Читать книгу Claimed by the Secret Agent - Lyn Stone - Страница 10

McLean, Virginia—July 11

“The Embassy Kidnapper struck another consulate yesterday, but he grabbed the wrong Yank this time,” Jack Mercier declared. “Marie Beauclair is CIA, working out of the consulate in Munich as a translator.” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “The Company won’t be sending anyone after her.”

“Why not? She wouldn’t be marked as one of theirs just because they rescued her,” Grant Tyndal asked.

Mercier was going to send him after the woman. Made sense. Though he worked for COMPASS now, his six years with a navy SEAL team had given him the most experience in hostage extractions. This mission would almost feel like a personal quest, with its similarities to one that had happened when he was a kid. Kidnapping, Germany, young blond victim, family and authorities passing off the responsibility for getting her back. Then, he had been powerless to do anything.

“CIA turned it over to us,” Mercier said, interrupting his thoughts. “We have a better chance of stopping these abductions than the Company does, especially if we get Beauclair back alive. Mainly we’re doing it because I want her,” Mercier stated.

Grant pursed his lips and stifled any further questions. Mercier had a wife, a gorgeous woman with a medical degree and a mesmerizing French accent. What? Was he crazy?

“Not personally,” the boss said with a roll of his eyes. “I had requested her transfer to us. Beauclair has a photographic memory and is a wizard with languages. The consul General sent us her file and suggested she was being underused where she was. She’ll be a valuable asset to COMPASS.”

True. All his fellow agents had their special little gifts. His particular gig was psychometry. He might get a sense of what the young woman had been feeling or thinking if he could hold something she had owned, but that sense wouldn’t help him find her if she hadn’t known where she was going when she’d been taken. “Does she have a locator implant?”

Mercier nodded and nudged a folder across the desk. “Here are her coordinates. The jet’s waiting, and there will be a car available as soon as you land. Get her out and keep it as quiet as possible.”

“And after the extraction?” Grant asked as he lifted the folder and glanced at the photo of the agent. Who smiled that way for an I.D. badge photo? And who ever looked that good in one? He knew how deceiving appearances could be. If she’d made it through CIA training, she was no lightweight, either in smarts or capability. She was twenty-eight and looked eighteen. On purpose, he’d bet.

“First, get her to safety. Then I want you to go after this guy before he snatches somebody else. We should have been called in on this sooner. Beauclair is victim number five. We think he’s using the ransoms to help fund his jihad. Or maybe this is his jihad. Find out if he’s working alone or in concert with some group.”

All the U.S. embassies and consulates were made aware of the kidnappings three weeks ago, since the perp had been skipping all over the globe. If his victim was ransomed, he’d dump her, tied up naked and helpless, in a public park where she would soon be found alive after the money was delivered. The last vic had been tortured and killed when the ransom was denied. “So this one can’t be ransomed.”

“Not officially. You know U.S. policy about dealing with terrorists. And her family doesn’t have the money or any assets to convert.”

The only dead victim had made a point—don’t pay, don’t get them back alive.

Mercier stood and offered his hand. “Report every twenty-four hours or we’ll come looking for you.”

“I know the drill,” Grant replied. He had completed two assignments for COMPASS during the year he’d been with the team and hadn’t needed any help. After six years in the navy, running missions of all descriptions and feeling responsible for every one of his team every hour of the day, Grant reveled in working alone.

This antiterrorist organization was a tightly knit group, but each member was trusted to handle an assignment the way he or she saw fit. Backup was available for the asking, and rescue, if required, was speedy. They didn’t partner up unless the mission called for it.

Mercier motioned him out. He didn’t say goodbye or good luck. That was one of his peculiarities. He must figure encouragement wasn’t needed. Or maybe he feared he would jinx things.

Grant dismissed the thought and began to think ahead about Agent Marie Beauclair of the wide blue eyes and dimples and how best to rescue her.

He welcomed the chance, as he always did, but this one felt almost personal. Finding her couldn’t make up for his inability to save Betty Schonrock when he was thirteen. Nothing could do that. He’d always carry the guilt. But he’d do this in memory of Betty and maybe it would help a little.