“Happens all the time,” Cage says dismissively. “Countries like that trying to stifle freedom of the press. They accuse reporters of being spies so they can basically hold them indefinitely.”
“Correct,” Anna says, and clicks the remote again. “Except… she’s actually a spy.”
My head swings to the SMART Board and on it is a dossier I recognize as CIA, the clandestine government branch I used to work for.
There’s a picture of a blond female that my eyes brush over briefly before going straight to the column on the right with the general information about her.
But something twists in my chest, and my eyes fly back to the photo. Her hair is the wrong color and much longer than when I last saw her, but I’ll never forget those eyes, the color of bourbon.
Son of a bitch… Greer Hathaway.
“… only realized what was going on when she missed her ex-fil this morning,” Anna continues.
“Ex-fil?” I ask, actually demand, harshly.
All heads turn my way, and Anna’s eyes widen at my tone. Her voice is measured when she says, “Yes. She’s CIA, and her mission was to gather intel on Hugo Mejia. Her last communication with her handler suggested she had an entire ledger of information that revealed buyers, suppliers, even some sleeper terrorist cells.”
Christ. Hugo Mejia is one of the world’s most prolific arms dealers, backed by the Vecindario 18, a heinously vicious gang in El Salvador that ironically originated in Los Angeles. I can almost guarantee that Greer wasn’t legitimately arrested, but cops on Mejia’s payroll probably nabbed her off the street and are holding her illegally. They’ll kill her if they’re able to recover the ledger, and if not, they’ll torture her until they get it.
“Why is the government asking us to help?” Jackson muses. “Doesn’t the CIA have special forces trained in rescue operations?”
“She’s been disavowed,” I say. It’s really a guess, but I bet it’s a damn good one. “The minute she was outed as a spy in the press—even a Salvadorian paper—the CIA will be forced to disavow her to protect her cover. She’s on her own.”
Anna nods. “Which is why the government is asking Jameson to go in and get her. They officially can’t.”
Conversation ensues around the table, the pros and cons of accepting such a mission. I immediately tune it out and focus on Greer’s picture. Her hair is naturally dark brown and her skin a very light bronze, the product of an Argentinian mother and an Irish American father. The blond suits her, but I don’t like it at all.
My eyes cut over to the information listed on the dossier about her. Name, aliases, educational background, and languages spoken. She’s fluent in Spanish, Portuguese, Arabic, and Russian. Her security clearance is at the highest level, and it even lists identifiable markings. Scar to the temple—that was from a skydiving accident when she came down into a copse of pine trees from a bad wind blowing. A scar to her right thigh—stabbed in a knife fight in Yemen. A burn to the inside of her left leg from the hot pipe of a Harley-Davidson, and finally… an infinity symbol on the back of her shoulder, same as me.
How many times have I thought about having it removed, and yet I could never bring myself to do it?
Kynan’s voice cuts into my thoughts. “I think you all make great points, and at this time, I’m not inclined to take this case. Our resources are a bit stretched right now—”
“I’m going,” I cut in over him.
His eyes snap to me. “Come again.”
“I’m going,” I repeat, nodding at the screen. “No arguments about it.”
“You know her,” Kynan guesses.
I nod hesitantly, not really wanting to divulge but feeling I need to. “We were engaged. I haven’t seen her since we called things off at least ten years ago, but I’m not letting her get tortured and possibly killed.”
“I’ll go with him,” Jackson volunteers.
Cage and Malik echo the same.
I shake my head. “Like Kynan said, we’re stretched thin, but regardless, I’d rather go alone. I assume if the government is hiring Jameson, I’ll have adequate support.”
Anna nods. “Yes. Full access to private travel, technology, weapons. The CIA wants her back.”
“The CIA wants the information in that ledger,” I reply bitterly. “Don’t fool yourself into thinking they care about her. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have disavowed her.”
“I’m sorry,” Anna murmurs softly.
I give her an apologetic smile—a silent regret for snapping at her—before turning my attention back to Kynan. “I need to leave immediately. If they took her this morning, time is running short. I’ll need comms and ex-fil support from you.”
Kynan nods. “I’ll have Dozer and Bebe at your direct disposal. I can get you in the air within an hour.”
That’s good. It’s roughly a four-hour flight to the capital city of San Salvador, and if the CIA provides good intel on where Greer is being held, I can have her out in double that amount of time. My greatest hope is that she hid the fuck out of that ledger and she can withstand the inevitable torture to get her to reveal the ledger’s whereabouts.