Page 73 of Secrets Beneath the Waves (Beach Read Thrillers #2)

CHAPTER

THREE

A second later, another text message comes through. This time Mariam asks that I meet her in an hour at a nearby cathedral. While I know the place well, none of this follows procedure.

In the intelligence world, communication between an asset and their handler is always structured.

Always secure. The threat level in Paris is low compared to many places in the world, but we still follow a standard protocol.

Typically, if one of my assets needs to meet with me outside a scheduled time, they will send an encrypted message to a specific number.

In the case of an emergency, the message might simply say compromised .

We have locations set up in case emergency protocol is triggered.

As the handler, I’m the one who confirms the request, always using a secure and encrypted phone.

Beyond the obvious lack of following protocol, several things have me concerned about the unexpected communication. The first red flag is Mariam having my private number. Second, the request is unexpected, because she isn’t one of my assets. She’s the fiancé of one of my assets, Oumar Khelif.

The third red flag is simply the fact that the text is coming from an unknown number.

As far as I’m concerned, anyone could be on the other side of the text message, making it a possible setup.

I quickly decide to call Oumar. It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve seen him, which isn’t unusual.

He always contacts me when he has information. Rarely do we meet in person.

My call goes straight to voicemail.

I look at the clock. I have a good forty minutes before I have to leave if I’m going to meet her, so I make two more calls.

The first one is to my boss, Hawke. He gives me brief instructions and tells me to call our new security officer.

Graham Bryant has only been in Paris a couple of weeks, working in security as William’s replacement.

I haven’t worked with him yet, but from what I’ve seen, he’s proficient at his job.

“What do you know about Mariam?” Graham asks after I give him a short rundown of the situation.

“Beyond the basics, not much. From the beginning, Oumar asked to keep her out of the equation. He doesn’t want to put her at risk.”

“The less she knows, the better,” he says.

“Exactly, but he gave her my number.”

“Your cover story with Oumar is secure?”

“Yes.”

“Then how do you want to do this?”

I hesitate at his question. William would have already presented me with a detailed security plan for the situation, but just because I don’t know Graham well—or because he does things different—doesn’t mean I can’t trust him.

His record is impeccable, and I have no reason to believe he can’t handle things.

“Hawke wants to keep everything low-profile,” I say, “which means just you and me going in. We’ll try to get her to a safe house, if necessary, but I’m also going to have to verify she actually is who she says she is.”

“Agreed. I’ll meet you at the church.”

I glance at the clock as I hang up, calculating how much time I have to change my appearance.

The subtle disguise is an additional cover and layer of safety for me.

It doesn’t take long for me to pop in a set of green contacts and grab a pair of oversized nonprescription glasses.

I typically wear my long hair down, but today I pull it up and secure it in a simple bun at the base of my neck.

Lastly, I put together an outfit different from my normal wardrobe.

A skirt and blouse with comfy ankle boots and a long brown coat will ensure I fit in, and yet it looks nothing like my normal attire.

My last addition is an earpiece so Graham and I can communicate.

I glance in the mirror. I’ve now become the person Oumar knows.

The person he would have described to his girlfriend.

I head to the church ten minutes later, still not comfortable with the meeting place.

At least it’s public, but having Mariam choose the meet point means I’m not in control, and I always prefer to make those decisions.

It’s dark as I head out, and my senses are on high alert in case this is a setup.

The metro is only a few blocks away, and by the time I step onto the car, I’ve convinced myself no one has followed me.

But it’s impossible to shake my unease. I study the passengers around me while letting my mind go over my recent conversations with Oumar, wondering if I’d somehow missed something.

When working with an asset, one of the most important things is building a bond.

The more I get to know them, the more they trust me, and the more information I’m able to collect.

But the process is never without concern.

There is often a lot of fear involved in stepping out of comfort zones, and they are taking as much of a risk as I am.

My goal with Oumar has always been straightforward.

The intelligence I’m gathering from him traces the flow of weapons through a North African war zone with threats that reach far beyond the Mediterranean.

Oumar has spent years navigating this murky underworld of international arms activity and has been gathering information on where they are being trafficked, who is smuggling them, and the locations of hidden arms caches and potential offshore accounts in order to expose these operations.

When I first met him, he was more interested in trading secrets for protection and saving himself—which is an understandable goal.

But over the past few months, I’ve noticed that his motivations have shifted and he’s changed his views on helping to dismantle the illicit arms trade.

He’s lost family members to the escalating violence where he’s from.

I made it clear from the beginning that the deeper he went—the more he exposed what’s happening—the greater the possibility he could become a target.

And now I’m afraid that’s exactly what has happened.

I arrive at the church a few minutes early, giving me time to survey my surroundings.

Soft organ music drifts through the majestic structure—ancient, slow, and solemn.

A few parishioners are sitting on the pews and praying.

Several groups of tourists are carrying backpacks and wandering through the cathedral, admiring the stained-glass windows and ornate statues.

I walk past the lit candles near the entrance and slow my steps, not wanting to look rushed, while searching for anyone who might have followed me here.

A woman with two young children is lighting a candle, and an older couple talk in hushed tones about something.

Graham walks by me, giving nothing but a cursory look at the candles where I’m standing, then keeps walking.

“You good?” I hear him ask through my earpiece.

“Affirmative.”

Just like I’m doing, Graham is checking out the cathedral, making sure we don’t miss anything. At this point, I have no idea what Oumar told Mariam, or if she even knows he was working with the CIA, but I’m about to find out.

I continue walking toward the front of the church and find Mariam where she told me to meet her, sitting on one of the front pews and wearing a dark blue coat.

I take my time to get there, still surveying the light crowd of people for anyone who might look familiar or anyone who seems out of place.

I glance up at the large stained-glass window above the altar as the last light of the day filters through, leaving muted shadows on the floor.

In another situation, I would have taken a moment to soak in the beauty of my surroundings.

There’s always something moving about being in a house of worship.

But instead, a wave of anxiety sets in.

The setup seems all too familiar, and the recent memories of what happened to William adds to my uneasiness. Without thinking, I touch the raised scar on my side.

I glance over to where I’d last seen Graham, then move to sit down next to Mariam.

“Thank you for coming,” she says.

I send up a prayer on our behalf and nod.

“Oumar told me about you. Told me if anything ever happened to him, that I should call you. He said the number was for emergencies only. He never told me who you were, just that if I was ever in trouble I should go to you for help. He told me you have connections to the State Department.”

Her foot taps against the stone floor of the church, and her lip quivers as she tries to continue speaking.

“It’s okay,” I say. “Just take a deep breath and tell me why we’re here.”

“They have Oumar,” she whispers.

“Who’s they ?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I. . . I don’t know who to trust. I don’t even know if I should be here right now talking to you.”

She starts to get up, but I take her hand and pull her back down beside me.

“You did the right thing. If you’re in trouble—if Oumar’s in trouble—I have resources. I can help you.”

“I don’t know.” She’s sitting on the edge of the pew, still ready to bolt.

“I need you to listen to me,” I say. “I know you’re scared and don’t know who to trust. But let me help you. Please. You can’t do this on your own. Tell me what happened.”

I might be as leery to trust her as she is to trust me, but if there is any chance that Oumar’s in danger, I can’t just walk away.

She fumbles for her phone, then holds up a grainy video and pushes play.

There is no sound, but even with the bad picture, I recognize Oumar instantly. He’s tied to a chair, his face bruised.

“They’re demanding five million dollars,” Mariam says. “And they told me not to go to the authorities.”

“Who would think you have that kind of money?” I ask, trying to process the information she’s giving me.

She looks up at me for the first time. “My family owns a company, the Baako Group. On paper the business looks good, but there’s no way my father can come up with a large amount of money. Not by their deadline.”

“You’ve already asked him?”

She nods.

“So whoever took Oumar knows his connection to you and your family.”

My mind is racing now as I work to put the little I know together. While it’s true that what Oumar was doing was risky, who would kidnap him for a ransom demand?

“What did Oumar tell you about me?” I ask.

“Not much. Just that you’re a business acquaintance—a consultant—who helped him in the past with security. That you have connections and if I ever needed help I should contact you. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“How long has he been missing?” I ask.

“Two days.”

Two days?

I shake my head. “Why didn’t you contact me sooner?”

“I thought if I could come up with the money I could fix all of this, but now. . .now you’re my last resort. You can help me. . .can’t you?”

I look around again, searching for anything that feels out of place. Anyone who might have followed her here. I’m still unable to dismiss the nagging feeling that this could still somehow be a setup. Except the fear in her eyes is real, and my mind can’t erase the video she just showed me.

“Do you see the man twenty feet to your left?”

I shift my gaze at Graham’s question coming through my earpiece.

A man in a black jacket is standing there, scanning the area, clearly not here as a tourist or worshipper.

I turn to Mariam. “Don’t be obvious, but do you recognize the man wearing black to our left?”

She clenches her hands together then glances up. “No.”

“He’s armed,” Graham says through my earpiece. “Get her out of here. Now.”