Special Forces: The Operator

“Same.”

Torsten glanced at Rebel. “You summoned me, Lieutenant McQueen?”

She winced at his dry tone, not sure whether to interpret the use of her title as formality for the guest’s benefit or a signal that she was in trouble for her presumption. Her boss was a very hard man to read.

She responded grimly, “I spotted two men tonight who looked shockingly like Mahmoud Akhtar and Yousef Kamali.”

Torsten sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re sure it was them?”

“I only saw them from a distance, but I know Mahmoud’s face. I’m pretty sure it was him.”

Torsten stared at her for a long moment as his expression passed through shock and chagrin, ending up wreathed in speculation.

She watched her boss cautiously as he placed a phone call on the speakerphone sitting on the table in front of him. He said without preamble, “Piper, how quickly can Zane join us?”

Rebel’s teammate answered briskly over the speaker, “He can be here in twenty-four hours from when I call him, sir.”

That wasn’t bad, given that the flight itself took on the order of twenty-two hours.

“Make the call,” Torsten said quietly. He disconnected the call to Piper.

Avi piped up. “Who is this Zane person?”

Torsten answered, “CIA officer. Embedded with Mahmoud and his cell in the US for several months last year. Best expert we’ve got on the bastard.”

“And who are these ladies you’re working with?” Avi asked, gesturing at the phone and then at Rebel.

The room fell silent. Rebel stared at Torsten, who stared at the Israeli.

Torsten asked obliquely, “You’re still operational, my friend? You’ve still got all your clearances?”

“Yes to both.” Avi was frowning and looking back and forth between her and Torsten, now.

Rebel watched apprehensively as Torsten stood up, closed the conference room door and came back to the table to sit. He wasn’t going to brief in the Israeli, was he? Her safety, and that of her teammates depended in no small part upon the secrecy around them.

Torsten said, “I command a team of women called the Medusas. They’re a fully operational Special Forces team. I have four more operatives out working in the village, right now.”

Piper and Tessa, original team members along with Rebel, were probably still working on fishing the women’s softball team out of the pool party and herding them back to their quarters.

Gia Rykhof and Lynx Everly, the two newest additions to the team, were working a media event for the US Women’s Gymnastic team, tonight. These Olympic Games were Gia and Lynx’s first operational assignment. They had more training to do before they would be fully up to speed, but both women could still handle themselves in most any situation.

“An entire team made up of women?” Avi repeated blankly.

“Correct,” Torsten answered briskly.

Avi Bronson was not the first man to react that way to hearing about the Medusas, and he would not be the last. But it still bugged Rebel that he acted so surprised and didn’t automatically take her and her teammates seriously.

Chauvinist.

Torsten leaned forward, asking Avi, “What have your people got on Mahmoud and Yousef?”

“Nothing recent that I’m aware of. Not until I caught up with your...operative...earlier after she raced out of the village without scanning out properly. She’s the one who brought Mahmoud Akhtar to my attention and claims to have seen him.”

“Claims to have seen him?” Rebel echoed in annoyance. “I know what I saw!”

Torsten intervened smoothly. “Avi believes you. And so do I. Where did Mahmoud and Yousef go?”

She answered more calmly, “I followed them out of the Olympic Village to a discotheque. They entered from one street, crossed the club and must have exited onto another street. I lost them when your buddy, here, tried to detain me and prevented me from following them.”

“I was just doing my job,” Avi protested.

Rebel glared at him. Damned if his dark eyes and darker soul didn’t light up with amusement in response. He seemed to think she was hilarious. As long as he didn’t think she was a joke—and he stayed out of her way next time—she could live with him laughing at her.

“Did they act like they were fleeing you or moving toward a specific destination?” her boss asked.

“Unknown.” She shot another disgusted look in Avi’s direction.

Torsten followed up tersely with, “Where in the village did you first spot Mahmoud and Yousef?”

At least her boss was taking her seriously. She answered, “They were standing beside the north pool. I don’t know if they saw me and I spooked them or if they just turned and left. But either way, they left the pool and headed for the nearest exit. Interestingly enough, they turned their faces away from every surveillance camera they passed.”

“Which suggests they know the security layout of the village,” Torsten replied. “Have they been added to the Iranian delegation?”

Avi jumped in. “I cannot believe the Iranians would try to slip terrorists into the games on official credentials. The scandal if they got caught would be humiliating.”

Rebel shrugged. “In my experience, the Iranians will suffer a humiliation or two if it means they can destroy an enemy.”

Avi met her gaze head-on. “Truth.”

“Possible targets?” Torsten threw out.

Rebel ticked off, “American athletes, Israeli athletes, a large public venue containing lots of athletes, a large venue containing lots of spectators—”

Avi interrupted, “In other words, everyone and everything at the Olympic Games.”

Torsten drummed his fingers on the tabletop, a rare sign of tension from her excessively self-disciplined boss. “When Zane gets here, we’ll see if his people have any chatter on what Mahmoud might be up to.”

Zane’s people being the CIA.

A spear of jealousy for Piper stabbed Rebel. Zane and Piper were wildly in love, and he was about to come join her for possibly several weeks in a beautiful, romantic locale. Lucky dogs.

Rebel’s last boyfriend had dumped her when he found out she’d agreed to join some kind of special team that was going to involve her traveling all over the world for several years to come. As long as she’d been stationed at a desk and never deployed, he’d been all over her naval career. But as soon as it had interfered with his convenience and comfort, she was history.

Jerk, she thought tiredly. Not that she could blame him entirely. She’d volunteered for the Medusas knowing full well it might break them up. Maybe she’d taken the job partially because she thought it might break them up. Which made her a coward, at least in the romance department.

But how often did a woman get a chance to be on one of the most classified—and cool—teams on the planet? To serve her country in a direct, meaningful way? And to fulfill a lifelong dream of doing something awesome?

That had been her main reason for joining the Medusas. Dumping the loser had been a side benefit.