“Let’s say we get really lucky and somehow this assignment is successful,” he said tautly. “Any of Arad’s men who survive will kill her. Even if she’s fast enough and cunning enough to get away, she won’t last twenty-four hours. Arad is too popular among his peers and those who support them. Once that world knows he’s dead and that she had something to do with it, she won’t stand a chance against the wave of vengeance that will be unleashed. She won’t be safe anywhere on the planet. Even terrorists have their loyal followings.”
Fowler leaned forward. “Who do you think you’re talking to, Jack?” There was no mistaking the underlying fury in his tone. “I know the reaction projections just as well as you do, maybe better. It’s the only way. We haven’t been successful in our attempts to turn one of his men. She’s the best shot we’ve got. We all want him dead. What part of that don’t you understand?”
Jack clenched his jaw and reached for calm. It wasn’t to be found. “When did we stop caring about the cost? There was a time when we didn’t sell out our own.”
Fowler simply looked at him in that arrogant manner that was apparently prerequisite to the position of deputy director. “Think about it, Jack. Things have changed. We don’t do business with terrorists anymore. We squash them. Any way we can. In this case, she’s our ace in the hole.”
Something about the way Fowler looked when he made that last statement or maybe the overconfident, condescending tone of his voice, brought a new kind of clarity to the situation. Realization sent dread washing over Jack.
“You set this whole thing up,” he said, scarcely believing the words even as he uttered them.
Fowler snorted haughtily. “A little slow on the uptake, are we, Jack?”
Before Jack could roar with the indignation exploding in his chest, Fowler went on. “We needed Arad taken out of the picture. You had her stashed away, under the watch of that damned pricy shrink we keep on the payroll, why not use her? What do you think? That we’re in the business of baby-sitting?” Fowler huffed with self-righteous indignation. “She’s an asset. We use our assets, otherwise we dump ’em. The plan was perfect.” Fowler chuckled at his own ingenuity. “We knew Arad had a weakness for her. All we had to do was expose her in such a way that suspicion wouldn’t be aroused. The assassination attempt on one of Peres’s old friends was the perfect solution.”
Rage erupted inside Jack. “You son of a bitch,” he hissed.
Fowler’s expression turned lethal. “I’d watch my step if I were you, Jack. You’re already skating on thin ice. As I said, we don’t keep assets that lose their value.”
Jack’s secure cellular line vibrated. He snatched it from his jacket pocket and answered the call before his baser instincts could take over completely. The way he saw it, he and Fowler had nothing else to discuss and killing him was against the rules. Nothing he could say or do at this point would make a difference. Ami was in too deep. Too vital to the ultimate goal.
“Tanner.”
“Jack, there’s been a development.”
Fran Woodard. His heart rate kicked into overdrive. “Is she all right?” If Arad had learned the truth…
“It’s not our girl,” Fran assured him. “It’s Arad.”
An altogether different anticipation surging inside him, he demanded, “What happened?”
“Carlos picked up one of the scumbags from that extremist group we framed. Apparently things got out of hand and Arad was injured.”
Shock quaked through Jack. “Is he dead?” Relief edged into the fringes of his anticipation, renewing the hope that Ami might just survive. If Arad was dead, he could pull her out. The hesitation on the other end of the line went on for a beat too long, crushing the hope that had sprouted. “Dammit, Fran, is he dead?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted reluctantly. “They rushed him away. There was a lot of blood.”
“Where is he now?” Jack should get back there, be close by. The flight took only-
“They’re at the clinic-the same one he took Ami to just a few hours ago. I’ve given them an hour, but no one’s come out yet. It doesn’t look good.”
That butcher shop scarcely met the most remote definition of a medical clinic. If Arad needed surgery or a blood transfusion, he was a goner.
“I’m on my way.”
“Wait.”
His pulse pounding out his tension, Jack’s brow furrowed against the pressure as he waited for Fran to tell him what the hell was going on. He should have stayed. But when he’d learned Fowler was in Paris, he’d hoped to talk him into aborting the mission. He clenched his teeth against the rage that rose all over again when he considered what Fowler had done behind his back.
“They’re coming out.”
Jack stilled completely, even his heart seemed to stop beating, his nerves felt raw with frustration…with anticipation. He wanted this over. He wanted Ami safely reunited with her child and hidden away from harm.
“Arad’s alive.”
The two words deflated his hopes like a players strike right before baseball season. He muttered a curse.
“He looks like hell, if that makes you feel any better,” Fran added. “They’re loading into two cars. Patterson and I’ll be right behind them.”
The airport, Jack knew already. Arad would want to get back to his estate. The fortress he called home. The only place on the planet he felt truly safe.
And once he was back there, Jack could do nothing but wait.
Ami was on her own.
MICHAL DID NOT BREATHE easy until he reached his home.
His shoulder hurt like hell, but he would live. The most important thing was that Ami was alive and safe for the moment. He downed his whiskey, numbing the pain a bit. How long would she be safe here? How could he allow the possibility of another incident such as the one that had taken place in Tripoli?
He could not. It was that simple.
She was soaking in the tub now, relaxing the soreness in her muscles where the bastard had beaten her.
Her reluctance to identify the man who had harmed her nagged at him. Whether it was the man Carlos had killed or another of his group, Michal did not care. They were complete scum. Anti-Israeli as well as anti-American. Still, because she was so upset, he had been willing to give the man his freedom, mainly, he admitted, so that he could take Michal’s warning back to his people, and the bastard had tried to kill her.
He poured himself another drink and downed half of it. He should have killed him and been done with it. But he had allowed emotion to get in the way. A nearly fatal mistake. His gaze tracked Carlos’s pacing. He had more to say on the subject, of that Michal was certain. But he restrained himself out of a respect that lessened each day.
“Speak your mind, my friend,” Michal told him, his pain nicely numbed with the heat of the liquor flowing in his blood.
Carlos pulled up short and glared at him. “You almost got yourself killed.” The muscles of his face worked with the rage simmering inside him. “Because of her. I told you.” He took two steps toward Michal’s relaxed position in a wing chair. “She betrayed you once. How can you be sure this was not an elaborate setup?”
Michal shook his head. “You are wrong, my friend.”
Carlos flung his arms in the air as if beseeching a higher power for guidance. “They have never before made a move so bold,” he argued. “And this story of hers as to how she escaped. I do not believe this.” He moved his head side to side for emphasis. “She would not have escaped those animals. She is too helpless for such a fearless feat.”
That was the part that nagged at Michal the most. This Amira was far too vulnerable and terrified of his world. Still, in her desperation perhaps she had been merely lucky.