Compact with the Devil: A Novel Page 2
“Did you just break up with Z’ev?” asked Ellen, taking off her ski mask and mopping her face with it. Nikki felt sick. Ellen’s comfortably middle-aged face held an expression of concern, and she patted Nikki’s back in soothing little circles.
“He’ll call back,” Nikki said, breathing hard.
They both looked at the phone in her hand, which was noticeably not ringing.
Camille stalked into the room, snatched the phone out of Nikki’s hand, and threw it against the wall. Nikki watched as her phone splintered into a thousand tiny pieces and fell to the floor with a clattering plastic noise.
“Hey,” protested Ellen. Nikki’s voice was stuck in her throat along with her heart.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Camille, grinding the phone into dust with her heel. “I didn’t mean to interfere with Nikki’s personal life. Perhaps when you’ve dealt with your boyfriend issues, you’d like to join the rest of us in doing our job!” Camille’s sarcasm stung, and Nikki flinched. The petite brunette didn’t wait for a reply but swept out of the room. Nikki gathered up the pieces of her phone, hoping that the memory card was intact.
“She isn’t here,” yelled Camille, her crisp British accent echoing off the walls of the courtyard, her personality sweeping everyone along in a tidal wave of anger. “Everyone back in the van. You too, Lanier.”
“That is not the plan,” said Nikki, but Camille cut her off.
“Well, the plan was that she would be here, and she isn’t. Ellen can drive back to the rendezvous. Give her the keys.”
Nikki thought about arguing; she was the leader of this mission. But Camille was her superior. She looked at Ellen, who shrugged and grimaced apologetically. Nikki looked around the room, feeling a little lost, and spotted the maid peering through the bedroom doorway, still carrying Nikki’s purse. Nikki sighed in resignation and took her purse back, handing the keys over to Ellen.
“It’s out front,” said Nikki. “Look out for the two guys in the underbrush.” Ellen nodded and jogged away with the keys. Nikki smiled wanly at Ellen’s easy burst of activity. When they had first met in training over a year ago, Ellen had been struggling to run a mile.
The drive back to the rendezvous was accomplished in silence—a humid and slightly embarrassed silence from the team; icy fury from Camille. Meanwhile, Nikki’s mind alternated between the failure of the mission and her failure as a girlfriend. Nikki rubbed her temples, dislodging sweaty red curls from her ponytail.
Besides the ludicrous amount of chemistry between them and the ridiculous fascination that Z’ev held for her, they actually worked well together. During her first mission in Thailand they had operated as a team, albeit a strange team, where she knew he was CIA and he knew nothing about Carrie Mae. But in the year since then it seemed that he’d managed to convince himself that her behavior had been a fluke—as if Nikki’s occasional brushes with death and willingness to tote heavy artillery were simply character flaws. He had reverted to treating her like just a girl.
An hour and a half later the van jerked to a halt and the team slowly exited, hauling their gear behind them.
“Operations room, twenty minutes,” barked Camille, pushing through the double doors of the office building that was Carrie Mae’s Colombian headquarters.
“Nikki, y’all are so getting screwed over this,” said Jenny, watching Camille walk away. Jenny and Ellen were two-thirds of the team that Nikki had brought down to Colombia to help with this mission. Presumably Jane, the third, was inside being briefed on Nikki’s shortcomings.
“Thanks, Jen, that’s really helpful,” said Nikki sarcastically. Jenny had a talent for stating what everyone else would prefer to leave unsaid.
“It wasn’t your fault,” said one of the Colombian girls with a shrug.
“Camille’s just like that,” said another.
“She’s a good boss if you can just keep her from interfering in the day-to-day stuff,” said the first girl.
“I think she misses the action,” said the second thoughtfully. “But she’s too busy to go to the briefings and then she won’t listen to anyone who has. Not your fault.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” agreed Jenny, “but that woman is going to try to kick your ass six ways from Sunday.” Jenny, a true born Southerner, was constantly forcing her gracious, Georgia-peach accent to wrap itself around the hard-nosed aspects of her personality. Hearing her speak was like being mugged by someone really nice. “You know how else you’re going to get screwed? Your mom is going to be absolutely gonzo if she can’t reach you on the phone.”
“I told her last night I was going to be missing Christmas and she yelled at me and then hung up. And usually after the yelling she gives me the silent treatment for a week. That’s why I didn’t call her till last night,” said Nikki, feeling the familiar twinge of guilt.
“You mean you mentally manipulated your own mother!” exclaimed Jenny. “I don’t know whether to be horrified or impressed.”
“What? I wanted some vacation time with Z’ev to myself without her calling. I just figured that timing was everything, as Mrs. Merrivel says.”
Jenny shook her head, looking both amused and disgusted.
“Let’s just get this over with,” said Nikki with a sigh, and started toward the building.
“Did you really break up with Z’ev?” asked Jenny as they walked.
“He canceled vacation plans, again,” said Nikki.
“That’s not good,” said Jenny. “You don’t think it had anything to do with …” Nikki shot her a warning look as they entered the building and Jenny changed the topic. “Well, can’t you just keep him around for sex?”
Startled, Nikki tripped over the carpet in the entryway and careened into a passing office worker. The woman gave her a nasty look, and Nikki smiled apologetically.
“Jen!” protested Nikki when the woman was out of earshot.
“What?” demanded Jenny. “I’ve seen that boy; he’s hot. I mean, steam actually rises off of him.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“I’m not being silly; there was steam.”
“It was just that one time,” said Nikki with irritation. “We were running and it was cold out. Our sweat was warmer than the air, therefore you get steam. Natural phenomenon.”
“It ain’t natural to be that fine, but I guess you can delude yourself if you want,” Jenny said, seeming cheerfully unconcerned.
“Thanks, I think I will,” said Nikki as they arrived at the Operations Room. “Because he may be fine, but that doesn’t stop him from being an ass.”
“Fatal flaw of all men,” said Jenny with a grin as she opened the door.
The room was walled with whiteboards that were pasted over with blueprints, diagrams, and intel sheets. In the center of the room was a long conference table that had been laid with manila folders set perpendicular to the table edges, so that each seat was the picture of businesslike precision. At the head of the table sat Nikki’s boss, Miranda Merrivel, a dark-haired woman of nearly seventy with a serene, professional appearance. Nikki sharply sucked in a breath of freon-cooled air, and Jenny flinched a little. They had been expecting a ranting Camille, but finding Mrs. Merrivel waiting for them meant that they were in for a whole new level of getting chewed out.
Jane entered the Operations Room from the opposite door. Nikki looked for some sign from Jane as to Mrs. M’s mood, but Jane avoided eye contact and handed a folder to Mrs. Merrivel. Jane preferred the chic-punk-rock look and today was working a safety-pinned black T-shirt that bore the words WHITE WRITING ON A BLACK SHIRT. She had paired it with Donna Karan slacks and black jelly bracelets. Mrs. M, as usual, appeared oblivious to Jane’s costume and simply accepted the folder with a nod.
“Come in, girls,” she commanded. “Camille’s been telling me about the mission.” Nikki and Jenny exchanged looks. Mrs. M could go either way; there was no telling if she was pissed or not. As they entered the room fully, they noticed for the first time that Camille was leaning ag
ainst the wall, fuming.
“Mission?!” snapped Camille. “Maybe you should explain the concept of a mission to Nikki and her boyfriend. We’re working our tails off and she’s chatting on the phone like she’s getting her nails done. She completely blew it.”
“The maid answered my phone,” protested Nikki.
“You could have hung up!” Camille pushed herself away from the wall and began to pace. “Why she’s a team coordinator I’ll never know—the girl’s incompetent!”
“Really, Camille,” said Mrs. M, “your temper hasn’t improved any with age. You’re still as quick to judge as ever.” Jane gave a small cough and handed Mrs. M another sheet of paper. Mrs. Merrivel examined it briefly. “According to the initial reports you violated the mission parameters, which resulted in a time-consuming and dangerous firefight. Perhaps you should have followed Nikki’s plan, hmm?”
Camille turned a brilliant shade of red, but Mrs. M continued ignoring Camille’s impending explosion.
“It also states that Nikki fulfilled all her mission parameters while breaking up with her boyfriend. Not ideal, perhaps”—she gave Nikki a piercing stare, and Nikki squirmed—“but hardly the fault of the team coordinator. Now, won’t you all please sit down?”
Camille continued to glare, but Mrs. M held the woman’s angry gaze calmly. Camille didn’t move, but Nikki knew Mrs. Merrivel well enough to know who would win the staring contest. Ignoring the battle as if it were already over, she went to a seat at the table.
“I had to make a judgment in the field!” said Camille defiantly.
“I’m sure you did. These things happen. Please sit down; we need to discuss a matter that will concern you particularly.”
Camille sat down gracelessly, arms folded across her chest in a pout. Nikki eyed the fiftyish British woman in dislike.
Ellen entered a moment later, talking quietly to Rosalia, Camille’s second-in-command. Rosalia was a competent woman who, in Nikki’s estimation, was picking up a lot of Camille’s slack. Mrs. M gestured for them to sit down.
“We have decided to suspend this mission,” said Mrs. M, and Nikki sat upright in surprise.
“But we don’t have a location on Nina Alvarez,” said Nikki. “She could be in trouble. We can’t just leave her.”
“Shortly after your team entered the compound we received information that indicates that Mrs. Alvarez may be in CIA custody,” said Rosalia. “Unfortunately, we weren’t able to confirm this until after your team had committed.”
Nikki looked to Jane, who nodded miserably. Nikki avoided looking at Jenny and Ellen. They would discuss this later.
“Why would the CIA be involved?” asked one of the girls.
“Why don’t we ask Nikki’s boyfriend?” Camille said, sniping at Nikki.
“They’re working with the DEA agents, who we know have been keeping tabs on Alvarez,” said Rosalia. “Apparently his foray into funding revolutionaries has been enough to raise his threat level.”
“Well, that complicates matters,” said Nikki, “but I don’t trust the CIA.” Mrs. M shot her a keen look that Nikki couldn’t interpret. “They’re not going to be interested in protecting Nina. They’re only interested in her husband. We shouldn’t abandon the mission.”
“I concur,” said Mrs. Merrivel, “which is why the mission is merely being suspended. We will use long-range surveillance to monitor the situation without engaging. We won’t abandon Mrs. Alvarez.”
Nikki frowned. It was a compromise and she didn’t like it. She’d promised Nina that Carrie Mae would look after her. She didn’t like breaking her promise.
“The other reason we’ve pulled the team in is that we have received news that just over thirty-six hours ago the Spanish prison of Puerto 1 experienced a prison break.”
Camille’s arms dropped to the arms of her chair, where her fingers curled over the sides in a white-knuckled grip.
“This has been reported by various sources, and we have independent confirmation from an agent on the ground. I also expect that the European news community will be reporting it shortly.”
Camille made an abortive gesture, as if she wished to hurry Mrs. Merrivel along but reconsidered the wisdom of that maneuver.
“The files in front of you contain details of the escape, but in short, two men in a helicopter landed in the prison yard and used a grenade launcher to blow out a wall of the isolation units. Four men emerged from the cells. Three were shot by guards; one managed to make it to the helicopter and was transported from the scene. This touched off a riot inside the prison that the guards and Spanish army are still trying to put down.”
“Who?” Camille was leaning forward, eyes wide. “The man who escaped, who was he?”
“Initial reports indicate that the escaped prisoner is Antonio Mergado Cano, the Basque separatist.”
Camille went white, the color dropping from her face like a sheet from a work of art.
“I have to go,” she said, standing up, two spots of red blossoming high on her cheeks.
“Sit down, Camille,” said Mrs. M firmly.
“I have to go. My son is touring in Europe!”
“Kit is in no immediate danger. Sit down.”
Camille sat down as if her knees had given out.
“For those of you unfamiliar with Mr. Cano, we have tangled with him before. He first crossed our path in 1977 as part of the Basque separatist movement, and he was also selling guns to the IRA. Mr. Cano used Carrie Mae cosmetics packaging to smuggle guns. Naturally we were a little upset about this, and thanks to Camille, he was put behind bars for the first time. I say for the first time since, over the last thirty years, Mr. Cano has proved to be something of an escape artist. This is his third escape from a European prison.”
“Well, no offense to anyone, but why do we care?” asked Jenny. “I mean, he’s obviously a bad man,” she said hastily, as Camille looked ready to explode, “but it sounds like the proper authorities are handling it, so what’s our interest?”
“He’s a murderer!” snapped Camille.
“Mr. Cano has knowledge of Camille and the Carrie Mae Foundation,” said Mrs. Merrivel calmly, ignoring Camille’s outburst. “When Camille effected his last arrest, he made certain threats against Camille, her family, and the foundation. We are anxious that he not follow through on any of them. We also have a strong interest in making sure he doesn’t share knowledge of our organization or members with any news sources.”
“He’s not going to get the chance,” said Camille. “I’ve gotten him before.” She looked around the table defiantly. “I can do it again. He is not going to hurt my son.”
“No, he is not,” said Mrs. Merrivel. “But you are needed here. Nikki will be handling this.” There was a stark silence in the room. It was the kind of silence that usually followed the sound of something expensive breaking.
“No,” stated Camille at last. “Cano is too dangerous.”
“Camille, I sympathize. But Nikki will eliminate Cano before he even gets near Kit. Your family will be in no danger.” Nikki tried to hide her surprise; Mrs. M was making a lot of promises in her name. She hoped she could live up to it, and she wondered who this Kit was.
“What about the Nina Alvarez matter?” asked Rosalia, breaking in. “Our unit is fine with one-on-one extractions, relocations, and so forth, but an extended campaign against the head of a drug cartel is a little out of our league. I thought Nikki’s team was going to help with that.”
“Jenny and Ellen will be staying to coordinate and train with your team,” said Mrs. M, pivoting slightly in her chair to focus on Rosalia. “Nikki will be heading to Europe, and Jane is scheduled for a required vacation.”
“I don’t need a vacation!” Jane said in protest.
“You haven’t had more than two days off in a row for over a year, Jane,” said Mrs. M. “It’s company policy. Without needed time off, even the best of us can slip up.”
“This really isn’t a good time.”
“I should go with her,” said Camille forcefully.
“Camille, you don’t seem to realize that you are no longer a field agent,” said Mrs. M. “Branch managers are not supposed to insert themselves into field operations, and in light of your recent decision-making skills in the field, I think we can all see why.”
Camille went red again.
“Nikki isn’t familiar with Cano,” said Camille through gritted teeth, showing more self-control than Nikki had thought she was capable of. “I am.”
“True. Which is why she will be reviewing your old reports. But I’m afraid that you are too emotionally involved to be objective and clearheaded. The matter is decided, Camille; I’m sorry. Nikki will be going to Spain.”
COLOMBIA III
Clockwise Witness
Nikki fidgeted in the limo seat. It was now well into evening and she had the twitchy feeling of too much caffeine and not enough sleep. It had been a hard few weeks putting together the Nina Alvarez strike, and instead of having a well-deserved rest, she was on her way to the airport. On Christmas Eve, no less.
“I don’t have a phone or any of my gear,” Nikki said, pouting.
“Rachel will send you a care package. Until then you’ll have to make do,” said Mrs. Merrivel.
“I don’t have the right clothes. I’m not packed for Spain in winter.”
“You can buy whatever you need when you get there.”
Nikki pictured the number of forms that purchasing an impromptu winter wardrobe on the company dime would require.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get everything approved,” said Mrs. M, reading Nikki’s expression.
“I don’t like leaving Nina Alvarez alone with just the CIA,” she said, knowing that she was repeating herself.
“Yes … about that,” said Mrs. M, cocking her head slightly, “you didn’t happen to mention Nina Alvarez to Z’ev, did you?”