He frowned down at her Okay, so you know more about Israeli Special Forces units than the average bear. How is that?
Its my job?
Dont be cute with me. What do you do as a member of the American delegation, Miss McQueen?
Lieutenant McQueen. US Navy. Roving security for the American delegation. Sometimes its handy to have female security guards. We can go places men cant.
He frowned. Regular US military personnel arent assigned to Olympic security details.
She shrugged, offering no further explanation of why she, a military member, was here on a distinctly civilian assignment.
His mental antennae wiggled wildly. She wasnt telling him the truth. Or at least not the full truth.
Why did you flee the village without scanning out properly? he tried.
I told you. I was following someone. I didnt have time to mess with scanning my ID.
And who were you following? he asked gently when she didnt continue.
She huffed. I thought I saw a guy named Mahmoud Akhtar.
Akhtar? Here? Mahmoud Akhtar was the kind of guy who made men like Avi lose sleep at night. Akhtar was highly trained, highly intelligent and highly radicalized. He was a known agent of the Iranian government and believed to be a wet operatormeaning his skills and missions covered everything up to and including terror and assassination. It could not possibly be good news for the Israeli delegation if Akhtar was here in Sydney. Are you sure? Avi asked the woman curtly.
No. Im not sure. She sounded exasperated. I was trying to get close enough to make a positive identification when you decided to go all Neanderthal and tackle me.
I didnt tackle you. I merely stopped you for questioning. She opened her mouth, obviously to argue, and he took an aggressive step forward to loom over her. He had nearly twenty-five centimetersten incheson her in height. If I had tackled you, you would have been smashed flat on the ground. And I would have handcuffed you. He added, As it was, I probably should have tackled you. But I was exceptionally restrained.
She snorted. You should have been even more restrained. Mahmoud and his buddy, Yousef Kamali, got away, thanks to you.
He frowned, reluctant to believe her claim that an international terrorist had been strolling around the grounds of the Olympic Village. But caution dictated that he take her seriously, of course.
She didnt seem delusional.
And the fact that she even knew who Mahmoud Akhtar and his sidekick, Yousef Kamali, were, meant she had some sort of access to classified materialalso indicative of a not delusional female.
Still. Akhtar here? It would be a huge risk for a terrorist of his notoriety.
She interrupted his skeptical train of thought, demanding, You said you could get me video from that nightclub. I want to see it right away. I might be able to make a positive ID from that.
Come with me. He led her into the main room and gestured for her to sit at his desk. Reaching past her shoulder, he typed into his keyboard quickly, calling up the Israeli link to the entire Sydney CCTVclosed-circuit televisionsystem.
Clicking on the map of downtown Sydney that popped up, he selected the nightclub. It took a moment, but then his screen flashed up black-and-white imagery of the exterior of the disco where Rebel had finally stopped running.
Do you have interior video feed? she murmured up at him.
He glanced down at her and was close enough to see that her eyelashes were long and silky, a soft brown that matched her hair. And she smelled good. A gentle, sweet scent like vanilla, warm and inviting. A study in contrasts, she was turning out to be. Sharp words, sweet mouth. Hard elbows, soft skin. Tough attitude, gentle eyes.
Interior video? she repeated.
Oh. Right. He shook himself out of staring at her and typed again. Planting both hands on the desk, he leaned forward beside Rebel to study the crowd gyrating on-screen. He hit the pause button and froze the image. Face by face, he scanned all the people in the frame. He didnt see anyone resembling the Iranian terrorist.
Rebel leaned back. This is hopeless. The crowd is too thick to spot my guys without a full forensic analysis of this video. What if we run the video in real time and see if we can spot Mahmoud and Yousef entering the club?
He estimated it had been fifteen minutes since hed detained her, and he backed up the video twenty minutes to be safe. He hit Play.
He pulled up a rolling chair from the next desk over and sat down beside Rebel. Their shoulders rubbed together as they both leaned forward, staring intently at the moving images in front of them.
Both of them jolted at the same moment as two men wearing black tracksuits entered the frame. They bumped into each other, and Avi mumbled an apology at the same time Rebel did. Their gazes met, startled, and she looked away immediately, a blush staining her cheeks. Was she shy, or did she find him attractive, or both? Hmm. Interesting.
She stabbed at the video monitor. Those are my guys.
Unfortunately, thats only the back of their heads, he commented. Let me see if theres another angle. He advanced the video frame by frame in search of a good facial shot of the men.
Nothing.
He pulled up the second camera in the club, and damned if the men werent moving through the space with their heads turned to the side, avoiding being seen clearly on that camera, too.
Rebel leaned back in disgust. They did that same trick when they were leaving the village. They turned their faces away from the surveillance cameras as if they knew exactly where they were.
He pushed away from the desk and leaned back in his chair, linking his hands behind his head as he stared at her. Lets say youre correct, and thats Mahmoud Akhtar. How did he get into the Olympic Village?
Obviously, the Iranians gave him credentials.
Their entire delegation undergoes thorough background checks by the International Olympic Committee. And my people run our own background checks above and beyond the IOCs. We would have spotted him.
She threw him a duh look. Obviously, the Iranians substituted him after the fact in place of someone who passed the background check.
Or he could have stolen the credentials. But either way, the next question is why? he asked reasonably.
Because the Iranians have something planned to disrupt the games.
Like what? he asked, interested to see how she answered. The Israelis had spent the past four years running possible scenarios of their own and preparing to stop each one.
She shrugged. He wont be operating alone. Last time we had contact with him, he was the leader of a six-man cell. The man I saw with him tonight, Yousef Kamali, was one of those men. My guess is Mahmoud has reconstituted his team.
Avi jumped all over her slip of the tongue. We? We who? What group are you really a part of?
She threw him a withering glare. A group you dont need to know about.
He arched a skeptical eyebrow at her. Did you not hear who I work for?
She shrugged. I stand by my statement.
Huh. So she worked for some superclassified security team the Americans had put togetherthat included women. His Mossad buddies would find that interesting.
You never answered my question, he pressed. What do you think Mahmoud and this hypothetical team of his are up to?
I have no idea. But I know a guy who might be able to make an educated guess.
I know several guys whove spent the past few years making educated guesses, he snapped. Give me more than that.
I dont have more. But I can tell you one thing. If Mahmoud Akhtar is here, hes up to no good.
On that, we are agreed. He met her gaze grimly, and this time her big blue eyes were brimming over with worry. An urge to rock his chair forward onto all four legs, gather her into his arms and comfort her shocked him into stillness. This woman was the last person he would expect to accept comfort from him. Such a prickly little thing, she was.
Would you like to come with me to my security teams meeting? she said all of a sudden, surprising him mightily.
Do I have the proper clearance to attend it? he asked, his voice as dry as the desert.
She rolled her eyes. I cant guarantee my boss will let you stay, but you Israelis are an obvious possible target. It makes sense to loop you into at least some of what we know about Mahmoud.
Gee. Thanks.
In the spirit of Olympic cooperation, Im offering you an olive branch, she said with a huff. Take it and be grateful, already.
Fair enough. Thank you. He quoted quietly, Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity!
Should I recognize that? she asked.
Its your Bible. Psalms 133.
She frowned. I dont get much time for religion in my work.
Hmm. My work is all about religion. Or freedom of religion, at any rate.
Right now, a threat to your peoples freedom is walking around out there, no doubt planning something dastardly. Although Id put it at about equal odds between your country and mine as to which one is the primary target, she replied.
He asked, When was the last time your people had contact with Akhtar? What were his targets at that time?
Last fall. And his target was a schoolteacher. He planned to kidnap her and blackmail her husband into filing a false report on a nuclear facility in Iran. Instead, Mahmoud accidentally kidnapped one of my teammates. She escaped with the help of an undercover man on the team. We got to the teachers husbanda nuclear facilities inspector in Tehranbefore Mahmoud did, and the husband filed a report showing that Iran was trying to import nuclear triggers from Russia by way of Turkey.
I heard about that! Avi exclaimed. Wasnt there some sort of shoot-out in Tehran? Several major arms dealers killed and the deal scuttled? Our...sources...report the Iranians were livid.
She shrugged looking entirely unrepentant.
You were involved with all of that? he asked incredulously.
You dont have to sound so surprised. She was back to being defensive. And her hackles were standing up again. Maybe she was more like a baby badger than a hedgehog.
Cmon, then, she said briskly. Bring your Olympic credentials and your fancy security clearance with you. Youll need them both to hear what my team has to say.
Chapter 2
Rebel jumped as Avis big, warm palm landed lightly in the small of her back. The power and gentleness of it sent crazy zinging sensations ricocheting in all directions through her body. She inhaled light and fast, her adrenaline levels ready for combator sex.
Oh, cmon, Self. Youve been around plenty of hot special operators in the past year. This one is no different.
Except the tingling didnt go away. And her breathing didnt settle down.
This way, he murmured, guiding her through the maze of Israeli security personnel at their desks. Theres a rear exit where we wont be seen.
Now he was getting the idea. She likedshe neededto operate under the radar and away from the prying eyes of the public as much as possible. They slipped out into the warm night and, by unspoken mutual agreement, wove around the edges of the Olympic Village, mostly avoiding the surveillance cameras whose feeds were shared with all of the security delegations.
She swiped a key card she pulled out of a zipped pocket inside her jacket and stood before a retinal scanner to gain entrance for herself and her big Israeli guest into the back entrance of the American operations center. It had its own building containing both offices and housing for the large contingent of security specialists in Sydney to protect American athletes.
Vividly aware of the big man following her and the curious glances being thrown his way, she led Bronson across a room much like the one at Israeli operations, crowded with desks and video monitors. This room, too, was half-filled with big, capable-looking men and a few serious, focused women. Ignoring them, Rebel led her guest to the conference room and ushered him inside.
Her boss, Army Major Gunnar Torsten, looked over her shoulder at the Israeli. He did a double take. Avi?
Gun? Long time no see, the Israeli exclaimed.
Rebel looked on in disgust as the two men shook hands warmly and clapped each other on the back. Of course, they knew each other. Torsten was fond of saying how small the Special Forces community really was.
The men were a study in physical contrast. Where blond Torstens hair was straight and buzzed short, the Israelis dark hair was wavy and thick enough to run her fingers through it. Torsten was fair and blue-eyed, where Avi Bronson was bronzed and brown-eyed. But that was where the contrast ended. Both men were tall, fit, and moved with confident grace. Also, they both had that particular cool look in their eyes announcing they were lethal, and furthermore, that they knew it.
What brings you to the Land of Oz, Avi? Torsten asked.
Olympic security detail. You?
Same.
Torsten glanced at Rebel. You summoned me, Lieutenant McQueen?
She winced at his dry tone, not sure whether to interpret the use of her title as formality for the guests benefit or a signal that she was in trouble for her presumption. Her boss was a very hard man to read.
She responded grimly, I spotted two men tonight who looked shockingly like Mahmoud Akhtar and Yousef Kamali.
Torsten sucked in a sharp breath. Youre sure it was them?
I only saw them from a distance, but I know Mahmouds face. Im pretty sure it was him.
Torsten stared at her for a long moment as his expression passed through shock and chagrin, ending up wreathed in speculation.
She watched her boss cautiously as he placed a phone call on the speakerphone sitting on the table in front of him. He said without preamble, Piper, how quickly can Zane join us?
Rebels teammate answered briskly over the speaker, He can be here in twenty-four hours from when I call him, sir.
That wasnt bad, given that the flight itself took on the order of twenty-two hours.
Make the call, Torsten said quietly. He disconnected the call to Piper.
Avi piped up. Who is this Zane person?
Torsten answered, CIA officer. Embedded with Mahmoud and his cell in the US for several months last year. Best expert weve got on the bastard.