Shit. If Stella was sweating, this was beyond bad.
An angry tic twitching at the corner of one eye, Smith snapped the cigar in half. He stepped closer, his voice low. “Agent Carson, you’re going to need to be more specific with what information you’ve uncovered and how.”
Stella’s bracing sigh wasn’t reassuring. “I accessed the writing on the cloth and ran them through some programs. I’m assuming your programs didn’t decipher the pattern yet or you sure as hell wouldn’t be standing around shooting the breeze, taking a smoke. Bottom line, I realized I only have half the puzzle because there’s another cloth out there somewhere. But from what I can put together, the separatist group responsible for my capture has a nerve toxin. I believe it’s a variation of the tetanus toxin, one so intense a regular vaccination won’t do anything but delay the onset of symptoms for a few extra minutes.”
Jose closed his eyes for a long heartbeat processing what he’d heard. He didn’t doubt her conclusion for a second. They may have had their problems in the romance department, but when it came to her job, Stella was one hundred percent rock solid. He found that brilliant mind of hers sexy as hell most of the time. Right now, he’d wished like crazy that he could be wrong… That she could be wrong.
Cursing softly, Smith turned to Jose. “The symptoms of extreme exposure to tetanus are… what?”
Jose’s brain shifted into medical mode, but knowledge brought him little comfort. Horrific images filled his head. “Muscle spasms so intense they lead to paralysis, then suffocation.”
“Mr. Smith, if that’s let loose in a large gathering,” she hesitated, swallowing as if her mouth had gone dry, “a large televised gathering…”
The loss of life, the worldwide panic… the consequences were… beyond imagining. He might as well have been cleaved down the middle. Half of him still shouted to get Stella somewhere safe, while the other half of him knew they would both do their jobs and their jobs were going to take them to the core of the threat.
Smith flicked the broken cigar into a trash can. “Smoke break over. We need to roll. Carson, patch a call through to Sutton and see if you can find out more about where he got the kanga. We’ll also need to send someone back to the compound to search again.” He charged ahead in a blur of generic dark suit, words floating over his shoulder. “And we can talk later about why the two of you felt the need to play me.”
***
Strapped into a CV-22 heading to Mogadishu, nearly a seven-hundred-mile trip, Stella fought down the welling outright panic that had been threatening to swallow her whole since she’d cracked part of the code. The CIA had stepped the operation into high gear.
No cigar breaks.
The bulk of their mobile command unit was being related to Somalia’s capital, ahead of the arrival of the vice president’s wife. They had limited time to prevent the attack. Attempts to persuade her to abandon her trip fell on deaf ears. Canceling the visit would embolden the very warlords she and the U.S. administration as a whole condemned.
Now it was up to the CIA, Interpol, the Secret Service, and the military to ramp up their efforts to keep the nation’s second lady safe.
From what Stella gathered, the rest of the details were on the second stretch of cloth. But the details on the first length of fabric had been chilling enough. The deciphered code contained the formula for a bio toxin.
Ajaya had been warily helpful thus far. From what the teenager had said, the attack was supposed to take place when the vice president’s wife made her goodwill visit to Mogadishu—also known as Xamar. The celebrations would be huge, spanning days. There would be everything from a brass band welcome on the tarmac to a speech at a local monument to high profile diners at a convention center. He vowed that he’d only heard about a regular package bomb.
But the code indicated otherwise.
The potential devastation was beyond imagining with so many different scenarios to protect against. An outdoor bomb? An indoors insidious release through the air ducts?
Once Smith had led them back into the hangar, he’d mobilized his CIA team. The PJs were included for on-the-ground security.
Even if they prevented the release of the bio toxin, there was still the potential for panic if word leaked. Mass chaos. The PJs’ medic skills would be in high demand. With that kind of threat hanging over their heads, Smith had never gotten around to chewing her out for breaking into his intelligence files to get her own private take on that cloth.
The tension in the aircraft was thicker than the humidity. And it was mighty damn dense, carrying the scent of hydraulic fumes and fear. Yes, fear, because she knew something these big badass warriors would never admit. Anyone with sense was afraid at a time like this.
She wanted to reach for Jose, needed the reassurance of his touch, but knew now wasn’t the time. Even though they’d worked as a team to give her time in the hangar, they had left so much unsaid.
He’d been here for her again and again, even when she pushed him away, he came through for her. She pressed her leg to his, giving what comfort she could without dinging that male pride. The flex of his thigh against hers told her he noticed even as he continued to sit in his webbed seat, his head resting back, his eyes closed.
How could he be so calm in light of what they were facing? They had scraps of intel to chase down a major terrorist plot likely to take place eighteen hours after they landed. Not much time to defuse things that could change world dynamics forever. She saw Smith on his comm set still chasing down leads about the second kanga.
She looked at the other men on Jose’s team, all of them sprawled much like Jose. Catching catnaps? Storing energy, no doubt, which she should be doing. Jose breathed evenly, his eyes closed and his hands folded over his stomach. How many times had she watched him just this way? He always snagged power naps—in a chair, on a train, anytime he had to wait. She’d figured out his body went on autopilot, grabbing rest whenever he could to make up for all the times he pushed himself for days straight in rescue situations.
God, there was so much to admire about him. She felt small and petty right now for pushing him away because he didn’t have room in his life for anything more.
For a full life with her.
Bad, bad, bad idea letting her thoughts run that path. No good could be found there. She needed to be smart, focused. Tearing her gaze away, she looked around the belly of the aircraft until her eyes landed on Fang; the junior team member wasn’t sleeping at all. His foot was twitching. He looked around at his napping teammates, his gaze and movements jerky. This was big stuff early in the newbie’s career.
Big stuff for any stage.
Fang realized she was watching him and he bulked up, sitting straighter with bravado, then shrugged sheepishly. “Can’t sleep,” he said. “Smells like straight up crotch in here.”