Devil's Gold (9 page)

“You and I both know the truth rarely exists for public scrutiny. That's why Black Stripe is effective. We damn well make sure that whatever this international environmental organization gets its hand into, it's in our country's best interest.”

“You think ZEBRA's slipped?”

“I'm thinking I don't like bad-ass militants snuffing out American scientists. And more importantly, I don't like it when that order appears to be connected with the organization we're associated with. ZEBRA allows us access to countries we'd normally be banned from. The president is adamant that our involvement in ZEBRA remain as is. Nothing is to tip the scales. Find the truth, Anderson. Find out what this cluster fuck is really all about.”

Jake thought about what the colonel had said. Africa stunk. His gut felt it; his mind agreed. “Yes, sir.”

Cassidy left Drew's office, struggling to come to terms with what had transpired. The entire Nigerian assignment appeared on paper to be straightforward but in reality was riddled with contradictions and misguided goals. Ten years of successful operations for ZEBRA and now this? It didn't make sense. Nothing connected.

There was one little item regarding her time in Africa she decided to clarify. Passing her office, she entered a small computer lab. “Steve?”

Steve spun around in his chair and smiled at her. “There's my prettiest and bestest friend!” His exuberance contagious, Cassidy grinned back.

“I come seeking information.”

He rubbed his chin and pretended to be deep in thought. “That'll cost you. Myrtle here…” he said, waving his hand at the large computer screen hanging from the ceiling, “doesn't come cheap.”

“How about margaritas and fajitas?”

“Sold! To the lady in tight jeans and shirt displaying an odd breed of zebra.”

Cassidy glanced at herself, twisting around to see her butt. “My jeans are not tight, smartass.”

Steve laughed loudly, and his smile lit the entire room. “Glad to see your sense of humor is still intact. Come. Sit down, and let me amaze you with my computer magic. What deep dark secret do you require knowledge of?” He cracked his knuckles, waggled his brows, and pulled a chair over for Cassidy to sit on.

“I want to know about Black Stripe.”

As quickly as it had appeared, Steve's smile faded.

A
S
N
ICK MADE HIS WAY TO THE DOOR OF THE
I
TALIAN BISTRO
Drew Sharpe had suggested, Atlanta's humidity wrapped around him in a vice grip of still, stagnant air. After months in West Africa, Nick thought he could handle any heat on earth, but this was different. Here there wasn't a constant breeze from the ocean washing away the humid air. This heat sat above the sidewalk snatching at exhaust and human pollution, until Nick felt his lungs seize.

Nick pulled open the glass door and sighed as a flood of cool air escaped from the restaurant. After his eyes had adjusted to the dim interior, he took in the ocean of white tablecloths adorned with candles and crystal. Brass railings lined several levels and soft, luminescent lighting created an intimate ambiance within the bustling eatery. He inhaled the scent of garlic and oregano mixed with a blend of yeasty bread and fresh tomatoes. Nick's boss, Robert Cole, adored fine Italian cuisine, and it smelled as if this place would deliver a meal Robert's palate craved.

Nick scanned the bistro and found Drew seated at a table toward the back of the restaurant. Making his way through a throng of impatient patrons, Nick indicated with a flip of his hand to the maitre d' that he was expected at that table. Weaving among the tables, he adopted a casual and relaxed manner even though his eyes swung from corner to corner searching out any possible threat.

Nick affected a warm smile and reached across the table to envelop the director of ZEBRA's operations smaller hand within his. “Drew.” The man was nervous. Sweat glistened across his brow, and Nick scrambled inwardly to mask his disgust at Drew's clammy hand.

With a nod of his head, Drew indicated for Nick to sit. “I was surprised when your secretary called to say Robert was in town. Will he be here soon?”

Nick pulled back a chair opposite of Drew and sat, his body tipped forward, ready to strike if danger approached. “He has high hopes that this meal will contain a positive report for OPEC?” He narrowed his gaze as a deep flush brightened Drew's face.

The man choked and gulped a large mouthful of water. He glanced quickly at Nick's face, then cast his eyes downward, shaking his head.

“No?” Nick sighed and signaled for the waiter. “Did you get…” He paused, not wanting to say her name, but even that small attempt at distancing his emotions didn't quell the sudden flutter of excitement as he pictured her wide-eyed and frightened against the backdrop of gunfire and burning oil. He'd have another chance at her. “Did you get the zoologist off to Wyoming?”

Nick picked up the small leather binder on the table and scanned the list of available wines. He pointed to a 1982 merlot and then turned his attention back to Drew Sharpe. Cold beer would be better, but he needed to maintain this image Robert Cole insisted he perfect.

Sharpe cleared his throat and tapped a finger against the white linen tablecloth. “Yes. I still don't understand…”

“It's not for you to question.” He ignored the flicker of anger that sparked in Drew's eyes.

“Cole's complicated the entire mission by sending in your goons.”

Nick's affable manner slipped, and he leaned forward, piercing Drew with a sharp gaze. “Don't make accusations you can't prove.”
Fuckin' idiot
. Didn't he know who he was dealing with?

Drew sat back, sighed deeply, and laced his fingers together, resting them lightly on the edge of the table. “I'll place another signature on the report.”

Turning back to Drew, he felt his anger simmer to an acceptable level. “You can't replace her name, you jerk! That'd alert OPEC.”

Drew raised his hands in the air in an act of defeat. “I've sent her to Yellowstone. She's out of the way, so just tell me what you want me to do. I'll do whatever you ask.”

A half smile tugged at the corner of Nick's lips.

Cassidy flipped her wrist over, checking the time. One o'clock. She hurried into the bedroom. Her duffel bag sat on the bed, the faded olive-green canvas with its numerous stains and frayed seams alien amidst the floral prints and muted spring colors of her quilt. Her windows were shut tight against the hot air outside, but a lingering scent of lemon from the candles she'd burned last night mimicked the perfume of the budding magnolia tree that knocked gently against the glass pane.

She opened her closet and dumped a minimal amount of clothing into the bag. Reaching onto the top shelf, Cassidy ran her hand across the wire rack until her fingers connected with smooth plastic. She retrieved a clear tote stuffed with miniature toiletry samples that she always bought by the dozen from her local discount store. She tossed that across the room, and it landed next to her bag. With a quick glance around, she snatched up a pair of worn work boots and shoved them into the now burgeoning interior. It didn't take more than five minutes to complete her packing. She was low maintenance and proud of it.

Cassidy hauled her duffel off the bed and dumped it next to the front door. She then did a quick walk through her apartment, verifying all lights were off and there were no overlooked dirty dishes hiding. That didn't take more than sixty seconds. She'd moved into this apartment twelve months previously, and everything but one box of kitchen items remained packed.

This wasn't home.

Her dedication to her career was reflected here, in this barely inhabited apartment situated not far from ZEBRA headquarters. A paper-infested desk in her office welcomed her more warmly than her ghostly silent bedroom and sterile kitchen.

No life, no love, no commitment to anything but her job.

Shaking those morbid thoughts from her head, she picked up her bag and left the apartment. By the time she reached the lobby, a black Crown Victoria slid into the small pick-up and drop-off zone in front of the ornately trimmed front doors.

“Leaving us again, Doc?”

Cassidy nodded and waved at the security guard. “Sorry, Joe. This was just a short trip home. But we're still on for that poker rematch, right?”

He grinned. “Yes, ma'am. I hope they pay you good. You're gonna need it.”

Laughing, Cassidy left the apartment building. She squinted against the sudden burst of sunlight that caused her eyes to water and signaled to the driver of the Crown Victoria. She dumped her canvas bag in the trunk and slid into the cool interior of the vehicle. “How's the traffic?”

The driver shrugged. “Typical of the lunch rush out of the city. We'll be at Dobbins within the half hour.”

They headed north up I-75. Cassidy gazed out the window, not really seeing the throngs of people hurrying along the concrete sidewalk; her mind was turned inward and wandering back to Africa. She'd replayed that last night a million times and still couldn't fit together the pieces of the puzzle. Her heart clenched at the vivid memory of Anna; then came the familiar burst of anger and hatred toward the individuals, including herself, responsible for leaving her behind.

Steve hadn't offered any insight to the mysterious Black Stripe squad. Never one to leave a puzzle unsolved, Cassidy decided to pull in a few favors. She hummed to herself, and a Cheshire cat smile spread across her face. “I've got friends in high places…”

The car exited the interstate and turned left to loop back over the highway. Dobbins Air Force Base was located about twenty minutes north of the city. ZEBRA leased a small section of warehouse space and had flight privileges for its fleet of planes, making it a convenient ingress and egress route from Atlanta. As much as she traveled, Cassidy gratefully kissed the bureaucratic butt that prevented her from having to navigate through Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport.

The Crown Victoria deposited her outside ZEBRA's warehouse. The black and white striped transport plane sat on the runway, awaiting departure. A familiar figure scurried around the ground beneath it. Cassidy grinned and lifted her arm to attract his attention. “Steve,” she yelled.

He turned and waved back. She grabbed her bag and jogged toward the plane.

“Hi, Cass. They've let me out of the office.”

She tossed her bag to one of the maintenance crew. He, in turn, tossed it up the stairs, where it was retrieved by the pilot and stored onboard.

“Do they know how dangerous you are?” Cassidy teased.

Steve motioned for her to follow him toward the tail end of the plane. A camper-like vehicle was being driven up a ramp. “This is our latest mobile unit. We figure Yellowstone will be the perfect test ground for its unique capabilities. Hence, my release from jail.”

Pushing her hair back from her face, she tried not to breathe too deeply. The hot Atlanta air was stifling. “You and your toys.” Cassidy noted that the strange camper had a Ford heavy-duty truck base that supported a boxy upper structure.

Steve cringed as metal banged against metal and the vehicle was roped and tied in place. The ground crew triple-checked the cables, then signaled for everyone to vacate the storage area beneath the plane. Cassidy and Steve walked back down the ramp and watched as it slowly rose and sealed their equipment inside.

“What does it do?”

They headed toward the stairs at a slow, leisurely pace. “It's pretty cool. On the outside it resembles a regular camper, but inside it's full of state-of-the-art equipment including top-notch computers and a miniature laboratory. And it expands to provide a fully stocked necropsy lab.”

That piqued Cassidy's interest, and she paused to glance over her shoulder at the back of the plane. “Really?” She hated dissecting in the field. Their results were never as clean as the ones they'd be able to obtain in a lab. “Now I'm sold. But let's hope we don't have to use it on this trip.”