Shadow Pawn, page 3
Sleeping with a woman like this was a sure way to end up with a knife in the back. If he’d learned nothing else from binging hours of James Bond movies, he’d learned that.
“What’s the job?” he asked, not playing into her sexual cat and mouse game.
“Extract someone being held in Shanghai. Transport them safely to a safe house where the people waiting will retrieve her. Then you fly home alone and I transfer one hundred thousand US dollars into your off-shore account.”
“I don’t have an… off-shore account.” He had lowered his voice considerably for the end of that sentence.
Those weren’t the kind of words usually spoken in this dive bar where the television was the main focus, providing hot conversational topics such as the score of the game or who the latest politician was to get into trouble.
“You will have one if you accept this assignment,” she said.
“Who is this person I’m supposed to extract? Where are they being held exactly? And by whom?” If she thought he was going to accept any assignment without knowing all the details, she was nuts.
“The identities of those involved are not important. The specifics of the locations of where she is, and where we need her to be taken, are included in an encrypted file stored on your phone.”
She. Her. So many things needed to be unpacked from that answer, but the big surprise was Charley’s reference to a female hostage.
He tried to piece the assignment together based on what little he knew. He was rescuing a woman being held in Shanghai.
Was this a human trafficking case? A drug related kidnapping?
“The password to open the file is your call sign,” she continued.
He felt his jaw clench. He never wanted to hear or think about what he’d been called while in the teams ever again. And she’d made it his damn password?
His nostrils flared with his sharp intake of breath. “Great. Thanks.”
“So do we have a deal then?” she asked.
Not a chance in hell, sweetheart.
“No, ma’am, we do not. I’ll read the details and get back to you.”
That was the only answer he could give. She could take it or leave it. A hundred grand wouldn’t mean shit to him if she sent him on some suicide mission and he died before he got to spend it.
“Of course. I look forward to your call. And, Adam. Don’t wait too long.”
With what sounded like a veiled threat, she disconnected and left him sitting there with one fancy burner phone in his hand and a dozen questions weighing on his mind.
He grabbed his glass and sucked down half the liquid while his thoughts spun. He needed to open that file and see what he was up against.
It might be an impossible assignment. Then he could laugh it off and say no, thank you.
Drink poised as he considered, he realized he didn’t accept the concept of impossible. He’d still try to figure out ways around the obstacles. Always had.
“Dammit.” He drew in a breath and stood, shoving his new cell into his pocket. Downing the rest of the drink, he walked to the bar and set down the empty glass. “Can I get that sandwich wrapped to go and settle up my bill?”
“Something come up?” The bartender chuckled, no doubt assuming his quick departure had to do with the mystery woman.
It did, but not in the way he assumed. This definitely wasn’t a booty call.
Back at his place, he closed the blinds and double locked the door before pulling out the burner phone. He tossed it onto the table and glanced around the apartment.
She—or someone who worked with her—had already been inside when they’d left him the money.
What else had they left?
Dragging one of the chairs out from under the table, he pulled it over to beneath the overhead fixture and climbed up.
He took the dusty lens off the light, ignored the dead insects, and peered into the inner workings of the fixture. He climbed down again and grabbed a flashlight.
He didn’t find anything in the light, so he moved on, inspecting the desk lamp, the bedside lamp, the bathroom vanity lights—even the damn smoke detector.
Nothing. At least nothing he could find. Not that it mattered. He already knew she was monitoring his personal cell phone. Probably watching him through the camera on the cell as well as listening in on him.
Scowling, he went to the drawer in the kitchen area and yanked it open. He tore off a length of black electrical tape from a roll inside the drawer. Then tore off a second and a third.
He used the pieces to cover the cameras on both of his cell phones and the computer.
Ha! She might be able to eaves drop but it made him feel moderately better that at least she couldn’t see him.
There might still be a camera or bug hidden somewhere—he hadn’t torn apart the vents or checked all the ceiling tiles, but he couldn’t wait any longer to see what was in that file.
He sat at the table and scrolled through the unfamiliar phone.
Just as she’d promised, he found a drive with a password protected folder.
He punched in his call sign on Bravo team, all lowercase to start, figuring he could try making the B uppercase next if bravo3 didn’t work.
The first guess had been correct. The folder opened to reveal multiple files inside. Photos. Documents. Scans. Maps. Building plans. GPS coordinates.
Curiosity won out and he opened the photos first. There, staring back at him, was the smiling face of a woman.
No name. No details. Just her picture which looked like a professional photo. Some sort of headshot. Maybe taken for a website or some press.
He stared at it. At her.
She was attractive. Slick. Sophisticated in an almost cold, corporate kind of way. Like she took no shit and wouldn’t put up with anyone who got in her way. Kind of like him.
With two fingers, he zoomed in. Close enough he could see the golden flecks in her rich brown eyes and the perfection of her tawny skin.
Make-up? Photoshop? Or was she that much of a perfectionist that she wouldn’t allow even the smallest flaw in her appearance?
He flipped to the next photo and saw it looked like a security camera shot taken at an airport.
There, the same woman stood straight and tall while staring at a phone in one hand while her other hand rested on the handle of a carry-on suitcase.
She dressed better to travel than some people dressed for work, in tight dark pants that accentuated an ass he couldn’t help but admire. And an ivory-colored knit sweater that hugged her high tits and complemented her complexion.
Shit. It had obviously been too long since he’d gotten laid if he was noticing the tits and ass on the op’s high-value target.
He checked the date on the airport photo. It was taken about three weeks ago. Was that the last time she’d been seen? A lot could happen in that long. By now this could be a recovery mission rather than a rescue.
Opening the next document, he read what Charley had provided. They—whoever they were—had pieced together enough information from street cams and surveillance footage and eyewitness accounts of a woman matching her description to pinpoint her location.
It could have been worse. A suite on the top floor of a hotel in Shanghai was better than, say, a secure compound in Abbottabad.
He was good on his feet. He could steal a staff uniform. Maybe pretend to be on the maintenance crew. Steal a key and get her out of the room and out of the hotel. But then what?
The rendezvous with Charley’s contact was to happen at the Port in Shanghai.
The river that ran past the hotel looked like the most promising and quickest route to get her to the port, if he could get his hands on a small boat without attracting too much attention.
This would require some research on his part. He moved to his computer on the desk as he started to work the problem in his mind…
Shit. Was he really going to do this? Accept this crazy solo job?
He glanced at the photo of the woman again. Whoever she was, she was being held against her will. He couldn’t just walk away from that. From her.
On the other hand, he had no doubt that if he didn’t take this job, Charley would just find someone else who would.
Why did the idea of walking away, of letting someone else handle it, of never knowing if she made it out or not, make him so uncomfortable?
The burner phone vibrated. He narrowed his eyes at the device, knowing who it would be before he answered.
“Hello, Adam. Have you made a decision?”
“I said I’d call you.”
“Yes, but patience isn’t my strong suit.”
He snorted at the truth of that. “Yes.”
“Yes?” she asked.
“I’ll take the damn job.” He scowled at giving her the satisfaction of getting exactly the answer she wanted from him.
“Excellent.”
He could hear the triumph in her voice. It was annoying.
A knock on the door had him glancing up. No one visited him. Like ever.
“Open the door, Adam,” she said.
“Why is that? Are you standing outside?” Was he going to meet the elusive Charley?
“No. But you’ll want to retrieve what’s been dropped off. Good luck, Adam. Look for a text with your flight information. And call me when it’s done.” She disconnected before he could ask anything further or respond.
Shoving the phone in his pocket, he strode across the small room. After navigating the locks, he yanked open the door.
Another envelope rested on the ground at his feet. This woman must buy these brown envelopes by the case at the box store.
Bending, he retrieved the thick bundle.
He tore it open and let out a long low whistle at the thick stack of Chinese currency. And then the second bundle, just as thick with—Korean bills if he wasn’t mistaken. Money he’d need for bribes, or to buy weapons, or supplies, or to get around the city and rent a boat…
Shit. He was doing this. Hanging up his tool belt to fly to Shanghai to rescue a nameless woman. He could only hope he didn’t regret the decision.
CHAPTER FIVE
Missing.
That’s what she was, according to the article in the paper, translated to her by the housekeeper who’d read it aloud with a sad, sympathetic smile.
And the authorities had no confirmation of her being alive or dead.
Her family. Her friends. Her company. That’s what they all had heard. What they’d all believe, even though she was right there.
Alive, but trapped. Desperate, but not completely helpless.
And she was getting more pissed with every passing day.
Her captors should have realized that a resourceful woman could do a whole lot of damage if she set her mind to it.
She was counting on the fact that the systems in this super modern luxury hotel, with its automatic opening, closing, seat warming and flushing toilets, were easily derailed.
The more bells and whistles there were, the more things that could go wrong.
What would they do to her if she got caught sabotaging the plumbing?
So far they hadn’t hurt her. Or even threatened her. Except for the forced captivity and the single blindfolded interview, she hadn’t had any contact at all with whomever held her.
The one time she had, the two men who she couldn’t see had asked her too many questions about the new biotechnology her company had created.
Too many because the details of the tech were supposed to be top secret. No one outside of a very small circle of trusted employees who’d worked on the project knew about it.
But these people seemed to know. Or at least had guessed what they were working on.
Somehow word of their biotechnology that could target delivery down to a single individual’s genetic code to cure—or kill—had made it out.
And that fact frightened her more than being held here.
She didn’t even trust the United States government with that kind of God-like power. She certainly didn’t trust a foreign country with it.
No doubt they wanted to weaponize the discovery that had been designed with the intent to heal, not harm.
She wouldn’t let it happen. She’d die to protect it.
Unfortunately, if the secret was out, not just the existence of the technology but the process itself, her dying might not be enough to stop its use.
She had to find the leak.
But dammit she could do nothing about that while in here.
She couldn’t believe the lead scientist would have told anyone. The assistant maybe?
What did she know? She was the stupid woman who willingly got into a car with two strange men just because they knew her name.
But whoever held her here was generous. She never lacked for anything—except her freedom. There was plenty of food and other necessities—such as tampons.
Tampons…
She was no plumber, but it made sense—put something that expanded in water in a pipe filled with water and it would inevitably expand.
Tie a bunch of them together and voila. Instant clog requiring a maintenance professional to fix.
Common sense told her they must pay the maids very well—or threaten them—to remain silent and not reveal that an American guest was being kept there against her will. But the people holding her might not do the same with a maintenance man.
The fewer employees who knew—who had contact with her—the safer. Which meant they might move her so she wouldn’t see the repairman—and he wouldn’t see her.
That was fine. She’d leave him a note, safe in a plastic bag and secured to her improvised tampon bomb so only the person who removed it from the pipe would see.
Would it work? Maybe. Maybe not, but she had to try.
She’d searched for cameras as best and as discreetly as she could. She wasn’t sure about the living area. There were too many ceiling mounted electronics she couldn’t get to that looked suspect. But she’d done a thorough search of the bathroom, figuring she could claim modesty and outrage over being spied upon in there if they questioned her motives.
As far as she could tell, there were no cameras in the bath, which made it the perfect place to execute her plan.
She gathered her supplies slowly, surreptitiously smuggling them into the bathroom over the course of a day. The pen and paper from the desk. A plastic liner from the trashcan.
Luckily the tampons came equipped with their own strings. Perfect for binding them together.
When she was confident she had all she needed, she headed to the bathroom.
As she pulled the door closed behind her, she noticed her hand shook. Drawing in a breath, she blew it out to calm herself.
Calm? Impossible.
She could fail. She could be caught. Or she could actually get rescued.
Angela didn’t know which one of those possible outcomes made her shake hardest. But she knew which one she was hoping for.
CHAPTER SIX
So far, so good.
Charley had set him up with a go-bag worthy of the teams.
Local currency. Another cell phone had been in with the money. One that would work internationally. He had maps of Shanghai. Even schematics of the hotel where the woman was being held.
They’d lucked out. The building—part of a wave of green construction with solar panels and recycled glass windows—was fairly new and the plans were readily available.
What wasn’t great was that it was a high rise. Way too tall to climb without being noticed—or dying—which meant he had to get to her from inside.
The other problem was that he didn’t speak the language.
Yeah, he could get around since so many locals spoke English. But a little knowledge of the language would have gone a long way on this assignment where he might have to pretend to be an employee.
But if he’d learned nothing else in the teams it was to work with what he had. And that was exactly what he was going to have to do here.
The good news was Shanghai was bustling with people from all over the world. He wouldn’t seem out of place in a city teeming with international business travelers, as well as tourists. Not to mention the large number of ex-patriots—Americans who’d chosen to relocate to Shanghai.
Though he was pretty sure it wasn’t the relatively small ex-pat community that drove the sheer number of American retail chains—both fast-food and luxury goods—that he’d passed on his way from the airport. That likely stemmed more from the Chinese love of American brands.
He’d done his research before leaving Virginia and knew a bit about what to expect. But there were things he couldn’t find on the computer in his apartment. Such as the security set-up at the hotel.
That he had to be on site for.
Not a problem. There were vacancies, according to the desk clerk who spoke perfect English—better than some of the guys he’d known in the Navy.
Adam booked and paid for a room using some of the thick stack of yuan provided.
“Here you are. The elevators are to the left.” The clerk handed him the portfolio containing the key card.
“Thanks.” He took it, then pocketed the few bills the clerk had returned to him as change.
Backpack slung on his shoulder, he turned toward the bank of elevators. He’d asked for a room on the highest floor possible to be closer to the floor where they believed the woman was being held.
Yeah, he would have far preferred a lower floor just in case he needed to make a quick escape down the stairs. Or, in the worst case scenario, out the window.
But a little recon before he’d gone up to the desk to ask for a room told him the uppermost floors of the hotel must be some sort of executive level and required a key card to access from the elevator.
That had settled it. The highest floor available, it was.
He glanced at the portfolio in his hand as he waited for the doors to open. If the intel about her possible location was correct, he was one floor below where she was. That would have to work.
His plan consisted of about fifty-percent actual plan, while the other fifty-percent would depend upon him thinking on his feet and just plain luck.
