“Yes, sir. We have somebody on the catering staff that swept it on a smoke break. No signals were detected. It looks like they didn’t expect the two of them to leave together.”

  Morrison folded his arms and pinched his chin. “Doing the meet at the embassy was a mistake. It’s too visible. They should have just done a dead drop.”

  “She refused. She insisted on doing it in person.”

  “Which should be a red flag in itself.” Morrison sighed. “I just have a bad feeling about this. Jack’s cover is solid?”

  “Yes, sir, it’s the one he’s used a lot over the past several years. If anyone takes a deep dive on it, they’ll find lots of travel history, a local residence, a car, phones, utility bills, everything. His cover is rock solid. They might have suspicions, but just like us, they wouldn’t pick him up for them.”

  “But just like us, they’d observe him.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Any indication of surveillance?”

  “No, but we have to assume there is.”

  “What precautions has Jack taken?”

  Leroux shrugged. “Jack’s being Jack, sir.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He created a scene in a public place, left with the asset for everyone to see, and now he’s taking her back to his hotel room where I believe his intention is to…” Leroux paused and Morrison eyed him.

  “His intention is to what?”

  “Bang her till the sun comes up,” said Child, spinning in his chair.

  Morrison grunted. “Well, let’s hope he transmits the intel before he does that.”

  Leroux chuckled. “I’ve already told him to turn off his comms before they start doing the nasty, but knowing Jack, he’ll leave them on just to mess with us.”

  “Why is it that all my best officers constantly torment me?” Morrison pointed at his hair. “It’s because of Jack and Kane that I’ve gone completely gray.”

  Leroux eyed the hair, a striking silver that he hoped to have when he grayed. “Well, sir, one positive is that you didn’t go bald from it.”

  “True.” He tapped the top of his head. “Though I could be pulling a Ted Danson and you’d never know it.”

  Child stopped spinning. “Ted who?”

  Morrison threw back his head and groaned. “I’m getting too old for this shit.” He headed for the door. “Let me know when he’s transmitted the intel, and tell whoever’s putting together the transcripts for what’s about to happen to just leave the AI version for his canoodling. It’s less cringeworthy and good for a laugh when it has no idea what to make of what’s being said.”

  Leroux grinned. “I’ll see to it, sir.”

  Danny Packman, one of Leroux’s senior analysts, turned in his chair. “He’s not wrong about the AI transcripts. They’re hilarious. I guess they haven’t programmed it yet with the extensive erotica archives that are out there.”

  Tong snickered. “God help us all if they do. The youth of America will never get anything done.”

  Child grinned. “To hell with the youth of America, I’ll never get anything done.”

  Marc Therrien, a senior analyst and one of the oldest in the room, guffawed. “My God, Randy, if you’re not the youth of America then I don’t know what the hell is. I’ve got underwear older than you.”

  Child rose, facing the team. “Okay, whoever gets him in the Secret Santa draw next year, you know what he needs. New gitch.”

  The room erupted and Therrien stood, taking a bow before delivering double-fisted birds. “I take a men’s medium brief. Black please. Tighty-whities make me feel like a little boy.”

  Packman snorted. “And they’re so unforgiving when you’re in a rush with a turtle head.”

  Tong turned to Packman, puzzled. “Turtle head?”

  Leroux squeezed his forehead, closing his eyes. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Look it up on the Urban Dictionary,” said Child between fits of laughter.

  Leroux cleared his throat and raised his hand, cutting off the frivolity as he pointed at the displays, the satellite tracking showing Jack arriving at the hotel. “Okay, people, eyes wide. We have to assume the exchange will happen as soon as they’re in his room.” He glanced over his shoulder at Packman. “Confirmed no one went in his room while he was out?”

  “Confirmed. The motion detector shows no movement after he left, and the signal sweeper is still showing clear. If they did insert surveillance, it’s not transmitting, it’s wired.”

  Passive surveillance was the worst kind. It couldn’t be detected and had to be physically found, and searching the room while undercover wasn’t an option for it would never occur to an innocent person to search for surveillance.

  Teresa brought her car to a halt in front of the hotel, ending the tracking portion of the operation and Leroux gave the order to switch the displays to show the hotel feeds. Half a dozen different images appeared in a grid. “Watch for anybody taking an interest in their arrival. Anybody getting up. Anybody touching their ear, talking into their wrist. Anybody paying attention to the elevator that they get on.”

  Child pointed. “Camera Three. Guy on the couch reading the paper. He just looked over the top as they came into the lobby then said something.”

  Leroux turned to Tong. “Check him out.”

  “I’m on it.” Tong hurried to her station and Leroux left the task in her capable hands, returning his attention to the other cameras. The lobby was fairly busy. It was still early in the evening, Jack’s faked illness having them returning during the peak of Warsaw’s nightlife. Tong cursed then tapped at her keyboard before pointing at the display where a CIA dossier was now shown. “His name is Alexie Orlov. Former Russian FSB, Moscow branch. We have nothing on file indicating who he now works for.”

  “What’s he doing in Warsaw?” asked Child.

  “He might have come in with Director Nikitin,” suggested Packman. “If he is running an op, he might have brought in all his own people.”

  Tong dismissed the idea. “It says here he’s former.”

  “Freelance?”

  Leroux scratched at his chin. “If that’s the case and he’s pre-positioned the people at Jack’s hotel, then this whole op is already blown.” He grabbed his headset and fit it in place. “Jackrabbit, Control. Abort! I say again, abort! We have reason to believe the operation’s been compromised, over.” He watched Jack board the elevator with Teresa, giving no indication he had heard the warning. Leroux turned to Tong. “Do we still have comms?”

  She checked the system then shook her head. “They went dead as soon as he entered the lobby. They must be using some kind of jammer.”

  Leroux cursed as all the cameras went dead. “Now what?”

  Child checked his system. “We’ve just lost our hack into the hotel cameras. Either we were discovered, or someone has cut off its connection to the outside world.”

  “Probably the FSB,” said Tong.

  Leroux pointed at Tong as his operation went to shit. “Contact Warsaw Station. We need someone to physically go in and deliver the warning. It’s time to deliver Jack a pizza. Make it Hawaiian.”

  K

  6 |

  Sheraton Grand Warsaw Hotel Warsaw, Poland

  Jack pressed the number for his floor then leaned against the rear wall of the empty elevator with two fistfuls of ass as Teresa attacked his neck like a Hoover with a tongue attachment. It was going to be a good night, but he still had a job to do. He needed to upload the intel to Langley before he could enjoy himself. What had him concerned was that he had heard nothing from Control since he arrived at the hotel. Protocol would have been to indicate they had picked him up on camera and to advise him on whether he was being observed.

  He released his death grip on Teresa’s fantastic keister and she groaned in disappointment. He pressed one of the buttons on his CIA-customized Rolex and the second hand spun rapidly. He released the button, suppressing a curse, his watch indicating it had lost its connection with Langley, meaning his gear was malfunctioning or he was being jammed, though he supposed there was the remote possibility there was a failure with the satellite. The question was, why? If someone was jamming the signal, was it because of him, Teresa, or something unrelated? It would be one hell of a coincidence if it were the latter.

  He yawned, pressing a knuckle against his lower lip.

  “Am I boring you?” asked Teresa as she released her iron grip on his most favorite asset.

  He smiled at her. “No, not at all, but for some reason I’m really tired all of a sudden.”

  “Well, I’m not, so I’ll do all the work.” The elevator chimed and the doors opened. They stepped out and headed for his room, and within moments were inside, Teresa tearing at his clothes. He took her by the shoulders and pushed her back.

  “Intel first.”

  She groaned. “Fine.” She reached down and removed her high heels, tossing the left one aside, but pulling off the tip of the heel of the right, revealing a USB key.

  “Clever.”

  She shrugged. “We stole it from you.”

  He chuckled. “Seems like everybody steals from us these days.”

  “Hasn’t it always been that way?”

  “Oh, it has, but it just seems it’s more successful now than before.” He yawned again as he removed his CIA-issued tablet from the room safe. He logged in and the device reported it hadn’t been tampered with. He plugged the USB key in, a progress bar indicating the transfer was underway. He tapped the link for the secure messenger but it failed to connect. He cursed. “Check your cellphone.”

  Teresa pulled it out of her purse then frowned. “No signal.”

  “They’re blocking everything.”

  “They?”

  “Well, it has to be your people, not mine.”

  Teresa batted a hand at him. “You worry too much. There’s no way it’s my people. They couldn’t possibly know. It’s probably the Poles doing something.”

  “With Director Nikitin in town, it could be any number of foreign intelligence services mucking about.”

  She dropped to her knees and grabbed his belt, unfastening it as he checked his own phone, his concern growing. He had the intel, but he had no way to transmit it. He yawned again and squeezed his eyes shut. Teresa freed her prize and gushed. “Somebody’s happy to see me.”

  He ignored her and activated a transfer of the file to his watch. He was too tired. Something was wrong. If he didn’t know better, he would think he had been drugged. The question was when would it have happened? He closed his eyes as Teresa reminded him why she was one of his favorite assets, but instead of enjoying what was on offer, he was running through the events of the evening.

  He had eaten room service. That was definitely an opportunity, however, if his food or drink had been drugged, he should have been feeling the effects sooner, for that had been an hour before he had even left. After leaving the hotel room, he had boarded the elevator then headed through the lobby and outside where the valet had his car waiting. He had tipped the young man a ten Euro note discreetly passed with a handshake. It was a brief physical contact, and anything that could be transferred in such a short amount of time would be extremely potent, meaning whoever was attempting to drug him would have little control over when it would take effect. No, it couldn’t have been the valet.

  He had arrived at the embassy, let the valet take his vehicle, then passed through security with no physical contact except the wand. Any number of people could have bumped into him at the reception, however, that would have meant a microneedle injection, something he likely would have noticed. He yawned again and Teresa reached up, slapping him on the side of the face. He continued to replay the evening. He had spotted her, grabbed two glasses of champagne, then joined her. It had to be the champagne, but it was from a tray. How could they know which one he would take, because Teresa certainly didn’t seem affected, and they couldn’t have half the room falling asleep.

  He drew a breath and held it before slowly exhaling.

  Ignore what they want you to see.

  Langley had trained him to observe everything, every detail, no matter how unimportant it might seem at the time. It was a mental trick now second nature to him. He would sweep a room left to right and mentally make note of every single thing and every single one that he saw, what they looked like, what they were doing. He was so accustomed to it now that he didn’t even realize he was doing it anymore. He ran through the guests, dismissing them, then smirked. The waiter had come from behind carrying the tray and had turned in front of him only moments after he had made eye contact with Teresa. That’s when he had taken the two glasses. He continued forward in his memory. The waiter had bowed slightly then turned around, heading back to where he had come from.

  Jack smiled.

  “That’s better,” said Teresa.

  There were only two full glasses on the tray. The rest were all empties. At the time, he had paid it no mind, but now it meant everything. They had been waiting for him to arrive, sent out the waiter to intercept him, and like any guest, he had taken a drink, in his case two, since he was playing Don Juan. But why hadn’t it affected her? Both glasses would have to have been drugged. His mind was growing fuzzy and Teresa’s activities weren’t helping him focus. He reached out and tapped at his tablet as he struggled to remember if Teresa had drunk any of the champagne, and if she hadn’t, was it simply because she wanted to remain alert, or was it because she knew what was in it? Had this been a setup from the beginning? Had he been betrayed, or were they both victims here?

  And as he drifted into unconsciousness, he wondered what the Russian FSB had in store for him when he woke up.

  Jack moaned like a Cheshire cat, stretching his opposing paws in opposite directions, relishing the sensation of waking after a good night’s sleep. He yawned then opened up his eyes, peering into the near pitch black, the only light from the red LED display of the alarm clock showing 7:55 AM, and a hint of light from around the blackout curtains. He rolled over and reached for the dimly lit light switch panel next to the nightstand. He pressed one of the buttons and a bedside lamp flickered on. He squinted and blinked several times as his eyes adjusted.

  He tensed. This wasn’t his hotel room. He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose as he gave his head a shake, immediately regretting the action as it pounded in protest. Had he gotten drunk last night? What the hell had happened? He opened his eyes again, beginning a self-assessment. He ran his fingers through his hair, probing his scalp for any signs of a head injury, but found none. He continued down his face, finding no evidence he had been punched. He checked his hands for any indication of a fight, finding no new cuts or bruises, only the old scars from previous altercations. He inspected his forearms and frowned. His left was tender, as if he had blocked a blow. Something had definitely happened. The question was what?

  He rose and headed for the mirror, flicking on every light as he went. He found several more bruises, all on his left side, suggesting he had gone up against a right-handed opponent. He completed his assessment and it appeared he had taken half a dozen blows but nothing else, and unless there was something going on internally, he would be fine.

  Comms!

  “Control, Jackrabbit. Do you read, over?”

  Nothing.

  He pressed his finger against his left ear, but the pinch of a comms unit inserted deep in his ear canal wasn’t there.

  “Teresa!”

  He spun toward the bed, finding it empty, with no evidence anyone other than him had spent the night. He headed for the bathroom and found it empty. She was definitely not in the room. He relieved himself and downed as many glasses of water as he could stand, his mouth parched. He stared at himself in the bright lights of the bathroom, struggling to piece together the previous evening. He was on an op in Warsaw. He’d gone to the embassy, met up with Teresa, faked an illness, and left with her. They had returned to his hotel, then what had happened?

  He smiled slightly at a flash of Teresa between his legs. They had made it into the hotel room…his fists clenched. He had been drugged. The champagne. But what about the intel? What had happened to it? Her shoe. It was in her shoe. The fact he remembered that meant the exchange had happened, but then what? He could picture his tablet. He had sent it to Langley. There was an error message. No, they had been blocking all comms including cellular. It hadn’t been successfully transmitted. Then what? He fought hard against the block but couldn’t remember anything else.

  What the hell had happened to him after he passed out? He was in a different hotel room and the decor suggested it was a different hotel entirely. Teresa was gone. Had she been in on it? If she had drunk the champagne like he had, she should have passed out as well, but based upon what she had done, she didn’t seem affected. She could have been in on it or she might simply have not drunk enough. He had downed his drink. That, he remembered.

  But she was a secondary concern. Right now, he had to reestablish contact with Langley and figure out what the hell was going on. Obviously, the FSB was on to him and he needed immediate extraction.

  He grabbed his toothbrush on instinct then paused. It was his toothbrush. His toiletry bag sat there, plain as day, everything laid out as he normally would. It didn’t make sense. It suggested he had come to this room himself with his belongings and set things up as he normally would upon arriving at any hotel.

  He stepped back into the room, his rapidly clearing mind finally taking note of his suitcase sitting on the rack as he always placed it so it would be out of the reach of bedbugs. His heartbeat picked up its pace and he began opening drawers and doors, searching for anything out of the ordinary. He paused at the room safe.

 

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