––––––––
Since it was clear the trail had gone cold in Pakistan, Mike headed for ICE and a new assignment. Hamilton and Rodgers could pick up the pieces in Lasbela and Mike was only getting in the way.
The problem? Henri wasn’t in Iceland.
Mike wouldn’t admit it to a soul, but he kinda missed the hotshot. He’d felt terrible about the way they’d parted, even though Henri was the one who’d walked away in a snit. Worse, he hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye, and then it had felt too awkward to send her an e-mail. God, he was a wanker. They’d shared a kiss. So big deal.
Another reason for not e-mailing was Mike didn’t like using internet communication when in enemy territory. No matter how much the gadget geniuses told him no one could crack ICE encryption, Mike didn’t buy it. Anything could be cracked, and the moment he veered from his hard and fast rule, he’d end up with a bullet in his brain.
Now back at ICE, he took his laptop to the lab for a scan—maintenance all operatives did when they were at headquarters. “Hiya, Asa. What’s the chatter about today?”
The lass looked at him through black, plastic-framed glasses that made her eyes appear enormous. “There are more thugs out there every day.” Her screen was processing data a gazillion bytes a minute and she stared at it as if she could read every word.
Mike slid his laptop in the docking station and started his scan. “You need the speed of a quantum computer.”
“Jà, tell me about it.” She sat back, still watching her screen. “I’m running facial recognition on a file Henri sent.”
“Where is she?”
“Following up on a bank heist.” Asa switched her monitor to a blurry picture of men in black, one with a briefcase in his hand.
Mike leaned closer. The man’s sleeve had hitched up, exposing his wrist. “Is that—?”
“A tat of the ISIS flag.”
“You dunna see that every day. Where was it taken?”
“Avignon, France.”
“What did Henri send you?”
“Footage of men installing a new security system in the Banque Palatine right near the town center.”
“She thinks they’re the culprits?”
“Could be.”
Mike scratched his chin. “You think it’s an ISIS job?”
She gave him a look over the rims of her glasses. “Ask Garth. I’m just a techie.”
“Right, and I’m just a grunt.”
Asa snorted as she reverted to the other screen. The data had stopped and two pictures stared back at them. One of a worker, and the other of a guy who looked identical to the first, wearing a black jihadi uniform and brandishing an AK-47. “This says his name is Melvut Amri. From Turkey. Suspected ISIS recruit. Before he went loco, he worked as technician for a security company in Istanbul.”
Mike’s gut twisted. Garth had sent a newbie asset into an ISIS firestorm? “Can you find a picture of his wrists? Who does he work under? Where is he now? How the hell did he get to France? Christ, is Anderson safe? Who has her back?”
Asa’s fingers flew across her keyboard. “You bark worse than Garth—and you’d better talk to him about Henri. As far as I know he sent her on a fact-finding mission and that’s what she’s doing, finding the facts.”
Mike headed for the door. “I want every tidbit of information on that bloke as soon as it crosses the wire. Make it your top priority.”
Asa’s fingers didn’t stop. “I’ll do what I can but—”
“I’m off to have a word with Garth right now.” Mike could have blown steam out the top of his head. What was Moore thinking, sending a rookie into a hostile situation? He stormed up the stairs and down the long passageway to the command center and burst through the doors. It took half a second to spot Garth standing with his arms crossed, looking up at a monitor. Mike forwent a greeting and jumped straight to the point. “What have you heard from Anderson? Did you know an ISIS militant installed the security system at the bank in Avignon? Who’s got her back?”
Garth straightened, giving Mike a quizzical look. “Whoa, back up there, soldier. What did you say about the security system? Have you been talking to Asa?”
Mike thrust his fists into his hips. “I have and the guy’s name is Melvut Amri. He’s a recruit from Turkey. Asa’s digging up more intel now, but it stinks like terrorist shite, and we’ve put a greenhorn in over her head.”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist. Anderson is only gathering intel.” Garth pulled his phone from his belt. “But if what you say is true, the pot just started to boil.”
Damned straight.
Mike paced while Garth put his phone to his ear. “Asa. Why is it Rose knows the name of the Avignon robber before me? And he’s confirmed ISIS? On our most wanted list? Good God. What about the tattoo? It belongs to Melvut Amri? I need details! Faster! Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this sooner? Oh? That’s not an excuse!”
By the time Garth tapped the end button, his face was scarlet. He sucked in a deep breath and regarded Mike with a pair of enormous eyes. “This just went to DEFCON 1, my friend.”
Mike headed for the door. “Order me a private jet. I’m going in stealth.”