Not Without Cause

“I haven’t forgotten anything you’ve done for me, Dean, and I never will,” she said slowly. “But Jack is one of us—”

Dean’s hand snaked out and captured her wrist before she could finish her sentence. She jerked her gaze to his face in surprise.

“He was but he isn’t anymore.” His voice turned fierce. His fingers squeezed painfully, then he released her and thumped the pile of black-and-white photos sitting on the tabletop between them. “This is what he’s become and you have a duty to see that it doesn’t go any further.”

Meredith picked up the photographs he’d already shown her, her hands shaking in spite of herself. The first one was a long-distance shot of Jack Haden and two other men. Their faces were grainy but clear enough. She knew who the terrorists were. She moved on to the second one. It showed Haden on a busy street kissing a dark-haired woman. According to Reynolds, the woman was a courier for Al Balsair. Haden had one hand around her waist and the other at her neck. The kiss was a serious one and it’d instantly reminded Meredith of the kind they’d shared. She swallowed hard and pushed the memory aside, her eyes going to the third shot. Obviously caught at a party, Haden had been snapped standing beside a blond man and they were engrossed in a conversation, oblivious to all around them.

She tapped the last picture, distracting herself from the one before it. “Tell me again about this Prescott fellow….”

“He works for a telecommunications firm out of Boston called Redman Cellular,” Reynolds said. “They’re bidding on a job to install a series of towers down there for cell phone communication. It’s easier than trying to get land lines to everyone. He went to Guatemala City two weeks ago. The last time his wife heard from him was three days later. Since then, not a word.”

“Have you talked to anyone at Redman?”

“I’ve spoken with Prescott’s boss several times.”

“No mention of a ransom?”

“He said no. He’s upset and worried, but at a loss to figure out what happened, or so he says. Everything seems normal on the surface.”

“But…?”

“But Redman Cellular’s name came through the system earlier this year with a yellow flag. The American companies that have contracts in the Latin quadrant are overworked and understaffed. They’re desperate to hang on to their deals so they’re sending people down there who aren’t anything but warm bodies. They don’t know what they’re doing, but their presence makes the locals think something’s getting done and it buys the companies more time.”

“But in the meantime, all anyone employed by Redman needs is a legitimate work visa and they’re free to travel between South America and North America. Regular round trips aren’t out of line—they’re expected.”

“Exactly.”

“Perfect setup for a mule.”

“You got it.”

Meredith shook her head in disgust. The bad guys made so much money here they had to have it physically transported to Latin America. The women and men who shuttled the money and goods back and forth were called mules. Lately, with all the advances that had been made in electronic eavesdropping, information and other pieces of intelligence were frequently hand-carried as well.

“He’d left his hotel in Guatemala City for Panajachel,” Dean continued. “That’s on Lake Atitlán. It’s a big tourist destination, but he never arrived.”

“Who contacted you about the case?”

“Someone at his hotel reported the incident and the Guatemala City police took it from there.”

She leaned closer. “You don’t generally deal with things at this level. Other than the flag on Redman Cellular, what makes Prescott so special?”

“Nothing,” he said bluntly, “except that photograph right there.” He pointed to the one showing Prescott talking to Haden. “That was taken right before he disappeared. They both ‘happened’ to be at the same party. A few days later, Prescott vanished.”

She nudged the photo of Prescott to reveal the final one in the pile. It was a long shot of Jack Haden, sitting alone at a table outside a restaurant. Her fingers brushed the image of his face as if by accident, but the recollections that heated inside her were anything but casual.

Meredith spoke carefully. “Haden has always been well-liked at the Agency. I was surprised when I heard he’d transferred to Guatemala.”

Reynolds studied her face. Meredith stared back calmly. She was confident he had no idea she and Haden had been lovers. No one had been better than the two of them at keeping secrets. Even from each other.

Especially from each other.

“I was surprised, too,” Reynolds said finally. “I always thought Hades would close Langley down and turn out the lights after everyone else had gone.”

She smiled without thinking at the nickname but her expression changed as Reynolds continued.

“I find it hard to believe he’s involved in this whole mess, too, but he is. We have the photos and surveillance on the ground. His fingerprints were all over Prescott’s room. You can confirm that with the police if you like. The rest of the information I’ve given you is confidential, of course. But if you want to double-check it…” His voice was stiff and defensive.

“That won’t be necessary. You’ve shown me the photos. If you’re sure, that’s good enough for me.”

“I’ve never been more positive of anything in my life. I wouldn’t have called you if I’d had the slightest doubt.”

“Where is he right now?”

“Guatemala City as far as I know. He hasn’t been in the office for a couple of days, but he’s still in the country. I would have heard if he’d left.”

She sat quietly for a few seconds, then she asked the question she’d been holding back since Dean had called her two days before. “You have other ways to handle this.” Her eyes locked on his. “Why me?”

“You’re the best,” he said without preamble. “And that’s what I have to have.”

She started to interrupt, but he stopped her with an uplifted hand.

“When Jack’s disappearance comes to light—and it will—the investigation will be very thorough. The people in D.C. who work these kinds of details will turn Guatemala upside down trying to figure out what happened. I can’t have any loose ends pointing back to me or, God forbid, the president.” He shook his head, a look of disgust on his face. “Can you imagine what would happen if the press were to learn the U.S. president had sanctioned one of his own men? The Agency would be destroyed and no one would care that we’d saved ten thousand lives in the process.” He stared at her without blinking. “You’re the only person who can do this and do it right. If any mistakes are made, we’ll all go down, the country included. You’re the only person in the world I can trust to do this right.”

His confidence in her was reassuring. For a minute, she felt as if her dad were sitting beside her. “And Prescott?”

He crumpled his coffee cup, the action holding a finality. “Prescott’s a civilian. If something happens to him, it would be unfortunate, especially if he’s innocent. Try to bring him back.”

Her words came out with difficulty. “How do you want it to happen?”

“I don’t really care,” he said coolly. “But if I were you, I’d find out if Haden knows where Prescott is before you take care of…things. Other than that, it doesn’t matter. You’re the professional.”

TELLING HER MENTOR she needed some time, Meredith left without giving Dean Reynolds a firm answer. She turned in her rental car at the airport, found her terminal and sat down, her thoughts a lot more convoluted than they had ever been before.

She’d loved working at the CIA and felt as if she’d been made for the job, but that had been the trouble, according to Reynolds. She’d been so good—“born to it,” he’d said, “the kind of agent we get once in a lifetime”—it was felt her talents were being wasted at her post in D.C.

Still, she’d been surprised by Reynolds’s support. The Agency was a place where it was every man for himself. Reynolds was an uptight, by-the-book patriot lawyer who’d been the Director of Operations for years. He’d survived four presidents, two wars and a terrorist attack at the CIA’s headquarters eight miles outside downtown D.C. He didn’t hand out favors easily.

At the conclusion of Meredith’s third year, though, Reynolds had pulled her into his office and pushed a laptop computer across his desk to her. Open on the screen was a written report, the pages of which vanished after she read each one. In the corner there had been a drawing of a small black box. She’d understood what that meant at the end—when the words Classification: Black Box had flashed across the screen, then disappeared.

She’d had no idea there was a level of secrecy within the Agency designated as black box. A class so far above the others that it was described only as silent. When Dean had explained the protocol, she’d been speechless.

“You’ll have to be fired from the Agency,” he’d said. “And you will have to leave in disgrace. No one can ever know that the Operatives have the president’s blessings. If anyone did find out—” He’d stopped abruptly and broken their eye contact. After a short pause, he’d continued. “If they find out, it would be bad, very bad, for all concerned.”

In a daze of disbelief, she’d almost laughed out loud at that point, the old joke about “I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you” coming to her. One look at the older man’s expression, however, had sent her amusement fleeing. She’d gone home and agonized over the opportunity but in the end, she’d agreed, the patriotism running through her too strong to resist the pull of performing a service this special for her country. She’d thrown in only one condition—she wanted her father’s help. A former Navy intel man, he’d been quickly approved and even welcomed into the circle.

The Operatives had come together shortly after that. Handpicked by her father and cleared by Meredith, the three men on the team each had their speciality: Stratton O’Neil was a sniper. Jonathan Cruz used his hands. Armando Torres was a doctor, and no one understood exactly how he did what he did.

Meredith’s weapon of choice was the knife.