Chapter 19

CHAPTER19

“Agent Todd isn’t answering his cell,” Adam said into the speakerphone in the White House Secret Service office. “Ben, can we get a ping from the GPS device in the decoy vehicle?”

“I’m checking,” Ben answered.

Griffin had never felt so numb in all his life. He sat in Director Worcester’s office staring blankly at the agents scurrying around him.

He’d lost her.

After all he’d done, it hadn’t been enough. Griffin had lost colleagues before—both military and civilian—but never someone under his protection. And for it to be Marin was doubly devastating. They had a connection. One that scared the hell out of him, but not knowing her whereabouts was even more frightening. His mind whirred and his stomach lurched just thinking about the heinous murders Salenko had already committed. He slammed his eyes shut and banged his head against the wall at the thought of that monster touching Marin.

“Agent Keller.”

Snapping his lids open, he met the fierce gaze of the president. He was standing in front of Griffin holding a glass with amber liquid swirling around in it.

“Take this and drink it,” the president commanded. “That’s an order.”

Griffin was embarrassed at the way his hand shook, but he took the tumbler and downed its contents in one gulp. The bourbon burned his throat, but at this point Griffin didn’t care.

“No one holds you responsible, Agent Keller,” the president said. “We’ll find her.”

He shot to his feet. “She’s still alive,” Griffin croaked out. “I’d know if she—wasn’t.” He didn’t bother explaining to President Manning how he knew. Griffin got the feeling the man understood.

The president clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll find her,” he repeated.

“Damn it,” Ben’s voice came over the speakerphone. “It looks like the GPS in the decoy vehicle has been disabled.”

The fervor in the room seemed to dim.

Griffin ran his fingers through his hair and squeezed his skull. “There has to be some other way to trace it, Ben,” he groaned.

“Wait,” Ben said. “Did you say she took Otto with her?”

“That’s it!” Adam shouted. “The K-9s all have a GPS microchip implanted in them. Can you track them that way?”

“It’s gonna take me a few minutes. I have to find Otto’s specific serial number, but, yes, I’m sure that I can.”

The movement in the room stilled as everyone waited for Ben’s response. Griffin’s heart pounded so hard he thought it would crack a rib.

“I’ve got him!” Ben announced.

“Where?” Adam asked as he and Griffin headed for the door.

“Marbury Point. I’m texting you the address.”

“Text it to Agent Morgan, too,” Griffin called over his shoulder.

Officer Stevens, Otto’s K-9 handler, fell into step with them. Griffin acknowledged him with a nod as the three men jogged back through the West Wing and out the side entrance to where the Counter Assault Team’s combat vehicle was already running. Adam jumped in the front passenger seat while Griffin and Officer Stevens scrambled to get in back. The agent driving had the Humvee moving before Griffin closed his door.

“Talk to me, Ben,” Griffin demanded into his cell phone.

“Otto’s signal is coming from a warehouse near the water treatment plant,” Ben said. “The address checks out as belonging to the pool servicing company. I’m checking for live video in the area, but so far nothing is coming up.”

“Thirteen minutes out,” the driver announced.

Thirteen minutes.Griffin’s gut clenched. Salenko could administer any amount of torture in thirteen minutes.

“Otto seems to be pacing back and forth, but when I overlay his location with Google Images, it looks like he’s outside the warehouse,” Ben said.

“He’s been separated from Chef Marin,” Officer Stevens explained. “He’s been trained to stay close just in case he can find a way to get back to her.”

Griffin forced himself to take a deep breath. The fact that Salenko had somehow isolated Otto from Marin was not a good sign. They needed to get there quickly.

“The FBI has arrived,” Adam said alluding to the sirens behind them. A second Secret Service vehicle filled with members of Adam’s Counter Assault Team was also following them.

It took them only nine minutes to make it to their destination. They’d killed the sirens several miles back so as not to tip Salenko off.

“We’ll walk in the last half mile,” Adam relayed to Leslie and her team in the FBI vehicle.

Quietly, they climbed out of the Humvee. The pungent smell from the water treatment plant immediately assaulted Griffin’s nose. The drizzle had stopped, leaving behind a residue of moisture that made everything around him shine in the darkness. They’d need to be careful not to give themselves away with anything shiny on their person.

Griffin checked the weapons strapped to his body. Leslie was by his side instantly. She gave his arm a gentle squeeze.

“We’ll find her,” she whispered.

Office Stevens pulled a dog whistle out of his pocket and blew into it; its silent call only registering with a canine’s ears. A long moment later, Otto limped out of the woods behind the warehouse. Blood streamed from the dog’s hind leg, but he obediently sat beside his handler.

“Good boy,” Officer Stevens patted the dog.

He crouched down to examine Otto’s injury. “It looks like a puncture wound from a knife.” The officer’s voice broke slightly. “He’s lost a lot of blood. I need to get him treated before he goes into shock.”

Adam nodded and indicated that one of the FBI vehicles should take the K-9 officer and Otto back. When Officer Stevens bent to lift him into the Humvee, the dog whimpered in protest at being forced to leave. Griffin rubbed a hand over the dog’s ears.

“We’ll bring her back to you,” he whispered. He left the words ‘I promise’ unspoken. The promise he’d already made to Arabelle still haunted him.

The group fanned out as Adam gestured for half the team to circle around the warehouse from one side while he, Griffin, Leslie, and the others surrounded the building from the opposite end. They crouched in the damp gravel five yards from the entrance. The president’s decoy vehicle sat in the parking lot in front of the warehouse along with several white vans apparently used by the pool company. A Ford Expedition was parked there, too. The tire tracks on the wet pavement indicated it had only recently arrived.

Leslie took her cell phone out of her vest and pulled up a blank screen. Eric crept to the side of the warehouse and carefully pressed his handheld radar to the wall. The image from the radar gun was immediately displayed on Leslie’s phone. Adam glanced over Leslie’s shoulder.

“Shit,” Adam whispered. “And here I thought our odds were going to be twelve to one.”

“By my count, there are eight people inside.” She looked up at Griffin. “All of them breathing.”

Her words didn’t go very far to soothe Griffin. He was operating under the theory that Salenko had kidnapped Marin because she’d seen him exiting the White House. If that were the case, why hadn’t he killed her like the others? While he was relieved that Marin was still breathing, something felt off. It was a feeling Griffin hated.

* * *

“Who are these women, Yerik?” the big guy who appeared to be the leader asked. “You were told to bring me your White House spy.”

Marin pretended to study the exchange between her captor, Yerik, and the other man. Her eyes darted from one occupant of the wide room to another while her fingers felt around on the floor beside her, scavenging for any type of weapon she could use to defend herself. Her palms burned and blood from her lip dribbled down her chin, but Marin refused to wait around and see what these men had in store for her. Slowly, she inched back toward the large drums of pool cleaner lining the back wall.

Bita stormed up to the bulky man, her cashmere wrap billowing behind her. Like the man in the suit, she was overdressed for this party.

“Do you not think a woman capable of being a spy?” she asked.

The men accompanying him drew their assault rifles when Bita got close. Marin stilled, holding her breath. But, try as she might, she couldn’t rip her eyes away from what was surely to be Bita’s death. To her surprise, the big man laughed.

“Agapi mu,” he said. “You are quite a handful, yes?”

Bita’s face blanched. “Greek?” she shrieked. “They’re Greek!” She turned to Yerik and began speaking frantically in Farsi again.

Marin took advantage of all the screaming to scoot further back into the shadows. She’d made it six or seven inches when her hand came in contact with something smooth—something smooth that kicked her in the hip. She looked over at the boot attached to the leg of one of the men holding an assault rifle. When her eyes glanced up, the man sneered at her before kicking her again. Marin added another bruise to her abused body as she slid back to the place where Yerik had dumped her.

“Enough!” the Greek man shouted. “What is the meaning of this, Yerik? And who is this shrew?”

Bita bristled at the Greek man’s choice of words. She turned from Yerik abruptly and stalked back over to her tormentor. “I am no shrew! I am Persian royalty. Niece of the late Shah of Iran.”

This got the big man’s attention. He grinned ruthlessly.

“Well done, Yerik, bringing me the mother of the whore the president’s son is married to,” he said.

If Bita was angry before, his words made her positively quake. Her hand made contact with the man’s face more forcibly than when she’d hit Marin earlier. Marin sucked in a breath as her body froze in fear. The Greek man’s fingers latched around Bita’s wrist faster than a cobra struck its victim. He yanked Bita’s body in close to his.

“I am done playing with you,” he snapped. “You will do as I say now.”

Bita wrestled her hand free. “I can’t take any more of the art from the White House,” she said with a huff.

Marin snorted. “You did know what you were doing!”

“Hush.” The boot connected sharply with her hip again and Marin stifled a gasp.

“Your friend, Yerik, killed Ari,” Bita said. “He was the one who knew how to take the paintings from their frames and replace them so no one would notice. I refuse to do that.”

Ari was dead, too?Marin glanced over to Yerik, the man who would likely kill her, as well. The expression on his face hadn’t altered one bit. His cold eyes seemed to be taking in the exchange between Bita and the other man in the detached way a spectator watched a play.

“I have no need for art,” the man told Bita. “That was just Yerik’s ruse to entertain Elena.”

“Elena?” Bita looked from the Greek man to Yerik. “Who is this, Elena?”

“Elena is not important,” the man interrupted. “Neither is the art.”

But Bita seemed to think whoever this Elena was, she was very important. Her face grew contorted with anger. “What have you done?” she demanded of Yerik. “Have you double-crossed me?” She rattled something off again in Farsi, but Yerik remained stone-faced.

Bita turned back to the Greek man. “Those paintings—those paintings.” She gasped. “They were to be exchanged for paintings lost in the revolution.” She spun back to Yerik. “You promised! You said you would help me. Help us! You bastard! You know where those paintings are! You will tell me!”

She flung herself at Yerik. The mad man held himself still until one of the Greek man’s entourage quickly interceded, pulling her away and tossing her down at Marin’s feet. Bita let out a sharp cry as her body made contact with the hard, concrete floor. Marin almost felt sorry for her.

Almost.

With Bita softly sobbing, the Greek man focused his attention on Marin. She tried not to get creeped out by the intense scrutiny of his obsidian eyes.

“Who is this?” he demanded of Yerik.

Yerik stepped into the center of the room. “She is my payment for Elena,” he said proudly.

Marin nearly choked on her own breath. Payment? And who the heck was this Elena person they were all so obsessed with anyway?

“Payment?” The Greek man echoed her thoughts.

“I will give you the chef and you will give me Elena,” Yerik explained. “The conglomerate no longer needs her to create the counterfeit bills. She has given them the template.”

The Greek man’s booming laugh echoed throughout the warehouse. “You fool! The conglomerate doesn’t want to trade Elena for a chef.”

Yerik’s face hardened, if that were even possible. “She is not just a chef,” he said quietly. “She is Max Chevalier’s granddaughter.”

An eerie quiet suddenly settled over the occupants of the room at the mention of her grandfather’s name. The Greek man’s eye’s widened beneath his bushy brows. Marin’s tormentor with the boot took a step back from her.

“You are a fool, Yerik!” the Greek man yelled. “What have you done?” He swore violently in his native tongue.

Yerik didn’t flinch. “The conglomerate can ransom her off. Her family will pay a fortune for her release.”

Marin shivered on the cold cement. It was true. Her grandfather would go to the ends of the earth to get her back. Somehow, though, she didn’t think her captivity would be anything similar to what she’d experienced in the safe houses this week.

“No!” the Greek man argued. “Max Chevalier will not pay a drachma for her release.”

Marin wanted to protest, but she decided these men were all fools anyway, so why bother. She raised her chin belligerently instead.

Yerik continued to press home his point. “You would be surprised what a man would do to get back one of his own.”

“The conglomerate will never return Elena, Yerik. Never!” the Greek man hissed. “Not even for Max Chevalier’s granddaughter. He is a formidable man. A very powerful one. You will have us all killed just for bringing her here tonight.” He gestured with his chin to one of his men. “Take her and set her free.”

Marin gasped sharply. Was he serious? She was to be set free? Bita also drew in a quick breath. She slid closer to Marin and grabbed onto her shoe. Marin yanked her foot away. She’d had enough of that woman touching her.

Yerik stepped between the women and the Greek’s entourage. “You will give me Elena,” he demanded. “In exchange for the chef.”

“No.” The Greek man shook his head. “But the conglomerate will let Elena live. You have done well to bring us the Iranian princess. She will serve us nicely.”

Bita shot to her feet. “I beg your pardon, but I decide who I work for and I’m not sure I like you.”

Marin was becoming slap happy because she almost laughed at Bita’s righteous indignation. Too bad for Bita, none of the men in the room paid her protests any attention.

“You, my agapi mu, will have a new role,” the Greek man told Bita. “You will assist us in manipulating the President of the United States.”

* * *

Adam signaled to the members of his team on the other side of the warehouse. Griffin fidgeted with his helmet. He was getting antsy to get to Marin. Leslie slipped her phone back into her vest and nodded to Adam that she and her team were ready to move in.

Just as Adam raised his hand to give the go-ahead, the rear doors of one of the white cargo vans in the parking lot burst open. A swarm of armed bodies stormed out and raced into the warehouse.

“Federal agents!” they yelled.

“Federal agents?” Adam screamed. “What the fuck?”

Griffin didn’t wait for the chaos to be sorted out. He drew his weapon and followed the crowd into the melee. Gun fire erupted from inside the building.

“Damn it, Griffin, stand down,” Leslie ordered as she followed him into the fray. “FBI!”

The clash lasted less than a minute and when the smoke cleared, there were three bodies on the floor and three others held at gunpoint. Griffin wasn’t exactly sure who was who, but he was sure he didn’t see Marin anywhere in the room. Salenko either.

“Where the hell is she?” he shouted as he spun around the center of the vast warehouse.

“And who the hell are you guys?” Adam demanded, his assault rifle fixed at the intruders.

“Homeland security, counter intelligence,” one of them fessed up. “I’m Reynolds, the agent in charge.”

“Oooh.” A woman moaned from the floor. “I think I’ve been shot.”

Blood was oozing out of Bita Ranjbar’s shoulder. One of the other Homeland agents called for the first-aid kit as he knelt beside her. “Help is on the way, Mrs. Ranjbar. You were very brave.”

The older woman snorted. “After all that, the double-crosser still didn’t tell us where the art is hidden.”

“Wait, she’s working for you?” Leslie asked.

The agent in charge nodded. “Anything more than that, I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. We all work for the same government,” Griffin said through clenched teeth. “Where is Salenko? And how did he get away with Marin?”

“The guy’s a regular Houdini,” Agent Reynolds said. “We’ve been trying to pin him down for weeks. I have two guys out there set up to track him from this position. He can’t go too far on foot.”

Griffin wasn’t going to wait around for someone else to find Marin. He charged toward the door and nearly collided with one of the homeland agents coming inside.

“We lost him,” the agent announced.

“Damn it,” Griffin shouted.

“Agent Keller,” Bita called from where she was sprawled out on the floor. “I know how you can find her.”

“How?” Griffin, Adam, and Leslie asked at the same time.

“I slipped the tracking device Agent Reynolds gave me into her shoe. If the stubborn girl keeps it there, you should be able to find her.”

Griffin could have kissed the pain-in-the-ass woman, but Adam was shoving him out the door toward the Homeland Security van. Agent Reynolds followed in their wake.

“Tony,” Agent Reynolds called. “Pull up Mrs. Ranjbar’s GPS.”

The agent inside the van powered up a laptop. A flashing light appeared on a grid on the screen. It was moving slowly.

“They’re moving through the water processing plant,” the agent said. “And they’re on foot.”

Griffin grabbed the laptop. “Let’s go,” he said to Adam.

“Hold on,” Agent Reynolds demanded. “We’d do better to coordinate this. I want Salenko alive. He’s not going to kill the chef.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Griffin argued.

“Mrs. Ranjbur was wearing a wire. Salenko is using the chef as leverage against the counterfeiters. His plan is to ransom her to her grandfather. He needs her alive to do that. Take a minute to think this through and we’ll find her.”

Leslie joined them at the van. “The sharp dressed man in there is our link to the counterfeiters, Griffin. We got them.”

He didn’t care about that right now. Not while Marin was in danger. And he really didn’t feel like standing around and making nice with more federal agents. He glanced back down at the laptop. The light had stopped flashing. And then the screen went blank.