Hell on Wheels (Black Knights Inc. #1)(84)
There was a plastic trash can over by the door to Frank’s office, wasn’t there? So if she had to spew, she thought she could just about make it to…
Oh, crapola.
She wasn’t thinking of blood or chocolate chip cookies or plastic trash cans or anything any longer, because her lovable brother’s face popped up on Ozzie’s huge monitor and the breath froze in her lungs like two solid blocks of ice. The blood in her veins ran cold as goose bumps pebbled her skin.
“Hey, Ozzie,” Grigg said, the sound of his wonderfully familiar voice choking her.
“Breathe, Ali,” Nate’s strong fingers squeezed her trembling shoulder. “Just breathe, sugar.”
Yeah, breathing was good, especially so that something would continue to function while her heart was breaking all over again and bleeding out onto her already unreliable stomach.
“Good job on breaking my code,” Grigg continued, his marvelous face looking just as she remembered it. Handsome, dependable, a little bit ornery…Okay, a lot ornery. “Not that it was too much of a stretch for you, I’m sure,” he chuckled, and the sweet sound was like a sharp arrow to her aching heart and crumbling control.
“So,” Grigg’s video image leaned closer to the screen and she caught her breath, “if you’re watching this, it means Ghost is there with you. Hi, buddy,” he waved.
“Jesus,” Nate muttered, his voice hoarse with emotion.
“And I’m probably dead.” Grigg’s image grimaced, his nose doing that wonderful wrinkly thing Ali so loved. “Sorry about that.”
“Christ, man,” Nate choked and turned away, and that was the last straw for Ali. The tears that’d been hovering spilled over to streak, hot and salty, down her cheeks.
A handkerchief suddenly appeared in her hands. She used it to assert a small measure of control over her leaking face.
“Anyway…” Grigg persisted. “I guess that means the shit has hit the fan, you’ve found out about my little off-the-books assignment, and Ali remembered this zip drive that arrived at her house at an unusual time.
“So, let me see if I can clear some things up. I got a call yesterday from Special Agent Delaney of the FBI. I, uh, I met him a while back when Wild Bill and I infiltrated that loony religious sect that was cooking more meth than a thousand-unit trailer park. You remember, Nate? He’s the one I told you about. The one who liked to wear Prada sunglasses and Gucci loafers?”
“Shit,” Nate spat, and Ozzie hit pause on the video as the group gathered around the monitor turned toward Nate. He raked an agitated hand over his face, the bristles on his chin sounding like sandpaper against his rough palm. “I didn’t remember the name Delaney ’cause Grigg always referred t’the guy as GQ.”
“What do you remember now?” Frank urged, gray eyes bloodshot but fiercely alert.
“Nothin’ much,” Nate shook his head regretfully, cursing under his breath. “Just that Grigg was as impressed with the guy’s skill as he was with his fashion sense.”
“Hmph,” Frank grunted, obviously supremely unimpressed with any man who gave a fig for fashion. As a group, they turned back to the computer screen. Ozzie restarted the video.
“…So Delaney calls me and says he’s got a job only I can do since he can’t trust anyone in his own office or any of the other alphabet soup outfits. He says it’s crucial I don’t reveal the mission to anyone, even to you guys. Claims it’s highly dangerous and there are elements at play he can’t control and he wants to restrict the danger to as few folks as possible. Now,” Grigg shook his head and grinned his wonderful, devil-may-care grin, “I know you’re all cursing me right now, but Delaney wouldn’t have tapped me if he wasn’t in a real bind, which,” Grigg’s grin twisted into another grimace, “turns out he is…uh, was. Shit, I’ll get to that part later.
“So anyway, I agreed to the job and met Delaney yesterday evening in DC. There he tells me he suspects a certain senator, a Mr. Alan Aldus, has been selling illegal weapons to some pretty extreme Pakistani tribesmen—big no-no in anyone’s book. Only up to this point, Delaney hasn’t been able to get the evidence he needs to have the good senator arrested. Long story short, Delaney got his hands on Senator Aldus’s computer password and the codenames for the files of the weapons sales. He needed me to go in during the senator’s shindig last night under the guise of a bullet-catcher and copy the files. And no, Ozzie, the senator’s system couldn’t be hacked from the outside. I specifically asked Delaney that question. I also asked him why he didn’t just do it himself, and he started acting all spooked and shit, said he was convinced the senator was on to him and there were folks within his own agency who knew about the deal and were covering for Aldus. Delaney said he was being watched, followed. You know, your typical government-employee paranoia. Still, I was impressed with the guy’s skills in New Mexico, so I agreed to help him and we shook hands and parted ways.
“The job was simple, went off without a hitch. Then, after the party, Delaney failed to show at the drop, and what do you know? Come to find out, the guy’s dead. Supposedly fell asleep at the wheel and dunked his car in the river,” Grigg rolled his beautiful brown eyes.
“Now here I am stuck with my thumb up my butt. I have no clue who I should send these files to. Obviously this thing goes deep and is dangerous as hell, considering Delaney’s convenient sleep apnea episode. I don’t know who’s involved, but it’s gotta be some folks pretty high up. On top of all that, Ghost, you and I are tasked to fly out to Istanbul at oh-three-hundred, which is,” Grigg glanced at his watch, “in exactly two flippin’ hours.