Kitabı oku: «Exit Strategy», sayfa 3

McGregor turned sideways in his chair and grasped the young agent’s hands in his own, forcing her to look at him. “You can trust us, Miranda.”

Her cheeks flushed to a gorgeous crimson. “Thanks.”

A new jolt of jealousy, much stronger than the last, surged through Kristie and she drawled, “Do you two need a room?”

Visibly startled, Miranda pulled her hands free and jumped to her feet. “Sorry! I’ll—I’ll take the assignment.”

Kristie stood, too, mortified. “I’m so sorry, Miranda. McGregor and I—”

“Forget it.” Miranda snatched the file off the table, then insisted, “I’ll study this today. Tomorrow I’ll make contact. You’ve got my cell phone number. I’ll keep you informed of my progress.”

She strode to the door and opened it, and for a moment Kristie thought she was going to leave without saying another word. Then she turned and assured them, her voice ringing with pride, “I can do this. I will do this. Thanks again. For everything.”

As soon as Miranda had darted into the reception area and disappeared from view, McGregor turned to Kristie and arched a disapproving eyebrow.

“Okay, okay. Stop yelling at me.” The spinner covered her face with her hands. “I can’t believe I said what I said. Poor Miranda. She must think I’m such a jerk.”

To her relief, McGregor started laughing. “I’ve never seen your jealous side. It was flattering. Horrifying, but flattering.”

“Very funny.” Kristie gave him a wry smile. “I kept thinking how pretty she was—how Ray wouldn’t be able to resist her. Then I suddenly remembered that you kinda like redheads yourself.”

“Just because I like you in your red wig doesn’t mean I like redheads,” he corrected. “I fell in love with a wacky blond spinner who has no idea how good-looking she is. There’s no one else for me.” Resting his hands on her shoulders, he suggested, “Why don’t we cut out of here early? We can go back to your place and you can find some way to apologize for making a scene.”

“You’re not going to make me wear the red wig, are you?”

He laughed again and shook his head.

“Well, then, let’s go. I’m just shocked you’re willing to leave work early for a change.”

“Actually…” He cleared his throat. “If we want to spend some time together, we don’t have a choice. My flight to L.A. leaves at ten.”

“But you just got here!” Kristie scowled. “This is getting old, Will. We never spend any time together.”

“You could come with me. Run your ops from L.A. for a few days.”

She was tempted, but reminded herself that if Miranda succeeded in luring—or rather, convincing—Ray to come back, he’d want to work from SPIN headquarters. “Miranda might call….”

“She’ll call,” McGregor agreed. “With bad news, I predict. Better brace yourself. If he turns her down, you’re going to have to let go of him. Maybe for good. Or at least until he’s ready to make the first move. Can you do that? Let go of that friendship?”

She sighed. “It’s not just for me that I want him back. It’s for SPIN, too.”

“I didn’t think David and I were doing such a bad job running the place,” McGregor replied coolly, pulling his hands away.

Uh-oh…

“That’s not what I meant, Will. You were Ray’s choice, and you’ve been terrific. Sheesh, now we’re both jealous with no reason.” She stepped as close to him as she dared, given the open blinds. “You don’t have to compete with him. He’s my friend, but you’re my everything.”

“I’m not worried about competing with Ortega. Mostly because I’d win,” McGregor assured her. “He’s a dropout. A head case. He almost got us killed, remember? He ruined Miranda Cutler’s career. Maybe even her life. Believe me,” he added with a growl, “I’m not worried about measuring up.”

“Wow.” She moistened her lips, confused by the condemnation behind McGregor’s words. “Why didn’t you say something before we sent Miranda to bring him back?”

“We need his help with Kell. And he’s your friend. I know you want to see him again. That’s fine with me. I’m not jealous,” he added firmly. “Let’s just drop it. We’ve got seven hours before my flight leaves. We can spend it talking about Ortega, or we can spend it having make-up sex. Your choice.”

“Close the blinds and I’ll make up with you right here, right now,” she challenged playfully. Then with a glance through the glass wall to make sure no one was looking, she brushed her lips across McGregor’s.

“Speaking of make-up sex,” she added mischievously. “Can you imagine the sparks that will fly when Ray sees Miranda again?”

“Unless it was all an act. A way to cement her loyalty, and to put you off track.” McGregor gave a rueful smile. “I guess we’ll find out. Meanwhile, we’ve got our own sparks to worry about. Right?” He tilted his head toward the door, suggesting, “Let’s go.”

“Okay.” She followed him out of the office, trying to look forward to their unscheduled interlude, but for the first time, a warning bell was going off in her head.

He’s a dropout. A head case. He almost got us killed, remember? He ruined Miranda Cutler’s career. Maybe even her life.

McGregor’s assessment had been harsh, but also true. That was exactly what had happened the last time Miranda got mixed up with Ray Ortega.

And now, because of Kristie, she was about to get mixed up with him again.

The more Miranda read about Jonathan Kell and the Brigade, the more excited she became over this new assignment. The file told an amazing story of a young research scientist working for a drug company in South America, investigating the efficacy and potential of various remedies used by the natives of the rain forests. Then a drug lord who styled himself as a revolutionary had kidnapped the scientist, demanding a ransom from the employer and also seeking information from young Kell about his experiments. The drug company refused to pay, leaving Kell to die in a filthy cage in Benito Carerra’s jungle hideaway. But not before Carerra tortured Kell mercilessly.

Into this drama had come Ray Ortega, an operative unaware of Kell’s plight, sent by the CIA to assassinate Carerra. Ortega seduced Carerra’s wife to learn the location of the husband’s secret headquarters. Unfortunately, a CIA mole tipped off Carerra, who was ready for Ortega and threw him into a cell with Kell. For two weeks, the men were alternately tortured, starved and neglected. According to Ortega’s debrief transcript, Kell had confided that he had been searching for a cure for phobias because Kell himself was riddled with them. Those irrational fears, coupled with the rational ones associated with kidnapping and torture, made the ordeal even worse for Kell. Ortega did his best to help the man stay strong. Stay alive.

And Kell helped Ortega, too, teaching him some relaxation techniques he had developed to help with the phobias. Ortega insisted neither of them would have survived the torture without those skills.

Finally Ortega managed to overpower a guard and confiscate a pistol and crossbow. The two detainees had just reached the vehicle that would take them to safety when a furious Benito Carerra had confronted them, guns blazing. Still cool, even after his ordeal, Ortega had calmly drawn the crossbow, sending an arrow that caught Carerra through the neck, pinning his body to a tree. At the sight of their leader’s ghastly fate, the other guards had fled, and Ortega had rushed Kell to a hospital for treatment.

Kell had pledged undying gratitude to Ortega. But he knew his country hadn’t sent the operative after Carerra on his account, and he cursed the United States for not intervening sooner. As for the drug company? Kell sued it, claiming that it had abandoned him, despite the existence of an insurance policy that would have paid his ransom, because the executives had hoped he’d be killed and the company could appropriate Kell’s valuable research. A court agreed, and Kell was awarded millions, which he used to buy a fortress in the Swiss Alps, where he declared he was no longer an American, and would now conduct and fund his own experiments. Thereafter, he reportedly lived like a virtual hermit, terrified of the world yet also defiant.

And easy prey for the Brigadier, or so the file speculated. The working assumption was that the anonymous leader had promised each of the Brigade members some enticement—be it revenge, security, wealth, or raw power—in exchange for their loyalty and services. Kell could offer his brilliant research; the other three had talents and resources of a military, financial or technological nature.

But even those four men were not trusted with the actual identity of the Brigadier, although SPIN and the CIA hoped Kell might have knowledge Kristie and the CIA analysts could use to deduce that identity.

Miranda shivered with excitement. For the second time in her career, she had an assignment that thrilled her. Inspired her. Made her feel as though she could make a meaningful contribution to her country.

Of course, the last time she had felt that way, it had been a fraud. And she had been a dupe. She couldn’t help remembering that as she stared at the map in the file that gave directions to Ortega’s retreat in the Sierra Nevada mountains.

But this time, the only potential dupe was Kristie Hennessy. Miranda was going into it with her eyes wide open and her expectations at zero.

And it was always possible Kristie was right. She was, after, all a spinner—a psychologist trained to evaluate others. To predict how they would react, and to plot successful scenarios accordingly. It was because of Kristie that the Ortega alibi mess hadn’t led to loss of innocent lives. She was clearly deserving of the trust and respect the SPIN director had placed in her, their apparent love affair notwithstanding.

And even if Kristie’s judgment was clouded this time because of her friendship with Ortega, the worst that would happen was he’d refuse to cooperate. Miranda almost hoped he would! She trusted Will McGregor’s word that he’d recommend her for participation in the CIA’s anti-Brigade op either way, and that was all she really wanted out of this—a chance to redeem herself. To prove her value to the company.

If one more encounter with Ortega could get her that, then all she could say was, Bring it on.

Chapter 3

O rtega had chosen a perfect location for his self-imposed exile. A twisty mountain road provided the only access to the parcel, which was surrounded by jagged outcroppings and steep terrain that would discourage even the most adventurous hikers. According to the file, Ortega had installed some sort of monitoring system to alert him when a vehicle approached, which Miranda guessed didn’t happen very often, and never by mistake. It was simply too inhospitable a drive for anyone to undertake without a very, very good reason.

By the time she was within a thousand yards of the place, she knew he knew she was coming. He would be prepared. And luckily, so was she, mostly because of the eight-month stint she had served on the Farm—the CIA’s training facility that doubled as an ongoing societal experiment. During Miranda’s stay, she had been inserted into a hostile society with disorienting customs. Surrounded by people she couldn’t trust, in an atmosphere of duplicity and challenge, she had honed the skills needed to thrive in such an environment.

She had done well. Now she was headed for another such experience, and she had no doubt she’d survive again. The prospect of seeing Ortega, while distasteful, was overshadowed by the excitement she felt over the anti-Brigade operation. She knew that if she focused on the goal, and didn’t get distracted by the alibi disaster and its accompanying humiliation, she’d do fine. And if he tried to manipulate her in any way, well, he’d be surprised. Because thanks to him, she had had a full year of developing her own manipulative skills!

Not that she really thought he’d try anything. A close reading of the file suggested he really did want to be alone, which meant that the worst he’d do would be order her off his property, as he’d done to every other person who had tried to visit him.

If that happened, Miranda could go back to SPIN and report that she had done her best. She had no doubt that McGregor would keep his word. And thanks to a late night phone call she had gotten from Kristie Hennessy, she knew the spinner would accept the truth and move on, too. In fact, Kristie had almost tried to talk Miranda out of going to Ortega after all, belatedly noting what all the rest of them had been trying to tell her: that she “might have” miscalculated, and “maybe Ray won’t be as receptive to this visit” as she had hoped.

As the cabin came into view, Miranda was able to confirm the spinner’s prediction firsthand. Ortega was standing in the gravel driveway, his hands on his hips, his expression murderous. And despite all of her preparation, she felt a twinge of intimidation, not only from his stance, but from the fact that he looked bigger than she remembered. Bigger and more dangerous.

He was wearing a black cotton outfit resembling a martial arts uniform, but tied at the waist with a simple length of rope. His skin was darker than it had been a year earlier, and his wavy black hair was shaggier than before. Everything about him confirmed the fact that he had radically altered his lifestyle and his relationship with the world.

Stopping her rented Subaru Outback while still twenty feet from him, she took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “Okay, Miranda,” she told herself firmly. “Like he used to say, it’s showtime. Just remember why you’re here and you’ll do fine.”

Pushing the car door open, she second-guessed her attire and quickly grabbed a black hooded sweatshirt along with her knapsack, then pulled the sweatshirt over her bare arms as she exited the vehicle. It was a hot day, and the white sleeveless top she was wearing with her jeans was appropriate and not overly sexy, but still, she didn’t want there to be any hint that she was trying to appear attractive. It was bad enough her hair was highlighted to bring out more red. She must have been crazy to let her hairdresser talk her into that when she went in for a simple trim!

Standing straight, she pulled off her sunglasses and returned Ortega’s stare without saying a word.

Then to her surprise, a broad grin spread across his face. “Miranda?” Striding forward, he added warmly, “You’re the last person I expected to see out here. Or anywhere for that matter.”

“Hey, Ortega,” she murmured, intimidated again, this time because she thought he might be about to do something monumentally offensive, like hug her.

But he stopped a few feet away, insisting quietly, “This is a surprise. But I’m glad you’re here.”

“It’s not a social call. SPIN sent me.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “I should have known. I actually thought you were Kristie herself when I saw that the driver was a female. I can’t believe she’s using you to get to me.”

“Yeah, what kind of a monster would use a person for their own selfish purposes?” Miranda drawled.

He winced, then laughed it off. “I’m just glad for the chance to apologize to you in person. I’ve never forgiven myself for the way I hurt you.”

“The hurt lasted about five minutes. It’s the burn that had staying power,” she assured him, adding with a confident smile, “If you really want to make it up to me, go pack a bag. There’s a flight leaving at 2:30. We can make it if we hurry.”

“Where are we going?”

“SPIN headquarters.”

Now he did step closer, so that she could almost feel the heat of the sun stored in his bronzed flesh. “Why would I want to go there?”

She forced herself not to step back, even though his nearness intimidated her. He had been in good shape the last time they met, but now he seemed even leaner, more muscled, and definitely more physically powerful. “They want you to talk to Jonathan Kell,” she explained carefully. “To see if he knows anything that can help Kristie figure out the Brigadier’s identity.”

Ortega shook his head, visibly frustrated. “She could crack that case right now if she wanted to. She’s got plenty of information, and she’s a whiz. She’s just using it as a ploy to get me back in the game.”

“Come to SPIN with me and tell her that to her face.”

“I’ve already told her….” He shook his head again, then gestured toward his cabin. “Come on. We can argue inside. Want something to drink?”

“No. I’m fine, thanks.”

“You’re not afraid to come inside with me, are you?”

She laughed dryly. “Actually, I’m dying to see the place. The story is you’re trying to get in touch with nature, but I count five antennae and a satellite dish. Kinda high-tech for a nature boy, don’t you think?” Without waiting for him to respond she walked past him and up to the front door, which was already wide open.

He caught up to her in a few strides. “For the record, I came here to get in touch with myself, not Mother Nature. But you’re right, I’ve got a lot going on, equipment-wise. I wanted to keep my options open in terms of getting information from the rest of the world. And I have a couple of security systems. Old habits run deep.”

Stepping through the open doorway, she scanned the living room, noting the profusion of monitors and computers, as well as shelves lined with books, videotapes and DVDs. An overstuffed recliner in front of a rustic fireplace occupied one corner of the room. The only other furniture, aside from the desks, was a small wooden table and four chairs between the living room and a kitchen. A ladder led to a loft, which she assumed was Ortega’s bedroom.

“Come and sit.” He crossed to the table and held out a chair for her. “I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

“About Kell?”

“No. About Kristie. And about that mess with Jane Smith. I owe you an explanation as well as an apology.”

Miranda almost growled from frustration. “I don’t care about any of that, Ortega. I just want your help uncovering the Brigadier’s identity. You think you owe me something? Great. Come back to SPIN with me and we’ll call it even.”

“That part of my life was a nightmare. I’ve left it behind forever.”

“Yeah? Well I’m still living that nightmare, thanks to you.” She caught her temper, not wanting him to see how fresh the pain still was.

But it was too late.

“I’m sorry, Miranda. How bad has it been?” When she just shook her head, he asked, “What about the language immersion project? Didn’t that work out? It sounded so promising.”

“They yanked me off that two seconds after you signed your confession. The only immersion I’ve had for the last year has been with men. I might as well be running my own escort service.”

The bronze flecks in Ortega’s eyes lit up with emotion. “Those bastards. They promised me you wouldn’t pay for my mistake. Then they dared pimp you out?”

“Don’t worry. They never actually let me have sex with the subjects for fear I’ll fall in love with all of them.” She paused to allow the sarcasm in her tone to fully penetrate. “I just flirt with potential assets in bars. Set ’em up for blackmail. Nothing demanding, ergo nothing that I could screw up.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

She held his gaze in her own. “That’s why I need this, Ortega. My first real chance to redeem myself. I’m not asking you to do it for me. Do it for your country. But in the process, it would really help me out. And like I said, we’d be square.”

Ortega exhaled slowly, then settled into a chair, motioning again for her to do the same. “There’s a lot you don’t know.”

“Fine. Fill me in on the way to the airport.”

He chuckled. “My country doesn’t need me to break the Brigade. Kristie just wants me to come back to civilization because she’s worried about me. She and I have a history.”

“I know. She told me what good friends you were. Are.”

“Did she tell you I once told her I loved her?”

Miranda grimaced, then sat down across from him. “No. That’s a new one.”

“She didn’t take it seriously. She had this idea that I was just infatuated with her alter ego, Melissa Daniels.”

“Pardon?”

His eyes twinkled. “Like I said, there’s a lot you don’t know. When I first met Kristie, she was dressed up in a red wig. That’s why I thought you were her—or rather, Melissa Daniels—when your car pulled up today.”

“Why would a spinner need an alter ego? She doesn’t go into the field, does she?”

“Melissa goes wherever she wants,” he explained with a laugh. “Anyway, it was Kristie who figured out I had a thing for pretty redheads. She told Jane Smith about it and that’s how you got recruited when I needed an alibi. Jane and I figured the president might ask Kris to help with the investigation, and when she saw what you looked like, she’d be convinced the relationship was legitimate.”

“Wow.” Miranda bit her lip, then said, “She’s got something going with Director McGregor now. Did you know that?”

“Yeah. I think it’s great. And I think she was right. I never really was in love with her, although I had a heck of a crush on Melissa.” He leaned forward. “She’s a great friend. A loyal one. She’s worried about me, so she’s using this Brigade situation to bring me back. But I won’t go. I can’t. I’m doing something important out here. Something I need for my own sanity.”

“You can’t take a little break to visit a friend?” Miranda asked, trying for a light tone.

Ortega leaned back in his chair as though tired of having to explain himself. Then he told her, “I don’t expect you to understand. You went through rigorous training, but I went through a completely different program. The kind that teaches a person to suppress his normal reactions. His normal, decent, human reactions. I was an assassin. I did it for my country, and I know it was the right thing to do. But the coldness of it, along with the power, turned out to be something I couldn’t handle.”

Impressed that he was blaming himself rather than the program or his country, she nodded for him to continue.

“The first time I screwed up was when I was sent to assassinate a CIA mole. The one who sold me out to Benito Carerra. Do you know about that?” When she nodded again, he said, “The mole retired out of the blue. In South America. That’s how the agency figured out it was him. They knew he was hanging out with a bunch of drug thugs, so they sent me to take care of it. My assignment was to systematically shoot them all, and I did.”

Miranda bit her lip. “You were just doing your job. Any of us would have done the same.”

“Except I enjoyed it a little too much. I felt like a goddammed superman. Then sirens began to wail, and an ambulance screeched up to the door. This little nurse got out and ran inside the building, and she was staring at the bodies, and then at me. Like I was a monster. And she was right.”

He stared at the table for a moment, then added, “Out of the blue, we heard someone groaning. One man was still alive. And that little nurse ran to where he was and began trying to save his life. And the contrast…the contrast between her and me…” He glanced up, his eyes clouded. “I took a leave of absence, bought this place, and hung out here for about a year. I exercised my body and my mind. Tried to cleanse the demons away. It worked, or so I thought. And while I was here, I got an idea for a new agency where profilers could work behind the scenes, assisting undercover agents in the field. It would be positive work. Saving lives, not killing them. I went to President Standish and he bought the idea.”

“SPIN.”

“Yeah, SPIN. It was supposed to be my redemption. But as the agency earned more prestige, I got more power. And it all began to happen again. I fought it, but when Standish told me he was going to appoint me as Director of the FBI, I lost all perspective. Getting that position was all that mattered to me. I told myself it was because of the good I could do, but it was just the power.”

She mentally cringed. “I don’t need to hear this, Ortega.”

“I think you do.” His eyes blazed. “That night in L.A., when the president’s advisor told me he was going to recommend against my appointment, we had a huge argument. He took a swing at me, I fought back, and he hit his head. It was self-defense, Miranda, but I still knew it would kill my chances for the appointment. So I called Jane. It was the worst mistake of my life, mostly because of the way it hurt you and Kristie. And McGregor’s sister.”

“Ortega?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t care.” She stared straight into his eyes. “I don’t care if it was self-defense. I don’t care if you’re sorry. None of that matters to me. I just want you to go back to SPIN with me and help us ID the Brigadier so I can get my career back on track.”

And the amazing part was, she was telling the truth! After all these months of hating this guy, she had finally put him into perspective. She was ready to move on, and if he helped her with that, she would also be able to put him firmly in the past, forever, where he belonged.

As though to mark the moment, a clock began to strike twelve, its tone deep and resonant, and Miranda turned toward it, charmed.

Without warning, Ortega jumped up and grabbed her by the wrist. “Come with me.”

Startled, Miranda used his sideways motion against him by grabbing his forearm with her other hand and sending him flying back into his chair. As he crashed, and the clock continued to chime, she reached under her sweatshirt and drew her pistol from the back waistband of her jeans in one fluid motion. Pointing it at him, she insisted calmly, “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t like being manhandled.”

He rubbed the back of his head, then flashed a rueful grin. “Nice move. If I promise not to grab you again, can I get up?”

She nodded and watched as he sprung to his feet. It occurred to her he might have just pretended to let her throw him, just so she’d get it out of her system. Either way, it had felt pretty good.

“I was just trying to show you something,” he explained.

“I’m pretty sure I’m not interested.”

“It has to do with Jonathan Kell,” he told her, his tone mischievous. “Put your gun down and come with me. You’ll like it. I promise.”

As Ortega took her out the back door and into a clearing, he explained that he always exercised at noon, as well as at dawn and dusk. It was the heart of his cleansing ritual, a vital component of which was the relaxation technique Kell had taught him during their captivity.

Now he was offering to teach it to Miranda as he had promised during their alibi operation. She wasn’t sure she trusted his motives, but she wasn’t about to pass up this opportunity to learn more about Jonathan Kell, especially because she had a feeling she wasn’t going to be able to convince Ortega to come back with her.

But at least she could bring Kristie this glimpse into Kell’s mind. Maybe that, combined with the rest of the information, would help the spinner plot a successful strategy.

The huge clearing behind the cabin was empty except for a stump and axe near the house, a bench with a hinged lid and, at the far end of the space, an archery target. In the distance but out of sight, Miranda could hear a stream gurgling. The pine-scented air was so fresh and clean, she could see why Ortega found strength here, with or without his relaxation technique.

“Okay, Ortega. Let’s see the miracle routine.”

“You’re skeptical?”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Let’s try something.” He took down a bow and a quiver filled with arrows that had been hung on the side of the cabin. “You’re a good shot according to your files. I want you to shoot two arrows. See how you do. Then after the exercises, shoot two more. You’ll be surprised how much better you do.”

Amused by the challenge, Miranda accepted the equipment. Looping the quiver over her shoulder, she turned her full attention to the bow, testing it, learning its temperament. It had a great feel—not too tight, but ultraresponsive. And there was hardly a breeze to disturb the trajectory, further adding to her confidence.

When she was done getting acquainted with the bow, she pulled an arrow from the quiver, then smiled to see that it was tipped with a hand-hewn obsidian arrowhead. “Where did you get the tip?”

“I made it.”

It seemed unbelievable, and she reminded herself that Ortega was a professional liar. “Really? How long did it take you?”

“It took eight months—and a pile of shards and failures—just to make the first one. Now it goes pretty quickly.”

“All part of the therapy I presume?”

“Yeah,” he said with a laugh. “All part of the therapy.”

“Interesting.” She took a deep breath, then turned toward the target, threaded the arrow on the string, arched the bow expertly, and released. The arrow flew straight, hitting the target cleanly, about half an inch from the center.

“Nice,” Ortega murmured.

She gave him a confident smile, pulled a second arrow from the quiver, and after recalibrating to account for her error, she shot again, this time hitting the target dead center.

“So?” she asked smoothly. “You’re saying I’ll do better than that after you teach me your technique?”

“Smart-ass. You’re pretty damned good.” He took back the equipment, returned it to its hooks, then eyed her outfit. “Do you have any looser clothes in the car? I’d lend you a gi, but you’d swim in it.”

“I’m fine like this.”

“I agree. But you won’t have the full range of motion.”

She took off her sweatshirt and laid it on a nearby bench. “I’ll muddle through. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“Okay.” He opened the bench and took out a metronome, wound it, then set the speed so that the ticking resembled a slow heartbeat. “I haven’t had to use this in years, but it’ll help you keep count. Take this seriously though, okay? You’ll be glad you did.”