Page 2 of France Face-Off (Brotherhood Protectors International #6)

Lucie seemed interested in his skills as a Navy SEAL.

Navy SEALs weren’t normally dressed in tuxedos, attending diplomatic receptions with leaders of foreign countries.

When he’d taken out the Russian in charge of Internal Affairs, he’d done it from the top of a building over a hundred yards away.

He’d had his rifle packed up and moved out of the building before anyone really knew what had happened.

He’d never been this close to a bunch of politicians, and he sure as hell didn’t fit in.

Along with the tuxedo and the shoes, he wore the earbuds Lucie had given him in his first packet of information back in the States. He carried the burner phone in his pocket and awaited some clue as to what he was supposed to do at the reception.

He stood near the entrance, having arrived early to watch as the guests entered.

Based on the pictures from the internet, he’d picked out Hans Sutter, the German, the Russians Sergei Baranovsky and Anatoly Petrov, the Japanese representative, and Lorenzo Ricci, the Italian.

Richard Wedington, the United Kingdom representative, had yet to put in an appearance.

Movement at the door caught his attention. The UK representative and his wife stepped through the entrance, showed their invitations to the security guard manning the door and crossed the room to the bar where they ordered glasses of wine.

A raven-haired woman entered next, wearing a long silver gown that clung to her curves and rippled like mercury with every step she took.

She smiled and handed the security guard her invitation.

He frowned down at it for a moment and then glanced up with narrowed eyes.

She laughed and smiled more broadly, pointed at the invitation and said something Striker couldn’t quite hear from where he stood.

The security guard tapped his ear and spoke into his microphone.

A moment later, he gave the woman a nod, and she entered the reception hall.

“Striker, can you hear me?” a voice said in his ears, startling him.

He hadn’t realized how focused he was on the woman who’d just walked in until Lucie’s voice sounded in his ear. The comm device was a two-way radio, which meant Lucie had to be there in France and was close enough for the signals to come through.

“Roger,” he said.

“Are you ready for your mission?”

Irritation flared. “Depends on what the mission is,” he said. “Although the use of my combat training seems irrelevant in this monkey suit.”

Her chuckle filled his ear. “It all will become clear momentarily,” she said. “And by the way, you look stunning in that tuxedo.”

Striker glanced around the reception hall, searching for a female, possibly standing alone, who was talking to no one in particular.

There were several women who had accompanied their husbands to the event.

Most of them were older, and all of them seemed to be occupied with other people, except for the one in the silver dress.

She stopped to snag a glass of champagne from one of the waiters circulating through the room, smiling to thank him.

“Your mission tonight…” Lucie said into his ear.

The woman in the silver dress turned at the same time, her mouth still forming a smile across her lips.

“—is to keep an assassination from happening,” Lucie concluded.

No, the woman in the silver dress did not move her lips. The elusive Lucie couldn’t be her. Somewhat disappointed, Striker looked around the room. “Whose assassination am I supposed to stop? And by the way, I recognize the irony.”

“Good. I know you did your homework on this event,” Lucie stated.

“If you’ve been following the energy struggles between Russia and Germany, you know how important this summit could be.

I received intel indicating an assassination attempt will be made on one or both of the Russian diplomats.

An agreement must be reached at this summit, or the energy needs of Europe could be at risk.

Climatologists indicate the coming winter could be one of the harshest in decades.

Without the additional capacity the new pipeline could produce, and with the growing population in Europe, it could spell disaster if an accord is not reached. ”

“Any idea who the assassin might be?”

“Therein lies the problem. My intelligence reports it’s the same assassin who has eliminated four of the five diplomats with connections to the Russian mafia.

No one has seen the assassin to know who he is.

I know that’s not much to go on,” she said.

“The targets are the Russians. Have you located Sergei Baranovsky and Anatoly Petrov?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded. “This summit concludes in two days. Do either of the Russians know that I’ll be looking out for them?”

“No, and they are not to know. We hope that in the process of protecting these two men, you might reveal the identity of the assassin.”

“And my cover for this operation?” he asked.

“You’re an escort for Natalya Zotin, a United Kingdom citizen of Russian descent, who speaks fluent Russian and translates for the Russian Minister of Energy and the Russian in charge of Internal Affairs. She should be entering the reception hall at this moment.”

A woman with auburn hair and wearing a green dress stepped through the entryway, handed her invitation to the security guard and looked out across the room. When her gaze met his, she smiled.

“Red hair?” Striker asked, careful not to move his lips too much.

“That’s her,” Lucie said. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Does she know why I’m here?” he asked.

Lucie didn’t respond.

Great. He didn’t know if this Natalya woman was another one of Lucie’s agents or if he was supposed to pretend to be a male escort.

How he was supposed to keep an eye on the Russians while entertaining a translator was a mystery to him.

With the Russians in his peripheral vision, he moved toward the redhead in the green dress.

As they converged on the floor of the reception hall, she held out her hands. “Ah, yes. You must be Daniel Rayne. I was told to expect a handsome man as my escort this evening.”

“You must be Natalya.” He took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the backs of her knuckles. The name she’d addressed him by was the one on the fake passport he’d received in his packet from Lucie.

She arched a perfect eyebrow. “You’re American?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

She spoke perfect Queen’s English with only a slight Russian accent. The fine lines around her eyes and mouth were a subtle indication of her age. She had to be in her late forties or early fifties and aging well.

“Do you speak any Russian at all?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Sadly, no.”

Natalya sighed. “Up to that point, you were almost perfect.”

“I shall take that as a compliment.” He offered her his elbow.

She slipped her hand through the crook and turned toward the other guests in the reception hall.

Striker spotted the two Russians standing with the German.

“I suppose I need to work,” Natalya said. “Shall we?”

Following her lead, Striker stepped out across the floor and headed toward the Russians.

“I know they speak fluent German, and the German speaks fluent Russian. So, I only have to be close by in case someone else wants to enter the conversation. Which means, I won’t be completely tasked all evening. I had hoped to dance. You do dance, don’t you?”

Striker grimaced. “My dancing has been strictly limited to country and western music. My dancing skills are in the form of the two-step and the waltz. I’m good for those.”

She smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind. I am not familiar with the two-step, but the waltz…it is beautiful, no?”

Once again, Great , he thought. How was he supposed to keep track of the Russians while he was dancing as an escort for the translator? At that moment, he wished he had a handgun, a rifle or a knife. At least, then, he’d feel like he was in his element.

The reception got into full swing. Natalya made her rounds, following the Russians around the room. Striker quickly realized the woman could translate in a number of different languages, including Italian, French, English and German.

“I’m learning Japanese,” she said, “But I’m not proficient yet.” The music started from the string quartet in the corner. Several songs were played before Natalya smiled and said, “That’s a waltz, would you like to dance with me?”

He frowned. “Are you sure you can take a break from translating?”

She laughed. “Yes, for at least one song.”

He nodded and held out his arms.

She stepped into them and placed a hand on his shoulder, the other hand in his palm and he led her across the floor in a waltz.

The music was different, but the dance was the same, and he managed not to make a fool of himself in front of all the important diplomats.

As they whirled around the floor, he took the opportunities he could to keep an eye on the Russians.

In one turn around the floor, he noticed the woman in the silver dress approaching Petrov and Baranovsky.

When she spoke, they turned and responded, stern faces softening into smiles.

“The woman speaking with Petrov and Baranovsky, who is she?” Striker asked. He spun Natalya around so that she could see the woman.

His dance partner’s brow furrowed. “I do not know this woman, though I might have seen her before at another event involving Russian diplomats. She seems to be holding a conversation with my two Russian charges. It appears my translation services are not needed.”

The woman in the silver dress laughed and laid a hand on Petrov’s arm. She turned to the side and, as she did, Striker noticed a long slit in the side of her dress that exposed her leg from the ankle to halfway up her thigh.

His groin tightened.