Deadly Games Part 24

Chapter Twenty-Nine.

Bangkok, Thailand October 5, 10:05 P.M.

Travis Franks hated playing games. Problem was, he was good at them. And at his level within the Agency, they were required. Typically he could out-juggle a veteran circus clown. But not today.

Maddy.

Pregnant.

He knew exactly when it had happened, too. He had spent the night at her place and woke up spooned against her. Inside her. She had rocked back twice and immediately launched into an o.r.g.a.s.m. Which had tripped his trigger. Too late he remembered "no condom" and had pulled out.

She'd insisted they were both responsible since they'd both succ.u.mbed to the heat of the moment. And then she'd a.s.sured him that she didn't think she was ovulating.

That had been six or seven weeks ago. Travis had forgotten it. Until now. He'd gone back over the Virginia police detective's reports. Her girlfriend had said Maddy had seemed preoccupied. No kidding. No kidding.

Her credit card trail had ended the night before she disappeared. Her Visa transactions showed she'd made a fuel purchase at a gas station near her home before picking up Chinese carryout and stopping at a drugstore.

Catalina Dion had tracked down the store's copy of Maddy's receipt, which showed the purchase of a pregnancy test kit. The fact that Maddy had probably just confirmed her suspicions before disappearing helped soothe Travis's "why didn't she tell me?" angst.

Travis had already updated Luc about Maddy's condition and the less than forty-eight-hour deadline. It was frustrating to think that right now Luc had more lat.i.tude than Travis did in Thailand.

Channels that were normally available to Travis had slammed shut, mostly because of the Agency's ongoing charade of searching for Dr. Rufin. There were also the diplomatic issues of the Agency's covertly recovering two operatives while searching for a third.

More and more, Travis missed the freedom of being in the field. Real time was where the difference was made. The mission-critical decisions a seasoned operative made on the spot often tipped the scales. It was what allowed the CIA to be successful despite rumors of a mole, or moles, within its own ranks.

Travis knew that was just part of the spy game. h.e.l.l, every country tried to infiltrate another's intelligence agency; even its allies'. Still, it p.i.s.sed him off to learn there was a leak within his own division.

Correction: it p.i.s.sed him off that he couldn't locate the leak. The person he'd suspected had committed suicide, yet the drip of information persisted. That Travis hadn't dedicated himself exclusively to plugging the leak had earned him two watchers, men who were recording his every move. Or used to.

The men had also been bodyguards. There had been two threats on Travis's life in the past year. The first had come right after he'd received word that Dante Johnson hadn't died. The second had followed the recovery of Max Duncan.

Both threats had been traced to an Indonesian a.s.sociate of the late Viktor Zadovsky. An a.s.sociate who had also committed suicide. A lot of that going around.

Zadovsky had been the common thread. The Agency knew Zadovsky had visited Dante's and Max's secret prisons in Thailand, so it was reasonable he'd visited Harry Gambrel's, too. But where?

Tracking Zadovsky's previous movements had been impossible since the Indonesian and Thai governments had ransacked and seized Zadovsky's files.

Unfortunately, there were very few of Zadovsky's known a.s.sociates left. Rufin was one, but he claimed to have worked with and known about only Max. Zadovsky's secretary, Bohdana, who had initially lured Rufin out of hiding, was dead now, too, murdered by a man who'd subsequently kidnapped Rufin.

The composite drawing of Rufin's kidnapper matched the description of the mysterious Mr. Peabody, the middleman who worked deals between Zadovsky and his customers, including Minh Tran. Mr. Peabody's failure to deliver a s.h.i.+pment of SugarCane had landed him on Minh Tran's. .h.i.t list.

Travis's gut screamed that Peabody was the key to unlocking the puzzle. The problem was finding him.

A knock on the door interrupted Travis's thoughts. "It's open," he called out.

Derek, a forensics lab a.n.a.lyst, rushed in. "You aren't going to believe this." He set a file in front of Travis. "You know the trash samples you gave me this morning?"

"You've got something already?"

"Fingerprint match." Derek pointed to a report in the file.

Travis read the last line. MATCH FOUND: HARRY EPHRAIM GAMBREL. "Are you positive?"

"Absolutely." Derek flipped to a page with multiple black-and-white fingerprints. "I got three partials and one full thumb."

Travis stared at the identical thumbprints. It was proof. Harry was alive. And he'd been held in that same warehouse as Dr. Rufin, most likely by Mr. Peabody. Finally a lead!

"What have you got on other prints?" Travis was hoping to learn Mr. Peabody's true ident.i.ty.

Derek shook his head. "There were only two subjects' prints. This one and the John Doe set you gave me for elimination."

Travis had supplied Derek with an anonymous set of Dr. Rufin's prints. Rufin's prints weren't in any known databases but had been expected to be found in Luc's trash exhibit. The fact that Mr. Peabody's prints weren't found likely meant he'd worn gloves.

"Any chance of retrieving DNA?" Travis asked.

"Those samples will take twenty-four hours minimum to process."

"See what you can do to rush it. Good work!"

"Thanks. I'll get on the other." Derek grabbed his file just as Travis's cell phone started to ring.

Travis grabbed it, recognizing the distinct ring tone he'd a.s.signed to Luc Skihawtra.

"Franks here."

"It's me," Luc said. "And I know where Minh Tran's helicopter went."

Chapter Thirty.

East Central Mexico October 5, 10:25 P.M.

The plane was a total loss.

In the eerie glow of the fire, Rocco found the pilot's body. He'd been thrown only a few yards from the wreckage.

"He's dead. Broken neck," Rocco said.

"The whole back is gone!" Clay motioned to the plane. "If we hadn't fallen out, we'd be dead, too."

"I don't see any sign of my wife," Rocco said. "That means she's out there."

"Hold up." Clay tried to approach the wreckage, but the heat was still too intense. "I don't think any of the emergency equipment survived. Hopefully, the tracking beacon is working. The pilot was radioing an SOS as we went down."

"Let's hope he broadcast GPS coordinates as well." Rocco looked around at the site. "Tracking beacons on these small planes have a higher failure rate."

"Any chance your cell phone survived?" Clay asked. "Mine's busted."

Rocco touched his waist. "Mine's gone. Doubt we'd get a signal anyway. My gun's gone, too."

"Same here."

Rocco looked at the dark jungle. "I'm going to walk back this way, look for my wife."

"I'll head out over there, then," Clay said. "We'll cover more ground if we split up. I suggest we stay within a reasonable distance. The fire will be out soon. I know you're worried about Jill, but it won't help her if we get lost, too."

"Look, about her name-" Rocco began. Working this type of private security, Clay had to suspect most clients used aliases.

"Just tell me her real first name. If she's dazed, she might not recognize Jill," Clay said.

"It's Gena. And she'll call me Rocco."

"As soon as we find her, you can go back to Jill and Mike," Clay said. "Good luck."

Rocco pushed into the brush. The rain continued to fall. The lightning had moved north, but flashes on the horizon continued to break up the dark.

"Gena!" He cupped his hands near his mouth as he shouted.

Please let her be alive, he prayed. Even if they never saw each other after this, Rocco had to know she was alive. he prayed. Even if they never saw each other after this, Rocco had to know she was alive.

The gnawing reminder that it was his fault she was in danger ate at him. Just let me find her alive and I'll walk away without ever looking back. Just let me find her alive and I'll walk away without ever looking back.

It was the looking back that had kept him trapped. For years he had dreamed of meeting Gena again, just to talk. To get answers. Closure. He'd wanted to know why she hadn't just told him the truth about dating Harry instead of letting him hear about it from Harry.

Especially when she still felt something for Rocco. d.a.m.n it, he'd felt it yesterday morning in that hotel room when they'd almost made love.

Gena had wanted Rocco with the same hunger that burned in him. The same hunger he remembered from all those years ago. And it was more than l.u.s.t, more than physical attraction. Rocco knew true love. Could recognize it in other people as well as himself.

"Gena! Can you hear me?" he shouted again.

"Rocco!"

He stopped moving. "Gena! Where are you, sweetheart?"

"I'm here! Can you follow my voice? Are you okay?"

Rocco turned to his left, honing in. "I'm fine! Keep talking until I get to you!"

"I've been so scared! I found the plane and the pilot-he's dead!" She was crying now, just a short way ahead.

He took a few more steps. "I'm right behind you, Gena!"

"Where? Please hurry, Rocco!"

He stepped in front of her and wrapped her in his arms. Almost immediately he released her and moved away. "Are you injured?"

She pushed back against him and buried her face in his chest. "I'm fine. I was just afraid you were-"

"Shhh. I'm fine, sweetheart. Clay's alive as well. He's looking for you, too."

"Thank G.o.d."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Let's get back to the plane. You okay to walk?"

"Yes."

He took her hand and led the way through the trees toward the barely visible fire. "You've already been to the plane. You must have landed closer than I did."

"I landed in a tree. My seat cus.h.i.+on somehow stayed with me and broke my fall."

When they reached the plane, Rocco steered her to a spot away from the pilot's body.

"I'll be right back. I need to let Clay know I've found you." Rocco moved into the trees on the opposite side of the wreck and began shouting. He didn't get a response but wasn't worried. He'd try again in a few minutes.

When he returned he found Gena huddled with her face buried against her knees. She was s.h.i.+vering, probably from shock as well as the wetness of her clothes.

Rocco looked around and then began gathering limbs and vines to construct a lean-to. The first priority was shelter from the rain. Even if the tracking beacon worked, the darkness and stormy weather worked against them. A search-and-rescue mission probably wouldn't launch until morning.

"Rocco?" Clay's voice called out.

"We're here at the plane! I found my wife!" Rocco shouted.

Moments later, Clay burst through the trees. "Is she okay?"

"Physically, yes. I'm working on a shelter to get her out of the rain."

Clay moved closer. "Forget that. I found a shelter not too far from here. Looks like an abandoned archaeology site. Hopefully, we'll find a dry spot there."

"Great!" Rocco hurried over to Gena. "Come on, sweetheart."

"Good job, Clay." Gena pushed to her feet very slowly, reminding Rocco of what she'd been through the last two days. A fire, a thwarted abduction, now this.

"I'll carry you," Rocco said.

"It's nothing serious," she said. "Just a few aches. I can walk."