Chapter 6

6

“Ms. Cole’s assailant is a Syrian national,” Tim told the group after identifying the man. “He came into the country a few weeks ago. I believe he came in with this other guy, Yusuf Ali. Ali is a United States citizen who left for Syria six months ago.”

Viktor had dragged her to an early 8:00 a.m. meeting at AGS. Marissa wasn’t surprised that he had shut the trapdoor once again on his emotions. Acting like he had not just bared his deepest, darkest secret to her the night before, Viktor shoved a to-go cup of coffee in her hand and ushered her out of his building forty-five minutes after he had woken her up. He’d been succinct in speech and economical in actions. In short, he was very Viktor. Although, he had held her hand while they traversed the light Sunday morning traffic from New Park to Washington DC. Once they had arrived at AGS HQ, he was business as usual. He walked beside her, but held himself at an impersonal distance as though they had not just spent a whole night intimately together. And Marissa found herself relieved with this reprieve from his attentions; professionalism was still in his dictionary.

“Do we know their affiliations?” Marissa asked .

Tim clucked and nodded for Holly to change the screen. “They belong to a Syrian communist party. It’s a minor player compared to Nasir’s political party and the ruling Ba’ath.”

“Or they may be trying to appear minor,” Viktor said thoughtfully. “The Syrian communist party has its roots in the Reformists Communist Party of Russia . . . and damn it!” Understanding dawned quickly on Viktor’s face and he wasn’t happy.

“And RCPR is linked to the NKUF,” Marissa glanced at Holly who was frowning. “It’s the National Korean Unification Front. We have to bring in your friend, Viktor.”

“No.”

“Are you waiting for someone else to die?” Marissa challenged.

Viktor glanced at her sharply. “Don’t start, Ms. Cole.”

“I wasn’t. I don’t need to.”

She and Viktor had a silent conversation that was, quite frankly, fairly accurate.

If they had gotten to me, would you have gone to Matsuda?

They didn’t get to you, so that’s not even a question.

But they could have.

“Fucking drop it!” Viktor growled, causing Tim and Holly to jump.

Marissa quirked a brow and shrugged. “Just wondering.”

“Er . . . do you guys want me to continue, or do both of you need a moment?” Tim asked.

“Stop being a smart ass,” Viktor said. “What else do you have, Burns?”

“I’ve sent Guardians to Ali’s apartment.”

“Anything on the money trail? Phone records?”

“Nothing. They’re using cash and disposable cell phones.”

“Probably burn phones, too,” Marissa muttered. “These are grunts. We already suspect Rafiq could be behind this, but does the buck end with him?”

“Rafiq’s father wasn’t affiliated with the communist party. Mustafa Shadid was with an Islamist separatist group. Whole thing doesn’t add up,” Tim said.

“We need to concentrate on Rafiq Shadid,” Viktor said.

Marissa watched the subtle changes on Viktor’s face and knew that look. He was deep in thought and he had already pieced together the puzzle, but he wasn’t sharing. It irked her that he would withhold information from her when agents were dying.

“If you know something, Baran, you better start talking,” Marissa addressed him icily.

His eyes flickered over her briefly. “I’m not at liberty to divulge classified information.”

“Well, de-classify it! I’m the fucking CIA, Baran. My clearance outranks yours.”

“Are you sure, Ms. Cole? Maybe you should ask Yeager?”

“Oh, I certainly will,” Marissa retorted, pushing back and standing up.

“Our briefing isn’t over.” Viktor’s eyes sparked at her angrily.

“I’m wasting my time here. I’m heading back to Langley,” Marissa informed him.

“You have no transportation, and I’m not leaving to play chauffeur because I’m sure not pandering to your CIA ass.”

He did not just say that . Marissa fumed, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. Tim and Holly shuffled nervously, not knowing where to fix their gazes.

With as much dignity as she could muster, she leveled her frosty eyes against Viktor’s heated ones. “I’m sure you can spare a Guardian to take me to DC so I can retrieve my car.”

“Burns, Nolan, leave us,” Viktor said. “I’ll catch up with you two later. We’ve got a busy day ahead.”

When the two analysts left, Viktor stood up and faced her squarely.

“What the fuck was that all about?” he demanded.

“You’re withholding information. ”

“I can’t tell you. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

Viktor sighed. “I have no concrete proof. The whole scenario makes my head hurt as it is.”

“Try me.”

“I said no, Iz.”

“Will you let me help you today?”

“No.”

“Fine, I’m going to Langley.”

“You’re working too hard,” Viktor said softly, raising his fingers to brush her cheeks. “It’s Sunday, why don’t you go back to my house, unpack, and get settled in. Relax.”

“You know you’re sounding like a hypocrite, right?”

His blue eyes hardened. “Don’t fight me on this, kitten.”

“Oh, and just because you have a dick, you can work harder than I can?”

“Goddamn it, Marissa—”

“What does the AGS database have that the CIA doesn’t?”

“I will tell you when I’ve got something. Goddamn it! I’m just keeping you from wasting time. Save your energy for the fights you can win.”

Marissa’s eyes narrowed. “Either you know I’m onto something that you’d rather I wasn’t, or you know I’m totally off course. Which is it?’

Viktor’s mouth formed a thin line.

“I’m going back to CIA HQS,” Marissa repeated her earlier statement, seeing how unbending Viktor was and how she was going nowhere fast.

“Suit yourself,” he replied coolly. “I’ll have Agent Olsen take you to your car.”

Without another word, Viktor turned and stalked out the room.

Ten a.m. on a Sunday, and her Dupont Circle neighborhood was slowly coming to life. Corner coffee shops slowly filling up with parents with their kids in tow, people walking their dogs, runners dressed up against the cold logging mileage—these were the reasons she took the job to protect the homeland, to protect the freedom of its citizens. Political stability in other countries was important for the stability at home. Yes, she’d been indirectly involved in regime changes. Personally, she’d had enough of these freaking dictators who had no regard for human life and no qualms of using chemical weapons on their own people.

“Which one’s yours?” Olsen’s voice broke through her ruminations. Marissa pointed to her BMW, two cars up.

“Sorry, I was a bit distracted.” She smiled at the raven-haired woman beside her. Agent Rebecca Olsen hadn’t quite passed her probie status as a Guardian, but Marissa knew Viktor was recommending her for full agent stripes, having proven herself in Paris.

“Thanks for the lift.” Marissa exited the Ford Explorer, dug for her keys in her purse, and waved Olsen off.

So much for listening to her own advice of turning it off for the weekend, she thought as she got into her car. She had made a brief call to Allison explaining what had happened. Then she called Yeager who was meeting her at Langley. Marissa laid into him about Viktor and told her boss she wanted answers—mainly what Viktor knew that she didn’t.

Turning the key in the ignition, her car sputtered as if the battery was dead. A shroud of dread cloaked her entire body as she scrambled out of the car. She was halfway across the street when a sedan blared its horn. A thunderous roar and a searing wave of heat blew her right over the hood of the oncoming vehicle. Next thing she knew, her hands scraped across concrete, sending shards of pain up her arms. Her shoulders buckled and a riptide of darkness threatened to pull her under .

There was screaming and shouting. Marissa had not lost consciousness, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t freaking disoriented with the incessant ringing in her ears.

What just happened?

People were staring down at her asking her stupid questions.

Are you okay?

Should we take you to a hospital?

Why did your car blow up?

She wasn’t sure if she answered them aloud or in order: No, she wasn’t fine. Her car just exploded. And no hospital, damn it, because someone wanted her dead.

She gripped the tire of a parked car and struggled to get up. Hands rushed to assist her, but she batted them away.

“I’m fine,” Marissa said tersely.

She’s in shock. One person tried to explain her ungrateful behavior.

“Ms. Cole!” Olsen’s familiar voice broke through the crazy chatter around her. She saw the Guardian push through the gathering crowd. At this point, Marissa was on her feet, but she was hunched over because her entire back was in pain. Relief washed over Olsen’s face when she saw Marissa. The Guardian was on the phone. Marissa was pretty sure who was on the other end.

“She seems to be okay,” Olsen wheezed into the phone. “Uh . . . yes, Sir, hold on.” She held out the phone to Marissa. “Mr. Baran wants to talk to you.”

“Viktor.” Marissa tried to keep her voice steady.

“Are you okay?” His voice was calm, but the undercurrent of tension was enough to lodge a piece of shrapnel in her throat. She wanted to break down and cry, and have Viktor deal with this mess. So she kept quiet.

“Iz? Answer me, damn it. ”

“I’m fine.” She seemed to be repeating herself a lot these days. Marissa limped around the car that probably took the brunt of the explosion, and stared at the fiery remains of her BMW. Sirens echoed in the distance.

“I’ll have Olsen bring you back here. I don’t want you out of my sight again.”

“I have a meeting with Yeager.” She scanned the crowd. Some perpetrators were too egotistical not to enjoy their handiwork.

“Fuck Yeager,” Viktor whispered fiercely. “You haul your ass back here, right now.”

“Son of a bitch—”

“Marissa! God fucking—”

“It’s Ali.” A surge of adrenalin fired up her limbs as her eyes landed on the face of Yusuf Ali among the sea of spectators ogling the burning wreckage. He was staring at her in disbelief, and he was backing away from the crowd. She’d be damned before she let him slink away. “I’m going after him.”

She tossed the phone back to Olsen, ignoring the cursing that erupted over the line. “Feed Baran the information.”

“Where are you—”

Taking several tentative steps and ignoring the pain shooting through her body, Marissa heaved a deep breath and shot off after Ali.

“You should have knocked her over the head, or better yet, tranq’d her,” Viktor yelled at Olsen. Handing Tim the phone, he ordered, “Talk to Olsen. Get their exact location and set up the grid. I want visuals on Ms. Cole ASAP.”

“But where—” Tim called out after him.

“I’m going in the field,” Viktor threw over his shoulder. “Send the feed to my phone and my car’s computer.”

He jogged up the dimly lit tunnels of AGS HQ, all the while seething between panic and anger. Damn Marissa for making him feel this way. Bottom line, he didn’t trust her enough to take care of herself. He hadn’t trained her the way he did Maia. If he had known the woman was going to twist him up in knots, he wouldn’t have started a relationship with her.

Relationship?

Shit. I’m fucked.

If there was something Marissa was good at, it was running, and fortunately, she had put on boots this morning. Although, stilettos wouldn’t have even stopped her. She’d simply take them off and sprint barefoot.

Ali turned the corner from T Street onto New Hampshire Avenue. His destination undoubtedly the center of Dupont Circle—traffic nightmare capital and a sure fire way to lose a pursuer. But not today.

She vaguely heard Agent Olsen call her name, but like all marathons, the finish line became the goal and all else faded into white noise. In this case, tackling Ali to the ground was the prime objective, much like a runaway bunny to her wolf.

Her senses went on full alert as she rounded the corner into Dupont Circle and saw her prey standing with both hands raised. Bystanders reading the paper, and pedestrians crossing the Circle slowly turned their attention on the unfolding drama.

So much for covert ops—realizing the impulsiveness of her actions and the cost to her cover.

Marissa’s hand went to the grip of her 9mm, not wanting to draw her firearm in such a public place. Besides, Ali was not visibly armed. She needed Olsen to take charge of the arrest, and she needed to fade into the background before anybody decided to make a video, turning her into a YouTube sensation. Wouldn’t that give Yeager heartburn?

“What’s going on here?” a Metropolitan police officer barked.

“This is official business, officer!” Marissa shouted, not taking her eyes off Ali. “Get on the ground, Ali!”

“Unless you present your badge, ma’am, you have no jurisdiction here and I suggest you remove your hand from your firearm.”

The CIA had no badge, dummy. That was the FBI or any of the other alphabet agencies, but never the CIA.

“Ms. Cole!” Olsen gasped from behind her.

Marissa should feel relief, but her instincts were screaming for her to hit the deck. This scene was wrong. Very wrong. Ali’s eyes shifted to a spot behind her.

Son of a bitch. It was a trap.

Marissa slammed into Olsen just as the first bullet struck the pavement. Thankful for the illegally parked car in front of them, she dragged the Guardian behind the vehicle while yelling for the MPD cop to take cover. Screaming ensued when spectators realized that someone was shooting at them.

“Shots fired at the corner of Dupont Circle and New Hampshire Avenue. I need backup now!” the officer said through his shoulder radio. Crouch walking to Marissa and Olsen, he demanded, “Who in Jesus Christ are you guys?”

“You don’t wanna know,” Marissa replied, wincing briefly when a shell casing struck her face. The car they were hiding behind was being raked by sniper bullets, and all they could do was wait it out. Low ground was a disadvantage and it would be suicide to return fire without knowing the location of your target.

Speaking of target, Marissa glanced around. Yusuf Ali was long gone .

“You’re bleeding, Ms. Cole,” Olsen reminded her to take a physical inventory of her injuries. Not that getting shot at after almost getting blown up was an everyday occurrence, but it did happen, more often than she liked.

“Flesh wound.” She glanced dispassionately at the rapidly soaking fabric of her jeans.

“The guy’s ballsy,” Marissa informed the cop. “Isn’t there a police station right across from us?”

“Damn right there is.”

A car screeched to a halt beside them.

Viktor. Nathan Stark was riding shotgun.

“Get in.” The AGS top man sounded pissed.

“You can’t leave,” the police officer protested.

“I’ll call you,” Marissa quipped as she dove into the back of the Charger, Olsen right behind her.

Viktor resisted the urge to park the car, drag Marissa out, and blister her ass. Instead, he concentrated on navigating DC’s most notorious intersection. He’d not spoken a word to Marissa or Agent Olsen since they took refuge in his car, preferring to let Nathan deal with the women and handle the logistics of retrieving the AGS vehicle.

Marissa was bleeding, and she likely also had a concussion. There was nothing more that Viktor wanted to do than tend to her, but he was struggling even to get the words out, so he simply brooded.

“I double parked on T Street,” Olsen announced.

“I hope you locked the car,” Nathan muttered. “Ms. Cole, are you all right? Do we need to take you to the hospital?”

“I’ll live,” Marissa responded with a wince. Her eyes met Viktor’s in the rearview mirror. “I need to get to Langley.”

“Not happening.” Viktor spoke up for the first time.

“I need to report this. ”

“Call it in.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Viktor, my phone got incinerated in the car bomb.”

Viktor clenched his jaw. He’d nearly lost her. Again. Twice. The enemy was not hiding now. They were sending a strong message that they meant business. He punched a number on his Sec-phone.

“Yeager? It’s Baran.”

“Viktor, what can I do for you this morning?’

“Marissa can’t make it to your meeting.”

There was a pause and then, “And the reason?”

“She nearly got blown up in her car and shot down by a sniper this morning. Reason enough?”

“Christ! Is she okay?”

“Ask her yourself.” Viktor handed the phone to Marissa. He had a bigger issue to tackle right now—getting through T Street, which was currently being blocked by fire trucks and police cruisers. He cursed and made an illegal U-turn to head back on 19 th Street to cut through S Street and get to Swann. He pulled up by the abandoned AGS vehicle, which was in the process of being written up by a uniform for a parking violation. “Take care of that, Stark—Olsen.”

Marissa made a move to follow Olsen.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Viktor gripped her arm to hold her back.

“Langley. I’m sure you can spare Olsen for a few hours. I might be able to commission a vehicle and send her back sooner.”

Viktor glared at her. She glared right back.

“I need to talk to Yeager,” Marissa pressed stubbornly.

“Fine. But Olsen’s not taking you. I am.”

Marissa’s eyes widened in surprise. “I thought you were tied up at AGS?”

“I was. I still am. But someone can’t stay out of trouble.”

“I’m not your problem. ”

“Think again, sweetheart. Now, shut up.”

Marissa’s eyes narrowed at him. Viktor smothered a grin and stepped out of the Charger to take a gander at the chaos happening a couple of blocks up, where Marissa’s vehicle had been burning. “Stark.”

Nathan turned to him.

“Take care of Ms. Cole’s vehicle. Use one of our official covers to tidy up the paper work on that car.”

Nathan nodded and took off at a jog.

Marissa exited the Charger, but visibly steadied herself, gripping the roof of the vehicle.

“That’s it,” Viktor muttered. “You need a doctor. Forget Langley.”

“Don’t be silly,” Marissa said weakly, her eyes glazed over. Viktor was already rounding the vehicle. “I got blood on your precious car,” she added inanely before she took a crash.

Viktor caught her before she hit the asphalt. She was barely conscious, if not a bit loopy.

“How did I end up down here?”

“Let me see. Concussion?” Viktor said. “Possible blood loss?”

“No need to be sarcastic,” Marissa grumbled, snuggling closer to him.

“Oh, my God, what happened?” Olsen asked when she noticed Viktor bundling Marissa into the front passenger seat.

“My guess? Her adrenalin wore off,” Viktor replied. “I’m taking her back to HQ and having Henderson take a look at her. You got this?”

Not waiting for Olsen to acknowledge his question, he got into the car and drove off.