That sounded ominous, but McElroy had enough sense to not ask what they were for.
“Favreau, however, isn’t our biggest concern,” Gray went on. “He’s an opportunist, not a terrorist. A crude, low-level rodent, operating far above his weight class, and he’d much rather sell the codes to someone who can make use of them. Someone who will pay the appropriate price, of course.”
“Like Valac.”
Gray nodded. “One of the calls the NSA listened in on was an exchange between the two men. They were arranging a meet on a private island just north of Cuba.”
McElroy’s heart kicked up. “The Bahamas?”
“Geographically, yes. Politically, not so much.”
“You’re talking about St. Cajetan…”
“That’s the one, yes.”
St. Cajetan had been purchased from the Commonwealth, but it was completely sovereign, with its own laws and security force, and had become quite the hot spot for the rich and famous. The very rich and famous.
“Okay,” McElroy said, “so you know where they’re meeting. Why come to Stonewell with this?”
“Believe me, we considered sending in our own strike team, but this is a highly sensitive situation, so we’d like to keep it as far off the books as possible. And, frankly, Stonewell has never let us down. You’re discreet and highly efficient.”
McElroy knew when someone was blowing smoke up his ass, but he let it go. If Gray wanted to hand him a once-in-a-lifetime acquisition, he wasn’t about to argue.
“So what’s the priority here? The codes or Valac?”
“Oh, the codes, most definitely. Preferably before Valac takes possession. But once they’re secure, he’s all yours, along with all the benefits that might bring.”
In other words, the name-your-own-price reward McElroy desperately wanted. “When is this meeting supposed to take place?”
“As far as we know, the actual day and time haven’t been set,” Gray said, “but Favreau has booked a flight for the day after tomorrow.”
Now it was McElroy’s turn to grin. “I’ll assemble a team right away.”
“Excellent. I have only one request in that regard.”
“Which is?”
“It’s our understanding that one of your assets is already in that vicinity, and we’d like very much to see her involved.”
McElroy frowned. “Which asset is that?”
“The one you sent to Turkey. Alexandra Poe. She’s on her way to Key Largo to sell off some family real estate, which puts her within spitting distance of St. Cajetan.”
McElroy was surprised. “You know about her?”
“Considering who her father is, you can’t for a minute think that we don’t. We’ve had her under telephone and e-mail surveillance off and on for over ten years. And I must say, I thought it was brilliant of you to recruit her into your organization.”
McElroy shrugged. “She’s a natural. We wanted to exploit that.”
“Don’t try to con me, Jason. With that little excursion she took into Slavne prison last year, she proved she’s more than capable. But we both know that your real interest in her has more to do with finding her father than any skills she might possess.”
“At first, maybe, but she’s turned out to be a valuable member of the team.”
“Indeed,” Gray said. “Which is why I’d like her to be part of this operation. Favreau has a weakness for beautiful women, especially the exotic ones. She’s just his type.”
“She’s also got a mind of her own, and she isn’t too happy about how things went down in Turkey. I might have trouble convincing her to join your cause.”
“I assume you want this acquisition?”
“You know I do.”
Gray lifted his shoulders. “Then you’ll do everything in your power to make it happen.”
CHAPTER 4
Alex was thirty minutes from her destination when her phone rang.
Third time in the last hour.
She didn’t bother to check the screen. She knew it was McElroy again, and had no more interest in speaking to him now than she had the first two times he called. He could wait until she was good and ready for him.
Which might be never.
It had been at least three years since she last made the drive from Miami International to Key Largo. Three years that felt like thirty. And as she watched the road roll beneath her, and looked at the marsh and the mangroves and the glassy surface of the ocean, the memories tumbling through her mind went even farther back, to a childhood that had not yet been ripped apart by the twin cruelties of death and abandonment.
Christ. That sounded dire, didn’t it?
The truth was, despite her occasional treks into the land of self-pity, Alex had turned out just fine, thank you. As much as she had missed having a mother and father around, she hadn’t allowed herself to fall prey to the lesser path of drinking or drugs or involvement with some loser who thought the fastest way to a woman’s heart was a blistering insult or a well-placed fist.
She had never been interested in such nonsense. She’d had a brother to care for. One who required time and attention from a sister who understood the value of self-discipline and focus.
But in their childhood years, before their mother had been taken from them, Alex had been a carefree spirit who had loved making this drive with her family. She remembered squirming on the backseat with Danny, both giddy with anticipation, looking forward to the fun they’d have at the Shimmy Shack.
That was the name their father had given to the beach house. He had come up with it after a balmy night on the back patio, drinking a beer and staring out at the bay as their mother tried to teach the kids to dance to Little Anthony’s “Shimmy, Shimmy, Ko-Ko-Bop.” Alex and Danny had found the record in the storage room, along with several more discs and an ancient but still functioning turntable, remnants from the days when Grandpa Eddie and Grandma Ginny had lived there.
The ritual was repeated up until the month before their mother’s death. Then the first blow of the one-two punch that defined Alex’s abrupt entry into adulthood had landed like a hammer to the temple.
And everything changed.
A few years later, when her father disappeared under a cloud of scandal, accused of things she knew he couldn’t have done, Alex had been surprised to learn he had signed the house over to her and Danny. The Shimmy Shack was now theirs. And shortly after her dad left, a Key Largo property manager had contacted her to ask where to send the checks he regularly collected from vacation renters.
Dad’s way of making sure they’d never go without money.
At the time, Alex hadn’t really cared about any of that. She had simply wanted to know why he left and where he had gone. Two questions she still didn’t have answers to.
But as time wore on, she had become accustomed to the extra income, happy to have it to pay for Danny’s assisted care at Ryan’s House. She had placed him there when she went into the service and had instructed the management company to forward the checks to Mrs. Thornton, the home’s founder and principal caretaker.
Unfortunately, when the economy tanked, the rental checks began to dwindle. And after the management company closed its doors, Alex had never gotten around to hiring another one. So the Shimmy Shack had spent the last few years rotting in the Florida humidity as Alex tried to eke out a living on the bounties she and Deuce managed to collect. The money from Stonewell was an unexpected bonus, but she knew she couldn’t rely on it forever. She had no desire to.