fighting the urge to go back and make sure he was okay. She'd made the decision to bring him. Now she had to trust him.

The dish was huge, looming on the far side of the airfield. Stark white, it seemed to gather and reflect back all of the ambient light, giving it the appearance of a small moon hovering somewhere above the island.

An expensive, powerful piece of equipment, it was almost a shame to destroy it. Almost.

She raced across the open airfield, reaching the building on which the dish sat forty-five seconds later. It had taken her a total of nineteen minutes to emerge from the water, gather her gear, and get to the dish. And in all that time she hadn't seen any sign of a sentry, a guard, or even one of Drake's computer geeks outside smoking a cigarette.

She had a bad feeling.

The dish wasn't designed to be accessed by anyone who happened to be walking by. So there was no ladder, stairs, or other easy access from the supporting base structure to the actual dish component that captured and relayed signals. Fortunately, the designer had considered the possibility of maintenance and repair, and a series of foot and hand-holds were built into the metal structure of the base, leading up to a trapdoor in the dish itself.

Ideally, Amber would make her way through the trapdoor, then plant the C-4 in the center of the dish. A nice, neat bit of sabotage.

Today, however, Amber wasn't interested in neat. She climbed up to the roof of the building and stayed low as she got close to the base of the dish. She'd brought two pounds of C-4 and eight detonators, and she proceeded to pack the explosive around the base. Once they were in place, she'd set the timer on the primary detonator, which would relay the signal to the other seven. She'd run like hell, and in six minutes, the structure wouldn't be good for anything more than toasting marshmallows and making s'mores.

As soon as she put the last brick of C-4 into place, she reached into her backpack for the primary detonator.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” The voice was hard, cold, and all too familiar.

Amber closed her eyes, calculating the odds of success if she set the detonator for five seconds, jammed it home, and went up in a ball of smoke with the dish.

It wouldn't be a personal best, but she would prevent a war.

Unfortunately, though (or fortunately, she supposed, if she wanted to be selfish about it), there was no way she could get the timer on the device set. Not before Beltzer blew her brains out. Dying in the course of her job to prevent a war she could handle. Dying because she did something stupid…that just wasn't her speed.

“Drop it,” he said.

She did. And even as the detonator clattered on the warm asphalt, she wondered if Finn had made it into the complex. Because right then, Finn was their best hope.

 

Finn was absolutely certain he was capable of hacking into the computer system and shutting down the satellite. Whether or not his certainty was justified remained to be seen. Because while he was confident in his abilities once he infiltrated the control room, the initial problem of how the hell to get inside the complex left him baffled.

He'd made it to the complex entrance easily enough, but the building was equipped with one of those damn touch pads. If he had a few hours, he could probably hot-wire the thing. But he had no idea how much time he had before a sentry patrol came marching by. If Mackenzie was smart, Finn imagined he had a sentry patrol at least every fifteen minutes. Since Drake was practically a genius, Finn was betting on ten. Or less.