Foreign Éclairs Read online

  Still fully clothed, I eased between the covers while he shut off the remaining lights. This charade—this pretending to be blissfully unaware of a plot to assassinate us—was far more difficult than I’d expected it to be. I blinked up into the darkness, wondering when we would have our lives back.

  Gav eased an arm around me. “Yes, this is normal.” He gave a quick chuckle. “Well, to an extent. Most operations involve me with a partner but we’re usually on our feet, not snuggled up in bed together.” He pulled me closer. “I agree. It’s aggravating. Being in the dark—quite literally in this instance—isn’t a happy place to be. This is tough work, and even those of us who’ve trained for years have a difficult time sitting still for hours on end. What you’re going through is completely normal. I’d be worried if you weren’t feeling the strain.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “Good people—even strong people—crack under stress. We’re at the very start of this mission, and it could go on for half a day before we get any word of movement. And the possibility exists that nothing will happen at all.”

  “Which would be worse,” I said. “Because then we’ll never know when they might strike.”

  He didn’t answer, but I felt his body tense. “Why don’t you try to sleep? I’ll wake you if there’s any news.”

  My eyes had adjusted to the dark. I propped myself up on one arm to glare at him. “You have to be joking,” I said. “Do you really believe I could sleep?”

  He pulled his arm back out from under me and shrugged. “No, but it was worth a try.”

  I settled back against the pillow to resume staring into the shadows. “If they do plan to strike tonight, how long do you suppose they’ll wait?”

  “It’s anybody’s guess.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Restlessness kept me fidgeting for the next hour or so. “Does it bother you?” I asked Gav. “To have me talking constantly? Asking questions?”

  He lay with his fingers laced behind his head, staring upward. “Helps pass the time, actually,” he said. “These things can get mind-numbingly boring. You’re keeping me alert.”

  Sitting up, I propped my pillow against the headboard in a new attempt to find a comfortable spot. “If it were me,” I said, “I’d strike now.” I pulled up my cell phone and checked the time. “I’d assume my targets were asleep. What more do they want?” I asked rhetorically. “Plus, I’m impatient.”

  “Let’s hope they are, too.”

  “So we can get this over with?” I asked.

  “Exactly.”

  Although scant light streamed around the window shade’s edges, and the rest of the small house was dark, I could see clearly. “Using the washroom would probably be a bad idea right now, wouldn’t it?” I asked. “If they’re watching, that would alert them that we’re awake.”

  Gav sat up. “Go ahead. Just don’t turn on any lights and don’t flush.”

  “Don’t flush?”

  “This is a small structure. Who knows what can be heard from outside?”

  I scooched forward all the way to the foot of the bed and lowered my feet to the floor. We both still wore shoes. A necessary precaution in case we needed to flee, but keeping our footwear on had an added benefit I hadn’t anticipated. Even if I weren’t too stressed to relax, wearing shoes in bed made it next to impossible to fall asleep.

  I’d taken two steps toward the lavatory when a low voice stopped me cold. “Movement detected within the perimeter. Do you copy?”

  Gav was on his feet before I could react. Grabbing me with his right hand, he pulled up the remote with his left. He pressed the Talk button and answered with a whispered affirmative.

  “Unidentified persons closing in.” I thought the voice spoke far more calmly than the situation warranted.

  “How many?” Gav asked.

  “Stand by.”

  “Gav?” I whispered.

  “Stay behind me. No matter what.”

  He stood in the bedroom doorway facing out. I positioned myself behind him, keeping one hand on his back so that he’d know I was there.

  The disembodied voice came through very softly. “One hostile at the northwest window. Two more hostiles circling, approaching front door.”

  “Understood.” Gav growled his response. “Out.”

  From behind, I watched him finger the latch over the Talk button to maintain the open com link. He then slid the device into his pants pocket and used his other hand to gesture. “Get into the bathroom,” he said. “Hide in the tub.”

  Holding my breath, I inched around him, stepping quickly but quietly. In one synchronistic second, as I bumped against the doorjamb, glass shattered behind us. Instinctively, I spun. Gav grabbed my arm to shove me into the bathroom, but he was too late.

  In the time it took for me to comprehend that the sound had come from the window over our bed, a figure had hurdled through the opening. Yelling in a language I couldn’t understand, he bounded off the bed and straight at us.

  Though the cottage was dark, I couldn’t miss the silhouette of the handgun the man pointed at us. Strapped across his back, he wore a giant rifle that looked exactly like the ones used by White House rooftop snipers.

  Gav pushed me back to shield me with his body while shouting at the man in the same foreign language. I stumbled backward, catching myself against a small table, sending its lamp tumbling to the floor. Gav turned at the sound. “Go,” he said to me. “Get into the bathtub. Now.”

  Still doing his best to shield me, he held his hands up as he spoke to the man with the gun. Though I couldn’t understand a word of what was being said, I could tell that Gav’s rational, conciliatory tone was having no effect on the intruder’s state of mind.

  Ignoring the man’s shouts, following only what Gav had instructed me to do, I hurtled myself away, seeking shelter. One second later, the front door broke open with a resounding bang.

  Two more men raced in, carrying similarly huge weapons.

  Again, I stumbled backward, this time landing on my rump.

  The first man—I assumed he was the leader—pushed Gav into the living room, using the muzzle of his gun. “Get up,” he said to me in heavily accented English. His two comrades barricading the front door remained silent, looking to him for direction. “Go stand. By mafalar.” He jammed the gun into Gav’s chest. “You, too.”

  I’d never heard the word mafalar but there was no doubt he wanted us in front of the fireplace. I pushed myself off the floor, expecting Yablonski and his team to move in any second.

  Though the cottage’s lamps remained off, there was enough ambient light to know that we were surrounded by angry men with giant guns. The trigger-happy gleams in their eyes made it clear that one word from the guy in charge and we’d be shot. Point-blank range. In cold blood.

  Any time now, Yablonski. One second from now we could be dead.

  Gav came to stand next to me. He lowered his hands and shifted to English as he continued to reason with the leader.

  “Who are you?” he asked. “What do you want?”

  Though the leader backed up, his aim never wavered. “You speak my language, you must know who I represent.”

  “Kern?” Gav asked.

  The man’s lips spread in a wide smile. “See,” he said to the other two, “the arrogant American is not as stupid as he looks.”

  Gav gave a deferential nod. “We know you seek the release of Farbod Ansari,” he began soberly, calmly, without any indication of panic or fear. “Our government has expressed willingness to discuss your concerns, but only if you work through diplomatic channels. This”—Gav waved his hands to encompass the room. The three men tightened their grips on their guns, but Gav didn’t flinch—“isn’t the way to achieve your goals.”

  “You know nothing of our goals.”

  “Then tell me.” Had I not known better, I might have been convinced by the sincerity in Gav’s voice. “Maybe I can help. I work for—”

  The shorter of
the two men at the door spoke up. “We know who you are. That is why we have come here. You are our instrument of success.”

  “How can I be?” Gav feigned confusion. “I can do nothing from here.” Again he gestured into the air. Again, the three men reacted—this time, though, with a little less alarm. He made eye contact with each of them in turn. “We are at your mercy. Tell me what you want from me, but please, let my wife go.” He gestured again, toward me this time. No reaction. “She’s not a part of this.”

  “You know nothing.” The third man spoke with such undisguised anger I was afraid he’d pull the trigger if I so much as blinked. “She is the reason we are here.”

  Gav ignored the man, directing his attention to the leader. “Tell me what you want from us.”

  “You were to die at your favorite restaurant,” he said, arching the words favorite restaurant into a high, mocking falsetto.

  “That was you?” Gav brought a hand to his forehead, simulating incredulity. “But you couldn’t have known we would be there.”

  The three men exchanged a triumphant glance. “We are no longer content to kill you both,” the leader said. “You and the female will be our hostages. These are our diplomatic channels to secure Farbod’s release. Let us see how eager your president negotiates now.” He made eye contact with the men at the door then nodded toward us. “Restrain them.”

  “Wait.” Gav held up both hands. “Where are we going? You know you can’t get away with this. Your best move is to give up now.”

  The leader laughed. “You think we are foolish. You think Kern has no plan. He knows that on American soil we cannot hope to achieve our objective. But if our hostages are held in Armustan, we maintain control. Our country is beautiful this time of year,” he said with a laugh. “You will love it.”

  “You plan to fly us there?” The question tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop myself. “There’s no way. The minute we’re reported missing, all flights will be halted.”

  He gave a throaty chuckle. “By the time you are missed, our private jet will have transported all of us to Armustan and Kern will open negotiations for your release.” He swung the muzzle of the gun toward me. “Kern is eager to meet you face-to-face,” he said. “He has been waiting a long time to exact his revenge on you.”

  “On me?” I asked, doing my best to feign innocence and hoping my outbursts weren’t throwing off Yablonski’s plan. Where were they, anyway? “Who is this Kern? What revenge are you talking about?”

  “Enough for now. We have plenty of hours to explain exactly how difficult your situation is,” he said. “The agent is of value to us alive. You are not. You will be brought to our circle and—if Kern is in a generous mood—granted a quick, merciful death. But only if he is in a generous mood.” At that he chuckled.

  One of the two other men laid his gun on the floor and made his way over. Intent on handcuffing us with Velcro-style restraints, he gestured for me to put my hands out. I inched closer to Gav. The man growled what sounded like an order, but I kept my hands behind my back.

  “Wait,” the leader said. Eyes wide, he backed away as though seeing us for the first time. “Why are you wearing day clothing?” Turning to his men he shouted in Armustanian. Though I couldn’t understand the words, I knew he’d ordered them to run.

  They didn’t stand a chance.

  One breath later, black-clad figures swarmed the three Armustanians. In a precisely orchestrated advance, they grabbed the men’s guns, disarmed the terrorists, and tackled them to the floor.

  The Armustanians cried out and struggled for control, but the stealth warriors were too strong and in too great a number to combat. The attack took less than thirty seconds, but in that short time, five team members managed to handcuff the Armustanians with the same Velcro restraints they’d intended to use on us.

  I hadn’t had time to utter a word. Hadn’t had a chance to react, so when one of the team members came over to ask if I was okay, I stammered a lot of nothing.

  Gav gave me a quick squeeze and kissed the top of my head. “Have a seat,” he said, leading me to the table where we’d eaten dinner. “We’re okay.”

  “I know,” I said, finally finding my voice. “How did it happen so fast? I thought—”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” he said. “Right now I need to help question these men. Will you be okay sitting here awhile?”

  I nodded.

  Yablonski showed up at the front door. Arms crossed, he surveyed the scene.

  Gav strode past me. Although he spoke quietly to Yablonski, I heard angry tension in his voice. “What took you so long?”

  “I’ll explain. But for now, let’s get some lights on in here.”

  CHAPTER 22

  I’d been through far more harrowing predicaments in the past, some that had left me battered and trembling. As I sat at the table, watching the team take control of the scene, I realized I was suffering none of the residual terror I usually experienced after an altercation. I had no compulsion to collapse in post-traumatic relief. Sure, having high-powered weapons aimed at our chests had shaken me up a bit, but I’d always expected to come through this one unscathed. And now that I had, I felt odd, as though I’d missed a step along the way.

  Louis and Maryann—the fake Bill and Erma—joined the crew in the increasingly crowded cottage. Maryann came to sit with me. She asked if I was all right and if I needed anything. I assured her I was fine.

  “But . . . what took them so long?” I asked her. “Why did Yablonski wait to take them down? We could have been killed.”

  “The situation was under control,” she said. “Team members around the perimeter caught some chatter before the terrorists made their move. That’s when we learned they were here to capture, not kill you.” Her eyes clouded. “It was a last-minute decision to allow them into the cottage, but a good one.”

  “You didn’t think it might be important to tell us?”

  “No time,” she said. “That’s exactly why your husband was taken out of the equation, why he wasn’t even allowed to carry his gun tonight—in case plans changed. Gav would have protected you, possibly compromising the operation. Joe Yablonski couldn’t allow that.”

  “Even though we were in danger?”

  “The situation was under control,” she said again.

  Near us, Louis shoved the sofa and side tables to one side of the living room, clearing space to settle the Armustanians facedown in the center of the floor.

  Other team members secured the perimeter and still others were sent to locate the getaway car and driver, which were, no doubt, nearby. The attackers, lying prone, were frisked and stripped of all weapons. No bombs detected, no remote-control devices anywhere to be found. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  With their hands bound behind their backs and their ankles tightly trussed, the men weren’t going anywhere on their own. I came to understand that another team had been dispatched to ensure that no backup Armustanians waited in the wings—or the vineyard, as it were.

  The leader lifted his head high enough to make eye contact with me. His upper lip curled as he bared his teeth. I knew he meant to intimidate, but surrounded as I was, by some of the best and brightest guardians of American freedom, I felt no fear. I gazed back at him and slowly shook my head. He growled.

  Twisting his head toward his cohorts, he barked out what sounded like imperatives, wriggling against his bonds as he did so. He looked like a wannabe break-dancer trying, and failing, to do the worm maneuver.

  I caught Gav’s attention and sent him a questioning look. “He’s warning the other two not to speak to us, not to admit to anything.”

  Moments later, I heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter arriving and then landing nearby. I tilted my head and reconsidered. Multiple helicopters. No one, except me, seemed the least bit surprised by their arrival.

  The angry Armustanians were removed from the scene one by one, each accompanied by four team members. I had no idea where t
he terrorists were being taken, but weariness had begun to settle over me and I realized I didn’t care. Gav and I were safe. Mission accomplished.

  Eventually only four of us remained in the cottage: Yablonski and Gav returning the furniture to its proper arrangement, and Maryann and I at the table. I stood. She did, too.

  Yablonski replaced the coffee table in front of the sofa and slapped his hands together. His eyes were sharp things, razor-edged with impatience. “Let’s go.”

  “Go?” I repeated. “What happens now?”

  I watched dismay cross Yablonski’s features. I had no idea how he could have forgotten I was there, but the realization that he still had me to deal with dimmed his sparking anticipation. “Tonight,” he said with exaggerated exuberance, “we keep you under surveillance at the main house.” He pointed in the direction of Bill and Erma’s dwelling. “It’s an extra precaution, you understand. We don’t anticipate any further incursions.”

  Reading his expression and tone, I sought clarification. “Keep me under surveillance?” I hoped I was wrong. “By myself?”

  Yablonski winced. Gav eased an arm around me, and I had my answer.

  “You’re taking Gav, aren’t you?”

  “Ollie, I apologize,” Yablonski said. “I’m bringing Gav back in to debrief the assassins. I promise to bring him back safe and sound as soon as humanly possible. Maryann will stay with you, and we’ll have armed agents surrounding the house all night. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

  There were times when being married to a special agent tried my patience. This was one of them. “I’m not worried about being safe.”

  Gav gave my sloping shoulders a squeeze. “I’m sorry,” he said. “When Joe relieved me of duty, I assumed I wouldn’t be invited in on this.”

  “Again, my fault.” Yablonski tried, unsuccessfully, to curb his eagerness to get away. “We have an extraordinary opportunity here. Once the team gets our detainees settled, we will rely on your husband’s fluency with the language and his expertise with this culture to extract the answers we need.”