LITMIR.BIZ

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to Minsk.”

      David McCarter shook the hand the woman offered him while the remaining Phoenix Force members looked on.

      To have called her anything other than beautiful would’ve been absurd. She had short dark hair, cut pixie-style, liquid-blue eyes and full red lips. The high cheekbones arched gracefully and dipped to soft cheeks with just a hint of dimples at her mouth.

      “Pleasure’s mine, Miss—”

      “Mariam,” she replied, “but I prefer if you simply call me Mishka. My cover name.”

      Just one of her many cover names, actually, although she probably assumed McCarter knew little about her. In the interest of keeping her friendly, the Phoenix Force leader opted not to let on that nothing could be further from the truth.

      Muriel Annabel Stanish, age thirty-four, had been a CIA case officer for six years. She’d spent the first two operating Stateside with the documents section specialized in European forgeries. After distinguished service and at least half a dozen requests for transfer, she’d finally been assigned to Minsk, Belarus, to fill a vacancy—one that had occurred under rather dubious circumstances.

      “You look rather surprised to see me,” Mishka observed. “I suppose they neglected to tell you I was a woman.”

      “Not at all,” McCarter replied.

      “Um, I think we’re just surprised,” T. J. Hawkins interjected with a disarming grin, “that we wouldn’t be meeting such a breathtaking young woman as yourself, miss.”

      McCarter, teeth clenched and looking out of the corner of his eye, said quickly, “You’ll have to forgive my associate, but he thinks he’s bloody charming when he’s really just being annoying.”

      Mishka chuckled and waved it away. “No worries, McMasters. I get that a lot.”

      “Do tell,” Encizo said, eyebrows rising.

      “More than might you think,” Mishka replied with a grin of her own. She clapped her hands together for emphasis. “But I’m certain you’re tired and would like to go to your hotel. I’ve arranged an entire floor of rooms for you at one of the local hotels. It’s in the downtown area with easy access to all the other areas, but still out of the way of the regular tourist flow. If you’ll follow me?”

      As the warriors fell into step behind McCarter, who kept pace at her side, the Phoenix Force leader said, “Seems you thought of everything.”

      “Meaning?” she asked.

      “Your choice of hotels was…interesting. Just seems you’ve more experience than we were led to believe.”

      She shrugged. “It only makes sense, really. I was certain from what I’d been told that you would want to remain inconspicuous and my…experience with the proprietors is that they are discreet.”

      “And what do you know of our mission?” McCarter asked as they reached a sporty European-made coupe parked a fair distance from the hangar.

      “Not out here,” she said, shaking her head. She pointed to a large custom van nearby. “You can ride with me. The rest will ride with Carnes in the van with your equipment.”

      McCarter nodded and gestured for his team to do as instructed. He then squeezed his muscular frame into the small sports car that was fully loaded and boasted genuine leather interior. “Pretty nice ride the Company offers these days.”

      “It’s my own,” she said. “Bought and paid for during my layover in Italy. I had it shipped here.”

      “Seems like some serious dough to lay out for a CIA case officer.”

      If the comment offended Mishka, she didn’t show it—cool under pressure and relatively unemotional. McCarter filed the information for future reference.

      “My father ran his own company,” she replied. “Physicist for a defense contractor. That’s partly why they transferred me here.”

      “So you were going to tell me how much you knew about our purpose here.”

      “Enough that it might surprise you,” Mishka said. “You’re here at my request. Imagine my surprise when the Agency replied less than twenty-four hours later to let me know they were sending you.”

      “We don’t work for the CIA.”

      Mishka offered a light laugh. “I knew that the moment you stepped off the plane.”

      “How?”

      “You’re not the typical crew. I’ve been in this business long enough to know the difference between a standard tactical unit and black ops. You’re obviously troubleshooters of a different breed, and that’s fine by me.”

      “Glad to hear it,” McCarter replied. “Because we were promised we’d have your full cooperation.”

      “And you will.”

      “So give me the rundown on what you know to this point.”

      Mishka blew out a sigh through pursed lips. “Unfortunately, I don’t have much more intelligence outside of what you probably know.”

      “No worries. I’ll start with whatever you give me.”

      “Well, I think it goes without saying this city’s crawling with Russian heavies—mostly FSB and maybe a few contacts that were already in-country.”

      McCarter nodded. “Agreed. Our people informed us they showed up in force as soon as Dratshev disappeared.”

      “Right. From what I’ve heard, his abduction was most likely an inside job.”

      “We were told that, as well, but we had a little trouble buying it.”

      “Because?”

      “Something just doesn’t bloody wash,” McCarter replied with a shrug. “There’s no logic behind staging an abduction of one of their own and then publicizing it.”

      “I agree. Although I probably don’t have to point out the FSB has always placed great importance on propaganda. It could be they staged this for the purposes of security.”

      “You mean, take Dratshev off the radar and then divert attention by blaming some outside, mysterious party.”

      “You have to admit, they’ve done it before,” Mishka said.

      “True. But despite their efforts, most competing agencies have been able to see through such attempts with relative ease. This time around the fact an outside party really did manage to kidnap Dratshev has merit.”

      “I think you’re right.”

      McCarter couldn’t resist a grin. “Glad we’re on the same level.”

      “Why?”

      “Takes less convincing when I tell you our plan.”

      “Which is?”

      “I’ll keep the details close to the vest for now, if you don’t mind. But what I will say is that we plan to pick up the FSB’s trail and see where it leads us.”

      “Let them do the legwork for you.”

      “Right. Plus, if this is a legit snatch, it won’t take the grabbers long to touch base with the Russian government.”

      “Unless they have their own purposes for Dratshev.”

      “That’s another possibility and I wouldn’t be so naive as to dismiss the theory out of hand.”

      “If you—”

      “Watch out!”

      Mishka had turned to glance at McCarter and missed the dark sedan that rolled alongside the driver’s side of her coupe. They were traveling along a four-lane road that led to the Old Town part of the city.

      McCarter

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