Silent Truth (B.A.D. Agency #4)(27)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

“That’s all I know.” Abbie slumped in the chair, the down jacket billowing around her. As warm as it was inside, she still had to be cold not to have shed that. “I did my part, now you have to get me inside the Kore center.”

Like hell. The last place she needed to go would be out in public anywhere. “Can’t do it, Abbie. I’ll pull everything I can find on your mother and bring it to you.”

“I told you that you can’t get a thing without me.”

“Yes, I can.” He had six minutes left to contact Joe, and the good news? He’d come up with a viable plan for entering the complex that didn’t require covert insertion, but once he was inside he’d have to find a way to access the files. That would be one of those make-it-up-as-he-went plans he hated.

That had been Eliot’s area of expertise.

Abbie wasn’t arguing.

That should worry Hunter. He didn’t want this conversation popping up again, so he finished with, “I’m trained to do this. You aren’t. In fact, you’d be a liability.”

“You’re not listening. You can get inside the center, but I am the key to getting the information.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. “You’ve got thirty seconds to convince me.”

She frowned but didn’t waste time scrapping with him. “Dr. Tatum said the only way to access family records was by having a prior patient checked into the facility. On top of that, a staff member has to enter a code that changes daily.”

“I’m not willing to involve your mother in her condition.”

“Me either, but I’m not talking about her. I was born at Kore. I’m a prior patient of the clinic and I have rare blood. All qualifications to be admitted for testing.” She took a steady breath, but the vein in her neck jumped with her rapid pulse. “You obviously need something from the Kore center and must have skills to hack through computer files. You get me in there and I can gain you access to the database. There’s one more step to accessing the database that requires my presence, but I’m not sharing why or how until you agree. Get me inside, then you can do your James Bond impression.”

Good God. Hunter checked his watch. Less than two minutes to contact Joe.

And he hadn’t thought this could get any more f**ked up.

Chapter Twenty-three

Hunter waited for Abbie to go upstairs to take a bath, then made sure the house was locked and all alarms were on.

He’d figure a way around taking her with him.

She would tell him the last part of how to access the database by tonight.

Borys shoved a bowl of jambalaya at Hunter with a bottle of water, grumbling that he had no appreciation for his talents in the kitchen when he stalked off. Hunter locked the office door before setting up the videoconference connection with BAD again.

This time, Gotthard came on and had him wait until he’d routed Joe and Retter’s computers into the conference since the other two were off-site.

All three faces appeared in boxes on Hunter’s monitor.

“I have a solid plan for inserting into the Kore center and accessing the records by Friday morning,” Hunter stated, opening the conference. “I’ll offer a sizeable donation to the Kore Women’s Center based on reviewing the facility in person. It’s good timing after having just attended the fund-raiser. Let them think the donation is motivated by sympathy for Gwen. Once I’ve toured the facility I’ll find a way to insert later that night.”

“What about getting into the database?” Joe asked.

“The quickest access is through patient files, but that’s only available while the patient is physically on the premises and checked into the system,” Hunter explained. “It’s a dual access that requires a staff member’s code, and that changes daily. I’ll breach the employee files to find out how they receive their individual daily code, then locate a current patient to tap their information.”

That sounded so simple. It wasn’t. Gotthard was the only one who might question Hunter for more specifics, but he didn’t.

“How you going to get around after hours?” Gotthard had asked the question, but Hunter knew his friend was voicing what he’d expect Joe or Retter to be thinking.

“There are men in the genetic testing center.” Hunter caught a whisper of surprise in Retter and Joe’s faces.

Surprise or suspicion?

Hunter had no idea if there was an area for men or not, but Abbie had said a former patient could come in. Why couldn’t a former male patient come in? The Fratelli were a male-dominated organization. Seemed highly possible that Wentworth would have a private area where no one would see the men come and go. Would Joe go for his plan? Depended on how much time they had. “Any word from our contact?”

“Yes,” Gotthard answered. “Vestavia passed out packages to three operatives with maps noting major cities that could possibly be attacked, at least sixty, but only one will be the actual target. The contact thinks Vestavia is preparing in a defensive manner because Fra Bardaric in the UK is driving this mission. The three packages included contact information for explosives experts Vestavia’s team would coordinate with, so we’re dealing with a bomb situation. The contact was told to be ready to act as early as Saturday, coinciding with our speculations. We don’t have as much time as we thought.”

Hunter considered that good and bad news. Good, because it might push Joe to work with his plan, and bad because less time never favored defending against threats to a major population center.

Retter spoke up. “Might be wiser for Hunter to tour the Kore facility and gather intel, then let us send in a female agent to access the equipment. A woman would be less conspicuous if she had to move through the facility beyond where they keep males.”

Joe nodded. “I like that better.”

Hunter had hoped to convince Joe, in particular, that he was still a valuable asset, but in the past Joe would have gone with his plan. He would have trusted Hunter’s assessment.

Joe and Retter weren’t buying any of this.

What about Gotthard?

Hunter couldn’t find out without putting Gotthard in a tough position, which he wouldn’t do. He had to sound hesitant—or they wouldn’t believe him—and still agree. “I think my plan would work better since I’ve got the computer skills and I’ll be familiar with the layout… but if that’s what you want to do that’s what we’ll do. I’ll contact you when I leave the center.”

“Call when you reach Chicago and I’ll let you know my decision,” Joe said, finishing up, then the monitor went blank.

If BAD had no better option for inserting, Joe would let Hunter go forward. But that last order to call when he reached Chicago made it sound like Joe wasn’t on board with Hunter’s idea.

If Joe had an alternate plan for a female to insert, for sure he’d send a team of agents to find Hunter before he could walk in on a mission in progress.

Hunter considered that for a few minutes, then decided Joe didn’t have the time or resources to send anyone after him right now. By the time BAD could come after him, Hunter would have new arrangements in place.

He ate the cold jambalaya and finished off the bottle of water. Then he lifted a tube of antibiotic ointment off the desk and stood up. He headed for her bedroom.

Abbie should be coming out of the shower soon.

Naked.

Perfect.

Chapter Twenty-four

Would the mole take the bait or let a hundred thousand innocent people die?

Vestavia wouldn’t know until he had the real mission details and a time frame. But he’d put enough into motion today with his three lieutenants to start worrying the person working against him.

He entered his soundproof conference room, where the sweet odor of high-quality tobacco lingered in the air. He had no time to enjoy a cigar right now. The space had been designed at only a hundred square feet intentionally, with a custom-built Swedish recliner covered in sandstone-white leather in the center of the room. The one-foot-thick walls had an integrated security grid system impossible to breach.

Any change, even a picture-frame nail in the wall, would set off the alarm.

One side of the room was finished in matte black, and panels on the top half moved at the touch of a button to reveal a control center that looked like something from NASA. The lower cabinet opened by pressing another button to reveal a full bar with a built-in ice maker.

He typed in the series of codes, which changed hourly, that would engage the communication system, then prepared a scotch on the rocks and settled into the leather chair. Setting his drink on the obsidian-colored marble table at his right, he lifted the remote control and pressed buttons. That activated the computer to project onto six poster-sized screens mounted on an eye-level semicircular frame in front of him.

Faces started emerging on the two screens, older versions of the young men he’d known in an exclusive college in France where they’d formed this generation’s Council of Seven Angeli.

Bardaric from the UK and Ostrovsky from Russia appeared first. A green light glowed above their screens. Chike’s blue-black face came to life next from somewhere in Africa. Who knew what city? Gray had started invading his inch-long bush of frizzled black hair.

Renaldo’s side profile from Venezuela took shape on another screen before he angled around to push a droll look forward. A smart-mouth in college once told Renaldo his thick black lashes, high Latin cheekbones, and rosy lips were “so gay.” The student never made that mistake again. Just disappeared.

A pair of black eyes, a wide nose, and skin the color of cocoa with tiny dots around one eye showed up next. Derain wore his Aboriginal genes proudly as a peacock when manipulating politics, but he was as Western-educated and groomed as the rest of them.

Where was Stoke? Damn Antarctican had little to do beyond press for more green initiatives. No government, no wars, no ambition. Stoke’s oddly simple face with dull-witted blue eyes crystallized. He was looking down, fumbling with something, then sat up, hands on top of each other in front of him. That whole goofy shtick played well for someone who’d made his first kill at thirteen. The light above his screen finally brightened.

Ostrovsky had assumed the role of mediator years ago and ran the meetings, keeping everyone on track. “Floor is open to discuss the general business first.”

“We have—” Stoke started.

Renaldo sent a withering look in Stoke’s direction. “No, no. Last time took half hour to hear your list. We know your continent will be affected most severely first. World pays no attention to Antarctica. Unless your Fratelli group has actually discovered something under all that ice and snow?”

Stoke made a motion with his hand as if he were shoving papers aside and sat back, arms crossed. Half of the twelve Antarctican Fratelli were spread across the world as scholars, and the other half worked in many of the research facilities in Antarctica that corporations and study groups funded.

Vestavia interjected. “Our global-warming phase is gaining strength. The warming effect is taking shape here. The ocean temperature off Maine has risen to a record high. Aquatic life is shifting. Higher numbers of Orca and schools of whale sharks have been sighted in the Gulf of Mexico than ever before. Even the most skeptical are starting to notice the changes.”

“Here and in Asia, too,” Ostrovsky said, picking up the thread.

Vestavia sipped his scotch while Derain and Ostrovsky listed environmental changes in Australia and Russia. Ostrovsky finished with, “Likewise, the ‘green’ initiative continues to grow at a rapid pace that will peak as we intended, well ahead of the next phase. We quickly approach the time when every decision, from corporations to governments to individual households, will be based on being green, which will only make our task that much easier to accomplish in this era.”

“We better hit our timeline after what we’ve spent developing global warming and the green organizations,” Vestavia added. “If our ancestors hadn’t screwed up so badly—”

Ostrovsky interjected. “Our ancestors had right idea but poor execution.”

“They didn’t have our resources,” Stoke said in defense of their Angeli ancestors.

Bardaric finally weighed in. “Oh, please. Even in the Dark Ages they should have anticipated the extent of the damage. The Black Plague was impossible to control. Look what happened with AIDS. We lost valuable assets we might not have if our fathers and grandfathers had strategized better.”

Chike lifted his wide chin and spoke with a deep voice. “Perhaps they thought they could see the future, just as we believe we can. We have the most advanced team of physicists, environmentalists, scientists, doctors, engineers ever created, but no one can predict the outcome of what we have put into motion.”

Bardaric scowled and leaned forward. “I disagree.”

Vestavia let Bardaric and Chike go at it, just as they used to in college. Ostrovsky would rein them in soon before testosterone levels red-zoned. Everyone on this Council had been raised by a ruthless father, men who instilled in their sons the passion necessary to lead the world into the final Renaissance phase.

Their fathers had not anticipated reaching the Renaissance prior to passing the baton of power over when all seven boys had celebrated their sixtieth birthday. Their fathers missed the ambitious glint in each son’s eyes and underestimated the downside of putting seven future Angeli together at a young age so they would bond quickly.

Unwilling to wait until they were too old to plunder a new world order, this Council of Seven had used their collective genius to draft a plan of their own while in college. Their fathers all held strong positions in the Fratelli. Having been taught patience as a skill from the crib, the sons waited two years until their fathers traveled to a meeting in Switzerland where three Fratelli de il Sovrano representatives from each continent were expected to attend.