CHAPTER4
“What the hell was that?”Dean demanded as soon as the airport was in his rearview mirror. The convoy was underway, heading west toward the pass. Spalding’s pal was in the lead, followed by the two white SUVs. Dean was last in the line. Fine by him when it came to a convoy, but completely unacceptable when he was the in the dark about his partner.
It had taken all of his willpower to ignore the tension gripping Mel when Atwell shook her hand. Of course, her expertise and training kept her nerves and discomfort hidden from the others. They didn’t know her as well as he did.
“That took longer than I expected,” she said. “We’ve been in the truck more than five minutes.”
“And we’re just now on the move, far enough back no one can read our lips.”
“That’s a little more paranoid than usual for you.”
“Don’t care.” He would not take offense. Would not start an argument. He needed her to open up, and fast. Relaxing his tight grip on the steering wheel, he said, “Tell me what’s going on. Please.”
“To keep a long story short, it looks like Spalding is cozied up with a terrorist. Mr. Atwell only looks friendly.”
“Atwell.” Dean snorted. “You mean Badih Azizi.”
“You recognized him too?”
Why was that such a shock to her? Leaving active duty didn’t mean he’d forgotten everything. Especially not details like Azizi. “The man has a memorable face.” And a list of crimes against humanity as long as Dean’s leg. He wanted to know how the man found his way to the States. “How and when did he meet you?”
“Do you think the studio knows about Spalding and Az-Atwell?” she mused, staring straight ahead. “Could be that’s why they asked us to join this party. Protect their reputation, people, and interests.”
He let her evade the real issue, for the moment. Some operations, like his failed marriage, weren’t fun to talk about. “He would’ve shown up as Azizi on that documentary,” Dean said. “Hard to believe they track Spalding’s associates that closely. Nothing on the itinerary clued us into this connection.”
“True,” she agreed.
He didn’t care for the resignation in her voice. Mel was always pumped up and full of energy. Bigger than life, oozing confidence and shimmering with an undeniable radiance. Right now, she was pulling into herself more with every passing second. The unprecedented behavior worried him.
“I should’ve taken more time vetting the planned stops.” She’d pulled out her phone, but she wasn’t looking at it. “I didn’t take the assignment seriously enough.”
He doubted it. This was on him. She’d been distracted by his anxiety. Mel was thorough with every task, whether it was her fitness or a shift at the Watering Hole. And she was one of the best with research.
“He didn’t recognize you.”
“We shouldn’t expect him to.” She shifted in the seat. “I look totally different than the last time he saw me. How on earth did a movie director and a terrorist end up as friends?”
“I’m sure we can pull the story out of Spalding tonight at dinner.”
“Or Lacy. She has all the answers, right?”
“Guess so.” He changed lanes to stay in line with the convoy. “The director clearly likes to be the big man on campus.”
“Just like Azizi,” Mel said, her voice low. “Atwell. I’ve gotta get on board with the alias. You can bet I’m digging into this mess at the first opportunity.”
“Better make it the second,” Dean suggested. “Don’t know that we can trust the wi-fi privacy hosted by Afghanistan’s most congenial crime boss.”
She laughed, but it was haunted and bitter. “Not the first superlative that pops into my head.” Tracing the edges of her cell phone with her long, nimble fingers, she said, “You do make a good point.”
Dean shifted in his seat. According to the address on the navigation app, they only had another half hour or so alone. “You know him from more than a poster. Come on, Mel. Don’t let me go in blind.”
“As if.” She sniffed, her chin lifting. “Negotiating with Azizi was my last official act as a CIA field officer. I went to his place to recover surface to air missiles and he served me tea and a smile before he killed me.”
Whoa. Loads of information to unpack in that brief summary. “First things first. Please tell me you used a disguise in Afghanistan.”
“Yes. Had to remind myself of that detail too,” she mused. “Also, I never smiled, never shook his hand. Wore a dark wig under the head scarves. Took any and every precaution.”
“But he knows your voice.”
“Doubtful,” she countered. “We weren’t friends. Our conversations weren’t casual and came nowhere close to pleasant. Besides, it’s been a few years and I’m a woman.”
“An American woman,” he reminded her. “The American part is obviously important to him, even if you didn’t realize it then.”
“Not like he didn’t win that battle.” Her voice was sharp. “The bastard killed my career.”