“Please,” Major Newton said, “help yourselves. It’s a little early for breakfast but hopefully this will do.”

Amina said, “Thank you.”

Rachel’s stomach lurched at the thought of food, but if she wanted to escape Newton’s surveillance and find out exactly why she hadn’t yet been able to contact her father or Max, she’d have to play along. While she had nothing specific to complain about in the treatment, she was being handled. And she hated being handled.

“Yes, thank you.” Rachel followed Amina to the hot trays and put a scoop of scrambled eggs and several slices of toast on her plate. Coffee, blessed coffee was what she really needed, and she filled a large paper container with what smelled like fresh brew. She followed Amina to a table and sat down across from her. Newton took a cup of coffee and joined them.

“I take it you had no warning the attack was coming,” Newton said.

Amina glanced at Rachel. Something in her eyes said she found all of this very odd too. Rachel took a bite of toast and took her time chewing. “No. We haven’t had any trouble until now.”

“The rebels never made contact previously?”

“Not that we were aware of,” Rachel said, “but then they could easily have come into camp under the guise of being Somali locals and we never would’ve known.”

“I suppose that’s true. You never noticed your security people with any…suspicious individuals?”

Rachel stared at her. “No. Why do you ask?”

Newton smiled in her friendly fashion and went back to her coffee.

“May I call my family soon?” Amina asked.

“Of course,” Newton said. “They’re probably completely unaware of the attack and aren’t worried, but I’m sure they’ll be very happy to hear from you.”

“Yes,” Amina said, “but the supervisors in Mogadishu will wonder if they can’t make contact soon, and news travels quickly.”

“It does, yes,” Newton said softly.

Amina’s color heightened as she held Newton’s gaze.

Rachel asked, “What about Dacar’s family and the others? Who will—”

“We’ll contact your agency in the morning and coordinate that. The families will be advised as soon as possible.”

Amina pushed her plate. “Good. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Newton stood. “If you’re ready, we’ll see about those phone calls.”

Newton led them back to the hall where another female in uniform waited.

“Ms. Roos, Lieutenant Carmichael will take you to the communications room,” Newton said to Amina. “You can call your family from there.”

“Thank you.” Amina glanced at Rachel. “I’ll see you soon?”

Rachel nodded, wanting to get Amina far away from whatever Newton intended for her. “Yes.”

The lieutenant led Amina away, and Rachel folded her arms. “What’s going on?”

“Captain Pettit is waiting to meet you. Right this way.”

Rachel had come to expect nothing from Newton. Maybe she’d learn more from Pettit. “Fine.”

Newton led her through another series of hallways to a door bearing a plain brass placard announcing Captain Edward Pettit, Base CO. Newton held the door open, and as Rachel walked in a big man with cocoa complexion, short-clipped salt-and-pepper hair, and immaculate desert BDUs rose from behind a desk covered with stacks of papers and folders.

“I have Ms. Winslow to see Captain Pettit, Chief.”

“Yes, ma’am. Right this way.”

Newton didn’t follow as the chief petty officer escorted Rachel to another door on the far side of the small anteroom. He rapped and pushed the door open for her. “Ma’am.”

Rachel walked through and the door closed behind her. This room had windows looking out onto a parade ground where armored vehicles and personnel moved about. The man behind the broad metal desk was tall and thin and looked to be in his late fifties. His skin was tanned as if he spent a fair amount of time outside. His sandy hair was regulation short and he wore the same desert BDUs as most of the other personnel.

Rachel focused on the other man in the room—the one who sat beside the desk with his hands clasping his crossed knee. He was not wearing a uniform, although his desert camos resembled those of most of the people Rachel had passed. The first thing she noticed about him was his cool blue eyes. Max’s eyes, as deep blue as a night sky, carried heat Rachel could feel from yards away. This man’s gaze left frost on her skin.

The man behind the desk stood. “Ms. Winslow. Please, have a seat.”

Chapter Eighteen

Rachel held out her hand to Captain Pettit. “Captain, I want to thank you and your troops for everything you did for us. I hope any injuries sustained are not too severe and everyone recovers quickly.”

“No thanks are necessary, Ms. Winslow. We’re out here to protect our citizens and allies.” His handshake was firm, but not overbearing, his palm rough and dry as befit a man who did more than sit behind a desk. His eyes, a light shade of green, held hers for a moment with genuine warmth. “I trust you’ve had everything you need here.”

“Major Newton has been very accommodating.” Rachel glanced at the man sitting next to the captain’s desk. He was watching her but made no move to introduce himself. His gaze, unlike Pettit’s, was chilly and remote, rather like a glacier viewed from a distance. Flat, hard, and cold. She wasn’t intimidated by men who attempted to intimidate her. She’d spent her life around powerful men and women who were experts at the game of silent intimidation, subtle innuendo, and verbal jousting. She smiled. “I’m sorry. I’m Rachel Winslow.”

He rose, slowly and surprisingly gracefully for a man who must have topped six-four. His frame was remarkable in its absolute symmetry and proportion, almost as if he’d been fashioned from an anatomical drawing—shoulders just the right width to balance his tapering torso and narrow but not too narrow hips. Thighs that were neither too bulky nor too thin. His uniform, for that’s what it was despite the absence of identifying patches or insignia, fit him so impeccably she suspected it was tailored for him. Who tailored BDUs? What kind of man needed that kind of control over every small detail?

Rachel held out her hand. Your move.

The handshake felt more like a test than a greeting. His grip was just a little firmer than polite, in case she’d missed his position of power, and he held her hand just a little longer than might have been socially acceptable. The signals were subtle, so if she didn’t know better she might have thought she imagined his show of dominance. She wasn’t imagining his thumb briefly sweeping over her knuckles in what under other circumstances might have been a caress. She kept her eyes on his until he loosened his grip, and then she withdrew her hand.

“Michael Carmody,” he said as if that was all that was necessary.

No rank. No affiliation. Intelligence. Considering where they were, most likely CIA. She turned back to the captain, dismissing Carmody, knowing he wouldn’t like that. Good. She didn’t like being a pawn in anyone’s game, and she was feeling that way more and more every moment.

“There is one thing,” Rachel said. “I haven’t had a chance to find a phone. I’d like to check with the rest of our delegation. Are they here?”

“The medical team has been transported to the French embassy,” Pettit said. “We’re awaiting instructions from the other embassies as to the plans for the rest of the aid team.”

“Everyone is well?” She decided not to inquire about Max and Grif until she got some idea of what these men—no, not these men—what Michael Carmody was after.

“Yes,” Pettit said. “A few minor injuries, nothing serious.”

“Thank goodness.” The murder of the security guards was horrible enough. Rachel was just grateful it hadn’t been worse. “I’m sure you’re very busy, but if you could arrange for me to have access to a phone?”

“Of course,” Captain Pettit said. “If—”

“That will have to wait for just a bit longer,” Michael Carmody said, interrupting the captain without the slightest hint of apology. “Have a seat, Ms. Winslow. I’m sure you must be tired.”

Was he really expecting her to admit to any kind of weakness as he moved his chess pieces onto the field of battle? She could refuse, but that would gain her nothing. Of course she was tired. When the last molecules of adrenaline burned away, she’d probably collapse. A physical standoff was out of the question, and she’d learned from watching those in power that the appearance of cooperation often gave one the advantage in the long game. She sat in the only unoccupied seat in the room, a plain armless wooden chair that faced the captain’s desk. Crossing her legs, she sat back. “I’m sure at some point I’ll feel like sleeping for a day, but thank you, I’m fine.”

“Perhaps,” Carmody said in a slow, nearly hypnotic drawl, “you could tell us what happened at the aid camp.”

A distinct look of displeasure crossed Captain Pettit’s face and was quickly smothered. His distaste for whatever was going on reaffirmed Rachel’s assessment that Carmody was the one behind this not-so-subtle grilling masquerading as a debriefing session. She angled her body slightly so she faced Carmody. “I would have thought you already knew that.”

“It’s always nice to have a firsthand account,” he said with a thin smile.

“I’m afraid mine might be a bit jumbled. A great deal was happening all at once, and I’ll readily admit, I was too frightened at first to pay much attention to the details.” She’d been too damn busy running for her life. “If you gave me some idea what you were interested in?”

“One never knows what’s important, does one?”

She could really come to dislike this man quite a bit, with his superior attitude and faintly sexual appraisal. “Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes I think one does.”