Page 7

But there was no backing out, Ice had known as he stared into the sun rising over the Hudson River. He’d worry about crossing that bridge when he came to it.
“She’s been selling American secrets to the Chinese, the Pakistanis, and the Indians,” Benson had informed him matter-of-factly, though there was a strange sparkle in his eyes as he spoke. “Thoughsellingmight not be the right word. Her financials are clean as a whistle.”
“So she’s not doing it for money but for principle?” Ice’s blood rose. “Because she thinks it’s therightthing to do?”
Benson had shrugged, that strange light still shining in his eyes, his lips twitching like he was trying to hold back a smile.
“Don’t know exactly. That’s where you come in,” Benson had said cheerfully. “Wedoknow she’s been sending them stuff she couldn’t have gotten without high-level clearance within the CIA. We tried tracking it in the system, but there’s no electronic trail to follow. Which means there’s someone else involved—someone who can get that level of access without leaving a trail. Someone pretty damn high up the CIA chain of command.”
Ice had blinked behind his shades. “That’s why Kaiser doesn’t want any CIA folk handling this. Doesn’t want this other guy alerted that O’Donnell’s been blown. We need to break her to get to him.”
Benson had nodded. Then he reached into his car and pulled out a waterproof plastic bag with an American passport, an International Driver’s License, an American Express Black Card, and a sleek black phone with no logo on it. He handed the package to Ice, then got into his Crown Vic and started up the Ford’s V8 engine.
“That’s your alias. Passport already has an Indian tourist visa stamped. Amex card will get you cash and credit anywhere in the world and has no limit. The phone will work on any cell network worldwide and also has a satellite receiver in case you’re in the middle of nowhere.” Benson had waited a beat, then put the car into gear and started to back out of his parking spot. “Mumbai safe-house location is on your phone. Edwin Moses is the CIA asset on the ground. He’s been instructed to bring O’Donnell to the safe-house. You take over from there.”
That was all Benson gave him, and now, twenty-three hours after roaring out of that diner’s parking lot in his souped-up Jeep Liberty, Ice was outside that Mumbai safe-house watching Edwin Moses emerge from behind the beat-up metal door.
Moses was a short, stocky man with a receding crop of red hair and a very ruddy face that didn’t seem to have tanned much after decades of exposure to the brutal Mumbai sun. He glanced left and right before hurrying out of the doorway towards where Ice stood near his Jeep.
Moses didn’t introduce himself or offer a handshake. Instead he unlocked his Range Rover with a large old-fashioned key, glancing at Ice over his shoulder before getting in. “She’s all yours. I was never here.”
Ice frowned, that chill racing up his backbone again. Benson had implied Moses would have more to offer than a hasty retreat. Hell, Ice had no idea what to expect inside that safe-house.
Was O’Donnell tied to a chair, hanging by her feet from a hook, sprawled on a medieval torture rack, nailed to a damn cross?
Ice didn’t like going in blind. He needed to set the frame in an interrogation, make it clear he was in charge. This woman was an analyst, not an assassin, but she was still CIA. She’d been trained at the Farm and would know how to handle herself. Ice needed to know what state Moses had left her in. A damn weapon might come in handy too.
So Ice strode over to the Range Rover and grabbed the driver’s side door so Moses couldn’t close it. “Benson said you’ve got a weapon for me. And some information.”
Moses stared like Ice was speaking Swahili. The car door was half open, and Ice picked up the hint of a woman’s fragrance from the interior. It meant O’Donnell had driven over with Moses, had been sitting up front with him. She’d showered and groomed herself before the trip. There were no restraints in the car, no signs of a struggle.
Therefore O’Donnell hadn’t been a prisoner on the way out here.
Moses frowned deep now, making his face look jowly. “Benson?JohnBenson? That’s who Kaiser got to clean this up for him? Fuck, now IknowI don’t want to be here. Don’t want anything to do with that snake.”
Ice took a breath. So Benson had been lying. Moses didn’t even know Benson was involved.
Hell, maybe evenKaiserdidn’t know Benson was involved, Ice suddenly thought.
Now his throat tightened from the suspicion that he was being played by that coyote Benson. This was Ice’s first Darkwater mission, but he and Jack had gotten the inside scoop during Hogan’s bachelor party down in New Jersey.
Ax and Bruiser and the guys had warned Ice and Jack that Benson lied like it came natural as breathing to him, like he couldn’t help himself.
Ice said nothing. Waited for Moses to get nervous and keep talking.
Moses blinked three times, clawed at his scraggly red hair. His brow shone with a thin veneer of perspiration. It was warm outside, but the sweat wasn’t from the weather.
“Look,” said Moses. “I get an encrypted message direct from Kaiser a day ago. He says to contact this woman O’Donnell who’s with the U.S. Embassy in Mumbai. Says she’s the CIA attaché and I should bring her out to the safe-house on some pretext of meeting an informant or some crap like that. He said someone would come out to take over. That’s it. That’s all I know, all I fuckingwantto know. This is already too heavy for me, all right? If Kaiser’s contacting me direct, then I know something sketchy is going on, and I want no part of it. I’ve done what he asked, now I’m out of here. Please let go of the door, sir.”
“Fine. Give me your weapon and you can go.”
Moses snorted. “Go to hell. I’m not official CIA, and I don’t get all that fancy equipment. All I have is this one shitty handgun, and that took me like a year to get. This isn’t Texas, you know. Can’t just stroll into a 7-11 and pick up a dozen doughnuts and a Glock.”
Ice looked him dead on in the eyes. Moses paled like he was seriously considering the possibility of his own throat being slit and his body left out for the local stray dogs.
Finally Moses cracked. He leaned forward with a sigh, reached around to the back of his belt. He pulled out a handgun and offered it to Ice. It was a Russian-made Steyr 9mm.
Ice examined the weapon. It hadn’t been cleaned in years. Probably hadn’t been fired in even longer. Hell, it was more likely to blow up in his damn face than hit a target at anything more than point-blank range.