Page 20 of France Face-Off (Brotherhood Protectors International #6)

After Striker saw Alex to the summit session, he grabbed a cup of coffee and headed back to his room, where he powered on the computer and fit his comm devices into his ears. He’d forgotten them earlier when he’d stepped into the shower with Alex.

“Striker,” Lucie’s voice sounded in his ear.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I take it you revealed what you know about Ms. Sokolov?”

“I did.”

“How did she respond?”

“She took it well.” He drew in a breath and launched into what he’d learned.

“She said she’d been holding onto the flash drive since her parents’ deaths because she wanted to know what was on it.

For the past two years, she couldn’t access one file on the drive.

Everything else had to do with personal bank accounts and contacts.

The file she couldn’t open was encrypted. ”

“The CIA has entire teams devoted to decryption.”

“I know that. Alex’s not sure who she can trust or if she can trust the CIA, given the fact a double-agent for the CIA was the one who informed the Russians her parents had information they might not want to make it back to the CIA.

She’s also worried that once she hands it over, she’ll never learn what was actually on the file that got her parents killed. ”

“That’s quite possible,” Lucie agreed.

“Last night, she asked to use the laptop you assigned to me. While I was in the shower, she managed to get into that file. The laptop used the embedded facial recognition software, and it let her in.”

“What did she find?”

“Programming code. Some kind of software.”

“Interesting,” Lucie said.

“She doesn’t know what the code means and doesn’t want to learn how to read the language. She’s ready to hand it off to the people her parents had intended it should go to. Do you have contacts at the CIA?”

“We do,” Lucie said.

Anger and frustration surged inside Striker.

“Look. I agreed to this assignment because I needed the money, and you sent me in to keep an assassination from happening. I’ve been patient and possibly an idiot not to insist on knowing more about your organization.

I don’t even know if you’re one of the good guys or the bad guys.

Tell me why I should trust that you have connections with the CIA?

Hell, tell me why I should trust you for anything when you haven’t let me in on your secrets?

So what’s your story? Who are you besides Lucie? I assume you’re the boss.”

A soft chuckle sounded in his ear. “I’m just Lucie. I’m not the boss.”

“Then who the hell is?” Striker demanded.

“A good man,” Lucie said. “Someone who cares what happens to innocent people.”

“You still haven’t told me who he is.” Striker scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m already regretting that I’ve told you anything about Alex and her flash drive when I don’t know who the hell I’m working for.”

“Relax,” Lucie said. “We’re the good guys.

Unless you’re Russian. Then we might be considered bad guys.

Because of the sensitive nature of your assignment, we agreed to keep your knowledge of our organization to a minimum in case you were captured.

You could honestly say that you didn’t know who hired you. ”

“So your organization and boss wouldn’t be implicated in a coup or assassination?” Striker snorted. “Great. Send the ignorant guy in to take the fall. I’m done with you.” He started to end the call.

“Striker,” Lucie said. “As a Navy SEAL, you worked a mission in Syria with another Navy SEAL by the name of Ace Hammerson.”

It wasn’t a question. She knew some of his history.

Striker remembered that mission. How could he forget? Hammer had saved his life. She had his attention. “Yeah. So?”

“He’s my boss,” Lucie said.

Some of the anger and frustration eased, though he clung to it a little longer. “Why didn’t he contact me instead of you?”

“I’m sorry for keeping information from you.

Ace has been on a mission of his own. Thankfully, that mission concluded successfully, and he’s on his way back.

He had his headquarters team engage your services in his absence.

He’ll be in touch with you soon. We thought this mission would be fairly simple. ”

Striker snorted. “Did you know Anya Federov would be here?”

“No,” Lucie said. “We were going on inside information that someone might target the Russians to end the pipeline negotiations. We didn’t have much more than that.”

“If you’re not the boss, who are you and what organization is Ace Hammerson in charge of?”

“I’m a member of the technical support team. Ace is in charge of the International branch of the Brotherhood Protectors.”

“Hank Patterson’s agency?” Striker sat back in his chair. “You all work for Navy SEAL Hank Patterson?”

“Yes, sir,” Lucie said. “You’ve heard of him?”

“What Navy SEAL hasn’t?” Striker shook his head.

“Why the hell didn’t you start with that when you hired me in California?

” He held up a hand even though she couldn’t see him.

“I know, you said it was to keep their involvement in this summit secret.” He huffed out a breath.

“Ace Hammerson and Hank Patterson are legends.”

“Then you know we’re the good guys.”

“I thought he only hired men and women trained in military special operations.”

“Normally, he does. I’m one of his exceptions. Dmytro is another.”

“Dmytro?”

“He’s also one of the support staff. We don’t go out on missions, but we support those who do in any way we can. Whether it’s arranging transportation, acquiring intel or data mining.”

“Lucie’s version of data mining is hacking into databases not normally accessible to most,” a heavily accented voice filled Striker’s ear. “I’m Dmytro, the other half of the support staff.”

“He’s from the Ukraine, thus the accent,” Lucie chimed in.

“And Lucie is from Brussels,” Dmytro said.

“I studied my computer skills in New York City and mastered the American accent by watching American movies and television,” Lucy said.

“Our mission-ready agents are from around the world, to include US Special Forces, UK SAS operatives and Israeli Sayeret—all highly trained and skilled in combat and stealth operations.”

“Good to know.” Striker sighed. “Who has the contact with the CIA?”

“Hank Patterson,” Lucie and Dmytro spoke simultaneously.

“One of Dmytro’s informants gave us the tip about the potential attack on the Russians,” Lucie said. “Not that he has any love for them since their attempt to reclaim the Ukraine.”

Dmytro uttered something that sounded like a curse in Ukrainian.

Striker glanced at the clock, anxious to finish the conversation and get back down to the first floor. “In order to hand over the flash drive, Alex would like to meet personally with a representative of the CIA…at Langley. They will need her biometrics to get into the file, anyway.”

“We can make that happen,” Lucie said. “When?”

“As soon as you can set it up.”

“I’ll get right on it,” Lucie said.

“In the meantime, is she safe?” Dmytro asked.

“She’s in the Energy Summit meeting surrounded by delegates from all over. The security is pretty tight. I’m about to head down to her.”

“Good,” Dmytro said. “Safeguard her and that flash drive.”

Lucie added, “We can only imagine what’s so highly important in that code.”

Striker stood. “I’m on my way back down. They should be breaking for lunch soon.” He paused. “Lucie?”

“Yes, Striker?”

“My original assignment was to protect the Russians. Am I still working that mission?”

“I’ve been following the summit meetings,” Lucie said.

“They’re not going well and probably will continue to be contentious.

I’m more worried about what’s in that software that has so many upset and eager to get to Alex to take it from her or let it die with her.

Stick with Alex. She’s your number one priority for now. “

“Good. I’m on it.”

“And expect a call soon from Ace,” Dmytro added.

“Roger.” Striker ended the call and hurried out to the elevator, taking it down to the first floor.

When he stepped out of the elevator, he saw security guards rushing across the huge lobby, urging people to leave through the exit doors.

Members of the staff and security guards ran toward the conference rooms.

Striker ran with them until one of the hotel staff members turned to see him and said something in French.

“I don’t speak French,” Striker said without slowing.

The man caught his arm. “Monsieur, you must leave the hotel. There has been a bomb threat.”

Striker shook off the man’s hand. “My fiancée is in the Energy Summit. I’m not leaving without her.” By then, they had reached the room in which the meetings had taken place.

A security guard emerged from the conference room.

When Striker tried to move past him, he stuck out an arm and rattled off something in French.

“Damn it,” Striker bit out, “I don’t speak French.”

The guard switched to English. “The room is empty. The delegates left through the rear exit. They have been moved across the street, away from Hotel Le Negresco. If you’re looking for someone, look there. Now, please, leave the building.”

Striker pushed past him and ran across the large conference room to the rear exit and down a short corridor to a loading dock.

A truck was just pulling out of the ramp. No one else could be seen.

Striker ran down the steps and across the street to where a large group of men and women stood staring back at Hotel Le Negresco.

He found the German quickly and hurried toward him. “Do you speak English?” he asked.

The man nodded. “ Ja .”

“Your interpreter…where is she?”

The man shrugged and glanced around. “She was moving into the hotel when everyone else was leaving. I do not know where she is now.”

For the next couple of minutes, Striker wove through the people standing on the sidewalk, waiting to hear the all-clear announcement so that they could return to their discussions.

He searched for Baranovsky, knowing Alex would take any opportunity to get him alone to find out if he was the one who’d put the hit out on her parents.

Baranovsky was missing from the crowd of delegates, and so was Natalya Zotin.

Striker’s gut knotted. He had a bad feeling about this and wished he had equipped Alex with some kind of communications device. He needed help finding her.

He touched the earbud in his ear. “Lucie, if you’re listening, I could use a little help here.”

“I’m here,” she said.

“Alex is missing.”

“I know.”

“How the hell do you already know when I just figured it out?” Worry sparked irritation. Lucie seemed to know everything. It was creepy but might prove useful if she could help him find Alex.

“We had Maksim, one of our contacts drop a tracking disc in her pocket. She left the hotel a few minutes ago. She was traveling too fast to be on foot. I’d hoped she was with you.”

“As you know, she’s not.” Striker’s jaw tightened. “How am I supposed to get to her?”

“We’re tracking her, but don’t know exactly where she’s headed. The man who tagged her with the tracking device went to get a car. He’ll pick you up two blocks east of your hotel in three minutes. We’ll feed you directions to where Alex is heading. Go.”

Striker ran out to the street in front of the hotel and turned east. He sprinted the two blocks, arriving just as a black SUV pulled up to the curb. He jumped into the front passenger seat and turned to the driver. “Who sent you?”

“My cousin, Dmytro,” he answered with a Russian accent.

As he drove east, he adjusted the volume on a radio affixed to the dashboard.

Dmytro’s voice sounded over the radio. “Striker, my cousin Maksim. Maksim, this is Striker. Stay on the Prom. Des Anglais, the main road following the coastline. They could be headed for the airport.”

Why would Alex be going to the airport? Had she found the information she’d been after? Was she going back to Russia to finish what she’d started? If so, why hadn’t she come back to his room to get her backpack first—and to say goodbye to him?

His chest was tight, and his pulse thrummed through his veins. Either she’d left without saying goodbye or someone had abducted her. Since she’d left her backpack and laptop, Strike leaned toward the abduction theory.

“She’s at the airport,” the voice said on the radio. “What’s your ETA?”

“Fifteen minutes in this traffic,” the driver replied.

“Make it sooner.”

They were approaching a traffic light that was turning red.

The driver slammed his foot on the accelerator and swerved around a vehicle stopping at the light and swerved again to miss the little black sports car pulling through the green light on his side.

Striker braced for impact, sure the sports car was going to T-bone his side of the SUV. The sports car’s driver slammed on his brakes and slid sideways, barely missing the SUV.

Striker’s driver didn’t blink an eye. He zigzagged through traffic, blowing through stoplights and scaring the shit out of Striker. He’d rather have been the one doing the driving, then he would know what to expect and go even faster.

“Striker, she’s on the taxiway,” Lucie said into his ear. “She must be in an airplane, waiting to take off.”

Striker leaned forward as if it would get them there sooner. “Can’t you get the ATC to stop the plane?”

“We’re working on identifying the tail number,” Lucie said. “We can’t stop the plane without cause.”

“What if she’s being kidnapped?” Saying the words made it all the more disturbing. “The bomb threat could’ve been a diversion to get her out of the building.”

“We thought of that. But we can’t be certain.” Lucie said something to someone in the background. “Striker, we’ve chartered a plane, and it’s scheduled to take off in twenty minutes.”

Striker clenched his fists. “Twenty minutes is twenty minutes too late.”

“She has the tracking device on her still. We can follow her. Get to the airport. We’ll find her.”

“Just stop the damned plane.”

“It’s too late,” Lucie said. “It left the ground.”