CHAPTER FOUR

Sydney woke to bright sunshine coming through the window of the bedroom. She'd only brought a small suitcase with a few items in it, so she knew that she'd need to get to a mall sooner or later.

When she'd arrived back in Arlington at her home, she knew immediately that someone had been inside her apartment. There were things moved, broken threads that she'd placed on closet doors, and her refrigerator was missing a bottle of water. She'd put an entire case in it when she left, knowing that no one would think to count. Except her.

Seeing the number for the president's assistant, she immediately answered. It wasn't the news she wanted. Although Quinn was out of danger and headed home, the CIA director was now asking for her head on a platter, claiming she'd given information to Quinn and his team.

"The director and POTUS recommend that you go on a little vacation, Sydney," said his aide.

"Understood."

She didn't question it. She'd packed the small bag, hid it inside a laundry bag, and left her apartment with a jug of laundry soap in her arms. A few times, she thought she saw someone following her but then realized it was her overactive imagination.

Using one of her many identities, she booked a flight out of Baltimore to Chicago, then took another flight to New Orleans with a different identity. In New Orleans, she rented a car under a third name and found the café where she'd been told she would find Conor.

The kitchen of the small cottage was fully stocked and designed with the utmost care. The coffee machine would whip up lattes, cappuccinos, espressos, and even plain old coffee if you wanted it.

Dressed in her one spare pair of shorts, t-shirt, and running shoes, she poured herself a cup of coffee and stepped out on the porch to wait for her escorts.

"Good morning," said the man seated in the rocking chair. Sydney jumped, not something she usually does.

"Oh! Sorry, you scared me. They call us spooks. You guys should train our people," she smiled. "Good morning."

"Didn't mean to scare you," said Luke. "My name is Luke Robicheaux."

"Robicheaux. Your father was one of the Robicheaux Rangers, and you were a SEAL." Luke smirked at the woman but said nothing. "Sorry. I just know all about you."

"No one knows all about me. I'm here to escort you to the morning meeting. We'll grab some breakfast after that."

"Oh. Sure."

"Sydney, you don't have to be nervous. Your story checks out, although it would have been nice to know that the POTUS is your godfather." Her head jerked to the side, staring at the man. No one knew that. "He's our friend, Sydney. He called last night to be sure you were here and okay."

"I was supposed to let him know, but I was worried about trackers."

"That's what he said. If you know a little about us," he smirked, "you know that anonymity and our privacy are directly related to our survival. While you're here, you are our guest. But no one must know where we are."

"I fully understand," she said, following him into the offices. He opened the door to the auditorium, and she stopped, swallowing as she saw the faces of some of the fiercest warfighters ever produced by the country. She'd seen their photos in top-secret files at the agency. She knew their names. Robicheaux after Robicheaux filled the room. Wolfkill. Redhawk. Baine. The bid Swede, Anders. Dougall and so many more.

"They're friendly," grinned Luke. "For now."

"Sydney, come in," said Titus. "It would take too long to introduce everyone, but you'll get to know them. The POTUS said that we should tell you ‘evergreen.'" Sydney nodded, letting out a slow breath.

"Evergreen was the code word so that I would know I could trust all of you. Let me give you some basics. I was in Pyongyang trying to find out who was cloning children. Your team beat me to it," she smiled. "When I thought I should get out, I was given a different assignment."

"General Shatnick," said Eric. She nodded at the enormous man with the booming bass voice.

"Yes. The North Koreans aren't some tiny nation with no technology and no weapons. They are a powerhouse threat on every level. We already know they have nuclear capabilities, missiles that can reach the western areas of the United States, and technologies that are scaring the shit out of us.

"But what we have isn't something anyone should know about. The new and improved F27 Raptor Eagle. The finest fighting jet on the planet." She paused, seeing the grins on the faces of the men. They had helped to develop it at their G.R.I.P. facility. "They have one."

"What did you say?" asked Cam.

"They have one, or at least one that was built to look and act exactly like it. I've seen it, and it's terrifying."

"They can't possibly have everything on that jet," said Doug, frowning at the young woman.

"I know what you're asking, but I can't be sure. I didn't get to see it up close, but I have photos of it from a distance, including a video of it in the air and performing." She turned to the man behind her that she'd seen the night before. Handing him her phone, she swiped to the photographs, then clicked on a video.

"Son-of-a-bitch, it looks just like ours," said Ryan. Sydney nodded.

"The jets aren't the same," said Sophia Ann. "They've had to modify them. Look, the thrusters aren't the same either. There are differences. You just have to know what to look for. But that's damn close."

"That jet was at the base under General Shatnick. It was locked in a hangar, and no one was allowed to have access to it. Then, suddenly, we see that in the air. I was able to get a position as an interpreter for one of the few civilian Korean contractors. I knew that they were in touch with someone at the base, and that individual was high up.

"I went for dinner one night and was arrested, held in the same truck, and then eventually the same room as Conor. The contractor and one of the Korean generals who had been attempting to get a date with me," she said with disdain, "spoke up for me and gained my release. I was told by the agency to get the hell out, but I didn't want to leave without going back for Conor."

"Why?" asked Hex. She stared at the man, opening her mouth to speak, then realized it would sound stupid.

"He asked you a question," said Dom. Looking at Conor's father, Sydney wasn't sure what to say any longer. She swallowed at the big man, nodding.

"Honestly? I'm not sure. I wasn't lying when I said I thought he was cute. Handsome. He was also a smart-ass, which is what got him beaten more often. But he also knew something about what I was investigating. He said it several times in French. Le général ment."

"The general is lying," frowned Luke. She nodded.

"He said a few other things, mostly about getting to his men and about getting home. But that statement is the one I really need to follow up on. Conor knows something or saw something that no one else knows about, and I don't think that Shatnick is selling information to anyone. He's hard-nosed, a real jerk, but he would never sell out his country. That's not within him. When I called my, I mean the president, he said to get here. So, here I am."

"Well, your story checks out," said Ben. "I have an old friend from the Rangers who is a self-employed contractor now. He was there to follow up on the same things. He didn't know you were agency, but he knew that you were on our side."

"Listen, I want to speak with Conor when he's able to talk, but then I have to get back over there. I have to stop whatever is going on and stop the North Koreans from using that jet."

"Not without me."