CHAPTER THIRTY
Bishop Security
Somewhere outside Beaufort, South Carolina
December 11
The call for all hands on deck came via text. Steady and Tox, sweaty from the gym, met Herc and Ren coming off the gun range, and the foursome took the stairs to the second-floor war room. Nathan was sitting at the head of the rectangular conference table flanked by Twitch and Chat, who both had laptops open.
The men moved into the room as a unit, and each grabbed a seat.
Nathan held up a hand, stalling Ren's downward motion into the chair next to Twitch. “Move down one.”
Before Ren could ask, movement at the door caught his eye, and he looked up to see Sofria Kirk, laptop under her arm, striding into the room. Ren didn’t mask his pleasure. She had changed so much since he first met her two years ago. She had grown confident, and she had clearly found a friend judging by the way her amber eyes warmed when she saw Twitch. Ren pretended not to notice as Sofria slipped something into Twitch's pocket. As was their habit, in an effort to hone Sofria's “spy skills,” Twitch and Sofria had taken to passing jokes and amusing clips secretly via flash drive. While there were undoubtedly less cumbersome ways to share tech, flash drives were still prevalent in the world of espionage, where digital transmissions were easily captured. As a result, terrorists and criminals used devices without networks.
Nathan commenced introductions. “Some of you already know Sofria Kirk. She is an analyst at Langley and has been cleared by Cam's handler and the DDO to share pertinent information.”
Sofria gave a hesitant wave to the intimidating cadre. When her eyes met Ren's, recognition lit her face.
“Professor Jameson.” She smiled.
Leo “Ren” Jameson shot to his feet, knocking his phone into Steady's lap in the process.
“Hey, Sofria. It's just Ren these days. Or Leo. Ren's a nickname,” he clarified.
“So is Leo, I imagine. Short for Leonard or Leonardo,” she replied.
“Correct, but not short for those.”
“Leopold? Leon?” Sofria rattled off names.
Ren just winked.
“Uh, guys?” Tox clapped his hands. “Missing buddy? Ask her to fucking prom later.”
Ren cleared his throat and sat.
Twitch patted the table in the space next to her, beckoning her friend. Once Sofria was settled with her computer open, Nathan spoke.
“Sofria has information.”
A figure appeared in the doorway, and Nathan looked up to the dispassionate, scarred face of his friend. The men nodded, and Tox stood with arms outstretched.
Nathan continued, “Sofria, this is Finn McIntrye.” Nathan gestured to the brooding CIA officer and deadpanned, “He's in sales.”
Finn took a seat and gave Sofria his full attention.
“A call came in on Miguel Ramirez's cell phone. The caller left a voicemail. I think it's the lead we’ve been hoping for.” She entered a command on her keyboard, and a female voice filled the room.
This is… well, this is the woman you helped earlier. The stingray? Anyway, the medics gave me your number, and I wanted to, um, thank you… for helping me. So… thanks… you’re, um, you’re a good man.
Questions bubbled to the surface, but Ren started with the most important: “Where did this call come from?”
“Mallorca,” Sofria answered.
“Sounds like he rescued her after a stingray attack? I mean, assuming she's talking about the fish and not the torpedo,” Tox offered.
“Or it's not some criminal underworld nickname,” Steady added.