“I don’t think I’ve ever told you how glad I am that you’re in charge of my detail. Cam made the right choice when she recommended putting you in charge. I trust you, like I do her.”

Stark swallowed. “I’ll do everything I can to deserve it.”

“I know. Just find a way to get me to her.”

Stark nodded.

Blair understood her silence. Cam never made promises she couldn’t keep, either.


*


Cam dozed, listening with part of her mind to Dunbar’s breathing. The antibiotics seemed to be helping. Dunbar was less restless, her breathing slow and steady. The wound itself shouldn’t be debilitating in the long run as long as they kept the infection under control, but she’d lost blood, enough to weaken her, and Cam worried she might not be able to tolerate a long hike in the near-freezing temperatures.

0330. The guards had cleared away the dinner trays and turned out the lights several hours ago. She could hear the low murmur of voices just outside—several guards, probably more stationed nearby. Their best chance of escape would be when they were being moved.

Jones had indicated they’d leave at first light. They’d been held roughly nine hours. Before morning, they’d have to let her speak to someone in DC. There wasn’t much she could say that might help the authorities find them. She knew without doubt Lucinda would have a team looking for them, but she had no idea what information they had to go on. She was blind.

Since she couldn’t do anything about what was happening on the outside, she passed the time piecing together the how and why of their capture. Someone had leaked the purpose of her meet with Skylar Dunbar, and Jennifer Pattee’s organization had gotten wind of it. Kidnapping her was a desperate move, and one that suggested they were confident any reprisals would be minimal. That suggested they had powerful backers. Maybe that was the source of the leak—maybe this conspiracy reached all the way to DC, to areas they had yet to consider. She wanted to find out who their silent benefactor was. No matter what happened with FALA—and eventually they would be crushed as a result of this move—there would be others. Domestic terrorism was on the rise, and no matter how many they broke, until they cut off the power source, the problem would never end.

From the darkness, Dunbar said softly, “If you have a chance to get away tomorrow, take it.”

“We came in together, we’re going out together. And we’re going home together.”

“I’m not going to be as fast as usual. You need to get out of here—you need to find out who’s behind this.”

“We will.”

“If we get separated tomorrow,” Dunbar said, “I’d like you to give a message to someone.”

“If I see them before you do, all right.”

“There’s an agent undercover with the Renegades—the biker club running guns in this area. Loren McElroy. She needs to be pulled out. Her cover’s probably blown.”

“Your operative.”

Dunbar took an audible breath. “She was. She’s more than that now. I need you to make sure she’s all right.”

“Done.”

“Something else. I need you to tell her that I was an idiot. She’ll know what I’m talking about.” Dunbar laughed softly. “Tell her I should’ve mentioned I was in love with her too.”

“Those exact words?”

“Yeah. Especially the part about being an idiot.”

Cam sighed. “All the more reason for you to tell her yourself.”

“I’ll give it my best shot.”

“Then that will be enough. Now get some sleep. We’re going to be busy come morning.”

Chapter Thirty-seven


At the sound of a vehicle pulling into camp, Jane rose from the chair where she’d been waiting since her father had left to meet with Hooker and pick up the money for the guns. His footsteps were heavy and sure on the porch outside, as solid and formidable as him. The door opened and he strode in on a gust of cold wind, his lieutenants behind him. Jane saluted.

“Captain.” Augustus Graves nodded toward his office, and Jane held the door open wide for him to walk in first. As if by unspoken command, the others stopped at the threshold, and only Jane followed him in. She closed the door behind her and stood at parade rest, waiting.

Graves set down the large black nylon duffel he carried in his right hand, then removed his flight jacket and hung it on a post by the door. Only then did he look at her. He smiled. “We have the money. What’s your timetable for the guns and prisoner exchange?”

“I’ve arranged to have Roberts speak with Washington at zero four hundred. At that time, they will confirm that Jennifer is on a plane to be brought to the rendezvous point at zero six thirty. It should only take half an hour to pick up the weapons. Then I’ll move Roberts and Dunbar down the other side of the mountain.”

“The timetable is tight.”

“Yes, I know,” Jane said, making sure to look him in the eyes so he could see she was confident of her plans. “I wanted narrow windows to prevent Washington mobilizing countermeasures.”

“You’re confident Washington will have Lieutenant Graves here for the exchange?”

“Yes. They seemed very eager to have Roberts returned.”

He snorted. “Yes, I imagine they are, considering the president’s daughter has taken up with her.”

“I made it clear that I would not let them talk to Roberts any sooner, and that once we gave them proof of life, we would expect to make the exchange within three hours. That forces them to follow our timetable.”

He nodded. “Good. That leaves the power with us.”

“Yes, that was my conclusion as well.”

He lifted the duffel and handed it to her. “Hooker assures me there is a great deal more where this came from.”

“Hooker has proved to be a valuable asset.”

“Hooker is a mercenary and he’s playing both sides of the street. He’ll ally himself with whoever pays him the most and wields the most power. Mercenaries like him don’t trust politicians, so his sympathies are likely to lie with us. For the moment.” Graves sat behind his desk and regarded her thoughtfully. “You know, you and Hooker would make a very good team. We should think about it.”

A frisson of fear shot through Jane’s chest, but she was careful not to let it show. She’d met Hooker only briefly when she’d delivered the virus to him in Atlanta. He reminded her a little of her father—large, aggressive, sexual. He’d been attractive in a rough sort of way, but she couldn’t imagine being intimate with him. But then, she rarely considered intimacy at all. She didn’t have time for that kind of entanglement. Nevertheless, she nodded. “It’s something to consider, when we’ve achieved our objectives.”

“There will always be another mission. Never forget that.”

She straightened to attention. “I won’t. Thank you for trusting me with this one.”

“As soon as you’ve given Washington their proof of life, pick up the guns. I want the camp fully armed when you set out for the exchange. I’ve called in another fifty troops. They’ll be here before daybreak.”

“I’ll report back as soon as I have the guns.”

“Good. Keep me apprised.”

“Yes, sir.” Jane saluted, picked up the duffel, and left the building. After stowing the money in a Humvee, she continued over to the infirmary. The guard at the door saluted and stepped aside so she could enter.

Inside, the room was shadowed, the only illumination coming from a small light in the bathroom at the far end. Both captives were still on the cots where they’d been the last time she saw them. As she expected, Roberts was sitting up, awake.

“It’s time for your television appearance.” Jane unholstered her Glock and trained it on Roberts. “Let’s go.”

Roberts silently rose and walked toward her. Her T-shirt and dark trousers showed signs of wear, with patches of grime and a rip just below one knee. Nevertheless, other than her dark hair looking slightly disheveled, she appeared as cool as if she were the one in control. Jane found her arrogant demeanor so aggravating she had the irrational urge to pistol-whip her, just to show her who was in charge. The impulse was so unlike her, she nearly trembled. So much depended on her plan going right—bringing Jennifer home, proving her worth to her father, advancing the cause.

She satisfied herself with pushing the barrel of her gun into Roberts’s back harder than was necessary.

“Let’s go. And be careful what you say to your friends in Washington. Remember, we still have Dunbar, and I don’t need to deliver her undamaged.”


*


The closed-circuit television image was being broadcast to Lucinda’s office and the Oval Office simultaneously. She and the president were the only viewers. At precisely 0600, she connected to the link she’d been directed to use and an image flickered onto the monitor. The image was murky, the background just a gray haze, but Cam was recognizable enough, seated in a plain wooden chair with a bright light trained on her. Other than looking tired, she seemed fine. She stared straight into the camera, as if trying to reach Lucinda with the force of her gaze.

“Director Roberts,” Lucinda said. “Are you well?”

“I’m unharmed,” Cam said, emphasizing the pronoun.

“I want to assure you, we’re doing everything we can to cooperate with your captors.”

“I don’t endorse releasing the prisoner,” Cam said calmly.

“I understand, but these are extenuating circumstances,” Lucinda said, understanding full well Cam would know she was lying. They would never negotiate with terrorists, foreign or domestic, so she hoped Cam would also deduce they had alternate plans under way. “We’ve already agreed to the exchange, and the prisoner is en route. The pilots have orders to continue on once we are assured of your well-being.”