Playing for Keeps (5 page)

How had she, of all people, ended up in a plane crash, kidnapped, and drugged?

And more important-why?

As a security specialist, Raven rarely encountered violence, although he and all his employees were certainly highly skilled and trained for any eventuality. Up to and including terrorism. But most of his clients were Fortune 500 companies, museums, technical and medical installations that required state-of-the-art security hardware. His clientele valuing brains over brawn.

Even so, it made him sick to think his business might have anything to do with why Danica was a target. The fact that Uncle Sam not only knew about Dani but also asked for him by name made sense only if he was an important element in all this.

It just didn’t make sense, no matter how he looked at it. But he did not believe in coincidence. So, if it wasn’t his present security business that had pulled them into this mess. . . maybe it was something from his past.

Something to think about once they were clear.

Once Danica was safe.

He wished to hell he was carrying a weapon. A real weapon, not a makeshift shiv and a travel-size can of frigging hair spray.

A movement ahead caught his attention. In a heartbeat he swung Dani behind him, the shiv protruding between his index and middle fingers, every nerve and tendon in his body poised and ready to fight. He smelled sweat, gun oil from their weapons, and the black grease stick on their skin. Yeah, military for sure. Then he made out the seven men. Barely. But they were there, blending with the vegetation.

A man stepped forward. “Jon Raven?”

“ID yourself,” Raven demanded in a low voice.

“DSS. We have a vehicle waiting to transport you and Miss Cross. This way, sir.”

“No,” Raven told the Diplomatic Secret Service guy ten minutes later. “We travel together or not at all.” They’d run a mile to a secure location where several beat-up trucks were parked. Now these guys wanted to separate him from Dani. Uh-uh. Not gonna happen.

“We need to get Miss Cross to the clinic ASAP. Our orders are to take her there. You’ll be—”

Raven wrapped an arm about Danica’s shoulders. “Right next to her, pal.” His eyes narrowed as the man backed off, then spoke quietly into a radio. DSS was under the auspices of the State Department. What the hell did they want with him?

Or was it Danica they wanted?

Something around here stunk. Something was. . .off. He should be relieved they’d been picked up by the good guys. But his uneasy gut feeling warned him that things weren’t what they seemed.

The second the soldier came close enough, Raven stepped up to him and demanded, “What clinic?”

“I’m not at liberty to—”

“Then take us to someone who is at liberty to tell us what the hell is going down.”

Danica had never seen this Jon Raven. She wasn’t the least bit afraid that his fingers were cutting off the circulation in her hand where he held it so tightly. It was the expression on his face that chilled her blood and made her fiercely grateful that look wasn’t focused on her.

The soldier hesitated then nodded. “We’ll take you to Uncle Sam.”

“That’ll do. For starters.”

Flanked by half a dozen men, they walked to the first truck, and he helped her into the front seat, then slipped in beside her. His eyes, reflecting the dash lights, looked almost demonic in their intensity as the trucks moved smoothly, and surprisingly quietly, onto a dirt access road behind the palace.

“What’s our destination, soldier?” He asked the driver.

“I’m not at liberty—”

“I’m going to liberate you with my fist in about ten seconds,” Jon stated. Too calmly, she thought. Deadly calm. “I’m not in the mood to screw around with you.”

“Yes, sir,” the soldier replied. “I appreciate that, sir. But I have orders.”

“Which are?” Danica asked, trying to angle her body in order to see more clearly and make out the painted face of the driver. Jon had his arm around her shoulders, pinning her to his side. She was hot and sweaty, and her body had gone from aching to numb. Up to this point, she’d been largely ignored by the soldiers. “Why are they so hell-bent on taking me to a doctor?”

“Just a little while longer, ma’am.”

Fifteen minutes or five hours later-Danica was so tired her head rested on Jon’s shoulder for most of the trip while she closed her eyes—they pulled up to a warehouse on the outskirts of town.

Escorted by the armed soldiers, they went inside. The large doors shut behind them with an ominous thud. “What is this place?” Danica whispered; exhaustion and fear dragging at her body like a lead blanket as she glanced around. Ah man. I don’t like this. A chill of foreboding roughed the skin on her arms, and the hair on the back of her neck lifted. Don’t like it a lot. Clearly Jon felt the same way, because his fingers tightened in hers.

A low hum filled the silence around the scrape of their shoes on the gritty cement floor. A few overhead lights coned golden pools into the darkness, but beyond their reach was thick blackness. The musty air smelled of dirt, new lumber, and oddly, antiseptic.

There appeared to be nothing in the vast empty warehouse, but at the far end, a large, square box had been erected. It was oddly out of place.

“We’ll ask him,” Jon said flatly, as a man in a dark suit emerged from a door on the side of the “box” letting out a wedge of brilliant light. A room?

He strode toward them. Even to Danica’s inexperienced eye, the guy was every inch a soldier, although he wore no uniform, nor was he carrying a gun like the others. At least not one she could see.

He came forward, hand extended to Jon, his eyes, however, were fixed on Danica. “Special-Agent-in-Charge Donovan.”

“In charge of what?” Jon countered, not offering his hand.

“For the moment, you. Please,” he began in a tone that somehow combined evasion and condescension, “come this way. Can I get you something to eat or drink while you wait?”

“Wait for what?” Jon demanded, halting Dani’s automatic footsteps as she started following the man to. . .wherever.

In a hurry, and clearly annoyed by the questions, he continued marching toward the prefabricated walls ahead, but turned to glance back. “Wait while Miss Cross is prepped for surgery.”

S
urgery?” Danica repeated blankly at the same time Jon said, “Whoa! Say what?”

Donovan glanced around, then slammed open the door with the flat of his hand. “In here.”

“Here is just fine,” Danica said firmly, stopping on a dime. Jon’s fingers tightened around hers. “I’m not having any type of surgery, Mr. Donovan.” The soldiers behind them moved back at Special-Agent-in-Charge Donovan’s nod. Not here. Not now. Fear tasted bitter on her tongue.

“It wasn’t an invitation, Miss Cross,” he said, voice low. “Not only is the surgery imperative, time is of the essence.”

“Turn up your hearing aid, pal,” Jon snapped. “The lady just said No surgery. She’s already been checked out by the presi—”

Donovan paused, turned, and spoke directly to Jon, which Danica found irritating as hell, since she was the one they were talking about opening up. “If you’ll come inside where we can be. . .private?”

Sweat prickled in her hairline, and between her breasts, and her heart was going a mile a minute. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said, unequivocally, planting her feet.

Donovan’s eyes showed compassion and an equal measure of annoyance. “Come with me, I’ll explain the gravity of your situation.”

Gravity? Danica’s goosebumps got goosebumps. “Give us a minute.”

Donovan nodded, then signaled the soldiers behind them to remain where they were. “We—you don’t have much time.” He marched into the room, leaving the door ajar.

Danica grabbed Jon’s arm and they moved into the shadows. “What kind of surgery, for heaven’s sake? I walked in here. My arms work, nothing’s wrong with me. Oh, God, Jon. What’s going on?” she whispered, pressing a damp palm to her midriff. Her heartbeat hadn’t returned to its normal cadence since they’d left the palace. Now it throbbed painfully hard against her rib cage.

What was Jon thinking as he glanced around so casually? What was going on behind his hooded gaze? His mouth looked grim, and he was holding so tightly to her forearm that his fingers were sure to leave bruises. A muscle twitched in his cheek.

“There’s something really creepy about this.” Danica tried to swallow, but her spit had dried up hours ago. “This place. Donovan.” She absently rubbed a welt behind her ear, then all the insect bites all over her body started itching like crazy. She wanted to cry with frustration. She was scared. Really, really scared.

Like Alice dropped down the rabbit hole, she had no idea what she’d stumbled into, only that whatever it was, was way beyond her comprehension. “I want out of here. Right now.”

Jon wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close. She saw that he was back with her from wherever he’d just been. Thank God. “Yeah,” he whispered, cupping his palm briefly to her cheek. “I’m with you on the creep factor.”

He rubbed his hand up and down her arm in a soothing gesture that made her even more nervous. Because, damn it, she could tell from his expression that he, too, was creeping out at this new development.

She dropped her head to his chest with a thunk. “Oh, damn. I was hoping you’d tell me this whole thing didn’t freak you out as much as it does me.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said against her hair as he held her tightly against his chest. “There’s a whole lot of wrong going on here. Hang tough while I try to figure out how the hell we get out of this mess.”

Danica wrapped both arms around his waist. “Speed-think.”

Dani’s face was white as Raven led her into the room. To Donovan. The glow of fluorescent lighting in the prefab room made the setting surreal. A metal table was pushed up to a large plate-glass partition. Two chrome chairs faced the room behind the glass. On the other side, a hastily prepared operating room filled with equipment. What looked like a couple of doctors and several male nurses stood at the ready.

Scared shitless, Jon gave Donovan a cool look. He left the door to the room open, for whatever good that would do. The soldiers stood outside. AK-47s locked and loaded. “All right,” he told Donovan, keeping his gaze steady. He calculated how many seconds it would take him to get to the older man, overpower him, and relieve him of the Sig tucked into a holster beneath his jacket. “You have our attention. What the hell’s going on?”

Much as he wanted-hell-needed-to hang on to Dani, he reluctantly released her so his arms were free in the event he needed to move fast. He’d feel marginally better if he were wearing Donovan’s sidearm, which he would be, given half a chance.

“TransAir Flight 723 had a series of small bombs on board,” Donovan said flatly, motioning to the medical personnel on the other side of the glass that he needed another minute.

Minute, my ass, Raven thought, his mind flashing vivid images of Danica subjected to some Frankenstein-ish operation. Ice traveled in a chill streak down his spine. Wasn’t going to happen. He needed a plan. Actually, he needed a lot of things-a few grenades and a shit-load of firepower for starters.

Donovan started pacing—marching around the small room, hands clasped behind his back. “Security Chief Edgardo Villalba-Vera was behind the attempted murder of the president’s heir and the murder of most of his cabinet. Plan A was the crash, rigged to look like nothing more than an unfortunate accident. Vera was sure that the loss of his son would crush the president’s spirit, maybe even make him leave office voluntarily. At the very least, he would have been more vulnerable to attack in that state.”

“Other than my wife being on board,” he said, “I don’t see what this has to do with us.”

The other man kept pacing. “Vera has already tried a coup. Didn’t work, but he did manage to cover up his involvement in it and keep his job. He wants Palacios dead. Because he doesn’t want the public outcry to screw his own chances of attaining the presidency, he can’t appear to have any involvement in assassinating the president. As far as the people, and the president, are concerned, Villalba-Vera is a hero for bringing Miss Cross back here to San Cristóbal to honor her for saving young Rigo. He spun on his heel, and came toward them. “You saving the boy,” he snapped, as though it was an accusation, “forced Vera to move to Plan B.”

“Well, gee, I’m sorry I survived and saved the president’s only child. What was I thinking?” Danica said, with only a slight tremor in her voice. “This is all very interesting, but still, it has nothing to do with us.” She tugged Raven toward the door.

“Sadly, it does,” Donovan replied, though she didn’t get any genuine feelings of regret or remorse from his tone. He came to a halt in front of her and looked into her eyes, to make sure she heard and understood what he had to tell her. Danica felt like a mongoose staring into the eyes of a snake.

“Villalba-Vera brought you back to San Cristóbal, Miss Cross, because he plans to use you to assassinate el Presidente.”

Danica let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Unfortunately not,” Donovan said briskly, resuming his pacing. “Two months ago, a. . .device was stolen from our top-secret R and D labs in It- doesn’t matter where. Suffice to say it’s imperative that we retrieve said device ASAP.”

“What kind of ‘device’?” Jon demanded before she could form the words to ask the same thing.

She rubbed at the persistent itch behind her right ear, rubbed a bite on her elbow, then another on her hip. If this guy and his convoluted story didn’t drive her insane, the itching from all the insect bites would. None of Donovan’s problems had anything to do with her and Jon. She’d just promise not to assassinate anyone and they could go.

“Let’s just say that the device was something we were working on to eliminate enemies of our country,” Donovan said grimly. “A small explosive chip—”

Raven had to support Danica as her knees gave a little dip when the implication hit. Jesus Christ. “How small?” he demanded.

“Tiny. A microelectronic chip encapsulated within proven inert biocompatible—”

“Implanted in Danica?”

Special-Agent-in-Charge-of-Terror nodded. “We suspect it was done soon after her arrival, which explains why she was kept sedated. All that was required was a three-cc syringe in order to implant the microchip. A modified Monoject syringe used to facilitate a subcutaneous injection procedure.

“And before you ask, yes,” Donovan said. “We’re positive she’s wearing the chip. My man detected it behind her right ear when he retrieved you. The reader has manual, remote, or computer-controlled operational capability and is battery-powered, using 9-volt alkaline or 110/220-volt AC adapters. It also transmits via a standard Bluetooth interface to a computer. A low-energy radio signal energizes the device, which transmits a signal. The reading time is less than forty milliseconds. In short, a low-energy radio signal triggers the device, and the gap between getting the signal and blowing up is less than forty milliseconds.

The damn thing was in her head? “Tracking capabilities?” Raven asked; cold to his marrow. The question wasn’t only, “Could Vera track them?” It was, “Can Vera remotely detonate the micro bomb implanted in Dani?”
“Yes.” So Vera would know exactly where they were when discovering their absence. Caught between Scylla and Charybdis. There were no good guys in this. “What was his plan?”

“Detonation of the bomb when Miss Cross receives the keys to the city from the president tomorrow afternoon.”

Bringing her within touching distance of President Palacios.

Ingenious.

Diabolical.

No one would suspect her. And, hell, even if they did, a search wouldn’t reveal the microscopic bomb.

Not frigging going to happen.

Raven grabbed the other man’s arm to stop his annoying pacing. “How do we block the signal?”

Donovan hesitated.

Raven put Danica gently away from him, then in a lightning-quick move kicked the door shut, locked it, and whipped around to wrap his fingers about Donovan’s throat. He spoke directly against the man’s ear. “Before those guys come in here, I’ll kill you with my bare hands. So for the last time, is there a way to block the signal without removing the implant?”

“Tests show adrenaline and endorphins mute it somewhat,” Donovan choked reluctantly.

Just as reluctantly, Raven released Donovan with a shove. He and Danica could power a small country with their adrenaline at the moment. Now, not only did he have to get them the hell out of Dodge, he had to find a doctor, a qualified doctor, a doctor he could trust, to remove the prototype microscopic implant, in the middle of the night, in a strange country. In a fucking hurry.

Piece of cake. Raven had contacts, people he could call for help. His concern was getting the right people and the right kind of help—immediately.

“Mute it? Somewhat? Without removing it?” Danica demanded, eyes wide as she stared at him. “Screw somewhat!” She stepped forward and glared at Donovan. “Get it out of me. Now!”

Raven grabbed her by the arm, pulling her back against him where he could hold on to her, trying to still his own panic so she wouldn’t see it. “Hang on,” he said calmly, rubbing his palms up and down the goose bumps on her arms. “Nobody’s cutting you until we have all the answers.” Yeah. As if.

“What’s the real goal here?” he asked Donovan rhetorically. “Retrieving the chip or my wife’s continuing good health?”

“Of course both are equally important to us—”

Yeah. Right. The damn chip was the star attraction. One small American woman who happened to be the unfortunate carrier was expendable. “Can the bomb be reused once it’s been removed?”

“Well—”

“A simple yes or no.”

“Yes.”

Ah, man. This was as bad as it got. They didn’t give a damn about Dani. Once they had their frigging prototype, that would be it. His chances of walking out afterwards weren’t looking too good, either.

He had to ask, even though the chances of them getting anything like a scalpel near her were slim to go-to-hell. “How safe is the procedure?” Nothing less than a 200 percent guarantee would be acceptable, and even then, Raven would hesitate. He didn’t trust this bastard farther than he could throw him. “The truth.”

“Five percent,” Donovan admitted.

“Five percent chance that something could go wrong?” Jon shook his head grimly and thought about grabbing the guy’s throat again. Nobody was getting near Danica unless they could guarantee that she’d be fine afterward. Even if it meant he had to kill every living soul on this godforsaken spit of land.