She didn't have the time to work this through. First, she was going to make sure Gorman got his comeuppance. Second, she would have to find the courage to walk away from Stash.

"You got to eat, man. I know you think pacing in and out of your room and consuming pages of print would sustain you, being a warrior and all, but you're making me hungry."

Steve turned and studied Cam, sitting at the dining table. He had been there for quite some time, since Steve couldn't remember when he saw him anywhere else but at said table. "Looks like you're eating my share," he pointed out. "Filet mignon, French pizza, Mexican tacos, cheese sticks, Chinese food, Italian ice cream, Irish coffee, apple pie...What is this, the United Nations food convention?"

Cam put down a piece of pizza, swayed his fingers over the different dishes, then went for the chopsticks. "Free food," he answered with a full mouth, "excellent free food, is hard to come by, my friend. You should really try this stuff. Man, I'm totally p.i.s.sed off by your good luck."

"Good luck?" Steve approached the table and pulled out a chair.

"You know, slinky, gorgeous, James Bond lady, a big bed with a real down blanket, and room service like this. And this place has a freaking butler, for G.o.d's sake." Cam dug into his food and munched enthusiastically. "Life is good."

"I gather you like being my insurance," Steve commented dryly. He didn't feel like eating. Worry gnawed at his insides, and he felt listless from his headache and impatience.

"Only bad thing," Cam said, chewing and waving a bread stick, "is I have to look at your mug. Now if I can just get you to stay in your room, yeah, and then call the love G.o.ddess Patty to spend an evening here with me and all this...wow, paradise, man, pa-ra-dise."

Steve shook his head, smiling at his friend's enthusiasm. How come he and Marlena were always fighting over who controlled what, when Cam would just willingly let his Patty be queen and that was fine by him? Maybe he ought to steal a page or two from Cam's book.

The cell phone rang and he pounced on it. "Yeah?" he barked. "Oh, okay, no, it's fine. Let her come up." He put down the phone and looked at Cam, "Your love G.o.ddess has arrived."

It was comical to watch Cam choking on the bread stick. "What? When? How? Why is she here?" he sputtered as he started pushing away the dishes and stood up. He brushed his pants and looked around frantically.

"You forgot where," Steve added with a grin as he sat back and watched the pandemonium. "Journalism 101, wasn't it? Who, what, where, when, why?"

"Come on, man, help me find my jacket!"

"It's on the floor by the TV."

"Oh yeah." Cam walked quickly to where the new suit was lying, picked it up, and started flapping it out wildly. "Man, s.h.i.t, d.a.m.n, and f.u.c.k."

"In that order?" Steve started laughing, welcoming the break from tension.

Cam gave him a dark glare. "I suppose I don't have time to iron out the wrinkles." He shrugged into the suit, trying to smooth out the telltale creases.

"You're supposed to hang the thing in the closet immediately after taking it off," suggested Steve, tongue-in-cheek. "Lena taught me that." His amus.e.m.e.nt decreased somewhat as he recalled a particular night not too long ago, when Marlena had dressed him up in some fancy suit. As a matter of fact he hadn't hung up that particular item of clothing that night.

"Oh shut up. Now, that food on the table? It's not mine, you hear? All yours, all yours. You're eating because you're worried and miserable."

The hotel suite bell rang solemnly. Cam rushed toward the door and tripped. Steve looked downward and laughed again. The man had tripped over his discarded shoes. Indeed, he had made himself very comfortable the last few hours. He took pity on his friend as he struggled to put his shoes on while hopping on one foot toward the door, and got out of his chair.

He signaled for Cam to sit down and went to open the door for Patty Ostler. She stood outside, her eyes big as saucers behind her gla.s.ses as she studied the lavish surroundings. Steve didn't blame her. He had done the same thing the first time, too, and that was before he saw the inside. Again he felt a sharp punch to the gut as he was reminded that he didn't actually "see" all the luxury till the day after that; he had been too busy getting rug burns on his back and a.s.s. He forced a smile to his face and stepped back.

"Hey, Patty."

Patty peered up at him, clutching some kind of vinyl zip folder to her chest. "That cut looks painful," she said as she walked through the entrance. "Bet you have a headache. Did the doctors give you any medication? I heard you bashed through the windshield...oh!"

She stopped mid-step, taking in every detail of what she could see, her head swiveling from left to right. It had to be designed by a woman, Steve decided, because all those flowery panels and dainty china just didn't do a thing for him. Now the media room was pretty cool, with that remote screen that could control all the things in the suite-that made him feel like a king, when he was zapping on the electronic equipment, calling up channels on the giant video screen, opening and closing the doors to the liquor closet. He could even adjust every light in the room that way.

"I'm okay," he said, making his way to the dining table. She followed, eyes still wide, mouth still agape. "I hit the rearview mirror, so it could have been worse. And I'm not taking the meds because I want to stay alert in case a call comes through about Marlena."

Patty looked at the table, decked with all the dishes, then cast a knowing eye at Cam, who smiled and waved nonchalantly. "Been busy, I see, Agent Candeloro."

Cam's eyes rounded with innocence. "Not me, my love. That's Stevie boy. He won't eat so I've been trying to tempt him with all sorts of stuff from the menu."

"Uh-huh. You need to wipe that red stuff off your lips, unless you're now wearing lipstick," she said caustically. "And stop calling me that."

"Call you what, my love?"

"That! Call me that!" She gestured at nothing in particular.

"I would never call you such a thing!" Cam said, hand on his heart.

Patty swirled to meet Steve's eyes, and he fought to keep the grin off his face. "How can you stand him doing that to you all day? He's...impossible!"

Steve pulled out a chair for her, trying to think of a diplomatic answer. He couldn't tell her that she was Cam's object of l.u.s.t and devotion. Besides, from the kiss he had witnessed, she really didn't harbor as intense a dislike as she was affecting. "Cam needs help," he finally agreed, a small smile forming. "Maybe you can give him some hints."

Patty muttered something under her breath and sat down. She looked at the food again and shook her head. "I can't believe the two of you can eat all of this."

"Three, my love, three. You, me, and unfortunately Scarface." Cam looked at Steve and then at the door to his bedroom meaningfully.

Steve sighed inwardly. That was all he needed, these two playing lovey-dovey while he paced up and down the floor.

"Well, eat, then." Patty surprised them both as she carefully unfolded one of the fan-shaped napkins and delicately arranged it on her lap, pulling the corners here and there, as if the napkin needed to be centered just so, or the food would taste bad.

Cam was on his feet within seconds. Food and his woman, Steve thought with wry amus.e.m.e.nt. The man was indeed in heaven. He watched him sit next to Patty, and watched her blush at the heated look in his friend's eyes. Oh man. Did he really need to see this?

He coughed. "I think I'll eat in my room. I have stuff to look through."

Cam's face brightened at the suggestion. "Yes, um...I'll stay out here, out of your way."

Patty frowned, laying down her fork. "Are you sure?" When Steve nodded, she picked up the vinyl folio she had brought and handed it to him. "Okay. I've got what you asked for here. I pulled it out manually so there wouldn't be any electronic records."

"Thanks, Patty." Steve took the folio and a plate of food that Cam had helpfully piled on for him. "Enjoy the meal," he added, tongue-in-cheek.

He went into his room, shutting out the sight of Cam leaning toward Patty, and rolling his eyes when he caught the words, "You look good enough to eat..."

Steve shook his head. That woman didn't stand a chance. He sat down where he had been all day, among the files and sheaves of papers, and started reading what Patty had put together. He picked up the black marker and chewed the cap off it. With the other hand he groped for and picked up something from the plate he'd brought in. Patty had a point. He did need to eat.

After a while he was surprised that his plate was empty when he reached out and found nothing. He hadn't even tasted anything while reading and diagramming. d.a.m.n it, why hadn't T. called yet? As if on cue, the cell phone by his side started ringing.

Steve grabbed it, knocking the folders over. "Yeah? What took you so long?"

"She's being moved away from here. We couldn't pinpoint the exact location till the motion stopped."

"Where is she?"

"Got a pen?"

"Yeah."

He asked several terse questions for the next minute or two. Tess for once didn't mess around with his mind. She was, he discovered, very knowledgeable about tactical coordination, as if she'd run a team before. Which brought up a problem.

"You're in New York," he said. "It's going to take too long for you to get down here and gather men for me."

"I called you immediately, Steve; give me more time."

He couldn't. Not with Marlena's life at stake. "T., you come after me, okay? I'm going to get her now."

"How are you getting to the ocean by yourself?" Tess paused, then answered herself, "A sea mammal will find a way, I suppose. Okay, do what you have to do, but make sure they are still on international waters when you strike."

"Why?"

"Fewer questions, darling."

"Okay."

"Good luck. And bring M. back safely, hmm?"

When she rang off, Steve punched the b.u.t.tons and dialed another number. A sleepy, raspy voice answered on the fifth ring, "This better be worth your life."

"Hawk. It's Steve."

"I repeat, this better be worth your life."

"I need you here with some gear and a few men you can trust."

"I see." Hawk sounded more alert now. "Is this kosher stuff?"

"No, it's on international waters."

"Tell me what you need."

When Steve finished, he jumped up from his seat and strode to the door. Cam better not be having Patty for dinner, because he didn't have time to wait. He knocked and yelled, I'm coming in now," and counting to three, he opened the door.

Cam was adjusting his tie. Patty was nowhere to be seen. He had the most satisfied look on his face, though. "Um, Patty is in the master bathroom," he told Steve, his eyes overly bright. "Was that who I think it was?"

Steve nodded. "I'm ready to kick some b.u.t.t. My way." Boy, did it feel good to finally say those words.

Chapter Twenty-two.

T he ocean breeze was wet and cold. Marlena zipped up the light jacket she'd found in her cabin, wishing for her own leather one. They had been standing out on deck for ten minutes, and already her hair was damp from the sea spray. The first crack of dawn streaked the horizon, and soon there should be noise signaling the arrival of a boat with Maximilian Shoggi, known in the arms dealing world as Mad Max, on board. Dawn on international waters, Pierre had whispered to her earlier. She never did like conducting business off land. Less control.

It was just she and Pierre on deck, guarded by two of the bodyguards. She had found out that they worked for Gorman, not Pierre, which told her how much the TIARA director had infiltrated Pierre's network. That reinforced the fact that the director was a very dangerous enemy.

Gorman was keeping out of sight, standing somewhere above with his captain at the helm, where he could view the proceedings. A bright spotlight shone on them, blinding those in its glare to the observers. Very smart, she thought. No one during this meeting could turn and shoot at Gorman.

In every operation there was an apex, in which the goal of the mission was achieved. Hands in pockets, collar turned up, Marlena peered stoically toward the east, pondering this operation that had brought her here. In her job they always said the end justified the means. Her cancellation. The loss of a valuable contact like Pierre. Nameless lives affected by a traitor. Operation Foxhole would be considered a failure if the apex wasn't fulfilled, and in the eyes of those who ran covert wars, her death would have been a waste of an a.s.set. She wrinkled her nose. She didn't think she wanted to be footnoted as a waste, which was possible since her capture. Yet here she was, unexpectedly at the apex of her mission.

It had taken many twists and turns to steal back a laptop holding a devastating formula that could change the weaponry of the world, only to discover the man behind the sale was one supposedly working on her side. She had used her smokescreen to deceive all her opponents, to make them believe that the laptop hadn't been exchanged, and in so doing she had gambled that the people to whom she needed to pa.s.s the laptop would come after her. She thought she had lost that gamble when she ended up back in the hands of the very man from whom she had retrieved the computer.

All seemed quite lost, until now. Wasn't fate an odd thing, she mused. She was being coerced to "sell" the laptop to her target from the very beginning, Mad Max Shoggi, arms dealer to a few of the shadier international leaders. She had Pierre to thank for those functions that secured bids. It took a long time to work her way into the inner circle, gaining the trust of men who dealt and bought influence and information as if they were business stocks.

So, after over two years, here was the apex of her operation, and success was very near. After that, she decided, with the laptop out of her hands, she would deal with a very personal mission, Mr. Gorman himself. Taking a deep breath, she gazed expectantly into the darkness, listening for the arrival.

Small swells bobbed the black rubber craft hovering in the darkness. The swells came in timed intervals, and Steve hunched in silence, one hand up. Like the anch.o.r.ed boat ahead, they, too, were waiting, drifting slowly, so as not to disturb the telltale surge of the waves. He could tell by the different wakes and directions of the waves that another boat was coming this way, and would be there not too long from now. He didn't want to strike before he could see who was on the second craft. If they moved in too fast, the ocean's movement would also betray them. Steve didn't want to strike too soon.

It was imperative not to get too close until the other boat arrived. He was very aware that timing would play a crucial role in this operation. He turned to look behind at the men who had come with him. Hawk had brought three men-what they called a fire team-each hauling his own cache of weaponry. One of them was left in charge of the boat they had rented, while he and the others approached the target in their smaller and less conspicuous inflatable.

Earlier he had his pick of heat from Hawk's backpack, whistling at some of the toys his cousin had brought along. It felt good now to have the familiar weight in his hands. They were the kinds of things a soldier's life depended on. Of course it helped, too, that Hawk and his men were his backup; they were all SEALs and they understood what it took. On the other hand, sitting in the rear, his baby-sitter, Cam, crouched quietly-face blackened, betraying his position every time his teeth glimmered as he chewed his gum. For a brief instant Steve wondered who would be babysitting whom, since Cam admitted to never having been on an amphibious a.s.sault reconnaissance mission before.

"Relax, man," Cam had a.s.sured with his usual c.o.c.ky confidence while Hawk and his men looked on dubiously. Steve didn't blame their hesitancy, since Cam's fashionable attire at that time didn't really add any measure of a.s.surance. "I'll stay out of your way and set up target practice."

"Target practice?" Hawk wasn't the kind who liked to joke around when it came to a mission. His brooding eyes took Cam in from head to toe-the ponytail, the silk necktie, the tailor-made suit and pants. "This isn't the time to practice your aim. We are mounting a direct strike. To storm a room, we have barely ten seconds to conduct business with our enemies. Ten seconds to sort out the good from the bad guys, to execute the rescue, and take down the bad guys. In this one we're going in at night, in unfamiliar territory. Steve, you better tell him what he has to do or I'll shoot him before he gets us shot."

Before Steve could reply, Cam had picked up the Mossberg twelve-gauge Cruiser, a non-civilian issue lying on top of the table. He disengaged the silencer and took the weapon apart in record time. There was silence as he put it back together just as efficiently and snapped on the heavy cartridge. Steve smiled in the dark at the memory. Cam did what he knew would convince Hawk and his men. Privately, that had surprised the h.e.l.l out of him. Cam had never seemed the tough and silent type.

Hawk had given Steve's TIARA teammate a close look, then turned back to the maps in front of him. "He'll do," was all he said.

After that, they spent an hour preparing. A basic hostage rescue drill had four components. Rapid insertion. Extraction. Close-quarters target identification. Precision shooting. Steve had done similar operations countless times, but this was different. This time there were emotions involved-worry and anger, two things that could get in the way. Hawk had already questioned whether it was wise for him to be part of the rescue team. Steve understood his cousin was trying to make sure the operation would go smoothly. He didn't bother to answer, though. An exchange of looks was enough.

The sound of an engine becoming louder cut off his thoughts. Dim lights became brighter. The shadowy waves reflected the meeting boats. The engine cut off.

Steve dropped his hand, signaling the others. When the inflatable was close enough, he gave the hand signals to stop. He put on his night vision gla.s.ses and looked across the dark expanse at the target point, the first boat. With the infrared thermal imager, they counted the number of humans, memorizing their locations. One of them, he told himself, was Marlena. Then he turned his attention to the second craft.

Hawk pa.s.sed him a waterproof bag, and both of them readied themselves in silence. They had earlier decided that they would be the go-ahead swim pair, while Hawk's other two men, Dirk and the one they called Cuc.u.mber-c.u.mber for short-were to stay put until the first part of the operation was completed. Once that was accomplished, Steve and Hawk would climb up the side of the target, the signal for the others on the inflatable to get closer.

There wasn't going to be anything subtle about this mission. The first part of the operation was surgical. While the attention of target point was diverted, they planned to secure C-4 explosives to blow the propellers off the boat for effective immobilization. Then they would sneak on board.

His main goal was to get Marlena off the boat before all h.e.l.l broke loose. He hoped T. and her men would be there for clean-up service not too long afterward. Easier outlined than done. He didn't like the spotlight that had been turned on. He especially didn't like the knowledge that he had caught thermal images of people on deck within that spotlight. That made it very difficult for a covert extraction, more so than close combat in the confined s.p.a.ce of a boat's cabin. When he found out from T. that Marlena was at sea, he had already concluded that the missing laptop would be on the same ship. Marlena. Sale item. International waters. Oncoming craft. That could only mean she was needed to broker a deal.

He had called T. back just before they left on their mission to check on coordinates. T. confirmed his theory, adding that Marlena was definitely still alive because she had signaled a second time, with an added coded communication that was their indicator of Operation Foxhole under way. T. had told him not to interfere if he saw any kind of business transactions going on, that this was Marlena's a.s.signment. Steve didn't care about any brokering. What would happen to Marlena after that was of more importance to him right now than who was on the second boat, so he opted to give a chance for the latter to leave. Less risk to Marlena's life.

They double-checked everything silently. They weren't swimming too deep, so they were using Draeger rebreathing systems that recycled expelled air, thus no betraying bubbles would reach the surface. Water-resistant explosives zipped in their haversack. Luminous compa.s.ses. They were going to measure distance the old-fashioned way, by the number of kicks. They nodded to each other.

Cam leaned forward, thumped Steve on the shoulder, and gave him a thumbs-up. Hawk just shook his head and climbed overboard. Steve did the same, dropping without a splash into the white-crested sea.

Marlena thought she heard something, but as in a bad-movie FBI interrogation, she was blinded by the glare of the spotlight. The only way to escape was to kill the bright beam, but without any weapon on her, that seemed an impossible quest.

"I never intended things to go this far, Marlena," Pierre interrupted her reverie. "I didn't know he would be spying on you and setting your friend up. To me it seemed an interesting idea at that time to see how this man was going to use the system to make a profit."

He wasn't calling her cherie, and she understood the underlying apology behind the explanation. Pierre never needed any excuses for what he was, and she knew these words were difficult for the proud man. "It amused you to watch this game," she explained for him, as much as for herself, "because you wanted to catch the thief as well as make a profit from his scam. And knowing they would look for a middleman, you gambled that it would be me."