Poe (8 page)

“Yes.”

“As what? A visitor?”

“Prisoner.”

Alex had known what he was going to say, but hearing it didn’t make it sound any less crazy.

“See?” Deuce said. “I told you.”

But Alex’s attention was still on McElroy. “Okay, so that’s how I get in. Now how do I get out?”

“Our informer.”

“Who is?”

“Code name Traz,” McElroy said. “Someone very well placed.”

“So why doesn’t he or she deal with El-Hashim?”

McElroy shook his head. “We’re not talking about an operative, and it isn’t someone who has El-Hashim’s ear. The contact is extremely concerned about being found out by prison officials.”

“Then why cooperate at all?”

“We have something Traz wants.”

“Which is?”

“I’m afraid that’s classified,” McElroy said. “All that matters is that this contact is our eyes and ears. And once you’re inside and you’ve convinced El-Hashim to leave, Traz will facilitate the escape.”

“Why all the mystery?” Deuce asked. “Who is this person?”

McElroy shook his head. “One of the conditions Traz insisted on was that his or her identity remain a secret in case something goes wrong before Alex gets to the facility. Once she’s inside, Traz will reach out.”

“So, in other words,” Deuce said, “Alex goes in completely blind.” He looked at Alex. “You get that, right?”

“I get it. But if I were in this Traz’s position, I’d ask for exactly the same guarantee. You would, too.”

She sensed Deuce’s resistance, but he kept his mouth shut. What could he say? He knew she was right.

A small smile of satisfaction creased McElroy’s face, but Alex moved quickly to kill it. “Just because I can understand the reasoning doesn’t mean I don’t need some safety assurances of my own.”

“Of course. You’re wondering if any of our intel is trustworthy.”

“Gee, it’s like you’re reading my mind.”

McElroy turned. “Cooper, can you tell Ms. Fazakas to join us?”

Cooper got up and exited the room. Moments later he returned with a dark-haired woman who was a good four inches shorter than Alex and looked Eastern European, maybe in her late thirties to mid-forties.

“Ms. Poe,” McElroy said. “This is Ms. Fazakas. Ms. Fazakas, Alexandra Poe.”

The woman nodded hello, then reluctantly took Alex’s offered hand and shook.

“Ms. Fazakas spent the better part of two years in Slavne Prison. After we’re through here, she’ll give you a thorough briefing, but suffice it to say the contact at the prison is known to her, and was the one who helped Ms. Fazakas get out.”

Alex eyed the woman. She realized now that Fazakas was probably younger than she looked. Whether it was the time in prison or life before that, something had taken its toll on her. She looked worn, tired, and, if Alex was right, a little fearful.

Alex eyed her. “You think this Traz can do it again with me?”

“Escaping a prison isn’t an easy thing,” Fazakas said. “But if Traz says it is possible again, then I assume yes.”

“So how did you get out?”

The woman hesitated. “The prison has high walls and several guards, but security is lax at times. I was able to get out in a hidden compartment on a delivery truck. I doubt you will be going the same way, though.”

“Why not?”

“The compartment was barely large enough for me. As I understand it, there will be two of you.”

Alex looked at McElroy. “Do you know how we’re getting out?”

He hesitated. “Ms. Poe, as I mentioned before, Traz is very concerned about something going wrong, and has insisted the information not be shared with anyone on the actual mission, and I have to agree. If you are caught, it will be better if you have no knowledge of the escape route. That way, if we need to send someone in to rescue
you
, it will still be open to us.”

“That is bullshit,” Deuce said. “You expect Alex to walk into that prison and not know exactly how she’s getting out?”

McElroy ignored him and looked directly at Alex. “I’m asking for your trust. Everything is in place for when you will need it. And unlike when Ms. Fazakas escaped, you will have help on the outside.” He motioned at Cooper and Deuce.

Deuce opened his mouth to say something again, but Alex put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. She understood compartmentalizing information. She’d been in the army, after all. And as much as she might have liked to have a clearer picture, she couldn’t disagree with McElroy’s logic.

“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.”

* * *

M
CELROY 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.

Bern, Switzerland

This was not t
heir 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.

She sat there a moment, feeling no remorse, no hesitance. And why should she? This, like most things in her life, was merely business.

What she felt was relief.

Setting her briefcase on the table, she retrieved one of the three mobile phones she carried. A burner, like the others, obtained specifically in case she needed to make this call. Once she was finished, the phone would be destroyed.

She punched in a number, waited. Then a voice said, “Yes?”

“Authentication: theta omega seven theta two two tau alpha nine.”

“Recognized.”

“We’re a go,” she said. “Send her.”

“Understood.”

The line went dead.

Somewhere over the Atlantic

They flew east
on one of Stonewell’s private jets. Alex tried to sleep for the first few hours, but finally gave up and stared out the window into the darkness.

She had to admit that the plan, as laid out by McElroy with details filled in by Fazakas, was well thought out. That didn’t mean it would be easy or even successful. More like risky and beyond dangerous.

And yet, possible.

El-Hashim had better know something about my father
.
Because if she doesn’t, I’m going to make McElroy’s life a living—

“Thirsty?”

She twisted around, startled by the voice.

Cooper was standing in the aisle next to her seat, a small bottle in his hand. “I assume you still like orange juice.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Thanks.”

She took the bottle from him and unsealed the top, as he gestured toward the empty seat across the aisle from her. “You mind?”

She shook her head.

He plopped down, and set the small duffel bag he was carrying on his lap. From inside, he removed a blue booklet and handed it to her. “Your new identity.”

It was a passport. Canadian. Roughed up a bit to not look new.

She opened it and found the picture that had been taken after the briefing staring back at her. The name next to the picture was Powell, Maureen.