Special Forces: The Operator Page 6

  “I always took you seriously, Rebel.”

  “Yeah, but no one else is likely to.”

  “Do you want me to put forward your theory to the IOC security team because they would take me more seriously?”

  She sighed. “I appreciate the offer, but I expect Major Torsten will tell them about it if he thinks I’ve adequately backed up my theory with evidence.”

  “He’s a good man. He won’t take credit for your work. You’ll get the credit.”

  “Or the blame,” she added.

  Avi shrugged. “If you think you’re right, stick by your guns. Who cares if you got this one wrong? We all make mistakes from time to time. Better to be overcautious and be wrong than say nothing and have a preventable attack happen.”

  “Yes, but this is the first time the new Medusas have worked the Olympic Games. If I’m making a wrong call and people get all worked up for no reason, the egg will be on all of my teammates’ faces along with mine.”

  “You’re a team, right? Wouldn’t you suffer a little humiliation on behalf of one of your sisters?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “And they would do the same for you. Don’t second-guess yourself. Trust your gut.”

  He was right. She took a deep breath. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

  “Anytime.”

  The waiter brought back Avi’s credit card, and he signed the check quickly.

  “Do I want to know what that meal cost?” she asked.

  “No. But it was worth every shekel to watch you enjoy yourself like that.”

  Alarmed, she let him hold her chair as she stood up. Had she made a spectacle of herself? The idea sent shivers of horror across her skin. If she’d learned nothing else in her father’s repressive home, it was that women should never, ever, draw attention to themselves.

  “What were you thinking about just then?” Avi asked, startling her out of dark memories.

  “Nothing.”

  Avi responded evenly, “I’m not letting you get away with putting me off like that. Tell me what you were thinking about.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Because it put pain in your eyes. I want to know what or who hurt you.”

  He sounded half-prepared to go out and beat up bullies on her behalf. Which was sweet. And strange. She wasn’t accustomed to any man looking out for her. In fact, she’d spent most of her adult life making sure no man needed to look out for her.

  She glanced up. He was staring down at her expectantly. He looked ready to stand there all night, not moving an inch, until he got his answer.

  Well, hell. She huffed and then admitted, “I was thinking about my father.”

  “Your father? Why would he put such pain in your eyes?”

  “Because he wasn’t—isn’t—a very nice man. He believes that women should be seen and not heard. And that women should stay out of men’s way.”

  Sarcasm lacing his voice, he responded, “He must love your job choice.”

  “We don’t speak.”

  “Ahh.” A pause. Then Avi said quietly, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried, and I’m sorry your father is a jerk. But thank you for letting me know what I have to overcome.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Well, now I know that not only will you be sensitive to feeling smothered, but you’ll also have issues with domineering men.”

  “I don’t—” She broke off. “Okay, fine. I do.”

  He gifted her with a smile so beautiful she could hardly look at it or at him. Lord, he was a handsome man.

  He said, “Thank you for your honesty. I value it more than just about any trait in my friends.”

  Only friends? And there went her stomach again, dropping into her shoes in disappointment. Since when did she want to be more than friends with this man?

  Since he’d taught her how to waltz and introduced her to fine cuisine—and not only saw her as a soldier, but also saw her as a woman.

  Which also made her feel naked. Vulnerable. Most people ignored her, and she tended to prefer it that way. Too bad he hadn’t seen her as more. It would have been nice if this man had looked at her and seen a woman of interest, maybe even a potential romantic interest.

  But no. He’d seen a friend.

  It was better than nothing. But not by much.

  If only she was more capable at the whole romance and seduction thing. But that was like wishing she could hold the moon in her hand. It was never going to happen.

  * * *

  Their walk back to the Olympic Village was quiet, and Avi was content to let Rebel stew in her thoughts. He was prepared to move slowly with her, take his time and let her work out whatever she needed to work out in her head before he pushed her to the next level. She wasn’t the kind of woman a man could proposition for cheap sex after a date or two and expect an affirmative response.

  Huh. Since when had he started to consider sleeping with her?

  He thought back and pegged it at the moment when she’d shown him her map of the injured athletes in the pool. Her passion and intensity had been sexy as hell.

  He glanced sidelong at her as they crossed a busy street crowded with drunks. She was a tiny little thing, but it was easy to miss that because of how big her intellect and confidence were. Oh, she hid both well. As any good special operator should. But they were there. And sexy, too.

  When he’d finally gotten her to relax into the waltz, she’d been light as air in his arms. A good natural athlete, she was, to pick up the dance so quickly. In touch with her body. Which was promising for more intimate dances—

  He should really stop imagining sex with her. They both had a job to do. And although this was far below the usual level of danger he operated in, both of them needed to give the security of their respective delegations their full attention.

  Maybe after the games were over he could volunteer to do some training with the Medusas, possibly as an instructor, or in some sort of exchange program with his team to run scenarios using teams of women operators. He could sell it to his superiors as an observation trip to see if the Israelis should consider training a female Spec Ops team of their own.

  The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.

  “Does your team ever run exercises with foreign teams?” he asked abruptly.

  “To date, we’ve mostly had individual foreign instructors come to our main training facility to work with us as we come up to speed. We haven’t worked with full teams. You’d have to ask Major T. if he ever plans to put us in the field on exercises. Right now, he’s keeping our existence under pretty close wraps.”

  As well he should. The Medusas were safer the fewer people knew they existed. And apparently, he’d also developed a sudden interest in the safety of the Medusas, along with Torsten.

  “This is my stop,” Rebel announced, jerking him out of planning how to sell an exercise with the Medusas to his boss.

  They were, indeed, standing in front of the American security team’s building.

  “Sweet dreams,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek.

  She froze, startled as most Americans were when they first encountered the European habit of kissing pretty much everyone. He smiled to himself as he turned away. He was enjoying throwing her off balance far more than he should. But it would be good for her to pop that boring bubble she tried to hide in.

  As for him, he was headed for his room to change into dark clothing, and then he was going to stake out the small apartment building the Iranian delegation was staying in by itself at the request of the Iranian government. Not that he blamed them. The Israelis had insisted on having a facility to themselves, too.

  Midnight had come and gone when Avi spied movement out the back door of the Iranian building. He zoomed in his binoculars. Four men and two women, dressed in the bl
ack tracksuits of the Iranian team slipped outside.

  Apparently, the mice were planning to play while they were away from the cat. Although, the Iranian government usually kept a ridiculously tight leash on its athletes overseas, too. Which explained why he was surprised this bunch tonight had made it out of their quarters successfully. He waited for any possible tails to slip out of the building to follow the athletes, but none did.

  He briefly debated staying to watch the building or giving in to his curiosity to see what the Iranian athletes did when off the leash. His curiosity won.

  They were almost out of sight, now, heading toward the south end of the village and the many athletic complexes clustered there. He had to hurry not to lose them. There were plenty of facilities open around the clock in the village—the dining hall, gyms, game rooms, media rooms, medical and physio offices. So why were the Iranians headed toward the sports complex at this hour? The venues would all be closed, locked up and locked down.

  Were the Iranian athletes maybe hoping to check out competition venues before the event? Except the men and women would be competing in entirely different sports. Were the men escorting the women to their venue perhaps?

  He trailed along behind the group as it approached the gymnastics venue and peered in the banks of locked doors. He doubted they could see much besides the concourse around the exterior of the facility and a few tunnels leading down into the bowl of the competition floor. They walked almost a full circle around the field house and then veered off toward the natatorium.

  The group gave the same rather inexplicable treatment to the swimming venue, peering in briefly, but making no attempt to get inside, and then circling the building. He knew for a fact that Iran hadn’t sent any athletes to the game in either gymnastics or swimming. So why the interest in these venues?

  His confusion grew as the group disappeared around the side of the basketball venue next. The big stadium could easily seat twenty-five thousand people. As far as he could tell, the Iranians merely walked around the outside of the building and made no attempt to go inside.

  Something else dawned on him as the guided tour of all the big venues continued. The six athletes in front of him didn’t appear to be having any fun. They weren’t talking and laughing. There appeared to be no joking around and only minimal conversation.

  Were they casing the venues in preparation for future crimes?

  The idea crashed across his brain, along with cold dread, wrecking his concentration on the surveillance. How could these people be doing anything else? This had to be a reconnaissance trip of some kind.

  Which said nothing good about who the people in front of him were.

  What were the odds the Iranians had sent some sort of terrorist strike team to the Olympics posing as athletes? There were plenty of sports where no minimum time or score was required to qualify to participate.

  What if the group in front of him was not only athletes but also terrorists?

  Funny, but his very next thought was worry for Rebel’s safety. She would be squarely in the line of fire from these people, and he had no way of knowing if she was adequately prepared to take them on and survive, let alone win.

  He moved stealthily now, slipping from shadow to shadow, closing in to a range where he could get high quality surveillance photos of all the athletes. It took a while, but when he was fairly certain he had solid face shots of each athlete, he backed off to a safer range.

  The Iranians went to every single major indoor venue in the Olympic Park, roaming laps around outside the giant structures before finally turning back toward the Olympic Village. The group returned quickly to the village and slipped back inside the Iranian team building. He was close to certain they hadn’t spotted him, which made their behavior all the more perplexing.

  He estimated they’d spent no more than ten minutes circling each venue, which was barely long enough to have a fast look around. It certainly wasn’t long enough to do any kind of a decent reconnaissance or a walk-through of an attack. Which was good news at least.

  But it did beg the question, what in the hell were they up to?

  Avi assigned one of the junior members of the Israeli security contingent to keep an eye on the Iranian team building overnight, so he could get a little rest, himself.

  He fell asleep still wondering what the Iranians were doing, and coming up with no answers. Which was frustrating in the extreme...

  Until he dreamed of Rebel and his frustration became sexual in nature and climbed heretofore-unscaled heights.

  He woke sweating and horny. Naked, he rolled out of bed, poured himself a glass of water and downed it in supreme irritation at himself. He was a professional, and so was she. He owed her more respect than to imagine her naked and moaning in his arms, lost in pleasure.

  But it wasn’t like he had control of his subconscious. Like it or not, he had a thing for his colleague. Under other circumstances, he might have gone with the flow. Seen where things went between them. But as it was, he had a gut feeling something bad was unfolding around them both, and it required his full attention. And hers. Dammit.

  Chapter 5

  Rebel’s pulse leaped as Avi held the door to the briefing room for Gia and Lynx bright and early the next morning. Zane had made an initial report directly to Major Torsten when he’d arrived last night, and then he’d been allowed to get some sleep before briefing the whole team. Today the Medusas were meeting in a secure conference room that had no windows, was tucked in the middle of the American security headquarters and was lined with reflective metals that would repel any efforts to snoop on the meeting.

  Rebel was a bit annoyed with her teammates for intentionally leaving the seat beside her empty. Sometimes it bugged her that all the women knew each other so well and could read the most subtle signals from one another. Obviously, her interest in the hot Israeli hadn’t gone unnoticed by her girls. Dammit.

  As long as Torsten hadn’t picked up on her crush, she would be okay. God help her if the boss figured it out, though.

  And honestly, she liked the way her stomach fluttered when Avi sank into the chair beside her with a brief, warm smile for her. It was an intimate expression, a private thing between them, a definite acknowledgment that they were more than vaguely acquainted coworkers.

  Well, okay, then.

  Her tummy bubbling with fizzy happiness, she turned her attention to Piper’s fiancé at the front of the room. Zane fiddled briefly with a projector, plugging a flash drive into its side and picking up the wireless clicker.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I apologize for the hasty nature of this briefing—I didn’t have long to pull it together before I left Langley yesterday—day before yesterday...international date line, right?”

  Rebel smiled sympathetically. Jet lag was a bitch when fifteen time zones were crossed.

  Zane flashed through the most recent photos of Mahmoud Akhtar and Yousef Kamali, most of which the Medusas already had posted in their ready room. Zane then blasted through a quick sitrep on Iran in general, ending with an assessment declaring the probability high that Iran would try something during or soon after the Olympic Games.

  If the Iranians didn’t act for themselves, they might act as proxies for Russia, which was furious at continued sanctions against many of its athletes for illegal doping.

  Zane continued, “We’ve been in contact with our source at a classified Iranian Special Forces training facility, and he reports seeing Mahmoud Akhtar about six months ago working with a team of approximately eight operatives. They appeared to be running some sort of kidnapping or hostage scenario. Mock apartments—or perhaps hotel rooms—were the target.”

  Rebel echoed the low groan around the table at that. Twenty-thousand athletes and nearly that many coaches, support staff and officials occupied the many dormitory-style buildings of the Olympic Village at this very minute.

&
nbsp; Zane finished with, “Our report also indicates that a large contingent of senior officers and government officials observed the exercises and offered comments and suggestions to the team.”

  Avi leaned forward at that. “Your source is sure about that last bit?”

  “I should say so,” Zane answered dryly. “He was an eyewitness to the exercises.”

  Avi nodded thoughtfully but said nothing more.

  Now why had he asked that? Rebel made a mental note to ask him about it later.

  “As for how Mahmoud and Yousef slipped past the IOC background checks and Australia’s border security, we believe they may have arrived by ship up to two months ago, perhaps landing in a port of entry nowhere near Sydney and making their way overland to this location.”

  Avi added, “Which is indicative of nefarious intent. Or perhaps they were smuggling something into the country.”

  “Exactly,” Zane agreed.

  “Weapons, maybe?” Major Torsten threw out.

  “Maybe,” Zane replied doubtfully. “We have to assume they have plentiful black market contacts and will have no trouble obtaining whatever weapons they need inside Australia. Given the amount of terrorist activity in Indonesia over the past year, we can confirm that pretty much anything short of nuclear weapons would be available in this region of the world to anyone with enough cash.”

  Rebel leaned forward. “What kind of gear were Mahmoud’s guys wearing while they ran their training scenarios?”

  Zane looked at her quizzically, and she elaborated. “Were they wearing civilian clothes, or were they tricked out in full Spec Ops gear? Body armor? Night optical gear? Urban assault weapons? Explosives? Their equipment might give us some hint as to what kind of assault they’re planning.”

  “Good point,” Zane responded. “I’ll have to get back with you on that.”

  Which was to say, he would have to pass the question on to the CIA’s contact.

  Avi nodded slowly beside her. “They can use overwhelming force to blast through the village security, or they can use subterfuge. They don’t really have any other choices, given the level of surveillance and security measures deployed here.”