Page 84 of Secrets Beneath the Waves (Beach Read Thrillers #2)

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

The street’s quiet and the sky dark as Graham drives us toward our destination.

I’m uncomfortable with our planned meeting place with Rourke, a parking garage next to a nondescript office building that’s still closed for the night.

After getting barely two hours of sleep, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m tired and irritable, and my early morning double espresso has only increased my anxiety.

Searching surveillance and chat logs half the night turned up nothing, which means Rourke is currently our only lead if we’re going to rescue Oumar in time.

Graham glances at the rearview mirror, then at me. “You okay?”

“Just frustrated. Tired. Worried.”

“Do you think the CIA should pay the ransom?”

I hesitate at the question. While I want to say yes, we both know that paying won’t make this disappear.

Not if Oumar’s ransom is connected to an arms deal.

We don’t even have confirmation Oumar is alive, or that he would be released if they were paid.

And then there’s always the logical aversion by the intelligence community to paying terrorist-linked arms syndicates and possibly encouraging future kidnappings.

“Honestly, all I know is that not only is time running out for Oumar, but the deeper we go, the more certain I am that the stakes are far more complex—and far more calculated—than a simple abduction.”

“Agreed,” Graham says, stopping at a light. “And if it does come down to the wire, who knows. . .they might authorize moving the funds.”

“And if this is all a setup, like Rourke said, to flush out Oumar’s involvement with the CIA?”

There are simply too many unknowns.

I catch Graham looking into the rearview mirror again, then look back myself. “Do you think someone’s following us?”

“No. Just feeling extra cautious.”

I frown, understanding all too well Graham’s caution.

His concern is that this could be a trap.

And I agree. Meeting Rourke before dawn in a parking garage is risky.

We’re the ones who went to him in the first place, but with his murky past and checkered history with the intel community, trusting him is na?ve.

It’s still dark when we pull in near the entrance where Rourke told us to meet him.

My nerves are wired tight as I get out of the car a moment later and breathe in the musty mixture of exhaust and fuel.

We spot him near the far wall of the garage, half in the shadows, half in the light of a bare overhead bulb.

Every instinct inside me sharpens—senses tightened, nerves stretched just enough to remind me this could still go sideways.

He’s standing next to his black sedan, clothes unchanged since last night, though he has lost the suit jacket and his sleeves are rolled up.

Rourke folds his arms across his chest at our approach. “Your asset was in a lot deeper than even you originally thought.”

“Tell us what you know,” Graham says.

“I called in a few favors from a contact of mine. He confirmed the rumor that the Russians are holding Oumar, but that’s just a part of our problem.”

I note his use of our problem, but don’t say anything.

“Okay,” I say. “What else?”

“There’s a two-hundred-million-dollar arms transaction that’s already been set in motion. All scheduled sometime within the next twenty-four hours.” Rourke clears his throat. “Now, I might not always function above the law, but even I don’t want that to happen.”

“Who’s buying?” Graham asks.

“A newly emerged military faction out of north Africa that is frantically working to seize control of key trade routes. More than likely, they will use this weapons deal—if it goes through—to help them gain legitimacy and even challenge national armies in their attempt to gain regional dominance in the Sahel.”

I glance at Graham. “This has to be what Oumar told me he was working on.”

A deal that huge will only continue to destabilize the area, as well as compromise UN peacekeeping operations.

I turn back to Rourke. “What is Oumar’s role in all this?”

“According to my contact, your asset is the only one who knows all of the players and details of the trade.”

“Information the Russians need,” Graham says.

“He’s got to be worried they’re trying to turn things to their advantage,” Rourke says. “Trying to reroute the weapons to their own network.”

“So to stop this, we need Oumar,” I say.

Rourke nods.

“We’re going to have to verify all of this,” I say.

Rourke shakes his head. “Here’s the other bit of bad news. You’re out of time. I was able to confirm that arms are ready to be shipped, which means the chances of intercepting and stopping them will be challenging if not impossible. I know how fast the intelligence community moves.”

I frown at Rourke’s unnecessary commentary. “And if we’re going to stop it, we need to find Oumar.”

Rourke nods.

“Do you have a location on him?”

“I’m not a magician,” Rourke says, frowning, “though I was given possible coordinates outside of Paris. Perfect for holding high-value targets. But we need to get moving. Now. They won’t keep him there long. And if we miss our window of opportunity. . .”

“We?” I ask, as another black sedan pulls into the parking garage.

Graham moves protectively in front of me, but Rourke holds up his hand. “Don’t think for one moment I trust you any more than you trust me, but for now, I’m on your side. I’m also bringing my own security.”

“What’s in all of this for you?” I ask.

“Let’s be clear—this isn’t charity. I’m helping because an arms deal this dirty doesn’t just shift power, it will shatter the entire region.

It’s the kind of chaos that will have lasting devastation for decades.

But if I stop it?” Rourke lets out a low laugh.

“The already established networks won’t see me as the one who ruined their plans—they’ll see me as the one who saved them.

And believe me—there’s profit in being the man they owe. ”

“Give us a minute,” I say, taking Graham’s arm and walking away from Rourke and his men.

“The clock is ticking,” Rourke says.

I ignore his comment, focusing instead on our footsteps echoing inside the garage.

“I’ll just say it. I don’t trust him,” Graham says once we’re far enough away to keep our conversation private.

I shake my head. “Do we have a choice? It’s too risky involving local authorities, and even if we were to do that, Rourke is right. We don’t have time to cut through all the red tape.”

Graham glances back at Rourke, who’s pacing in front of his car now. “So you want to go in with Rourke as our backup. You heard what Hawke said about him.”

“I don’t completely trust him,” I say, “but if we don’t move now, we could end up losing both Oumar and everything he knows.”