“Let’s assume I accept, and that there’s an adequate exit plan,” she said. “Can you at least explain how I’m getting in?”
“That’s the easy part. You’ll be arrested.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And then what? Wait around until they finally decide to send me to Slavne?”
“Of course not. We have planned out every aspect of the mission. Your transfer to Slavne Prison is already arranged. You’ll be sent there the same day you’re picked up.”
“Oh, the power of corruption,” Deuce muttered.
McElroy shot him a look. “It does come in handy sometimes. Most of the time, in fact.”
It was nearly half a minute before Alex spoke again. “So you have me in, and you have me out. I still see one big problem.”
“Only one?” Deuce said.
Alex ignored him. “Why me? Why in the world would El-Hashim listen to me?”
“Because the two of you already have a shared connection,” McElroy said.
“My father?”
McElroy nodded.
“Even if I used that, why would she believe me?”
“You’ll be imprisoned under a false name. As soon as the opportunity presents itself, tell her who you really are. She isn’t completely cut off from the outside world, and will have ways of confirming your identity. Once she does, play up that you’re there on your father’s behalf to help her escape.”
“You don’t even want me to point out the number of potential holes in that story,” Deuce said.
McElroy greeted the comment with a grunt. “Not if we keep it simple.” He focused back on Alex. “If asked, you know nothing about your father’s activities or his relationship with El-Hashim. You’re doing this because he asked you to, and nothing more.”
Could it work? Alex wondered. Maybe. But it seemed so—
You go see Dad. Danny, smiling and happy and hopeful. Then in words he hadn’t spoken, but still in his voice: Bring him home, Aleck. Bring Dad home.
She closed her eyes, resting her forehead on her hand, her father’s face from the surveillance photos front and center in her mind.
When she finally looked up again, she said, “All right, let’s start at the beginning. Tell me exactly how we’re gonna do this.”
McElroy remained in the conference room alone after everyone else had left.
The briefing couldn’t have gone better.
Alex was in. As was, although reluctantly, her partner Deuce.
There had been a few dicey points during the discussion, but that was to be expected. It wasn’t an easy mission, by a long shot. But McElroy had been able to keep the conversation on track. He had even been able to smooth over the fact that he couldn’t tell them exactly how they were getting out of the prison. He hadn’t lied when he said Traz didn’t want anyone on the ground in Crimea to know the route in case they were captured and questioned. The insider had been very clear about that.
But McElroy had implied that he, himself, had been told. That was not exactly true. Traz’s fear extended to everyone involved on Stonewell’s side. And while McElroy would have preferred to know the details, the condition was one he was willing to live with in view of the potential reward.
That was why he was in charge to make the difficult choices. And in this case, it had definitely paid off. The mission was on, and he knew without a doubt that the abduction of El-Hashim would reap the information he needed to locate and finally capture Raven.
Yes. It couldn’t have gone better.
Chapter Eight
This was not their usual day for a meeting, nor their usual time. But emergencies happened, and this one, the woman thought, couldn’t be more urgent.
She sat quietly on the left side of a rectangular conference table as her colleagues filed into the room and took their seats. Three men, all with well-known faces, each one seasoned by circumstance, and a bit haggard after a number of sleepless nights.
The woman hadn’t slept much, either. Not since she had received the news. She was no stranger to the complexities of their situation, having spent the last five decades in the trenches with some of the most powerful men and women in the world, but this particular complication could destroy all of that hard work in an instant.
At the center of the table was a speakerphone with an encrypted connection, allowing the fifth member of their assembly to attend remotely. The connection was crystal clear, and she could hear him quietly breathing on the line.
As they settled into their chairs, the oldest of the men said, “All right, so where do we stand?”
To the world outside, he was a prominent banker. Cautious, conservative, trustworthy. But the more appropriate description was greedy. For it was greed that had brought them all together in the first place — a flaw, or perhaps strength, that the woman was more than willing to admit to. After all, wasn’t it greed of one kind or another that drove most human beings?
“Nothing’s changed,” she said. “My source tells me the Ukrainian authorities still have no idea who they have in custody.”
The banker nodded. “What guarantee do we have it’ll stay that way?”
“None, I’m afraid. Leaks are inevitable. It’s really only a matter of time.”
“That’s pure speculation,” the voice on the speakerphone said. At fifty-one, he was the youngest — and least seasoned — member of the committee. “And even if she’s compromised, I doubt she’ll say anything.”
The banker nodded in agreement. “He has a point. El-Hashim has been an extremely loyal and efficient operative. She knows what’s expected of her, and she’ll carry it out.”
“What she knows is too much,” the woman said. “I don’t doubt her loyalty for a moment, and I’m sure she’ll do everything she can to remain silent. But if the Ukrainians find out who she really is — and speculation or not, I believe they will — they’re bound to turn her over to the British or the Russians or, God forbid, the Americans.”
The mood around the table grew darker at the prospect.
“Once that happens, gentlemen, she’ll be out of our reach. And loyal or not, she’s only human. If they can’t get her to talk, they’ll outsource the job, and sooner or later she’ll tell them everything she knows.”
Silence. Darker than ever now.
“We all know why we’re here today,” the woman continued. “We all know what has to be done. There really isn’t much more to discuss.”
The man directly across from her leaned back, letting his gaze take in the rest of the assembly. He was the de facto leader here, a well-dressed man in his mid-seventies known as a financial advisor to presidents and kings. “She’s right,” he said. “We should put the motion to a vote.”
Nods all around.
“All right, then. On the matter of immediate termination, what say you?”
“Yea.”
“Yea.”
“Yea.”
There was nothing from the speakerphone, and for a moment the woman thought they had lost their connection. Then the voice said, “Yea.”
The man across the table pushed himself upright and rose. “My vote is yea also. The motion is passed.” He looked at the woman. “You’ll handle this?”
“Of course,” she said. “Everything has been arranged. I just need to give the go-ahead.”
The man looked around the room. “Does anyone else have anything they’d like to add?”
Everyone remained silent.
“Good. Then we’re adjourned.”
There were no goodbyes, no talk of exchange rates or bond yields or pending loans. The speakerphone disconnected, the other two men rose from their chairs, and they all walked out of the room, leaving the woman to do what needed to be done.