Alexandrakis went to speak, but Grace cut him off. “Please, Alekos, don’t even try to suggest that you weren’t going to take the money and then set my organization and me up to take the fall for this crime. You need to pick better people. One of your men told one of my ladies everything.”
With that, Grace winked at Mitchell and then walked away from the table and out onto the busy casino floor.
Alexandrakis jumped to his feet, yelling at the top of his lungs for someone to stop Grace before she got away. Several broad-shouldered men who had been sitting idly at a slot machine saw Grace and moved to block her path.
Suddenly, six more red-haired women, dressed just like Grace, appeared out of the crowd, converged on her, and then split up, all going different directions. The men stopped in their tracks, unsure of whom to follow.
“Stop her!” bellowed Alexandrakis.
Mitchell just sat back smiling. He had been hired to rescue the boy, not to chase after the flash drive, which was useless without the passcodes needed to open it. It was a failsafe procedure that had been established just in case the deal went south and the kidnappers refused to hand over the boy.
“I can still see Maxwell,” said Jackson in Mitchell’s earpiece. “What do you want me to do?”
“Follow her out and keep an eye on her. Until we have the boy, I’m not going to trust anyone.”
“Will do,” replied Jackson.
With a look of betrayal in his eyes, Alexandrakis stared at Mitchell. “Aren’t you going to do anything to stop her?”
“Not my problem. You lay down with dogs, you should expect to get fleas.” Mitchell stood up, walked away from the table, and made his way across the casino floor towards the hotel’s front doors. A few seconds later, Sam reported that they had the boy. He was safe and sound.
Mitchell walked out into the warm night air and spotted Jackson standing near the replica Arc de Triomphe built in front of the hotel. He casually walked over beside his friend. “Did you see where Grace went?”
“Yeah, there was a white Austin Martin Vantage driven by a smoking-hot blonde waiting for her. Trust me, Ryan, she’s long gone by now.”
“Too bad; I really wanted to talk to her.”
“After seeing the car and who was driving it, I’m seriously thinking of switching sides,” joked Jackson.
“I doubt your wife would approve. Come on; let’s join Sam and Gordon over at the Bellagio. We can call Saad’s father from there.”
With a nod, Jackson joined Mitchell as they made their way through the crowds towards Las Vegas Boulevard.
Across the street, Grace lowered her camera and checked that she had a good photo of Ryan Mitchell. With a slight grin on her face, she vowed to learn everything there was about the man she kept running into.
7
Ryan Mitchell switched off the shower, grabbed a nearby towel and started to dry himself off. He wrapped his towel around his stomach and wiped the steam-covered mirror with his hand until he could see his face. Mitchell shaved and headed out to get dressed. He threw on a pair of comfortable jeans, followed by an old gray T-shirt and his favorite blue fleece top.
He was ready.
As he walked out into the living space of their modest apartment, Mitchell saw his girlfriend, Jennifer March, sitting at the dining table still dressed in her red silk robe. She was drying her hair and didn’t hear Mitchel as he crept up on her from behind. Like a bear, he wrapped his arms around her, leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss on the neck.
“There’s no time for that, mister,” said Jen. “March yourself into the kitchen, throw on a pot of coffee and make me some toast. I’m famished.”
“Yes ma’am,” replied Mitchell, with a mock salute to the woman he loved. They had met just over a year ago in the Philippines when Mitchell and his team had rescued her from some mercenaries who had taken her hostage at an archaeological dig site. Born and raised in Charlotte, North Carolina, Jen was a history professor who had recently taken a job working for Mitchell’s boss, General Jack O’Reilly.
Mitchell made a pot of fresh coffee and then went to prepare Jen’s usual breakfast of two slices of whole-wheat bread, lightly toasted, with raspberry jam. He looked over at her and smiled. He figured he’d hit the jackpot when she agreed to move in with him. Her lithe physique had become even firmer when she had taken up the cross-fit craze with some of her friends. Her face was well proportioned. She had deep-mahogany-colored eyes that seemed to glow in the light of their apartment. The only jewelry Jen ever wore to work was a pair of lustrous pearl earrings given to her by her mother that accented her warm brown skin. Her hair was a radiant caramel color that she liked to keep cut short around her ears.
Thirty minutes later, they were on their way. They drove north along the busy I-87. The two-and-a-half-hour commute was something they both hated doing. Although they only did it twice a week, Jen was already looking for a new place closer to work for them to live.
About thirty kilometers south of Albany, New York, Mitchell turned off the highway and then took a dirt road full of potholes that got worse by the season. They soon made their way into thick, pine-filled woods that surrounded the three hundred acres that all formed part of the Polaris Complex, a growing enterprise with its administrative buildings and extensive training grounds.
The creation of Major-General Jack O’Reilly, U.S. Army (retired), Polaris Operations (Global) was a security agency that specialized in unique problem solving. They specialized in training military, police, and civilian organizations that needed help in learning new skills to survive in an increasingly hostile world. Along with consulting services that would go anywhere in the world at a moment’s notice, it was an organization that truly worked twenty-four-seven. General O’Reilly was very clear in his organization’s focus: he and his people only ever dealt with legitimately elected governments and internationally recognized organizations. To keep out the glory seekers, like failed police and former military personnel that flocked to business such as Polaris, it was a strict rule that no one could apply for a job there. All the people working there were handpicked and had extensive background checks done on them well before they were offered a position in the organization. Many of the people were enticed to come and work for General O’Reilly for considerably more money and benefits than they had been making in their previous jobs. He had four field teams that worked anywhere in the world. However, only Mitchell’s worked on the riskier missions selected and approved exclusively by the general himself.
A short while later, Mitchell pulled into his parking spot, switched off his Jeep’s engine and jumped out. He opened the door for Jen and looked over at the snow-covered grounds surrounding the headquarters building. Mitchell grinned when he saw a family of deer saunter their way across the open ground as if they owned the place. For all the kilometers of fencing and high-tech surveillance gear, the same family of deer somehow managed to make their way onto the complex whenever the mood struck them.
Mitchell took Jen by the arm and escorted her inside. After passing through the usual airport-style security screening, Jen gave Mitchell a quick kiss on the cheek and headed down into the basement of the building where the intelligence section kept its office.
With an hour before he had to meet with General O’Reilly, Mitchell decided to track down Jackson and see if he wanted a coffee. He found him in the weapons vault, busily cleaning his M4 carbine.