So how the hell had all that increased security allowed anyone to get by with a pack of firecrackers?
Really?
Clicking the mouse to rewind footage and recheck angles, she shuddered to think of what else had been missed.
Didn’t those idiot protestors realize they could have all been shot? Lucky for them security forces had only used tear gas while the VP’s wife had been hustled into the airport, skipping the whole opening remarks to the press part.
But then maybe that was what the firecracker toting idiots had been hoping for. She increased the zoom of the first checkpoint, then back to the runway, reviewing the airplane’s arrival for the third time.
Even with the Predator surveillance drones circling overhead, she should have been there. On the ground, in the crowd, walking through the masses, gathering human intel on how those firecracker pranksters had gotten through and what else may have slipped past.
Instead, Mr. Hard-ass Smith had parked her behind a computer screen reviewing satellite footage like a newbie recruit. Smith had mumbled something about not being sure she could bring her A-game after the stress of the kidnapping.
She’d bitten her tongue to keep from telling him where he could stuff his A-game.
So here she sat, watching Jose on the screen from earlier as they’d waited for the plane to land carrying the VP’s wife. The PJs were pulling guard duty in uniform, the SEAL team lying back farther out and incognito. Jose stood at attention in his uniform, his maroon beret like a beacon to her heart. The way they’d made love last night had been a transcendent farewell.
Transcendent farewell?
When had she gone from being an analytical soul to a lovesick high schooler? Just bring out a prom dress and CD mix of “their” songs. And yes, she knew she was being cranky and irritable because her heart hurt. She’d reconciled herself to a life without the man she loved, and that had been almost bearable when they didn’t see each other. But now? After what they’d been through?
What he still faced if she didn’t figure out where that bio toxin was hidden? So many unbearable scenarios rolled through her head. Worst of all? What if she’d screwed up? What if Mr. Smith was right and she was off her game? She could have totally misinterpreted the meaning of that cloth—even though they’d run her take through the CIA code breakers. They agreed.
Tuning out the chatter in her headset, she clicked through the different images being fed in, trying to focus less on the man she loved and more on the big picture. She cranked back in her chair and lined up a sequence of images: the plane landing, firecrackers exploding, the guest of honor being hustled inside. She was missing something, damn it; she could feel it.
She accessed additional surveillance cameras inside. The welcoming ceremonies had been shifted inside to the conference room inside the airport. American and Somali flags, along with other African flags, were hastily brought in along with the floral arrangements—the splashes of color from fireball lilies, deep crimson desert roses, and hibiscus brightening the sad little room for such a momentous event. Refreshments had been set up, fruits, cheeses, and a cake bearing both countries’ seals. The military honor guards resumed their positions.
The PJs were in place again—Jose was in view again.
Anyone watching on television wouldn’t see the frenzied caterers, the terse secret service agents, the ragged edges just outside a carefully edited view.
Then the guest of honor stepped up to the podium. Wearing a navy blue flowing dress, the VP’s wife had pulled her hair up in a French twist with a whispery scarf over it in respect to local tradition. Setting her notes aside, she spoke…
As much as Stella wanted to listen, she trained her eyes to look around the room instead, searching for where they could have hidden the toxin. Something to do with the flowers? The confined space of the press conference suddenly seemed wrong. Had the stunt outside been designed to maneuver the ceremony inside?
A shout over her headset had her sitting upright. Mr. Smith barked for all eyes to lock in on the motorcade waiting outside. The exhaust from the tailpipes pumped puffy clouds into the air. But that wasn’t his worry.
The delivery truck was marked with a bakery symbol. The truck was driving in, when clearly the three-tiered cake was already set up in a corner of the reception area.
Mr. Smith shouted, almost losing his cool altogether. “The bakery truck, damn it. Stop and secure that truck, now!”
Helplessly, she watched as Jose eased from his post inside the conference room. Surveillance feed from the Predators showed his maroon hat—Jose was taller than most people there and he was fast. Crazy fast. Her heart was in her throat as he ran outside, closing in on the white truck, with no windows in back.
A deep fear, deeper than anything she’d felt before, froze her in her seat. He’d worked dangerous missions since they met, but never had she felt this intense, immobilizing fear.
Had he been this insanely rocked when watching footage of her being held hostage? Of course he had. The full impact of that slammed through her, the toll that both their jobs would take on them, watching each other take on horrifying risks year after year. Knowing the risks for them were tenfold what they were for other couples. She’d been so confident they could make this work; now she wondered if Jose had been right after all, that she was oversimplifying how they would work things out.
How could they both live their lives at this high-octane pace and not self-destruct?
Troops and security shifted with such seamless ease. The ceremony never even paused. Not the least sign showed that they’d even noticed the disruption.
Stella glanced back at the VP’s wife quickly just as the woman accepted a gift from a local general’s wife. The woman passed over a small flat package wrapped in simple gold paper. Stella started to turn away—then hesitated, something tugging at her, a sense of premonition. The VP’s wife set aside the gift wrap and unfurled…
A long length of burgundy cloth. A kanga. A strikingly familiar kanga. She magnified the image but she knew it was the missing code even before her improved view confirmed it.
It was an exact match to the kanga with the coded message.
Oh God. Her gut fell to her feet like the floor of an elevator dropped out from under her. The bio toxin was a diversion. Maybe real, maybe not, but whatever it was, it was meant to draw their attention away from this. The VP’s wife was somehow being marked or used to transport the rest of their message, their plan… She didn’t know what, she only knew she couldn’t let it slip away and she couldn’t let Jose walk into whatever trap had been set.